Objects of Desire

Chapter 14 - Perfect Day

By Azrael Geffen

“WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME? WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?”

“I didn’t want to leave you Draco, I had no choice.”

“You had plenty of choices; you just chose the wrong ones.”

“You have been with Potter too long. You’re beginning to think like him.”

“Maybe if you’d thought like him for half a minute you wouldn’t be in this mess – and I wouldn’t have to lose him.”

Draco heard Lucius sigh as though it was a rustle of leaves on a summer breeze. “I am sorry I disappointed you, but I was never infallible. I never claimed to be anything other than I was.”

“No,” Draco was bitter, “you were just a selfish arrogant pig who cared more about power than you did about your family.”

“Good-bye, Draco.”

“No!” Draco felt the idea of loss as a jolt through his body, “Don’t go, not yet, please…stay here, don’t go away.”

“Stay with Potter, he can protect you.”

“But I have to save you.”

“Now you’re beginning to sound like him. Think like a Slytherin Draco. I am gone; there is nothing of me left for you to save.”

Draco’s eyes opened and he moved to hold Harry in his arms, trying to lose himself in Harry’s warmth, in the soft sounds of sleep, and the shifts and movements of the other body that was so familiar to him now that it could have been his own. But as he drifted in and out of uneasy sleep, his father’s voice, soft and resigned, came to him. There is nothing of me left for you to save.

“But you’re here! You’re here now,” Draco cried.

“This is a dream, you’re dreaming it.”

“But you’re here!”

“Good-bye, Draco.”

“NO!”

But he was gone.

“DADDY!”

Suddenly awake and with his heart pounding too hard for his body to cope with, Draco clutched Harry tightly to his chest and tried to calm himself. He trembled a little as he settled Harry’s sleeping form into the pillows and turned to pull a small phial from his bedside drawer. Downing it’s contents swiftly, he felt his heart returning to its normal pace, and his body stopped shaking.

“It’s alright,” he whispered and trembled in spite of himself. He wiped sleep from his eyes and found wetness on his cheeks; he must have been crying.

“You okay?”

He jumped and turned a forced smile on Harry who was looking up at him sleepily. “Yeah,” he wiped the tears away, grateful for the still dark morning, “I was dreaming, it’s nothing.”

Harry’s hand came up and tentative fingers traced a path over Draco’s boney shoulder and then down his chest and along the corrugated map of his ribcage. He allowed Harry’s fingers to wander, feeling his cock harden at the knowing touch that traced aimless circles over his chest, lingering on his nipples and moving along to his armpit and then his arm.

Stay with Potter.

Yes. Stay with Harry. Never leave Harry. Draco gasped as Harry came up to him and wrapped his warm wet mouth around his nipple. Harry’s hand slid up his thigh caressed his erect cock and the last shreds of his dream fell away from him as he fell back into the bed and Harry slid down his body to take his cock deep into his throat.

“Harry…”

Harry sucked him gently, having learned what Draco wanted, and what Draco liked. Harry had learned how to please Draco and Draco alone, because Harry was his and his alone.

His Harry – and no one else’s.

Each morning as Draco woke up he realized over and over again the sense that his entire being now contained the one constant that he felt he had always lacked. He could only look back with awe on his life before Harry and wonder how he had ever lived without it. What had his world been without these feelings? What had his life been before he loved Harry? It was difficult to remember. It was as though he knew things from his past, but he could no longer view them without the taint of this overwhelming love.

Draco moved his hands over Harry’s back, drawing him up and rolling him into the bed. He flipped Harry over onto his belly, enjoying the sensation of handling Harry’s body, relishing the solid feel of skin and bone and muscle and flesh. He gently pulled Harry’s hips up and pressed a finger into his body.

Harry mewed. It was a small sound; one that Draco was certain was unique to Harry and one that Draco had come to love hearing. It held the promise of pleasure, it told of Harry’s enjoyment, and it promised more. He almost laughed and wondered what Crabbe and Goyle would think if they were still alive. What would have happened if Draco could have predicted it; if one day he would have Harry Potter on all fours with his arse in the air mewing like an expectant kitten?

They would probably have thought he’d be doing it as some kind of punishment.

“Do you like that baby?” Draco insinuated another finger into Harry’s body and a sob wrenched from Harry’s throat. He gently stroked Harry’s lower back, soothing him, willing the muscles to relax.

“Fuck me,” Harry sobbed and Draco smiled. He slid his hand around Harry’s body, skirting over the sharp hipbone and across Harry’s stomach to grasp Harry’s hard cock.

“You’re still tight baby, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“No…fuck me…”

“Harry…”

But Harry’s body was slowly relaxing into Draco’s touch and his fingers began to move in and out with greater ease. He moved in behind Harry, pushing Harry’s knees further apart and lifting his hips a little higher. Harry tensed at the anticipation and Draco sank into the heat of Harry’s body.

Oh sweet fuck… ”Harry…” His name came out in a rush of breath and he plunged hard and deep into the willing body beneath him. It was too hard, too fast. Harry cried out and suddenly his face was pushed into the pillows as Draco bore down into him.

“Oh Gods, you’re too tight.” The heat and pressure was unrelenting. So good and yet so close to pain that it was difficult to tell the difference. Draco watched Harry’s hands claw at the sheets, his face was turned to the side and his eyes squeezed shut, his teeth clenched. It was as though Harry was undergoing some kind of exquisite torture, and only his throbbing cock gave any indication that he was indeed enjoying it.

Draco gripped Harry’s hipbones and pulled Harry back onto him, driving deeply into the heat, burying himself inside Harry’s body. “You like that, don’t you.”

Harry nodded, his breath coming painfully to his chest, his body being driven so hard into the mattress that he had to brace himself. “Yes…yes. I…yes…”

“You are mine,” Draco thrust a little harder, punctuating each word with a thrust deeper and harder than the last. “You. Are. Mine.” Harry was agreeing, crying out ‘yes’ over and over again and Draco could feel himself pushing through the last of Harry’s resistance, relishing the final warming of muscles that seemed to almost draw him deeper inside. He reached around Harry’s body and stroked Harry’s cock with rough strokes, unable to be gentle, not now, not when he was so close to the edge.

And Harry liked this. Harry liked this uncontrolled passion.

It was like an addiction, this intense need for each other. The feel of each other’s bodies, the desire to give each other pleasure, and the exquisite pain that tainted their sex. Harry came over Draco’s hand and the rumpled bedclothes and Draco rode him through it, until suddenly he was coming himself, a stream of pure energy charging through him, down his spine, massing in his balls and finally exploding, causing every nerve and fiber of his body to come to attention and tingle all over – and then he was empty and hollow and falling against Harry’s body.

They collapsed into the bed, not caring about the cold wet patch left behind by Harry’s orgasm. They both rolled onto their backs and lay panting, staring at the ceiling, both amazed that it was still dark.

“That was incredible,” Draco panted. “Oh fuck Harry, when I think of all those years we wasted.”

Draco called for light and rolled onto his side, knowing he had to tend his lover.

Stay with Potter.

Yes, I’ll stay with Harry.

Harry had taken on the vulnerable look that he often had after sex, as though afraid of some imagined rejection. Draco shifted and gently traced patterns in the sweat beading on Harry’s chest. He kissed Harry’s eyelids, flicking the tip of his tongue along the silky brush of lashes and then down the arch of Harry’s nose until their mouths met in a lush and sated kiss.

Stay with Potter.

I’ll stay with Harry

There is nothing of me left to save.

Draco tried to put the thought out of his head, tried to make his fathers voice go away.

And he almost cried when he realized it was easy.

~ ~ ~

Hermione sprawled across the floor, biting her lip and blood splattered across the cover of a book.

A book to hammer witches,

Hammer witches.

A boot was grinding into her back, and her wrist was breaking.

“YOU FUCKING BITCH. YOU ALWAYS THOUGHT YOU WERE SMARTER THAN ME. YOU THINK YOU ARE SO PRETTY, FLAUNTING YOURSELF AROUND THE SCHOOL, BUT YOU ARE UGLY. YOU ARE AN UGLY MUDBLOOD CUNT AND YOU THINK YOU ARE TOO GOOD FOR ME? LOOK AT WHAT YOU HAVE DONE TO ME, LOOK AT WHAT YOU MAKE ME DO!”

Then a boot connected with the base of her spine and Hermione tore herself from the dream, screaming loud into the cold air of the room.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ!” Snape gasped, jerking himself awake at the sound of the terrified shriek. His eyes rolled in his head and he almost rolled over and let Hermione sleep through it. But Hermione’s nightmares were a little too real of late; a little too real to ignore. He struggled to keep his eyes open and looked at her, sitting up in the bed breathing hard, her pale back heaving in front of him.

He sat up and gently stroked Hermione from behind. She seemed to go limp then and collapsed back into the tangle of his limbs.

“It’s alright,” Severus murmured into her hair, “it was only a dream.” But it was more than a dream, and he knew it. Part of him wanted to heal her mind in such a way that she would never recall the attack again. It seemed so ridiculously unfair that she had managed to survive Voldemort intact and without the nightmares that Dumbledore claimed plagued Potter, only to have her sense of well being taken away by such a worthless cretin as Viktor Krum. It seemed like such a shitty hand that fate decided to deal her and he had been tempted to Obliviate the entire incident from her mind, or draw it out into a Pensive and bottle it forever.

Anything to make her forget. Anything to make her sleep soundly at night. Because when she slept, the bravado that got her through her days slipped, and she became the uncertain girl he had uncovered.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione sobbed into his chest, her body melting into him, needed to return to sleep, feeling safe now that she knew he was there.

“What are you sorry for?”

“I woke you up.” She pulled back and looked at him, and couldn’t help but smile. Morning was not Severus Snape’s best time of day. Heavy hair fell over his gaunt face, which looked a little ashen due to the shriek that woke him. His hawk like nose jutted out from those curtains of hair and what she could see of his black eyes were tired and sleep logged. He stifled a yawn and pulled her back into the pillows with him.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, but he was already sinking back into sleep, “you can wake me up any time.”

“Severus?”

“Mmm?”

“If he had…raped…me, would you still love me?”

His eyes blinked open and rolled to survey what he could see of the top of her head. “Of course I would, what kind of a stupid question is that?”

“I…I wouldn’t have been a virgin…”

Now that was ridiculous. He had been amazed when she was one!

“I don’t want to go to court.” She said quietly and Snape sat up again, looking down on her with a face that was half concern and half disbelief.

“You have to go. If you don’t he’ll be pardoned and sent back to Bulgaria.”

“I don’t want to see him again.”

He muttered “Lumos” and the roomed infused with light. “Hermione, you don’t seem to understand, if he goes back to Bulgaria, there is nothing to stop him coming back here. If you don’t go to the Wizengamot they will pardon him.”

“He won’t come back here though. Hogwarts is safe.” She pushed herself up, staring at him and drawing the covers up over her breasts.

“But you can’t stay here forever! In less than six months you will be finished here and you won’t be coming back. I can ward the Fenn for you, but he’s a Wizard Hermione, not a Muggle. He will be able to find you.”

She trembled. The very idea of leaving Hogwarts was frightening, the idea that Krum could find her was terrifying, but so was the idea of going to court. What if no one believed her?

“Dumbledore sits as the head of the Wizengamot Hermione, he is not going to let Krum go…but you must attend or there is nothing he can do.”

She looked away, her eyes glassy, and nodded silently. Snape seemed satisfied by that and he settled down beside her again, extinguishing the light and holding her close. Then something dawned on Hermione, something he had said.

“Severus?”

“Mmm?”

“When you said you could ward the Fenn for me, what did you mean?”

Snape frowned, what did she think he meant? The meaning was simple, was it not? “I can cast wards around the Fenn, to try and keep you safe,” he explained plainly. For such an intelligent girl, she really could be very thick sometimes.

“Does that mean I’ll be at the Fenn, after school is over?”

Oh….OH! “I…” he felt a little flustered and was grateful that he had put out the light, she might not be able to see just how panicked he was suddenly looking. “I just assumed…I suppose you…”

The idea was ludicrous and he knew it. What would she do at the Fenn? He didn’t even live at the Fenn! Then perhaps it is time for that to change.

Hermione moved and propped herself up so that she was looking down on him. “I love you,” she whispered, and found his mouth with hers.

~ ~ ~

The muscles in the Angel’s arms and legs were becoming more pronounced. Nothing like they would have been, had he been a normal walking person, but still, the wasting process appeared to have halted. There was even definition where there was once nothing but wasting muscle. The transformation was no doubt a by-product of his nightly visits to the pool.

Semeuse had decided to give up the pretense of going back to the traveling exhibition, leaving the Aurors and the Elves to deal with the crowds, he declared that his museum needed him, especially now that he had custody of his Angel.

