Objects of Desire

Chapter 15 - Breathe

By Azrael Geffen

As a by-product of having raised seven children, Molly Weasley always found herself awake and in her small kitchen early. It was an ingrained habit, wrought through years of practice, to open her eyes in the early hours when the world was still, and lie in her bed, listening to the sounds of her husband sleeping, and the various shifts and groans of the house. She would lie contentedly until she could be still no longer, then get up and go downstairs around five am.

This morning saw a marked difference to her usual routine. Worry, not habit had forced her from her bed at four, and she found herself pacing the length of her bedroom, her stomach churning as though she was going to be sick. Arthur hadn’t come to bed, and she knew that she would find him asleep or at least, dozing, on the old lounge in the front room. He was probably still angry, and she wouldn’t blame him if he was. She was still angry with herself, and her anger had turned itself into the stomach churning nausea that was part anger and part despair.

Having decided to go down to the kitchen and force herself into some kind of normal routine that would perhaps distract her mind from its present woes, she pulled on her dressing gown and made her way out into the narrow hall. She went upstairs first, to look in on George. He was fast asleep, lying on his back looking pale and exhausted. They had forced him to take a sleeping draught and he had collapsed almost as soon as he’d swallowed it. He would be asleep for a long while yet and Molly had no doubt he needed it. She adjusted his blankets and brushed the hair back from his face. It was getting too long; he really should cut it. She smiled at the absurdness of the thought. Regardless of all that had happened, it felt good to have one of her children asleep under her roof. It felt good to have someone to take care of again.

Leaving George, she went downstairs to the kitchen. Through the rickety arch she could see Arthur, as she had predicted, asleep on the lounge. She threw a crocheted blanket over him and tried to decipher his sleeping face, trying to determine if he was still angry. She tucked the comforter around him and decided not to wake him, despite her overwhelming desire to talk. They did not fight often and when they did, Molly preferred to quickly resolve the argument. But this time her quick temper had caused some real damage, and she could not see a resolution coming to mind soon.

Molly had always been quick to anger. She would admit to manifold faults, but her temper was more likely than not, her greatest. She had a terrible habit of saying the first thing that came into her head and then, after a few hours to calm down, she would be thinking rationally again. As such, her husband and her children had learned to take her temper with a pinch of salt.

But Ron. Well, it was not as though he had been trying to sneak Ton Tongue Toffees off to the Quidditch World Cup. Even stealing his fathers car had been a far more forgivable thing to do. When George had spoken to them the day before, she had responded with stunned silence. It wasn’t until later when Fred and George had both arrived at the Burrow, that she had felt her anger and temper simmer until she lashed out.

And then the Daily Prophet had printed the bloody, story grubbily airing their dirty linen to the entire Wizarding World, complete pictures that someone had managed to take of the boys scuffling in the street. The story had been the last straw. She had written the letter before she’d had time to think about what she was writing and after she’d sent it she had felt justified for a long time after.

It was Arthur actually voicing what she had done that had cut through the angry red haze. Arthur who had been at the Ministry trying to smooth things over, who was desperately trying to formulate a plan to reduce the damage to his family. He had come home late and heard about the letter and had gone pale, then stared at her in disbelief.

“You sent a letter to our son telling him he should have died in the war?”

And then of course the realisation had hit her with the force of stampeding Hippogriffs.

She had tried to justify it. George stood by her, still angry himself. Ron had turned up in Diagon Ally and had not even tried to deny the affair. He had even had the gall to be wearing Angelina’s wedding ring, throwing the infidelity in his brother’s face.

Still, Fred had pointed out that Ron had gone to speak to George and he had taken a beating for it without lifting a hand in his own defence. Surely he must have felt some small spark of remorse.

Arthur in the meantime had already come up with a plan. Firstly they had to deal with George, which meant dealing with the papers and the Ministry (who had sent a ridiculous letter to the boys about public brawling). No doubt Fudge trying to get one up on his adversary. It was true that the house was warded against Ron, but it was for the protection of both sons as Arthur didn’t want another fight to erupt. Arthur planned to go to Hogwarts on Monday morning and speak with their youngest son, to try and work out what had happened. Arthur also hoped he could find a solution to the whole sordid mess. By the time Arthur had a chance to relay all this to Molly however, she had already written and sent the letter and was busy stewing in her own juices.

Now Molly was at a total loss as to what to do with herself. She had to apologise of course, and she didn’t really want to contemplate Ron’s reaction on reading those hurtful words. She lived safe in the knowledge that Arthur would go there first thing this morning and talk to him, tell him that it was just his mother going off half cocked again, and that she still loved him regardless of what he had done.

But that he still had to make amends.

She made herself some tea and sank gratefully into a chair at the kitchen table to drink it. Her head throbbed and her stomach gave another nauseating lurch. How could she have written such a thing? How could she have thought it, even for a moment? It had always been her greatest fear. That her children would die before her. That fear had been realised twice already; twice too many, and she couldn’t stomach the thought that it might happen again. She would lose herself with them the next time.

Arthur will sort this out. Arthur will go and speak to him and all will be well, we will get through this.

Molly cast a glance at her sleeping husband in the other room and smiled as she always did when she watched him. All would be well, it had to be. She drew her gaze back to her tea…and noticed something in the corner of her eye. Something wasn’t quite right; something was out of place, although she couldn’t work out just what it was. She frowned and stared at the wall. Everything was as it should be. Stairs, bench, umbrellas, ornaments, clock…

Clock.

Her mouth ran dry and her throat clicked painfully as she tried to swallow. She struggled to her feet and walked slowly towards the clock on the wall.

“Arthur?” she said uncertainly, leaning forward to look at it properly, and then louder, panicked; “Arthur!!”

Arthur Weasley woke with a  start and sat up. Momentarily disorientated, he looked around the dark lounge room for his wife and found her standing the other side of the wooden arch, pale, shaking and staring at the clock on the wall.

“Molly? What is it?”

She didn’t answer him. It was as though she had momentarily been struck dumb with horror. She reached forward to run her fingers over the hands of the clock, willing it to be wrong. Ron’s hand on the clock had moved from ‘School’ to ‘Mortal Peril’.

~ ~ ~

Harry was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming because he was eighteen years old and sitting in the passenger seat of a turquoise Ford Anglia that he hadn’t seen the inside of since he was twelve. The car was currently running wild in the Forbidden Forest behind Hogwarts, but in the dream it looked pristine, as though it had just been manufactured.

Ron was driving and sitting between them was a battered looking teddy bear that was resplendent in a red velvet pirates costume and brandishing a small sword. Ron turned to Harry and grinned. He was looking good, not at all like the skinny wreck Harry had seen just last night. His eyes were as bright as the blue sky outside and as Harry looked out the window, he realised that they were flying over some tropical place that Harry had never seen before.

Ron seemed to have hundreds of thin red ribbons tied to his arms and they fluttered in the breeze from the open windows.

“Muggles aren’t accustomed to seeing flying cars,” Harry said, testing his voice.

Ron shrugged. “Oh, you know Muggles, Harry, they don’t know what they see half the time…and the invisibility booster always has been faulty, you should know that by now.” He grinned again, “besides, there is no one down there to notice anyway.”

Harry peered down to inspect the beach and saw that it was indeed deserted.

“I meant to talk to you last night,” said dream Harry to dream Ron.

“It’s ok, I don’t blame you for not wanting to,” Ron smiled warmly and continued, “it doesn’t matter now anyway.” He seemed to sigh heavily, “I guess I fucked things up pretty badly eh?”

Harry shrugged. “Yeah, maybe, just a little bit.”

“I wanted you to know that I am really sorry. I don’t know what was wrong with me, I just…I couldn’t seem to think straight.” He stared out of the window at the horizon. “I don’t want you to remember me as some worthless prick who made your life a misery. I mean…we had fun didn’t we? Before the war?”

Harry couldn’t help but grin at this. “Yeah, we had fun during the war too.”

“I just wanted you to know that I was wrong…about everything, and I’m sorry.”

“Thanks mate, it means a lot.”

“I’m really just so sorry Harry.”

“It’s ok.”

“I…I have to go now.”

Harry laughed, “Ron, we’re hundreds of feet off the ground, where are you going to go?”

“Away…Charlie’s waiting for me.”

Harry frowned at looked quickly at Ron. He looked drawn and pale, the red ribbons around his arms no longer fluttered but looked thick and red and wet. “Ron?”

“Goodbye, Harry.”

“Ron!”

Ron opened the door, slipped out of the seat and Harry screamed, desperately searching for the place where Ron had fallen.