Lucius was his. The Angel would never have to be returned. Semeuse had fast discovered the value of the Galleon in Fudge’s Ministry, and now he owned his very own Angel.

And very soon he would have a matching set.

“Time for a swim Lucius.” Semeuse traced the outlines of the Angels soft lips with his fingertip. Lucius opened his eyes and for a moment his grey eyes were clear. “Good morning Lucius, I trust you slept well.”

Lucius blinked again and Semeuse felt a tension in the bruised cheek beneath his palm.

“Would you like to go and have a swim?”

Lucius looked panicked and Semeuse looked in awe as the face changed for the first time without first being prompted to do so.

“Well, we could stay here and make love, but I do so like it when you have your arms and legs around me, you are so much tighter that way.”

Not that Lucius really needed to be tighter, Semeuse tore him often enough as it was. The Curator lay down beside Lucius and kissed his jaw, running his tongue down the sharp bone. “I love you Lucius. I love you more than any single thing that has ever crossed my path. You are my one joy,” He smiled and stroked the Angels pale cheek, “you are my only joy.”

“Well,” Lucius said clearly, “you really are a pretty sad fuck then aren’t you?”

Semeuse almost fell off the bed in shock. “Lucius?”

Lucius was silent. He didn’t move, as though he had never said a word and Semeuse wondered if perhaps he had imagined it. He brushed his lips lightly over the cheekbone that had healed perfectly. Even the dark bruise that covered it could not detract from his Angel’s beauty.

“Then, it’s time for a swim?”

Still nothing, just that impassive face.

“I have a wonderful Valentine’s gift for you Lucius. Not as wonderful as the mirror, but I do think you will like this a little more.” He struggled from the bed and wondered just what the Angel had reduced him to. He had begun to hate the sound of his own voice as he pandered to the Angel’s affections; it was ridiculous, and yet he could not help himself. Lucius was indeed everything to him. There had once been a time when Archibald Semeuse would never have been seen without every hair in place, without his robes being perfectly pressed. Now he loathed getting dressed, preferring his nightshirt, or nothing at all. He preferred to spend his days with Lucius.

He showered Lucius with gifts, seeking something, some kind of response from his love – and the resounding silence never failed to disappoint. It hadn’t always been this way. There had been a time when he preferred his lovers still – and now that he owned this one, he craved his movement.

Semeuse brought the gift forward and smiled at Lucius as he noticed the tiny movements of the Angel’s eyes. He had learned to find even the smallest of movements, a twitch, a muscle spasm, or the almost indefinable movement of his eyes.

“I had this made especially for you; I saw a Muggle with one.” Semeuse pulled back the cloth to reveal a chair, ornately carved from polished wood, and padded for comfort. Two large spoke wheels dominated the sides, with two smaller ones at the front.

“Muggles call them wheelchairs; they’re ugly things, so I had this one made for you. Now you can see the museum. This is your home now Lucius, you should know its corridors.”

Lucius stared on, his eyes flicking over the chair and then they settled on Semeuse, who was moving towards him, then lifting him into the chair.

Semeuse rolled the chair back and forth, it moved easily and the craftsmanship was good. It also made moving Lucius a little easier. He decided it was time to give his Angel a tour of the museum, before going to the pool.

~ ~ ~

“Don’t go, it’s Sunday for Merlin’s sake,” Draco reclined into the pillows and raised a seductive eyebrow, “besides, it’s Valentine’s Day. We can stay in bed, reek of sex…give me half an hour and I’ll be ready to go again.”

Harry grinned at his lover who was looking well sated and more than a little bed mussed in the pillows. “I have cum running down my leg, I need a shower.”

“Oh yes, and a nice trail of semen running down your leg is really going to go over well in the bathroom.”

True.

“Just get a towel and wipe it off, it’s never bothered you before.”

Which was also true, except that Harry’s Valentine’s Day gift for Draco was in Hermione and Lavender’s room and Harry needed an excuse to leave the room so that he could go and get it; he wanted to give it to Draco at breakfast – which meant he had to shower anyway, and so did Draco.

“I feel gross,” Harry said, lying admirably, “I really want to get cleaned up.”

Draco looked more than a little miffed that his seductive self hadn’t worked, “Fine, go and wash away every trace of me.”

“I don’t want to wash away every trace of you! Where the fuck did that come from?”

Draco pouted and Harry crawled back up the bed and kissed him on his swollen mouth. Gods he felt amazing.

“I’m still having a shower.”

Draco grinned and teased Harry’s upper lip with his tongue, “Well, be sure to say ‘fuck off’ to Weasel for me.”

“I’ll make sure I relay that message on for you.”

“Thanks.”

Harry scrambled from the bed and grabbed Draco’s black bathrobe from the peg on the wall. He still hadn’t been out to purchase new clothes, Dumbledore’s ban on them leaving the castle had put paid to that idea. He hadn’t even been able to buy Draco a gift himself, and he’d entrusted Hermione with that task. Harry now found himself increasingly dressed in Draco’s clothes, more from the desire to not to cause Draco to whine about the state of his attire than actually wanting to look like a walking fashion plate.

Of course Draco was considerably taller than Harry, so Harry still looked a little lost in his clothes. He wrapped himself in Draco’s bathrobe, belting it tightly before heading to the door.

“You have a wet patch on your arse.”

Harry craned his head around to try and see the back of himself, “Errg,” he patted his bottom with his hand and felt for wetness. “Oh, yuk!”

“Come back to bed.”

“No, I need to get this cleaned up. Fuck Draco, how much do you bloody squirt up there?”

Squirt? “The regular amount!”

“Oh Gods, this is disgusting!”

“Well thanks you for that assessment of my seminal fluid!”

“You know what I mean.”

“Maybe I should fake an orgasm next time, then you won’t have of that nasty stuff up your little arse…”

“I’m not saying that…”

“Or better yet, just stop fucking you altogether, then you won’t have to worry about any of it.”

Harry paled, “Don’t…don’t even joke about it.”

“Who says I’m joking?”

“I…” Harry’s eyes became instantly glassy, “I’m sorry, I…”

“Potter?”

“Yes?”

“I was joking you scar headed git.”

“Oh.” Harry grinned uncertainly, “I knew that.”

“Go and have a shower.”

Harry grinned, turned and wiggled his arse for the sake of his lover before heading off to the bathroom, he had actually walked into the showers when he suddenly remembered…wet patch, and quickly grabbed a towel.

Seemingly, most of the towers occupants had decided to shower early before descending on the Great Hall for breakfast and gifts, then on to Hogsmeade for Valentine’s dates and the waiting arms of various girlfriends. Harry walked into the midst of them, trying to mind his own business and hoping no one would speak to him. He clenched his butt together, trying desperately to stop the flow down his leg and was grateful when he felt it reach the back of his knee and stop.

“Bum’s to the wall boys, Potter’s here!”

Laughter rippled through the bathroom and Harry stopped in his tracks. He bowed his head and felt his cheeks burning with shame. Just ignore him, he’s seriously fucked up, just ignore him.

It was easier said than done, Ron appeared to believe that he had won some kind of victory by Harry’s silence and continued to crow. “What’s wrong Harry?” he asked gleefully. “Don’t feel like copping a feel this morning?”

Harry sighed and turned and glared. The laughter stopped and he wished that he could recognize shame on at least a few people’s faces. Most just looked a little frightened, as though they were concerned about what Harry Potter would do to them for laughing about his sexual preferences. They also seemed very eager to see what happened next, as their eyes darted between Harry and Ron, anticipating a fight.

Typical. We spend half our lives fighting for these people, and now they just want to see us destroy each other.

Ron was too far gone to stop himself. He had taken a hit of Angelina’s drug only minutes before coming to the bathroom and was still riding high on the crest of euphoria. Nothing was going to stop him now. He was right, he was good…and Harry wouldn’t fight back, he never did.

“That’s what you’d like to do, isn’t it Harry? Wait until people are alone in the showers and then you can grab them? Molest them?” Ron smirked, “Well, at least that’s what you tried to do last night, isn’t it?”

“That is not what happened and you know it,” Harry said ominously.

“Really? Well, that’s how I remember it! I was in the shower, you turned up and grabbed me…remember?”

Oh dear Merlin, the guy is seriously deranged. “Yeah,” Harry hissed, “I remember pretty clearly, which obviously you don’t. You were sitting in the shower stall crying like a fucking baby!”

Ron’s eyes narrowed and the realization that perhaps he was in trouble filtered through the drug haze.

“Why don’t you take you take the bathrobe off Ron?” Harry asked, “Why don’t you show everyone just what I was trying to grab?”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” Ron asked, but his venom faltered, “You’d love to get another look.”

“Yeah,” Harry folded his arms, “I would. I’m pretty sure everyone else might find it a pretty interesting sight too.”

Ron forced a laugh, “Not everyone is a sick fuck like you. You just want what you can’t have.”

Harry almost laughed. He certainly couldn’t stop the incredulous smile that spread across his features. “Have you actually seen my boyfriend?” Harry asked with some amazement, noticing how Ron flinched when he said the word ‘boyfriend’. “Have you actually had a really good look at him? Why the hell would I jeopardize that to go after your sorry arse?”

He didn’t wait for Ron’s reply, as the barrage of abuse came amongst laughter from Neville, Harry turned and left the bathroom. His shower could wait, so could retrieving Draco’s gift. Draco was right, it was Sunday, it was Valentine’s Day and Draco was in bed, warm and reeking of sex. Harry knew where he would rather be.

~ ~ ~

Semeuse sat at the edge of the pool and watched as Lucius floated towards the center of the pool. It was, as always, a pleasure to watch. The thick blonde hair fanned out, curling like thick tendrils in the water, like some kind of wild deep-sea plant, something of extreme beauty. Once Semeuse had feared that the Angel might sink if he was not close by, but he soon realized it to be a needless worry. Lucius, it seemed, could float for hours. What made the Curator’s heart sing was the fact that Lucius seemed to like it. He would drift, and then suddenly, would change direction, carving intricate circles through the water. Semeuse watched him, marveling at the way he seemed to glide, as though sensing a momentary freedom from a body that simply would not function as he wanted it to.

Finally, unable to contain himself, Semeuse clapped his clever Angel. “Wonderful Lucius, a wonderful gift for me.”

Lucius stilled, until the only thing moving him were the soft ripples on the water. The Curator sighed, removed his nightshirt and dove into the pool without hesitation.

He knew exactly how it would work. There were rudimentary things that needed to be done before he would have the pleasure of his Angel’s arms around him. It wouldn’t take long, Lucius learned quickly that he could save himself the struggle by coming to his savior and holding on tight.

He was so beautiful

Semeuse held him under, waiting for the struggle to begin, and when it did he smiled as hands began to flail, desperately seeking something that would save him. Semeuse held him under, keeping him there a moment longer than necessary, before pulling him to the surface.

Lucius drew breath harshly, his eyes wildly alert, and then he was plunged back under the water.

And then Semeuse lost hold of him, although how it had happened Semeuse did not know. Lucius clawed at the hand holding his head, scratching just that little bit too deep and Semeuse released him, but only for a second. It was enough. Semeuse looked around himself, desperately trying to seek the Angel out, a horrific though coming to him that the Angel had sunk; that he had drowned!

Lucius resurfaced some meters away and stared, shivering, at his would be lover. Semeuse felt his throat run dry. Lucius was treading water perfectly.

He is a clever Angel.

“Lucius, stay where you are.” Semeuse made his way towards the Angel and Lucius gave one last defiant stare, before turning and swimming with perfectly measured strokes, away.

Very clever indeed.

“Lucius, where do you think you can go? Your body will tire before you even get out of the water.”

Lucius kept swimming for the edge of the pool.

“Accio wand.” The Curators wand flew to his hand and he pointed it at Lucius, not wanting to use it, but knowing it was for the Angel’s own good as much as it was his. “LUCIUS, STOP NOW!”

Lucius reached the edge of the pool and was reaching up, trying to grasp the ledge. Semeuse doubted he’d have the strength to pull himself up – and he didn’t want to risk the damage if Lucius should fall back in and hurt himself.

“LUCIUS!”

Lucius began to pull himself up.

"STUPIFY!”

Lucius slipped back into the water, and sank like a stone.

~ ~ ~

Ron stared down at the red envelope that had just landed in his breakfast and cursed the unfamiliar owl that had delivered it. He brushed it off and turned it over a few times. A part of him hoped against hope that it was from some wonderful faceless girl, but deep down he knew it wasn’t. There would be no secret admirer for Ronald Weasley, not this year. Only Angelina.

He didn’t want a Valentine’s Day card from her, and he didn’t want a gift. He could send it back unopened and ignore it, as though it had never arrived. He knew he could do that, but he also knew he wouldn’t.