But he was gone. He’d simply vanished.

“Ron?” Harry’s eyes flickered between that blue sky and the darkness of a bedroom. “Ron?” He blinked again and the blue sky was gone. “Ron?”

“He’s not here,” came a muffled reply beside Harry.

Harry looked down, only then realising that he was sitting bolt upright in bed. Draco lay half on his side, half on his belly, hugging his pillow.

“I was having this dream…” Harry frowned at the memory, “about Ron.”

“I could hear that,” Draco grumbled into his pillow, “go back to sleep.”

“He just disappeared.”

Draco lifted his head momentarily, “And if you go back to sleep, you might find him again.”

“Maybe I should go and see him.”

Draco rolled onto his back with an impatient sigh. “You’re not going to let me get back to sleep are you?”

“I’m serious; maybe I should go and see him. He wanted to talk last night, and I told him to piss off.”

“Good for you,” Draco yawned, “now, sleep on it.”

Harry began climbing over Draco.

“What are you doing?”

“Going to see him.”

“Why?”

“I told you, I just had this weird dream…”

“Oh great,” Draco sat up and stared sleepily as Harry began pulling on clothes, “he’s going to love this, I can hear him already; ‘Potter had a dream about me and then he came to molest me in my sleep.’ Really fucking nice Harry.”

“Well,” Harry said, pulling on his slippers, “if he does that, I give you full permission to hex him.”

Draco shook his head and swung his legs out of the bed.

“And where are you going?”

“With you of course.”

Harry scowled, “And why would you do that?”

“That way, if Weasel Boy says anything to you I can hex him straight away.” Draco yawned and stretched and scratched his belly. “I don’t know why you’re bothering; it was only a fucking dream.”

“Yeah, well, I learned to take my dreams pretty seriously during the war.”

“But wasn’t that only because the Dark Lord was feeding you visions?”

Harry frowned. He was about to ask just how Draco knew that Voldemort had fed him visions but he stopped himself. The answer was fairly obvious. Lucius Malfoy had no doubt told him and with a shudder Harry realised that they had probably laughed about it. “Old habits die hard,” he replied darkly.

Draco shrugged and pulled on his pyjama pants and T-shirt and began hunting around for his dressing gown. Harry watched impatiently.

“You don’t have to come, it’s only Ron.”

“But I want to,” Draco replied, finding his dressing gown and turning it in the right way.

“You could stay here and sleep.”

“It’s not the same without you.”  As Draco pulled the gown on and belted it tightly, he grinned at Harry cheerfully.

Harry felt his irritation melt away in wash of ‘he’s so cute’ thoughts. He tried to brush his fingers through Draco’s sleep mussed hair, messy enough to rival Harry’s own at that moment. It was tempting to kiss him, to take off everything that Draco had just put on and throw him on the bed. He doubted that Draco would protest. They had sex almost nightly, often twice a day. It was as though they couldn’t get enough of each other, as though they were continuously trying to merge and become one.

It was tempting and Draco had begun to smile that smile.

Pull yourself together Potter, just go and check on Ron. You can fuck later.

Or maybe they could just kiss and cuddle and be sickeningly romantic with each other as they had been last night. 

“Love you,” Harry murmured.

“Love you too,” Draco smiled dazzlingly.

Harry shook his head, he had to clear it. Go and check on Ron, there is time for this later.

“Ok,” he rocked backwards and forwards on the balls of his feet, trying to think of something other than Draco naked and wanting it. He couldn’t, so he turned on his heel and made for the door. Draco grabbed his wand and followed.

~ ~ ~

Harry stopped abruptly outside Ron’s bedroom door causing Draco, who was watching Harry’s arse and not where he was going, to slam soundly into the back of him.

“Um, sweetheart, I think I should maybe go by myself.”

Draco pouted and folded his arms insolently.

“I’ll call you if I need you.”

Draco frowned, stamped his foot and threw himself onto a bench outside the door. Harry looked down at him and for a moment actually contemplated begging him not to act like a spoiled child. He bit the criticism back however, knowing full well that to say anything would instantly cause an argument. Besides, Harry had a habit of being equally as childish, it would be a little like the pot calling the kettle black.

“You’re gorgeous, you know that?”

The pout on Draco’s face softened a little and he raised his eyes to Harry. “You think so?”

“You know I do.”

“Would you love me if I was ugly?”

“You know I would.”