He looked over at Harry who was opening a neatly wrapped box. Malfoy was beside him, using the opportunity of Harry’s attention being drawn away to give Ron a sneer. It appeared that Harry had given him a book and he looked none to pleased about it – although to Harry he was all smiles. Harry was looking good. Relaxed and happy. With Malfoy on one side and Hermione on the other. Hermione had a gift of her own, and she was unwrapping it with deliberate slowness, as though lost in the texture of the ribbon between her fingers. She looked as Harry did; happy.

He wondered for a moment just who had made Hermione happy, but the feeling was cut short because Harry kissed Malfoy and Ron almost dropped his envelope. Kissing Malfoy. In the Great Hall. It was too sickening to contemplate. Kissing Malfoy anywhere was a disgusting prospect, but in public was unforgivable.

For the first time, Ron decided he should actually look at Malfoy. Harry’s lover. He still looked the same arrogant prick he had always looked, but if he was to look at Malfoy as a prospective lover as opposed to his enemy, Ron would have to concede that Malfoy was actually quite good looking. But he looked too much like his father, and watching Harry kiss him was akin to watching Harry kiss Lucius Malfoy and that was akin to watching Charlie die all over again.

Harry caught his eye and frowned. Ron looked away and tore open the envelope without thinking. A ring fell out and he fumbled to catch it. It glittered and slid down his pinky, as though charmed to do just that. He looked at it, wrapped around his finger, the diamond sparkling, sickeningly familiar.

A wedding ring. Her wedding ring. Shit.

He made to slide it off and found it stuck fast. So it had been charmed to find its place – and now he was stuck with her wedding ring on his finger. A thick ball of heat began to form in the pit of his stomach and he felt his heart begin to beat a little harder. He reached into the envelope and his fingers were met with something sharp. He hissed and pulled his hand out quickly, his fingers bleeding. Another feeling washed over him, familiar bliss. He looked in the envelope to find a small needle, undoubtedly coated with Angelina’s concoction. He could smell it. Hell, he could feel it!

But this was different. Along with the bliss came something else. Guilt. Remorse. Something that made his eyes water and his stomach twist with anxiety.

He pulled the letter out and opened it with trembling hands.

“Dear Ronnie

Ron dropped the letter and it burst into flames. George knew. George knew everything.

Which meant that his family knew everything. Which meant his mother knew everything. Instinctively Ron looked to the rafters for an owl carrying the inevitable Howler. There was nothing there.

Distill malice, bottle guilt, brew depression.

Yes, it was there, he could feel it. Not strong enough to override the all-consuming panic that was coursing through him, but it was there.

He had to talk to George, he had to try and explain. He had to go to London.

~ ~ ~

Harry realized as he sat at breakfast that he had not quite got the hang of gift giving. Well, not Draco Malfoy style anyway. Harry had grown accustomed to buying one gift, one gift for each person – Draco it seemed had no idea of the concept. Either that or he just loved to give Harry presents, which was entirely possible.

It hadn’t helped that neither of them had been able to leave the castle to do any shopping, and that he had entrusted the buying of Draco’s gift to Hermione – someone that he and Ron had once notoriously dubbed the Worst Gift Giver in the History of the Wizard World. In retrospect, he should have asked Lavender to go, that way his single pathetic gift to Draco would have been far more suitable – and no doubt far more, well, Valentiney.

Hermione had given Snape a book on Potions for Christmas for Merlin’s sake. What had he been thinking? Asking Hermione to buy a Valentine’s gift!

To Draco’s credit, he was looking very enthused about a pretty lousy gift. He had a bunch of cards from admirers promising untold pleasures if he would only come back to the right team (he discarded those almost instantly), and much to Harry’s chagrin, there was another gift there.

But Draco opened Harry’s gift first and was smiling with elaborate falseness.

“Wow…that’s…great...Honey, just what I’ve always wanted.”

“And so romantic.” Lavender added, staring with the absolute amazement that Draco seemed incapable of displaying.

Harry was staring at the gift, flabbergasted, and he had to fight the urge to turn to Hermione and ask her exactly what the hell she was thinking when she chose that. Harry had suggested jewellery. A new cloak clasp perhaps, maybe one of those nice platinum rings they had looked at the last time they had gone into the village. This was supposed to be his symbol of love, a sign of his undying affection. This was supposed to be the gift that told Draco that their bond was forever. This was their first Valentine’s Day, the first Valentine’s Day that Harry had ever spent with someone he truly loved, and this was the gift that was supposed to show this.

This was an ugly green book entitled ‘727 easy steps to passing your NEWTS’.

“Um…” Harry laughed nervously, “I…um…there’s a card too…”

At least he had written the card himself.

Draco set the book aside and opened the envelope. The card was simple and red, no picture adorned it, Hermione thought it looked ‘masculine’ and although Harry thought the idea ludicrous, he did like the card. It had been blank inside, so he had been able to write his own inscription.

“Draco

Draco smiled and reached out to gently stroke Harry’s cheek, unconscious for a moment of the Great Hall and the people filling it. “I’ll try,” Draco whispered softly and shoved his first gift at Harry, “now open yours.”

A crystal ball, a silver ring, a rather ferocious pewter figurine of a Dragon that breathed real fire – these were only the warm up acts to what Draco called his master piece. It had taken several weeks of begging, pleading and then, sheer blackmail. Harry opened the final box and pulled out a round bottle of scent.

“Oh my God. You got Severus Snape to make me aftershave?”

Draco looked aghast. “If you splash that on like after shave, I will kick your arse!”

“Then what do I do with it?”

“Well,” Lavender said, eyeing the bottle as though it was filled with liquid gold, “technically it’s a perfume, so you should put it on the pulse points. Can I smell it?”

Harry opened the bottle and they all leaned in.

“The man is a genius,” Lavender murmured, “Can you smell that? It smells like you Harry, only better.”

“It smells like skin,” Hermione said quietly, “I can’t work out how he makes them smell like the person’s actual skin.”

“Hair, I think, he would have to use something that is personal to you to get the essence. Gods, it’s amazing.”

Harry rolled his eyes, although he had to admit, it was pretty good. The scent did indeed smell like him, as though he had just had a shower and his skin was clean and wet, but there were other things there, flowers, herbs, and some kind of spice. As though Snape had somehow managed to bottle not only Harry’s unique smell, but also his very being.

“I’ll say again, you got Snape to do this? For me?”

“Actually, it was for me.” Draco grinned, “I had to beg though, he wasn’t too happy about it, but, as they say, only the best for my man.”

“I bet he just loved making it.”

Draco laughed, “You should have seen his face when I asked him.”

“Grin a mile wide?”

“Oh yeah, and then some!”

“Slimy old git.”

“HEY!” Hermione frowned and Harry winced.

“Sorry ‘Mione, I…um…forgot.” Although how that was possible he did not know. His beautiful ‘Mione, sleeping with that old buzzard.

Who she loved, and he should never forget that.

“Did he get you a present?”

“Yep.” Hermione smiled serenely.

“And?”

She pushed the box to Harry who opened it and his eyebrows shot up in wonder. It was a globe, with miniature people walking through what looked like Diagon Alley, but it could have been two hundred years ago, and it was snowing. A tune twinkled along and the globe turned merrily. It was so simple, a music box, but so perfect.

So Snape knows how to be romantic. Color me amazed.

He could only wonder what Hermione had got for Snape – a box of glass phials perhaps? “That is really pretty,” Harry mumbled and wished he’d sent Snape to get Draco’s gift.

He picked up the card Draco had written for him

“Give me ever the years you wept inside when cold

Harry found Draco’s mouth and crushed their lips together. His tongue ran and slippery path along Draco’s teeth, nudging them apart and seeking out Draco’s own tongue.

It was as though time in the Great Hall stood still and Lavender looked around at all the gaping faces. She nudged Draco in the ribs. “Can you two stop that, you’re turning me own.”

Harry flushed bright red and excited, “Sorry.”

~ ~ ~

“It’s a very…interesting…gift Severus.”

Snape gave one last bemused look at his new calendar before closing it. It was remarkably bright in his room, and when opened, it was horribly loud, calling out “inspirational” comments that supposedly would help him along in his life. Sayings such as “Start each day in a happy way.”

So she isn’t particularly creative in the gift-giving department – but she does other things extremely well. He smirked.

“That is a very wicked grin Severus; I do hope you are keeping your mind on your work.”

“It is Sunday Headmaster; I believe I am allowed to relax for a moment.”

“Indeed. In fact I would like to see you relax for far more than a moment.” Dumbledore watched Severus growing uncomfortable; his long fingers absently stroked the front of the calendar. In a strange way Dumbledore enjoyed it, seeing Severus with an expression that was not a scowl was a rarity, seeing him in love was even rarer. “How is Miss Granger?”

Snape arched an eyebrow. It was the first time Dumbledore had ever mentioned Hermione since learning of the relationship, and Snape knew there was no point denying anything. “Hermione is fine.”

“No ill effects from her attack?”

“She has the occasional nightmare, nothing serious.”

“Nothing you can’t handle?” Dumbledore asked, his voice hovering between severity and amusement.

Snape smiled thinly, “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Dumbledore sat down in the unoffered chair and glanced around the familiar corners of the Potion Master’s office. The fire was burning merrily in the grate, something that surprised him. Hermione must prefer a fire to the warming charms that Snape usually cast around himself.

“I assume you are sharing your bed with her?”

Snape shifted in his chair and opened his mouth to answer, only to be horrified when nothing at all came out.

“I cannot condone this.”

Snape regained his composure. “Then perhaps you should have mentioned it a little earlier,” he said silkily.

“Perhaps you should have practiced some restraint Severus.”

Snape colored and looked away, “I…I did…she…”

“Easy Severus. I am not here to come between you, although I must ask that you practice a little more discretion here at the school,” Dumbledore smiled to himself, “and please keep in mind that Argus still patrols the third floor corridor.”

Oh dear God.

“So it might be an idea to confine your activities to your chambers.”

“Yes, Headmaster.” Snape’s complexion was looking decidedly strawberry in color; his black eyes were wide in horror of the fact that he had been seen, and by Argus Filch at that. Oh Dumbledore knew every sordid detail, Filch had been decidedly explicit.

“Come now Severus,” Dumbledore said jovially, "I did not come here to discuss your relationship with Hermione Granger and I can be guaranteed that if I say anything that causes a rift between you, Minerva will have my head on a platter.”

And your balls for breakfast.

“Quite.”

Snape flinched and reminded himself to be more guarded with his thoughts. As much as it irked him to think it, there were many similarities in the ways that he addressed Dumbledore and Voldemort. He had to be guarded with both, and he knew it caused Dumbledore no end of regret. “What would you like to discuss Headmaster?”

Dumbledore smiled openly, “When are you going to stop being so formal Severus?”

“I’m sorry, force of habit.’ Snape answered stiffly.

“I’m not here to belittle you Severus.”

“I know that.” He was in no mood to discuss his friendships and trust with Albus Dumbledore. He was fully aware of who his friends were, and he was aware that Dumbledore was one of them. He just simply wasn’t a man used to maintaining friendships. Alliance, yes; friendship, no. He deliberately softened his tone, “What’s on your mind Albus?”

“Mr. Archibald Semeuse.”

Snape almost choked on his own spit. “The museum Curator?”

“Yes, you’ve met him I believe?”

“Yes – it was a while ago now.” Snape closed his mind off as effectively as closing shutters on a window.

It was a subtle shift in Snape’s mind, but Dumbledore could always detect it. He smiled serenely and allowed the Potions Master to keep his secrets.

“So what about him?”

Dumbledore conjured up a cup of tea and motioned for Snape to sit opposite him. “I told you once that I had heard his name before, but I couldn’t place it?”

“Yes. Have you remembered something about him?”

“I have to admit, it troubled me and I had to look back into the records. Once I found the old clippings the whole story came back to me.” He smiled, but found himself concerned about Snape’s reaction to the coming news. “Many years ago, when he first took over as Curator of the museum, there was a scandal. Curator Semeuse wanted to start a human collection. At the time the Ministry was coming to the end of the Grindlewald trials. The idea of using Dementors to guard Azkaban was new, as was the idea of using the Dementors Kiss as a punishment. Curator Semeuse saw the victims of the kiss as an opportunity to amass a collection of human specimens for the museum.”

“So this isn’t the first time an exhibition like this has been on display?”

“Well not quite. The Ministry had every one of Grindlewalds followers kissed by Dementors, and there were some three hundred of them, but what the Ministry didn’t count on was the lack of space to care for them. These people aren’t dead and they do function, which means they require care, and the Dementors were not known for their ability to care for their victims. So, in another stroke of “brilliance,” the Ministry decided to take Curator Semeuse up on his offer – but they took it a step further. They offered the prisoners up for sale to private collectors and sold them off. Curator Semeuse purchased five, which wasn’t unusual, but then things took an unpleasant turn.” Dumbledore produced several photographs and placed them in front of Snape.