“Liar,” but he was smiling now and Harry stroked his hair back.

“You know I would,” he said again and leant down to kiss Draco gently.

“You sure you don’t want me to come in with you.”

Harry grinned, “I’ll call you…I promise.”  He looked around the darkened Common Room and kissed Draco again. Then he straightened and tapped softly on the door.

“Well that’s not going to wake him up!”

“Draco!” Harry hissed, “I am not trying to wake up the whole tower.”

Draco rolled his eyes and resumed pouting. Harry ignored him and tapped again. There was no answer and slowly, as quietly as possible, Harry tried the door handle. It opened easily and he slipped into the room.

Draco craned his head around to see where Harry was going; “Are you…”

“Shhhh!”

Draco sneered and turned back, hoping to Merlin that Weasel did hex Harry just to prove that Draco was right.

“Ron?”

The air in the room seemed closed and thick; nothing moved, as though time was standing still. Harry moved into the room and felt the hair on the back of his neck suddenly stand on end. He whispered for light and the room lit up.

“Ron?”

Ron appeared to be fast asleep, curled under a pile of blankets. Harry could just make out a splash of red hair on the pillow. A small rush of relief washed through him, but it was short lived. He couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding, but at least Ron was still there. He hadn’t disappeared as Harry had so vividly dreamt.

“Ron, are you awake?”

Now that was a stupid question. It was perfectly obvious that Ron wasn’t awake and Harry stood in the centre of the room awkwardly trying to work out just what he should do or say. To wake Ron up could possibly make things worse, but still, he had come here now, and he’d pulled Draco out of bed as well. Harry thought he could at least suggest that they talk about things. He moved up the bed, something in him not wanting to look down at the figure under the covers. He gave Ron a little shake.

“Ron, we really need to talk.”

Nothing, not so much as a “fuck off and leave me alone.” Harry leaned over cautiously and tried to make out Ron huddled under the covers. Was he pretending to sleep? What Harry could see of Ron’s face was pale, almost as white as the pillow slip. The soft brush of ginger lashes splayed across the pale cheek that was visible.

Could he be pretending to sleep?

“Ron, come on, wake up, we need to talk about this!”

Ron didn’t so much as move.

“This is ridiculous! Just wake up!”  Harry shook him again, angrily grabbing Ron’s shoulder and jerking Ron’s body back and forth in an effort to make him stir – and then he suddenly stopped.

There was something wrong. Ron moved slackly beneath the covers. He just felt wrong. For a moment Harry wondered if perhaps he was sick and without thinking Harry placed the back of his hand against Ron’s forehead.

He felt cold and clammy.

“Ron? Are you ok?” He rolled Ron onto his back hoping to rouse him into speaking and when he didn’t. Harry tugged the covers down.

“Ron?”

Harry looked. Looked and really saw. He shot backwards from the bed, falling and scuttling backwards across the floor and slamming into the wardrobe. He couldn’t get air into his lungs and he found himself panting, his eyes wide.

It’s not true, it’s not true, it’s not true.

It was just his eyes, playing tricks in the early morning. He hadn’t seen it. Slowly he stood, keeping his back against the wardrobe, not wanting to go closer in case…

“R-r-r-on?” Harry gasped from across the room, “Please wake up.”

He stared, knowing that he should go closer, but he felt frozen, as though keeping his back against the wardrobe would make it all a ghastly illusion. This wasn’t supposed to happen, not now. There wasn’t supposed to be more blood and more death. The war was finally over and the world was beautiful. They had promised him, they had all promised him!

“Draco…” It didn’t come out loud enough, Harry’s voice was rasping and full of air. He forced his throat to work, swallowing hard and trying again. “Draco…DRACO!”

~ ~ ~

Draco skidded into the room, wand out, prepared for anything…but not what confronted him.

He ground to a halt, taking in Harry pressed against the wardrobe, pale with shock and disbelief and then the bed, with the ruin of a man lying in it.

“Fucking hell…”

Draco walked to the bed and looked down at Ron Weasley. They had always hated each other and as Draco lifted Ron’s chin, seeking out the carotid artery, he thought it ironic that he was now hoping against hope that Weasley was still alive.