“It appears that the Curator had a penchant for very specific types of specimens.”

Snape spread the photographs out in front of him and felt his breath go. Five victims of the Dementors kiss. All male, all young, all beautiful and all blonde.

Snape trailed his fingers over the image of a man who seemed startlingly familiar.

“That,” Dumbledore said quietly, “is Justinian Malfoy. Had he survived he would have been Lucius Malfoy’s uncle.”

The boy in the photograph could not have been any more than sixteen or seventeen.

“So what happened to them?” Snape asked, he felt numb.

“The Ministry removed them from his care and executed them.”

“Why?” He didn’t want to know the answer, he really didn’t.

“It was discovered that the Curator was having sexual relations with his specimens.”

“Sexual relations?” Snape knew what Dumbledore meant, he just needed to hear the words come out of his mouth, as if to confirm that it was true. He felt his stomach turn. “He raped them?”

“Well, that is where opinions differed. Technically, he owned them and he had the right to do as he chose with his own property. The families of the victims fought against this way of thinking of course, but the majority of people didn’t really care what happened to these boys. The Ministry removed them from his care by way of proving that they did not agree with his actions. However, they did refund his money and he was never tried for it. After a few weeks the scandal died down and now it is barely remembered.”

Snape looked down at the photographs, “and now he has a new collection…” His mouth dried and the image of Lucius, the only Death Eater not wired, looking drawn and pale and sitting in the corner of a glass case, came to his mind, “He has Lucius!”

“Yes, he has Lucius Malfoy.” Dumbledore sounded troubled, “I received notice that Draco had petitioned the Ministry for his fathers return - and that it was denied.”

“It’s worse than that,” Snape began to pace, “Semeuse countered the petition – Fudge awarded him custody!”

Dumbledore swore sharply and the sound of the word coming from the Headmasters lips stopped Snape in his tracks, as though the sound of it confirmed for him that things were indeed as bad as they seemed.

“How could Fudge have given this Semeuse a collection of Death Eaters, given his past?”

“Memories are short Severus, even I had trouble recalling it…and Fudge would have been a child when it all happened.”

“So what now? If Fudge is told about Semeuse’s past, surely he will reverse his decision and Draco can take Lucius home?”

“Don’t ever over estimate Cornelius Fudge, you should know that by now Severus.”

Snape looked away, grinding his teeth. He should just tell Dumbledore everything, at least then they might get some help with this.

“Severus…”

“THIS IS RIDICULOUS!”

“Severus, try to calm down.”

“THAT MAN IS…FUCKING…”

“We don’t know that!”

“What am I going to tell Draco?” Snape asked wildly. Tell Albus, just tell him.

“Send Draco to me, I will talk to him.”

Snape laughed bitterly, “Draco is not going to talk to you, he might be fucking Potter, but he still doesn’t think like him.”

Dumbledore had to concede that point, although he would not have put it so crudely. “Then perhaps Harry can talk to him.”

“I’ll tell him myself.” Snape chewed on a thumbnail and muttered, almost to himself, “I have to get Lucius back.”

“NO Severus, don’t do anything against the Ministry. Fudge would like nothing better than to tie you to Lucius Malfoy somehow. I don’t want to find myself staring at you in a glass case.”

Snape swallowed hard. “I can’t sit here and let this happen!”

“I will do what I can to get Mr. Malfoy out of his current predicament, but until such time, I ask you to sit back and wait until I know more. We don’t know what the Curator is doing.”

“We can make a pretty fucking good assumption!”

Dumbledore sighed, knowing that there was no point in reasoning with Severus when he was like this. “Perhaps this is not the best state of mind for you to be in when you speak to Draco.”

Snape glared into the fire. He had to tell Draco something, just as he had to get Lucius out of the museum.

He had to find Regina Vermoral.

~ ~ ~

At the sight of his brother Apparating into Diagon Alley, Fred Weasley cast a look at George, who was blissfully headless in the fire, talking with their parents, and rushed out into the street. He knew Ron would come, as certainly as he knew what would happen as soon as George saw him.

And Fred wanted to hear Ron’s version, wanted to hear it justified somehow.

“Fred…”

“Don’t go in there,” Fred warned, “if you know what’s good for you, you won’t go anywhere near him.”

Ron looked desperate, craning his neck to see past Fred and into the shop. “I need to talk to him.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“Please…” Ron looked frantically around, people were stopping to stare, to see what all of the commotion was about. “Please Fred, I need to explain.”

“Then explain.” Fred wanted nothing more to hear the explanation and there was an ounce of hope in his voice. Hope that Angelina had lied and that somehow Ron was still Ron, loyal, lovable Ron. Fred looked his brother up and down. Noting how disheveled he looked, how downright unwell he appeared. Ron’s face was a mask of desperation, he was sweating, and he smelled bad. Fred’s eye caught something glittering on Ron’s finger and stopped. He knew the ring well, as he’d seen it everyday for almost two years. He looked Ron in the eye and felt his heart plummet.

“I need to see George,” Ron pleaded, unable to find the words to explain anything and hoping that they would come when George was finally in front of him.

Fred’s eyes returned to the ring on Ron’s finger, “So it’s true then? Have you came to flaunt it? Come to make sure he feels that little bit worse?”

Ron looked at his finger, he had forgotten the ring! “I…No! It’s stuck there, I can’t get it off, she cursed it to stay there.”

“DID YOU SEDUCE HER?”

Ron frowned, trying to sift through the hazy layers of memory. It wasn’t that simple, not so cut and dried as ‘he seduced her,’ but somehow he could not work out exactly why it was not so simple. He had seduced her, she told him he had. “Yes,” he said reluctantly, “but I…”

There was really nothing else to say. He had seduced George’s wife and that was all that really mattered. He watched Fred’s face close off, shocked and stricken, but closed now to his youngest brother. He cared nothing for the fact that it hadn’t been a simple process, he cared only that it had happened. NO amount of explaining was going to make this better. And what was there to explain anyway; he had done this, he knew he had. He had knowingly walked into it, had congratulated himself on his victory. He had thought only of himself and the Contract. An apology seemed a futile thing, like a consolation prize after taking everything someone held dear.

But he hadn’t taken her – and he certainly didn’t want her. If anything he hated her, and that was possibly worse, because George loved her and Ron had taken her anyway.

“Fred, please,” he tried to control his voice, tried to sound more like he was in control and that Fred was inconsequential. “It’s complicated, I need to speak to George.” Ron made to push past Fred, wanting only to see George and throw himself on his brother’s mercy and beg forgiveness.

Fred shoved him hard in the chest, sending him sprawling into the street.

“I told you no! Now fuck off Ron.”

“NO! Can I least try to explain?”

“Don’t fucking start with me! Now fuck off!”

“I just want to tell him I’m sorry!”

“HE DOESN”T WANT TO HEAR IT!”

Ron struggled up from the ground. He wanted to feel anger, anger with Fred for being so high handed, anger with Angelina for doing this, and anger at himself for being so pathetically weak. But nothing filled him but desperation. “I need to explain.”

“Then explain,” Fred said hotly, “just tell me how it is that you managed to convince your brother’s wife that he was having an affair and that her fucking you was going to make it all better.”

Ron stared at him and felt his eyes sting. Had it really been like that? So crude and base? Yes, he supposed it must have been. “I never wanted to hurt him…it never seemed like I was doing that…I didn’t want to…I…”

But he had. If he had seduced her, he must have wanted to. Ron scratched absently at his arms and the bruises began to ache and cry out in thirst. Oh Gods, not now, don’t do this now.

“Go back to Hogwarts, and just fuck off out of our lives.”

“I won’t leave…” Ron said, he had begun to shake, “I won’t go until I see him.”

“Then you’ll be waiting for a long time, he’s gone to the Burrow.” It was an easy lie, Fred knew George would be going to the Burrow as soon as he finished speaking with their parents. “Believe me, you don’t want to go there.”

No, Ron certainly did not want to go to the Burrow. Not yet. It was hard enough to do this without adding his mother’s wrath into the mix – and he could hear the lie in Fred’s voice. He knew George was still there. He made to push past Fred again and was stopped in his tracks as Fred jabbed him sharply in the pit of his stomach. Ron’s eyes grew huge as every ounce of air seemed to be pushed from his lungs, his knees buckled and he sank to the ground.

“I said no,” Fred muttered, staring at his brother who was now on his knees in the street. Ron’s head was bowed and Fred watched what could have been water stream onto the cobble stones. For a moment he thought it might be spit or bile, but as Ron raised his face to stare up at him he realized it was tears. Ron’s face was wet with them, as though he had submerged his face in a sink.

I…” Ron sucked air painfully into his chest, “I can make this right…”

George appeared in the doorway and Ron felt something like relief rush over him. George was there, still there, glaring at him with red eyes, his angry mouth no more than a slit in his face. “To make this right,” George rasped, his voice sounding like he had been crying for a week, “you would need to get a Time Turner and go back and stand where you were supposed to stand during that battle.”

And change places with Charlie. “I…I can’t,” Ron whimpered. Fred shook his head and turned away, leaving them there, leaving him alone with George. There would be no buffer from his brother’s wrath. “Time Turners don’t go back that far,” he said in a small voice.

“Well then, “ George said, hard, “I guess you’re just fucked then.”

~ ~ ~

“Severus?” Hermione looked about the bedroom, knowing that he had come down here. She wanted to thank him for her gift. She wanted to throw him on the bed and give a Valentine’s Day shag. She just wanted him.

But Severus was nowhere to be found. She wandered around the room. It was not familiar to her yet although she hoped that one day soon it would be. Dusty books on Angels had been replaced with Dusty books on Demonology and they seemed to be everywhere. She had to admire that about him, when he was interested in something he went to great lengths to learn every thing he could about it.

On the bed she found a note addressed to her.

“Hermione,

She couldn’t help but shiver at the fact that he sounded more like her father than her lover. Besides, she had already done all of her homework and although she could always study, she had hoped to spend the day with him. Well, at least until four o’clock, which was when Lavender decided that Hermione needed to get ready to go out to dinner – their first official date. She couldn’t help but smile.

On the side board was a leather bound book that Severus was almost constantly reading from, and which he generally snapped shut whenever she got too close. She looked about, almost expecting him to appear simply because of the thought that had just run through her head. He did not appear however, and she sidled up to the book, casually opening the front cover, just a little.

‘Lucius Armand Malfoy’

She opened the book a little wider and found a photograph of a very young looking boy who could only have been Draco staring back at her, holding on to Draco was a very young looking Lucius Malfoy. She moved the photograph and looked at the name written there again. It was written a number of times, each time in a different style, as though he had been practicing his signature, the same way some one very young would when they were trying to decide on their own identity.

A journal, a never ending journal. Lucius Malfoy’s never ending journal. But why was Severus reading it?

She opened the book, as close to the back as she could. The pages were deceiving, she could think she was on the last page and another would keep appearing. She slowly sank into a chair by the still warm fireplace and opened the book wide.

“What is Severus looking for?” she asked absently and suddenly the pages began to fly through her fingers at a pace she couldn’t comprehend. Her eyes widened as the pages stopped as suddenly they started and she was looking down at a page full of symbols and incantations.

“Re’u kinn shame u tu’ame rabuti = VIPER

Hermione frowned, certain that for a moment she could hear a voice chanting the incantation over and over in her head. What it mean she did not know.

‘Incantation against Dementors’

She shuddered. Was it possible? And was this really what Severus was looking for – and if so, why? She quickly took a piece of parchment from Severus’ desk and began to write out the incantations, deciding that if she was not to spend the day with Severus, then she may as well try to decipher a riddle for him.

~ ~ ~

“Ginny!”

Ginny Weasley didn’t break stride at the sound of her brother’s voice. She had spent most of her Valentine’s Day morning talking with first her father, then Bill, and then finally her mother. The one person she had no desire to talk to at the moment was Ron. Not until she had processed what had happened.

But Ron was running to catch her; she could hear his feet pounding up the stone floor behind her.

“Ginny, wait!”

“I don’t want to talk to you right now Ron.” She didn’t break pace, she didn’t look at him.

Ron hurried along beside her, breathing heavily. He must have run from Hogsmeade to the castle to find her, she knew he had been to see George, their mother had passed on that piece of information. “Have you spoken to George?” Ron asked hopefully, trying to sound unconcerned and nonchalant.

“No,” Ginny sped up, “but I spoke to Dad, and Bill and Mum.”

Ron struggled to keep up with her, his body singing out for him to just leave it and go and lie down somewhere quiet. “I can explain…”

“I doubt it.”

“I can!” He tried to slide into the easy grin that had worked a thousand times with her in the past and she stopped and rounded on him, doing a double take at his appearance.

George must have gone to town on him, and from the looks of it Ron had done nothing to stop him. His lips was split and there was a nasty looking gash over his left eyebrow, His face was bruised. No more than he deserved – but still.

Then he tried the smile again and she felt fury overwhelm her; “You can explain? So fucking what?! Who fucking cares what you can explain? Don’t you realize what you’ve done? Do you even care?”

“Y-yes of course I do, I just…”

“You just what?” She stopped for a moment as Ron swayed, she feared that he would fall over, land in a bundle at her feet, and then what? Did she leave him there, or did she help him? She realized then just how little she had seen of him in the past month. He was looking thin and drawn, and he smelled a little off.

He didn’t fall down, and he made the mistake of thinking her silence was something like forgiveness, “You’ve got to help me with Mum.”

“Help you with Mum? Are you fucking insane? I am not helping you with anything! You fucking selfish shit, all you ever think about is yourself. You have no fucking idea how pissed everyone is at you, and all you can think about is saving your own selfish hide!”

“I didn’t mean…”

“OH SHUT UP!” Ginny’s eyes blazed, “What where you thinking? How could you fucking do this to George? Mum says they had to get someone to come from St. Mungo’s to sedate him!”

Ron had no answer. He had no idea what he had been thinking, he had no reason for his actions, only that he was, as Ginny said, a selfish shit. He scratched, feeling sweaty and hot, and his body ached. “Was Mum mad?”

Ginny glared at him in amazement, “I would say she was beyond ‘mad’ Ron! You destroyed her trust in you, you destroyed all our trust in you…you destroyed George’s life!”

“I didn’t mean to!”

Then what were you trying to do?”

“I…” Ron desperately tried to think, “I…don’t…I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? YOU DON’T KNOW? Mum doesn’t want to see you, no one does! I’ve never seen her so angry, she was screaming. She said you should have been out there instead of Charlie, that it’s the same thing, that you changed places with him that day because of your own selfish reasons, and now you’re destroying George for the same fucking reason. You should have died that day and none of this would have happened!”

Ginny was ranting, unaware of what she was saying, unaware that she was repeating what her mother had said in anger and haste. Ron’s face drained of blood and a shiver ran through him.

“You’re lying,” he said, “Mum would never say that.”

“She’s not the only one thinking it,” Ginny said bitterly, “I think you should just leave us alone.”

“Oh…” Ron stepped back, “O…okay.” He watched as Ginny turned and walked away from him, and wondered if she would ever walk back.

~ ~ ~

Draco knocked and slipped into Snape’s chambers. He looked a little damp, as though he had been outside in the rain, no doubt running around after Potter, or some other ridiculous pursuit.

Stupid boy.

“You’ll catch a cold,” Snape said with some disgust and wondered just when it was that he had started to sound like someone’s nagging mother.

“Thanks Dad.”

Or father. He really had to stop this. Soon he’d be counseling first years and his eyes would be twinkling behind half moon glasses. Not a prospect he relished.

“Well?” Draco asked, clearly not happy with being called away from fun with Potter, “you wanted to see me? Have you found something out?”

“You could say that,” Snape answered uncomfortably.

Draco looked at him and his eyes widened. Snape looked as though he had done a few rounds with a mountain troll. A long gash ran across his cheek, he looked bruised and sore. “Wow, you really look like shit. I mean, you always look like shit, but now you actually look more like shit than usual!”

“Thank you Draco, I can ascertain that for myself.”

“What happened?”

Snape wrenched a wriggling black sack from his cupboard and held it at arms length. He opened it and dumped its contents at Draco’s feet. “This is what happened.”

Draco stared in shock at the ball of fury on the floor of Snape’s chambers. He’d never seen Non outside of the house before. Draco looked back at Snape and couldn’t stop the grin from coming; “He really got the better of you eh?”

Snape glared.

“Quite powerful when they want to be,” Draco continued, “amazing when you think about it.”

“Yes, fascinating, now can we get down to business?”

Draco chuckled and crouched down on his haunches; “Hello Non!”

“Master Draco!” Non straightened his pillowcase indignantly, “this man removed Non from the house!” He looked around nervously, taking in the dark corners of the chamber – a place he was not supposed to be. “This man walked in a took Non! You must believe Non, this man…”

“Non!” Draco said sharply, “Stop it. Professor Snape went to get you by my request.”

Non’s huge eyes opened a little wider, “But Master Draco, Non is not allowed here! Non will get in trouble for being here!”

Draco watched as Non looked around, looking for something with which to punish himself. He had already scratched rivulets of skin out of his arms and torn at his ears.

“Non, listen to me. You are allowed to be here, I forbid you to punish yourself for being here.”

“Non can only take orders from Master Lucius.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “My father is not able to give you orders and he is not coming back, so I am your Master now and you must obey me.”

Non actually looked smug. “Master Lucius is very clever. Non knows. Master Lucius will come back.”

Snape almost rushed at the elf, “Has he found a way to come back?”

Non glared at Snape suspiciously.

“It’s alright Non,” Draco said anxiously, “Professor Snape is going to help us bring Father back.”

Non did not lose his suspicious glare. “Why would this man help Master Lucius?”

“Because he is a friend of father’s.”

“A friend who betrays Master Lucius?” Non asked triumphantly before turning his face to Snape. “I know you Severus Snape, I remember you when you were a sniveling brat who hung off Master Lucius’ coat tails.”

Draco looked up at Snape with alarm and watched the sneer curl up Snape’s lip and his fist ball over the end of his wand. “Uncle Severus!”

Snape switched his furious eye to Draco.

“We need him, don’t do anything to harm him.”

Non actually looked ready to laugh.

“Uncle Severus is here to help us Non.”

The elf did not look at all convinced.

“Oh for fucks sake Non, just tell me what the fuck Dad did or I will have you fitted for a nice velvet frock coat – you fucking little shit!”

“Non does not know what Master Lucius did.”

“Then how do you know he‘ll be back?”

Non remained stubbornly silent.

“Who is Regina Vermoral?” Snape asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Non’s eyes widened and then narrowed, a smile played at his lips as he debated whether or not he could answer the question, finally he said, “Miss Vermoral is a Muggle.”

“We know that,” Draco said irritably, “Who is she? Does she have anything to do with this?”

“She is a friend,” Non said carefully.

“Lucius’ friend?” Snape asked and Non regarded him suspiciously again.

“She is his lover.”

“A lover?” Draco asked, he sounded dubious.

“His favorite lover. He loved her.”

Draco stepped back from the companion of his childhood and stared at him, horrified.

“He preferred her to all others,” Non continued, happy to pursue this line of thought.

“You’re lying.”

“He preferred her to your mother.”

Draco hit the elf, smacking him hard enough to knock him down. “Just shut up, shut your fucking mouth!”

Snape pushed Draco out of the way and grabbed Non by the front of his pillowcase. “Where can we find her? Where is she?”

“Non cannot tell you.”

“What about Draco? Can you tell Draco?”

Non smiled, and nodded.

Snape turned to Draco who was sitting on the floor with his head in his hands; “ask him.”

“I don’t want to know,” Draco said sulkily.

“What?!”

“He can rot in that body for all I care.”

Snape couldn’t believe what he was hearing and in an instant he almost dropped Non and hit Draco, instead he hauled Draco up from the floor and shook him. “Listen! I just went through hell bringing that wretch here, now just ask him the goddamn question!”

Draco grunted, his face looking pinched. “How could he have preferred a Muggle to my mother?”

“He didn’t!” Snape began to shake him again, “he probably found something novel about her that made fucking her exciting – but he would have gotten sick of her in the end, he always did! You should know by now that House Elves put there own moral slant on everything!”

“Non doesn’t lie.”

“Draco!”

“Just forget about it, leave him where he is.”

“I can’t!”

“WHY NOT?” Draco cried fiercely.

“BECAUSE THAT CUNT OF A CURATOR IS RAPING HIM!”

Oh dear, that really was not the way to tell Draco that piece of news.

Draco paled and he pulled away from Snape, stumbling over Non and landing hard on the floor. “He…no!”

“I’m sorry Draco, it wasn’t supposed to come out like that.”

“But…they have Aurors there, they are supposed to…” Draco turned to Non, “Where is Regina Vermoral?”

Non was looking a little pale himself at the news, he looked at Draco and blinked, absorbing what had just been revealed before saying; “Beyond the orangery, through the valley and across the river. There is a stone cottage, hidden in a grove near the long barrow.”

“A long barrow? West Kennet? The Druids place?”

“Master Lucius said that the Druids buried their dead in that place.”

“A stone cottage near the long barrow, that should be easy to find…and a Muggle would not be able to ward it.”

“He fucked a Muggle.” Draco sounded incredulous, troubled, as though a veil had been lifted from his eyes and suddenly his father was not the saint Draco had always supposed him to be. What confounded Snape was that Lucius’ list of horrific deeds had been nothing to Draco; that his father had deemed to sleep with a Muggle forced the realization when nothing else could.

“He loved a…Muggle.”

“I doubt it,” Snape said plainly, “Lucius loved few people. You, your mother and himself.”

“But Non said…”

“Non has no idea what Lucius was feeling, he is putting his own opinions forward.”

“But, he did…fuck...her.”

“So? Lucius fucked a lot of people!”

Draco seemed to consider this and accept it. He stilled and looked up at Snape fearfully. “Is it true, about the Curator?”

“Probably.”

Draco looked on the verge of tears. “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know. We need to find Regina Vermoral. Dumbledore is trying to have a word with the Ministry about Lucius.”

“Dumbledore? What does he know about this?”

“He only knows about the Curator…actually, he told me about it.” Snape helped Draco up from the floor and noticed that he could fit his hand around Draco’s arm. “Do you have enough Navitas Serum?”

Draco nodded.

“You need to eat more or else it will be pointless.”

“I know.”

“Then do it,” Snape looked at the stubborn face in front of him, so much like his father, “if you don’t I shall be forced to tell Potter.”

“Don’t, I’ll take care of it.” Draco looked at Non. “What are you going to do with Non?”

“I think he’ll be useful in the kitchens until we can get him home.”

Draco smiled. Non looked mortified.

~ ~ ~

“What was in the other box?” Harry stood in the doorway of the bedroom, wet and muddy and looking exhausted. Draco looked up from his book and raised an eyebrow.

“Been watching Quidditch?”

“No, playing. What was in the other box?”

“We aren’t allowed to play Quidditch. No eighth years, remember?”

“Yeah, it was a friendly, not part of the competition.”

“How come I wasn’t asked?”

Harry smirked, “because they wanted a Seeker who could actually find the Snitch.”

Draco scowled, refusing to be goaded; he looked away from Harry and deliberately returned to his book.

“So what was in the other box?”

“What box?” Draco asked crisply.

“At breakfast, you had another gift, what was it?”

“Nothing to concern yourself with.”

“Who sent it to you?”

“No one.”

“Are you pissed at me?”

“No.”

“You are!”

“No I’m not.”

“Why are you pissed off? Because I played Quidditch?”

“No.”

“Oh good grief! It was a spur of the moment thing, I was in the Library with Hermione, and Ginny asked me if I wanted to play.”

“How nice for you.”

“Draco!” Harry gaped, unable to believe Draco was actually giving him the silent treatment. “Ok, I’m sorry. If it happens again I will insist that you get to play.” He looked at the book Draco was reading; ‘727 Easy Steps to Passing your NEWTS’. “You really don’t have to read that. I’ll get you a decent present as soon as we can get out of the castle.”

“It’s alright, I like it.”

“No you don’t. It’s a stupid gift!”

Draco nodded and smiled, “Well, maybe…but you gave it to me so I guess I have to like it.”

“So what was in the other box?”

Draco sighed, “You never give up do you?”

“Nope.”

Draco reached into his robes and drew out a long heavy wound chain; at the end was a heart shaped locket. Harry felt his belly start to crawl at the fact that Draco was wearing it. This gift from some other person, worn close to his heart.

“It’s beautiful,” Harry said quietly, trying to hide the growing panic, “um…who sent it to you?”

“Snape sent it.”

Harry frowned, “Snape? Why would Snape send you a locket?”

“Calm down. It was my mother’s; Snape thought I might want it. This is the gift my father gave to my mother on their first Valentine’s Day together.”

Oh great, and I gave him a book on how to pass his NEWTS.

“It’s charmed so that you can only put pictures in of the ones you hold most dear, the people closest to your heart.”

“Have you looked inside?”

Draco blushed, “Well, no…not yet.”

“Why?” Harry had assumed Draco would want to see whom his mother held dear, it was a certainty that Draco himself was one of them.