Not because he particularly wanted Ron to live, he honestly didn’t care one way or another, but Harry would no doubt blame himself for the Weasel’s death, and Draco didn’t want that hanging over Harry’s head. He surveyed Ron’s body. What had once been blue pyjamas were now slicked dark purple with blood and gore. Tucked neatly into the crook of one arms was what could have been an old teddy bear; it now resembled a hellish parody of a child’s toy, so wet with blood that it looked clotted. The blood smelled rotten, as though it had already clotted in his veins.

Draco suddenly felt sick and he swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat. He kept searching, not being particularly good at healing charms, or finding pulses, he didn’t take the fact that he couldn’t get one too seriously just yet. Weasley had a Wizards body, and Wizards were hard beings to kill. Harry had seen him at around eight the previous night, and it was now around four thirty, so provided he hadn’t gone straight to his room and done this, the Weasel had probably been in this state for about seven or eight hours…plenty of time for some pathetic Muggle to bleed to death, but not a pureblood Wizard.

Of course, Draco conceded, he could be wrong.

“Is he…?”

“I’m trying to find that out,” Draco snapped with more venom than he intended. And then he found it, faint, but there. “I found a pulse,” Draco said quietly. He stood back a little and turned one of Ron’s arms over to inspect the wound. “Well Weasel,” he said matter-of-factly, “you did a bloody good job of it.”

“Don’t call him that.”

“What?” Draco realised that Harry had come up behind him, finally being able to move away from the wardrobe now that he knew he wasn’t looking at another dead body.

“Don’t call him Weasel.”

Draco turned to Harry, who looked as though he would fall over at any moment. He gently eased Harry down to the side of the bed, deciding that he needed to sit down. Draco didn’t feel too good himself; if Harry collapsed it could well end up a travesty.

“Ok, now you stay with him, and I’m going to try and raise Pomfrey.”

Harry looked up at him fearfully, “Don’t leave me here…Please, don’t leave me with him. What if he dies, what am I going to do?”

“Sweetheart, I need to go and get some help. You stay here with him, he’ll be alright. Just…talk to him.” Draco brushed the hair back from Harry’s forehead and realised too late that he would streak blood across his face. “You take care of him, I won’t be long, I promise.”

Harry looked unconvinced, as though one too many promises had been broken for him to believe anything right now.

“Stay with him…” Draco edged out of the room, trying to smile reassuringly at Harry, “It will be ok, you’ll see.”

With Draco gone, Harry turned to Ron and trembled slightly. He reached out and his hand fluttered uncertainly over Ron’s cheek, his shoulder, the bloody ruin of his arm.

“Please wake up.” Harry’s voice hitched and he let go, tears bursting from his eyes so suddenly that it was like an explosion. He gulped loudly, rasping noisily for air. He leant forward and gently picked Ron up, lifting him bodily into a tight embrace, supporting his neck and head, and buried his face into Ron’s thick, red hair.

~ ~ ~

Minerva and Dumbledore met Draco on the staircase. He almost collided with the Headmaster who was running as fast up the stairs as Draco was running down them. She looked at his face, drained of blood and his eyes pale and glazed. He seemed to be shaking despite the layers of clothes he was wearing. The boy looked as though he was ready to faint dead away, but he was looking wildly past them and tried to push through to continue on his journey down the stairs. Minerva grabbed him and tried to still him.

“Draco?”

“I need to get Madam Pomfrey…”

“Draco you need to sit down, you’re in shock.”

“I’m fine…I need to get Madam Pomfrey…” he pointed vaguely up the stairs, “he’s hurt, Harry’s with him…I need to get Madam Pomfrey…”

“Albus…” Minerva turned to try and get some support, only to find that Dumbledore had taken off up the stairs towards the portrait hole. A moment later she heard him call her name in a voice that made her leave Draco where he was and dash up the stairs.

~ ~ ~

Harry gently lowered Ron back onto the pillows and climbed into the bed beside him, not caring about the blood that soaked into his T-shirt and chilled him.  He drew Ron to his chest and held tightly. Gently, he pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Hold on, please Ron, just hold on for a little bit longer. Don’t die on me…not now, not after everything else.”

They had been through too much together. They were all supposed to be happy now. Ron wasn’t supposed to be lying in a bed, dying alone in the dark. What had caused this? Harry hadn’t spoken to him, but would that have been enough? If Harry had bothered to talk instead of walking away, would he still have done this?

Probably not.

“Ron, please wake up, please don’t do this.”