“My parents…” Draco smiled uneasily, “my parents had a lot of lovers. It wasn’t that they were bored with each other, they just…liked…sex…I guess. I think I was always terrified of exactly who I would find in there.”

Harry bent down and took the locket from Draco’s hand. He opened the clasp and the locket unfolded itself, presenting them with three pictures inside. On the left was Lucius, Draco was on the right, and in the center was a picture of the two of them. Lucius was young, his hair shorter, and his cheek pressed against that of his infant son who was laughing at something unseen.

“You were a beautiful baby.”

Draco snorted, “I look like a fucking girl!”

Harry began to laugh and then looked back at the photographs. When he was young, Lucius looked like Draco. Not a family resemblance; he was the spitting image.

Lucius Malfoy. All round bad guy. Harry’s enemy. Everyone’s enemy. Someone who, when seen through his son’s eyes, Harry was starting to have a begrudging respect for.

“Your Dad looks really happy.”

Draco’s eyebrows shot up so fast they almost disappeared into his hairline. “Did you just say something almost nice about my father?”

Harry shrugged, “Almost.”

“I thought you hated him.”

“Well,” Harry squirmed uncomfortably, “he produced you – and you’re not entirely awful.”

“No, I suppose I’m not.” Draco began to laugh, “Actually, I think you might have a bit of a thing for me.”

“Now let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Harry closed the locket and slid it down the front of Draco’s jumper.

“I think you have a crush on me.”

“Oh, all lies.” Harry grinned and kicked Draco’s knees apart, “I can assure you that I do not find you at all attractive.”

“Not at all?” Draco pouted.

“Not at all – you are very ugly.”

“Awful?”

“Hideous.”

“You have a hard on.”

“I know.”

“And,” Draco grinned, “I would love to do something about it, but I can’t.”

“What?” Harry gaped, “after all the work I just put into that wonderful bit of foreplay?”

“Sorry Baby, it’s time for my nap.”

“You don’t have naps!”

“Yes I do.”

“No you don’t!”

“Well today I do!”

“But…” Harry stared down at Draco, “what about…dinner?” What about my massive hard on?"

“I figure we can wait and raid the kitchens later.”

“So I have to wait until you wake up before I can eat? Fuck that, I’ll go to the Great Hall alone!”

“Harry,” Draco smiled and gave in to a small note of pleading, “just wait and we will raid the kitchens, and it’ll be fun.”

“How about I go and have dinner, and I’ll bring you back some?”

Draco snorted impatiently, “Fuck Harry, can’t you just wait? It’s not as though I’m asking you to starve to death – besides, Snape is taking Hermione out for dinner and Lavender is going to Hogsmeade to see that sad shit she’s going out with…”

“Ernie’s alright…”

Draco rolled his eyes, “Whatever. The point is, who are you going to have dinner with? Weasel?”

Well, he had a point, and Harry didn’t feel like sitting there alone. “No, I just…”

“Just what? Can’t wait for dinner?”

“OK, ok, I’ll wait for dinner.”

“Good,” Draco grinned, “now bugger off, and wake me up at eight.”

“EIGHT? That’s a four hour nap!”

“Gotta get my beauty sleep – so eight?”

“I’ll be a fucking corpse, lying there starving on the floor!”

Draco didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, this was going to take some work.

~ ~ ~

Ron spent the day in his room, wishing he had saved some of Angelina’s drug to fend off the cravings and perhaps quell the mounting sense of despair that filled him. He waited patiently, hoping that at any moment his mother’s head would appear in the fire place to give him a piece of her mind, but the fire remained a fire, and that was all.

Soon people were leaving Hogwarts in favor of Hogsmeade and various dates. He knew that those who did not have dates were heading to the pub, and he’d been invited. The only people not going were Harry and Malfoy who had both been banned from leaving the castle – and they would no doubt be fucking each other.

Ron checked that the Common Room was empty before collecting his things and heading for a shower. He didn’t need anyone to question about the bruises on his body. His body was too thin; he knew it, and the puncture wounds were stark against his pale flesh, marking him look like a map of pain. He did not look like an eighteen year old in any form of good health and at that moment it seemed intangible that he had once thought himself attractive.

Harry was right, he did look like a junkie.

He showered, scrubbing hard at every part of his body, trying to erase the feeling of sin and guilt, trying to rid himself of…himself, and hoping to wash it all way and rinse it down the drain.

After he bathed he dressed in the pajamas Fred had given him for Christmas. He had no doubt that Fred had scoured the Muggle stores of London looking for them – something to appeal to Ron’s sense of humor. His brother’s had always been good at that. The pajama pants were cotton, with a drawstring and covered in pictures of comical monkeys. The top was a soft fitted T-shirt with the Monkey’s face emblazoned on the front. The pajamas were blue, the same cornflower blue as Ron’s eyes.

He didn’t deserve them, and Fred was probably regretting the money he had spent on them.

But they would forgive him. Of course they would. They were his family and he had faith in that. He had to believe that, and it was the only thing that would get him through this.

Still, he had not heard from his mother. No angry Howler, no face-to-face confrontation. His mother’s anger was as dependable as his mother’s love. That was why he knew Ginny had lied. His mother would never wish him dead. His mother’s love was a constant in his life. Something he would keep with him, forever and ever.

But what if Ginny didn’t lie? What if she was right?

Impossible.

But what if…

His body began to shake and his legs gave way from under him. He landed hard on his arse and pushed himself under the basin, forcing his breathing to take a steady rhythm.

Calm down, she was lying. It was nothing. This is nothing. One day we will all laugh about it.

But George had said it too. But then, George had been angry. Angry as he had the right to be. George didn’t speak for all of them, and they would forgive him.

They had to. They just had to.

“Oh fuck, what if they don’t?”

They will. They love you, and one bad deed won’t destroy that.

But it hadn’t been one bad deed, it had been many. And then there was the war, when he had run to the front, when he had left his post and Charlie had stayed behind, because someone had to stay with Harry and Ron had abandoned him. And Charlie was dead…and Ron was alive.

They never blamed you. They don’t blame you.

Ron drew his knees up to his chest and buried his face in his arms.

It’ll be alright, It’ll be alright, It’ll be alright, It’ll be alright.

“But what if it isn’t?”

It will be. It has to be. This is nothing.

~ ~ ~

Hermione Apparated into a small alley off the side of Notting Hill Gate and stumbled forward clumsily. Strappy high heeled shoes were not the best things to be wearing when Apparating into a cobblestone alley way. She managed to save herself from tumbling over with a hand struck out desperately and finding a garbage can for support.

“Shit!” She looked around and dusted herself off, giving herself a quick going over with a grooming charm before hearing a loud crack nearby and Severus stepped from thin air with an easy measured stride.

“Ready?” He smiled and Hermione regained her composure. They were going out to dinner and nothing was going to spoil it – like asking nosey questions about why he was looking for ancient Sumerian incantations to draw down Angels and fend off Dementors. Hermione took his arm and smiled up at him. She really wasn’t going to ask him, she wasn’t going to say a word.

They stepped out into the street and hurried along the wet street to the restaurant. A few people glanced their way and Hermione supposed that they must look strange. She had grown up as a Muggle, but spending most of her formative years entrenched in Wizard lore had led her to be as backwards about Muggle habits as most of the Purebloods around. Most Wizard kind looked odd to the average Muggle, no matter how hard they tried to blend in. They simply always looked magical, as though it was ingrained into their very skin.

Both Hermione and Snape had worn Muggle clothes, but had made the mistake of wearing heavy travel cloaks over the top, something that was perfect for the Scottish winter, but were slightly too heavy and elaborate for London. Beneath the cloaks their outfits were surprisingly suitable for the place they were heading. As soon as Hermione had discovered that she was going to London for dinner on Valentine’s Day, she had owled her mother for a dress. The resulting outfit was perfect, her mother having excellent taste and sticking to the old idea that the ‘little black dress’ went with everything – which it most certainly did. Lavender had dressed the outfit up with shoes and stockings and bits of pretty jewellery of which she seemed to have an endless supply. Hermione had looked at the end result with some satisfaction, deciding that she actually looked quite sophisticated.

Severus, on the other hand, looked decidedly uncomfortable in a rather modern muggle suit and tie. The slenderness of his frame meant that he, like Ron, was able to wear many of the fashions that young Muggle men seemed to favor, as a man however, Severus Snape was nothing like Ron Weasley. Whilst Ron looked good in such outfits, Severus Snape looked just plain out of place. The body was right, the outfit was right…the face just simply wasn’t. Hermione decided that Severus was the kind of man that made a good Wizard, he looked imposing in robes, in a fitted black suit, he looked suspiciously like a badly aging Goth rock star.

She stifled a giggle at the comparison, and he glared as he caught exactly what thought had just gone through her head. He was on the verge of turning around and going home, but he had promised her dinner and he could hardly wine and dine her in Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley where someone was bound to know them – and ask many very difficult questions. Sabine Delancet had recommended the restaurant, and she had even booked the table for him…she had a better grip on just how to use the infernal telephone that they’d had to travel to the nearest Muggle village to use.

He knew as soon as he reached the restaurant that it had been a mistake. Damn Sabine! The restaurant and bar looked more like a High Street chemists store than a place to eat. There was also a line going all the way down the street that caused them both to look at each other uncertainly.

“Maybe we should just find a pub…” Hermione said, eyeing the horribly fashionable clientele warily.

Snape really couldn’t agree more, but he had an unreasonable urge to see what the place looked like inside – and to find out what the hell you would eat if you were sat inside a chemists. Getting through the line was easy enough, he didn’t even need to remove his wand from his pocket and when the enormous security guard at the front door demanded proof of age from Hermione – of which she had none, as student ID cards were not something Hogwarts issued – Snape surreptitiously waved his wand at the unsuspecting Muggle and, to Hermione’s horror, cast the Imperius curse on him. They had their derrieres on the Jasper Morrison seats in a matter of minutes and a waitress in a neat Prada surgical gown was asking them if they would like a drink.

The drink of choice appeared to be the Formalin Martinis and they ordered two.

“This is hideous,” Hermione whispered harshly.

“I know,” Snape replied, obviously fascinated by a collection of Perspex trapped butterflies, pinned against various shades of sugared almond.

Hermione could only wonder what madman was responsible for the decor - the windows displayed pillboxes and packets of hemorrhoid cream; the bar stools were shaped like aspirins; there was a molecular structure of someone’s DNA dominating the room. To her immense surprise, Snape had a huge grin on his face, as though he was about to burst into hysterical laughter.

“Oh Gods, this is just fucked up,” he said absently, forgetting for a moment that he was supposed to be making a romantic evening for Hermione.

“And might I point out that the Muggle Protection Act forbids the use of magic to make Muggles do what you want! The Imperius Curse is an Unforgivable, you could get in trouble for that!”

Severus snapped back to the moment and rolled his eyes, “Darling, coming from Miss ‘I ran around the schools stealing supplies and breaking rules for years,’ that is very rich.” He smiled, “Lighten up, we are in the worst restaurant in London and we have to make the most of it.”

Did Severus Snape just tell her to lighten up? She poked her tongue out him. “Did you get any Muggle money? Or are you planning on convincing everyone with Imperius into letting us eat for free?”

“Well, that is a lovely idea darling, but I have money.”

“Muggle money?”

“I am not an idiot Hermione!”

She blushed and twisted her napkin in her fingers. “I know, it’s just that Wizards are notorious for not knowing how much Muggle money is worth…and…”

Snape reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a wallet, he produced a plastic card.

“Holy shit! Is that a Visa card?”

He nodded, “feel better?” he asked sarcastically.

She wasn’t quite sure. She didn’t know what was more bizarre, the fact that she was sitting on bench shaped like a condom box or that Severus Snape had a Visa card.

The waitress returned with their drinks and two menus. One sip of the drink had Hermione screwing her face up in horror and Severus downed his in one quick gulp.

“I’ll get you something else, what do you want?”

“I don’t know,” she tried to produce enough spit to get the flavor off her tongue, “something sweet.”

“They are not that bad.”

“You liked that?”

Snape shrugged, “It’s a martini, what’s not to like?”

“Eww!”

He shook his head, amazed that the girl could drink a bottle of Absinthe straight and yet turn her nose up at a martini. He scanned the drinks list, “How about a strawberry margarita? You can’t taste the alcohol in it.”

“OK.”

He slid off the bench and wandered over to the bar.

Hermione watched him go, enjoying the view of his long legs in the narrow suit pants. A quick glance around the restaurant proved that the place was little more than a show room for trendies and fashion victims, and just what they were doing there she had no idea. She really would have preferred a dark pub somewhere.

Snape slid back onto the bench beside her with a bright pink concoction – which she sipped, liked, and began to relax with.

The menu was mostly fish, something Hermione ate but rarely but that Severus seemed at least familiar. He chose for both of them, telling her that the butter fish had a milder flavor and that she would probably like it a little more.

“Did you get your home work finished.”

“Wow, now that’s romantic.”

He smiled thinly, “I just want to make sure we don’t have to get back early so that you can finish some assignment.”

“I’ve finished my homework.” She smiled and then chewed her lip. “Severus?”

“Mmm?”

“I was in your room this morning.”

“And?”

“I read Lucius Malfoy’s journal.”

He put his drink down and pushed the quick rush of anger that coursed through him. “I see,” he said, strained, “and why did you do that?”

“Well…it was there…and because you are always reading it. I wanted to see what you were reading.”

“Did it ever occur to you to simply ask me what I was reading?”

Hermione flushed, she knew she should never have brought this up. How thick was she? “I didn’t think you would tell me.” She chewed her lip, “Are you angry?”

“Yes,” he replied plainly.

She bowed her head, “I’m sorry…I…I found something that you might have been looking for.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I asked the journal what you were looking for and it showed me a page of incantations. I think they are Sumerian. I wrote them all down. I tried to decipher them today, but I can only get a couple of lines right. Zi Dingir Kia Kanpa is…”

“Spirit, God of the earth remember,” he said in wonder.

“You know that?”

“What else was there?”

“Zi Dingir Anna Kanpa.”

“Spirit, God of the sky remember.”

“There was a chant, all the lines started with Zi Dingir…it was a protection spell against Dementors. Then there were two invocations, one for the seven gates and one for the watchers, and something about a Viper.” She stared at him, as Severus seemed to have forgotten his drink, or that they were even in a restaurant somewhere in Muggle London. “What were you looking for Severus, why did you want these spells?”

“Lucius…did something…before he was Kissed. I’m trying to work out what it was.”

“Something bad? Is it going to hurt anyone?”

“No!’ he said hastily, “It’s nothing to worry about. I promise you Hermione, it is nothing to worry about.

“I’m sorry I looked at your things.”

“It‘s alright,” he sounded uncomfortable and she knew that he hadn’t forgiven her, not by a long shot.

Their food arrived and he shifted the conversation to the upcoming NEWTS, the end of school, Harry and Draco (something of which he did not approve) and the terrifying prospect of him meeting her parents. He seemed resigned to the fact that it would have to happen and this cheered Hermione no end. If he was going to meet her parents then he was certainly serious in his affections for her. She remembered their half dreamed conversation about her going to the Fenn when school ended and was suddenly filled with the urge to pin him up against the wall and fasten her hands to his arse.

She blushed and returned to her food, aware that they had slid a little closer to each other on their bench and that their thighs pressed together intimately. She was imagining some of the things she wouldn’t mind doing to him when his hand landed half way up her thigh and she almost dropped her fork with surprise.

They were in public and she desperately wanted to molest him. His finger gently stroked her thigh through the fabric of her dress and her nerves fairly danced with anticipation.

“Pull up your dress,” he murmured, focused on his plate.

His tone was soft, his voice barely above a whisper. The same voice he used when he was teaching a class, commanding students to do his bidding. Hermione slid her left hand down her lap and raised the hem of her dress, exposing first her knees and then her thighs. She felt wicked and excited. Her nipples hardened and she was damp between her legs. A glance down at his black suit pants proved that he was as aroused as she was.

He ran a finger along the edge of her stockings and snapped a suspender. “Very old fashioned of you?” he whispered, enjoying the fact that she wasn’t wearing pantyhose.

“I thought you might like them,” she replied, equally as soft in her tone. She was amazed at the fact she was still able to speak with a normal voice, given that her heart was racing in her chest.

She watched people milling about the bar and despite a wave of panic lest anyone see them, her excitement mounted as Severus moved his hand higher up her thigh. She couldn’t help but open her knees a little further, so that his fingers found her silk covered pubis and eased under her panties, lightly combing through her wet folds and, so skillfully that she gasped out loud, found her clit. He rested his fingers there, resisting the urge to move his fingers as he knew she liked. Instead he subjected her clit to gentle pressure.

Oh Gods, I’m going to come. If he starts rubbing in that way he does, I’m going to come right here in the restaurant.

She closed her eyes as heat surged upward through her belly, causing her nipples to tingle. She realized that she must have the soppiest expression on her face, her mouth was open, and she was almost drooling.

Oh Gods, that feels so good…ohhhhhh.

“I want to fuck you,” Severus whispered as he circled her clit in such a way that almost drove her over the edge.

“Yes…” she gasped, “I want you to fuck me.”

Their eyes met…and suddenly they were both eating so fast and with such little regard for taste or texture that Hermione realized she could well have eaten her napkin and not even noticed it. She almost scrambled off the bench, turning back in panic about how he was going to deal with his erection and was relieved when the suit jacket covered it. He seemed cool and confident, the polar opposite of Hermione, who struggled to keep her composure. They remained only long enough to pay the bill and collect their cloaks, and then they emerged into the cold night.

Severus slung his arm around her shoulders as they wandered down the street, the cold air doing them both the world of good and bringing on a little restraint. They both walked slowly back to the alley to Apparate, enjoying the fact that they were walking down a public street and that there was no need to fret about some student – or teacher - popping up and discovering them. The sexual tension between them was almost tangible and despite their slow pace, Hermione was still wet and swollen and feeling as though she would explode.

The feeling appeared to be mutual because he pushed her into a darkened vestibule and kissed her hard on her lips, nudging her mouth open and seeking out her tongue. Then the kisses moved, lightly across her cheek to her ear lobe, and then on a path down her fragrant neck. From somewhere at the base of her throat she heard him whisper; “I want you naked.”

“I know,” she sighed ecstatically, “I want you naked too.” She unzipped his pants and curled her fingers around the thickness of his cock. He moaned softly.

His back was to the street and they were kissing again, savoring each others taste, aching for each others bodies and knowing that they would have to part in order to return to the castle to fulfill each others desperate need.

Neither was aware of the figure of Archibald Semeuse on the other side of the street, hidden in the shadows, his face twisted into a smile of pure calculation at such an interesting turn of events.

~ ~ ~

Harry snapped his Potions textbook closed and silently cursed Hermione for dating the Potions Master and then disappearing off to Merlin knew where for Valentine’s Day. Draco had locked him out of the room for the most ridiculous of reasons. A nap! Harry had no idea why Draco would need a nap, or why he couldn’t sleep with Harry in the room. It wasn’t as though he made excessive amounts of noise when he read…not unless you counted grunts and the occasional snort of frustration when he couldn’t get some stupid bloody antidote conundrum.

Draco should be helping me with this.

He glanced at the clock on the wall as it ticked ever closer to eight. He was starving. He should have just gone down to dinner and pretended that he didn’t. Of course, it was far too late for that now.

“Fuck Draco,” he said aloud and then felt like a grade ‘A’ idiot if anyone had heard him. It was late enough now, he collected his books up, deciding to return to his room.

“Harry?”

He jumped and turned a cynical eye to Ron. “Don’t you mean ‘Disgusting Pervert’?”

Ron bowed his head, his hair was still wet from his shower. He smelled of soap and water and something else, an undercurrent that marred the fresh scents. He looked pretty terrible. “Can we…can we talk?”

Harry look up at the clock. It was five to eight. “Why?” Harry asked, “aren’t you afraid I’m going to grope you?”

“No…I…” Ron glanced around, “can we sit down?”

“No.”

“Please Harry, I…”

Harry sighed, he didn’t want to be in this situation, not again. What would happen next? He’d sit down, Ron would open up and the next morning Ron would be telling everyone he’d made a pass at him? “I’m not in the mood Ron.”

“I’m sorry Harry.”

“It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

Ron nodded slowly, he looked confused, fearful. “I…I guess…”

“Good, now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go and see that ‘shit’ I sleep with and if I’m really lucky I might get butt fucked.” Harry shoved past him, the muscle of his arm connecting with Ron’s boney collarbone and almost knocking him down. He almost stopped, knowing that beneath the thick bathrobe, Ron’s body was a wreck.

Turn around now and tomorrow you’ll be a laughing stock – again.

Ron hadn’t moved, he was just standing there, staring at the floor and looking defeated. Harry sighed and forced himself to keep walking. It was eight o’clock, and he could go and wake Draco.

~ ~ ~

Hermione’s breath came in great heaving gasps as she ran through the door of Snape’s chambers, mercifully covered in Harry’s Invisibility Cloak. They had reached Hogsmeade and taken off at a run, both wishing they’d had the foresight to stash brooms to make the journey back to the castle that bit faster. Hermione had the added difficulty of heels and the fact that she had to collect the Invisibility Cloak from its hiding place before she could descend the stairs to the dungeons.

She slammed the door with such force that it rattled on its hinges. She then turned to him with an almost animalistic growl, dumping the cloak on the floor. He was breathing as hard as she was from the run, but he was already pulling the suit jacket off with impatient speed.

“Take your clothes off,” he panted, wrenching his tie off and fumbling with the buttons on his shirt.

Hermione’s eyes glowed as her travel cloak was shucked away. There was no shyness from him, he knew her body well now. He knew its imperfections, and its plains and its curves. She unzipped the dress and let it pool on the floor with the cloaks. Her bra, suspenders, panties, shoes and stockings soon joined the dress and she stood before him, naked. They faced each other, neither ever tiring of the others body.

“You are so perfect,” he breathed at last and his cock bobbed, bumping against his navel, “come here.”

She walked to him and he laid her on the bed, stroking the length of her, causing every nerve and fiber of her body to snap and crackle, aching for more. Hermione closed her eyes and gave a little moan, lost in the moment, as though she lingered somewhere between reality and fantasy and Severus touching her was the only thing that mattered. Severus lay beside her, toyed with her breasts and sucked her nipples. She held his cock, rubbing her fingers along it’s length and wetting the head with pre-come. The feel of him was a familiar one, but she still felt as though she was discovering every ridge and vein, she marveled at just how smooth it was, like velvet.

He kissed her lips, her neck, and her breasts. His tongue tormented her nipples until she was writhing, aching for more. He moved lower, dipping his tongue into her navel, before parting her swollen lips and lapping at her engorged clit until she was riding a wave of euphoria that wrought a cry from her and bucked her his up into his mouth.

“Good girl,” he whispered, “you came for me.”

“I…” she panted softly, “I always come for you.”

He mounted her, pushing her legs back until her ankles were resting on her shoulders; and then he pushed his cock deep into her, moaning a little at the heat and tightness left over from her orgasm. The room seemed to resonate with the sound of their hurried breathing and the soft, wet sounds as he drove into her body and out again, then in once more, harder and deeper this time.

Hermione was drowning in sensations; his passion, the painful grip of his hand in her hair, the pressure of his pubis against hers. He slid in an out of her easily, she was so incredibly wet and yet the harder he pushed the wetter she became and the more she seemed to open for him. Her body was tense, striving to come again, but she was unsure if she could.

She reached a hand down, being daring, and she rubbed her clit, still sensitive from her previous orgasm. She feared that she may offend him, but was rewarded with a sharp thrust into her and he was smiling.

“Yes, my love. Touch yourself, let me see you play with yourself.”

She rubbed a little harder, inexpert at masturbating herself, but her body responded almost instantly to her own touch. She jolted up, her vagina closing hard around him.

Severus gasped, and thrust deep into her, surging forward and filling her with his seed. Hermione lay panting beneath him, feeling every muscle suddenly liquefying and they both seemed to become one with the mattress and pillows. She drew him down beside her, their arms tangled around each other, bathed in sweat.

They stayed this way for a long time, until Severus pulled the blankets over them both and they faded into sleep. At some point during the night, deep inside Hermione’s body, two sparks of life met and fused together, changing into something new. Something full of infinite promise.

~ ~ ~

Bloody Ron. Harry felt a pang of regret as he reached his bedroom door. Ron had wanted to talk, so perhaps Harry should have talked.

Except that Harry just couldn’t trust Ron at the moment, and he didn’t want to fight. Not today. Ron had stepped over the mark by such an incredible distance that it had made Harry’s head spin. Ron’s venomous hatred had taken Harry by surprise; and while Harry knew Ron would not be pleased about Harry’s choices, he had expected something from more than seven years of friendship. But Ron’s inability to see reason, his vindictiveness, had pushed any nostalgic memory of their friendship into the shadows of Harry’s mind and left only the fresh reality of a man who hated him. Who hated everyone it seemed.

But he had wanted to talk, and he is seriously fucked up.

The memory of Ron’s thin, pale and battered body seemed frozen in Harry’s mind and caused Harry to stop in the narrow corridor. Ron’s face had been bruised tonight, as though he had been fighting – and had lost. The puncture wounds, needle marks all over Ron’s arms and legs…in his stomach for god’s sake.