Dumbledore knocked on the door frame and entered immediately. He didn’t speak; instead he prised Ron from Harry’s arms and called McGonagall.

“Oh…oh Albus…”

“Now is not the time to lose your head Minerva,” Dumbledore said calmly, “come here and take care of Harry. I trust Mr. Malfoy is on his way to fetch Madam Pomfrey?”

“Yes…yes he is.” Minerva came around the bed and drew Harry up into her arms. She had never been known as a motherly woman, but she was fiercely loyal and loved her friends deeply. She had been through far too much with these two boys to consider them merely as students and as she wrapped her arms around Harry, her embrace was as warm as any he had ever received from Molly Weasley…or anyone else for that matter.

Harry’s tears were soaking into her dressing gown as she watched Albus check Ron for signs of life.

“He’s not…he’s not dead is he Albus?”

“No,” there was no sound of a smile in Dumbledore’s voice, “but he is very close.”  He glanced at the door and hoped that Poppy wasn’t far away.

~ ~ ~

Hermione opened her heavy eyelids and closed them again sleepily. Morning was definitely coming too soon these days. Her eyes fluttered open again and she smiled at the weight of an arm thrown across her chest, and the feeling of a long nose pressed somehow into her ear.

“Are you asleep?” she asked, suppressing a giggle as he snored softly by way of reply. “I guess that’s a yes then?”

Severus mumbled something unintelligible and shifted, cuddling closer and causing Hermione to giggle again. Who would have ever taken Severus Snape for a snuggler? Hermione rolled her head, trying to make him out and all she found was a mass of black hair and an ear. She had a feeling that he may have taken a sleeping draught because he seemingly refused to wake up.

Hermione felt good. More than good, she felt incredible. She stretched and yawned and moved herself on to her side so that she could watch Severus bury his face in the pillow and snore. He seemed so peaceful, lying on his side and when she moved, he reached absently for her hand and squeezed lightly.

“When I came back to school this year, I was dreading you,” she whispered. “All I could think was that you would spend another year telling me that I was silly and stupid and a know-it-all.” She smiled and stroked his cheek lightly, “But you’re not so hard. You’re not hard at all.”

“If you touch my cock,” Snape mumbled into the pillow, “I think you’ll find I’m very hard.”

She looked down at him in surprise, “Have you been awake this whole time?”

“No.”

She heard the smile in his voice and pinched his shoulder hard, “Yes you have!”

“Oww! You little bitch!” he was laughing, and she squealed as he sat up and grabbed her and rolling her onto the mattress.

“You fucking shit!”

“Language, Miss Granger.”

~ ~ ~ 

The decision was made to take Ron swiftly to the Infirmary, rather than have Madam Pomfrey hurry to the tower. Her reasoning was simple, as Madam Pomfrey explained to the out of breath and panicked Draco. Everything she needed was in the Infirmary, and it would be far better for the boy to be brought to her. Madam Pomfrey knew that the Infirmary was far more sanitary and she could better manage an efficient appraisal of Mr. Weasley’s condition in her own comfortable environment.

Draco had returned to the tower via a portrait hole that he could only wish he had known about before he had run the distance of the castle. Ron was taller than either Harry or Draco and they struggled to lift him onto the stretcher that Dumbledore had conjured. Harry pushed the thought that it was because he was dead weight out of his head. Draco on the other hand was swearing silently as he dumped Ron’s feet unceremoniously onto the stretcher, almost upsetting the whole thing and sending him crashing to the floor. Minerva glared and turned away before she could snap something out at him.

They ducked through the portrait hole that led directly to the Infirmary where Madam Pomfrey stood waiting anxiously.

The Matron realised that she felt more anxious than she actually looked. She had been at Hogwarts for many long years and she had dealt with a large variety of things that would have had a Muggle running away screaming. But never something like this. There had been deaths at Hogwarts in the past. They were rare events, but they had happened. Suicide had never touched the castle…until now.

Wizard deaths were almost wholly characterized by a completely unmarked body. Curses left the smallest of scars; if any at all, and before the Death Eaters had turned to staves a year before, death in the Wizarding world had been a bloodless business.

Poppy knew that she was not prepared for this. Had it been an attack it would have been different. She was unprepared for the excess blood, exposed bone and the definite possibility of a young life slipping away if she failed. Poppy was horrified that he had done this willingly to himself.