Harry shuddered and looked at his watch. It was past eight now, and he wanted to wake Draco, crawl into bed with him and feel his arms around him. He didn’t want that image of Ron in his head. How long could a talk take?

“Don’t,” Harry told himself quietly, “you know what is going to happen. You know what he is going to do.”

But Ron looked so bloody awful.

“Tomorrow, I’ll deal with it tomorrow.” That would be better anyway, tomorrow Ron wouldn’t be able to say that Harry and gone to his rooms, hoping to seduce him.

And what if he doesn’t want to talk tomorrow?

I’ll put him in a full body bind until he does.

Harry opened the door – and all thoughts of Ron left him in a rush of emotion. The room was full of tiny tea lights and the air was heady with the scent of summer flowers. In the centre of the room was a small table with two chairs, laid for dinner, whilst a bottle of champagne was chilling in an ice bucket.

“Happy Valentine’s Day Scar Head”

Harry felt his face split into a wide grin. “Oh…oh wow!” He looked at Draco in awe, “You…you did this for me?”

“No, I did it for the bloody House Elf.”

Harry looked to the corner where Dobby was nervously holding a clean tea towel over his arm. He was dressed rather well in a neat little waistcoat, hat and trousers. Presumably this is what Draco had used to convince him to actually come near his former Master.

“You did this for me…” Harry said again, feeling lost for words, unable to formulate a proper sentence.

Draco blushed a little, “Well, I am the keeper of your dreams after all, how crap would I be if I couldn’t take care of them properly?”

Harry stood awkwardly in the doorway, holding his textbooks and wishing he’d actually bothered to shower.

“Are you coming inside Potty?”

“Yeah…I just…yeah…” Harry felt his eyes begin to water.

“Jeez Potter, don’t go getting all sentimental on me.”

Harry laughed, and felt a tear slip down his face. “Well you started it.”

“Yeah, I guess I did.”

~ ~ ~

Ron hadn’t expected Harry to talk to him, not really. Ron had spent over a month ensuring that Harry would never want to talk to him again. He’d made Harry’s life a living hell, told him he was a pervert, that what he felt was wrong. Which was ridiculous, Fred was gay and Ron had no problems at all with Fred’s sexuality. It was Harry’s choice of Malfoy that had hurt.

But even so, Malfoy had stuck by Harry, despite the mail, abuse and sideways glances. Draco Malfoy wasn’t going anywhere.

Ron could still see them in his minds eye. Malfoy gasping as he came, crying out Harry’s name at that moment and then Harry kissing him, loving him. Harry loving Malfoy.

And Malfoy loving Harry.

Harry was happy then, and for the first time Ron was able to see through the layers of hatred and be glad of it. Harry had waited so long, he deserved happiness. He deserved something good.

But with Malfoy? Ron shook his head and found himself smiling. It must have taken them both by surprise, that realization that they wanted each other, that they loved each other.

Something pure. Not like Angelina.

In his room he found Pig on the windowsill, half frozen and carrying a letter far too big for the tiny owl. Ron opened the window to let the bird in, dusting the snow from it’s soft feathers. He knew who the letter was from. He recognized his mother’s handwriting and the family seal well enough.

But this was no Howler, and the silence was somehow more ominous than his mother’s voice echoing from the rafters. For this reason, he purposely ignored the envelope, putting it aside and concentrating on his owl; ensuring that every snowflake, every piece of ice, was removed and that Pig was sated with food and water.

He had options of course. He could always ignore the letter. He had long since lost his fear of his mother’s anger, but, like all of the Weasley children, he lived in terror of her disappointment; and the silence of the letter was a clear indication that disappointment was indeed what the letter contained. If he ignored the letter, he could ride the wave of his family’s anger and deal with it in the summer when the bitterness would still be there, but the anger would be replaced by a reasonable ability to work it out.

But sleeping with George’s wife was slightly higher on the unforgivable scale than stealing the family car, and his mother was angry enough to send a letter now and not wait for the morning post. There was no guarantee that the dust would settle by the summer. It would be better to deal with it now.

There was a part of him that wanted her anger, knowing that her anger was born of her love. And his mother’s love would last forever. It had to. She was his mother!

He put his toiletries away neatly, deciding to treasure them for the first time since he got them. His parents had given them to him after all, and money was always tight. The ring on his finger glinted in the light and he turned his hand to inspect it a little better.

“Oh Gods George, I am so sorry.” George could not hear him, he had no desire to hear him. “I am so sorry.”

He picked up the envelope and sat down on the edge of his bed, turning it over in his fingers. He stayed that way for a long time, turning the letter over and over, until the tips of his fingers were numb and the parchment looked grubby and had started to blacken from the oils in his skin. Oils that smelt suspiciously like the drug that was obviously still coursing through him. He wondered if would ever be out of his system.

He opened the envelope and pulled the letter out, unfolding the paper and smoothing it, avoiding looking at the words for as long as he could.

Molly Weasley had obviously been angry when she had written the letter, her writing was almost run together, and Ron could imagine her writing it. Angry, her eyes blazing, her face set, and her quill flying across the parchment with fury filled strokes. Telling him things she would hold back if she was calm, telling him things he knew to be horribly true.

“Ronald

Ron didn’t bother to finish the letter. There was no point, he knew it contained more of the same – and he had read enough. His mother had made her point perfectly clear.

He didn’t cry. He couldn’t. It was as though his body and soul had suddenly been hollowed out and all that was left behind was a dry husk, something that would crumble into dust if touched. He folded the letter reverently and placed it on the nightstand next to his wand.

He was selfish. He had always been selfish. That must be true. He could feel it in himself. Some kind of morbid self-obsession that caused him to disregard his family and hurt them without thought. In his mind, clouded from drugs and grief, he could not think of a moment that he had ever been selfless.

Ron looked around the room and found not one family photograph. There never had been one, he didn’t even know if he owned one. They were all at the Burrow, in the family albums he had never bothered to look at.

His mother’s love would last forever, it would, and it had to.

But it hadn’t. She wanted him gone. She wanted him dead.

And she was right, she always was.

If she wanted him gone, to never hear of him again, to never see his face; he had to go. He had to do what his mother wanted and make her happy, that was the only way that she might ever see the way clear to forgive him. If he was to go, he would have to go now, it was only fair to Ginny that she didn’t see him either, because if Ginny saw him she might say something…and his mother didn’t want to hear of him, not ever again.

He had to leave.

He climbed off the bed and pulled his trunk out from under it. There was little left inside the trunk – except the less than creatively named ‘Bear’. He lifted his childhood teddy from the trunk and smiled affectionately at the well-loved form and then clutched him tightly to his chest. Pulling the trunk out dislodged the Contract from the place Ron had thrown it after Christmas, never wanting to see it again. He picked it up and stared at the assortment of brightly colored flowers, beside Harry’s name a rose was in the process of blooming, growing larger and brighter and smelling sweetly of summer.

They were fucking, right at that moment, wrapped in each other, loving each other. Malfoy’s mouth was on Harry’s body…and Harry was crying out in ecstasy.

Ron threw the contract on the empty bed opposite and returned to sit on his own bed with Bear.

Bear had been given to him at birth. They had all received a bear, it was one of the few things from his childhood that had not seen a multitude of brothers before it reached his hands. His own teddy bear. Something of his very own, to treasure forever. He had carried bear clutched to his chest for half his life, refusing to leave him anywhere, fretting at the very idea of giving him up – even when his brothers began to torment him relentlessly for being a baby. In retrospect that’s exactly what he was, a small child holding on to his teddy bear as though it were his talisman against the Boggart in the cupboard. Bear was bald now, and only a few tufts of hair existed along the seam lines. He had once been dark brown, now he was a strange faded shade of cloth. His ears had been stitched back on so many times that there was more thread there now than ear. He had lost his left eye many years ago, and a faded felt patch covered the eye, rendering Bear the Pirate from that day forth.

Bear had accompanied Ron on every journey of his life. No longer clutched to his chest, but safely tucked away, somewhere in a place where he couldn’t be lost. Even if that place was the bottom of a trunk, he was still there. Ron had felt a fool at eighteen, packing his decrepit teddy bear to go to school. But Bear had to come, it would never do to leave Bear behind. Bear was always part of the adventure, Bear had always liked adventures – especially if it had something to do with the high seas. He was a Pirate after all.

So if Ron was leaving, Bear was going with him.

“Guess what Bear,” Ron smiled and ran a finger over Bear’s threadbare belly, “we’re going on a journey, far far away. There will be lots of adventures,” he drew a shuddered breath, “you were always up for an adventure.”

Bear stared back at Ron, his one eye still bright after all these years.

“But we are going to need to buy tickets.”

Ron possessed very few things of any real value, one of them was a dagger that Dumbledore had presented to him a year before. Harry had one the same. The daggers were incredibly sharp, made by some ancient method of metal folding that rendered them deadly, even after a thousand years. Its handle was jeweled and worth more than his family home.

Not his home, not anymore.

Harry had used his dagger to kill a Dark Lord, Ron would put his to a far more mercenary use, he would use it to purchase his ticket away from Hogwarts and away from the only life he had ever known. He would use his to spirit himself away from the very memory of his family’s embrace. He would use it to make them happy, at last put it to good use and make everything better.

He placed Bear on the pillow and climbed into bed. The sheets had been changed and smelled fresh, and he felt a small pleasure rush through his body as he slid down between them. It had been a sensation he had always loved, even when he was small. Fresh sheets on a bed. He smiled, perhaps nostalgia was over coming him, now when he knew he was going to be leaving. He looked down at Bear, who suddenly looked so small and worn and stitched up more times than he could count.

A tear splashed on to bear.

Stop it. Stop crying, there is no one here to see you, they don’t want to see you, they are not your family any more. You have to make things as they should be.

He ran his fingers over the dagger. Ancient and beautiful. His way out. So much like a coward, running from the fight.

He sliced into the baby soft meat of his inner wrist and ran the blade neatly down the length of his arm, laying it open from wrist to elbow like a fleshy red fruit with a hard white core. He knew he had to cut all the way to the bone. A wizard’s body was resilient, it took a long time to die and no half arsed attempt at suicide would work. He had to sever every artery and vein.

I can make this better.

He forced his hand to work, ignoring the pain from his arm. He flexed the rapidly failing fingers and curled them around the handle.

Finish this, just do something right for the first time in your pathetic life.

He repeated the process on his other arm, flaying the flesh wide open, destroying skin and muscle and carving a trail along the bone.

“Mummy…” his voice came unbidden, high pitched and snagged on a sob. Don’t cry, you don’t deserve to cry.

He nestled into the bed, pulling the covers over himself and bringing bear to him, holding him tight. This was for the best, it would make them happy, and it would make George happy. And they wouldn’t have to collect him either, they could just tell Dumbledore to get rid of him and Dumbledore would find somewhere to put him. Some place, out of the way. Dumbledore wouldn’t trouble them further with it. It would be a brief piece of good news for them and then they wouldn’t have to hear anything else about him. He’d be gone, and everything would be better.

His magic was fading, the light flickered and went out.

Then the tears came, selfish tears and choking sobs that came from deep in his throat. He pressed his face hard into bear, breathing in the slightly musty scent of his trunk and the ancient scent of love. He sniffled back his tears and tried to ignore the choked sound his breathing made.

“Don’t be afraid Bear,” He whispered and trembled as he held his bear a little tighter. His eyes shone in the darkness, slick with tears, and he tried to close them – but they would not stay shut. He opened them, and saw nothing but the night. For a moment he allowed himself to imagine that they would know when he was gone, that there might be some subtle shift in the world that would signal to them that he was gone and it was over. Would they feel elation? Or would there perhaps be some sadness, some kind of brief sorrow that might cause them to ask where he was? Perhaps not seek out the patch of ground, but at least want to know where he was.

Just so they’d know he was there.

“Don’t be afraid Bear,” Ron whispered again, “I’m here to protect you, and it isn’t far to go…we’ll be there before you know it.”

~ ~ ~

NOTES:

Thank you Ann for Betaing – and for calming me down when I had the freak out after losing the file.

The title ‘Perfect Day’ is taken from the Lou Reed song of the same name.

Draco's card is lyrics to the Sisters of Mercy song 'Body and Soul'

Lucius’ incantation against Dementors comes from the Necronomicon (no Devil Worship hate mail please – it is just a book)

The restaurant that Hermione and Snape go to is based on the ill fated Damian Hirst project 'Pharmacy'...where I had a really bloody awful night once a long time ago.

As always – I love reviews!

You can visit my live journal: http://www.livejournal.com/users/azraelgeffen/ and for Art and updates you can go to Chasing the Dragon: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/chasing_the_dragon/

Chapter 15 >>