She stayed herself and watched them bring Ron Weasley through the portrait hole, and she directed them towards a bed, far away from the three other occupants in the Infirmary.

“Up onto the bed,” she said briskly and when Harry and Draco weren’t fast enough she snapped at them to hurry up. She looked down at the pale, sallow face and found her hand fluttering to her mouth. He was so young to do something like this. What could have driven him to slice his own flesh open?

As gently as she could, Poppy stretched out Ron’s arm to inspect the damage. The bone shone stark and white against the matted red gore of flesh and she fought back the urge to turn away from the sight. Young Draco Malfoy was looking decidedly green and without lifting her attention from the damage in front of her she said; “Minerva, would you please make Mr. Malfoy lie down over there. I have some Navitas Serum in my office that I believe he needs promptly. Several drops in water isn’t it Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco blushed and shook his head, “I’m fine, it’s just been a bit of a shock, nothing to worry about.”

Minerva all but dragged him to the bed.

“I’m fine!”

“Please do as I say Mr. Malfoy,” Poppy ordered, “I don’t need you collapsing on top of everything else.”

Draco frowned and lay on the bed. Harry knew he was as pale as Draco, so why weren’t they making such a big deal about his reaction? Harry’s gaze shifted from Draco to watch as Professor McGonagall came back from Poppy’s office with a glass of water and a small vial.

“I’m fine, really. It was only a little blood…”

“Just drink it please Draco,” Minerva held out the water and Draco sat up, measured the potion into the glass and drank it down without even grimacing. Minerva looked at him a little sadly. She knew how bad the serum tasted, and it was a mark of how long Draco had been taking it; so used to the serum that he couldn’t even taste it any more. Harry watched everything, looking confused. He stared questioningly at Minerva who in turn looked back down at Draco.

Severus had told her that Harry didn’t know…and now probably wasn’t the best time to enlighten him.

Poppy was tracing her wand down the length of one wound and whispering to the flesh. She watched as slowly, muscle and sinew began to knit back together. Blood vessels and veins all moved towards each other and stopped. Poppy tsked impatiently and tried again. The result was always the same. The wound began to repair itself and then the progress stopped.

Something else was bothering her. There was a smell to the boy, something that seemed to inhabit the blood itself. Not that the smell of blood was ever particularly good, but she thought she could detect something foreign, like an odour that was not natural to the human body. As though had some kind of potion in his system. She was on the verge of asking that someone fetch Severus Snape, but dismissed the idea as a foolish one. To wake the Potions Master just to come and smell someone’s blood was a ridiculous notion, and there were already far too many people in the room as it was. Dumbledore and Minerva were hovering anxiously, while Potter looked as though he were caught between trying to see what was going on with his friend and rushing over to his lover. Poppy wished that he would do the latter, as his unblinking stare was making her nervous.

“Poppy?” Minerva asked, edging forward, “is there something wrong?”  She stopped and frowned at her own stupidity. Of course there was something wrong! They were standing in an arc around a bed with the body of a boy she had watched go from a child to a man and who could now possibly die. There was something very, very wrong!

“The wound isn’t closing as it should,” Poppy explained darkly, “I think there is something in his blood that is impeding the healing process.”

“A drug?” Harry asked. His voice was dry and cracked and when all eyes turned to him he just looked tired and drained.

“Do you know something Harry?” Dumbledore asked gently, “something that could help?”

“He was taking something…some kind of drug, with needles…like a Muggle.”

Poppy quickly began to inspect above and around the wounds. Yes, she could see them now. There, there and there. She traced a line of red puncture wounds up into his armpit and then beyond. With a wave of her wand and without hesitation, she stripped him naked and the group drew back in shock.

Harry’s first inclination was to run for something to cover Ron with. Naked, he looked a thousand times worse and more vulnerable than he had before. His entire body seemed to be covered in bruises and tiny red marks from the needles he pushed into himself. He was painfully thin. Someone had abused him. There were bruises that were old and some that were horribly fresh. Harry could see a perfect imprint of a boot across his lower abdomen.

“Fuck me…” Draco breathed. He was sitting up on the bed and craning to see, “what the fuck happened to him?”

It was a question that everyone standing there would have dearly loved an answer to. If Harry could, he would find out who had done this and he would be off to find them now. Anything to get out of this room and away from the mess that had once been his closest friend. But he couldn’t leave, and he knew that at that moment, he couldn’t even think straight. In his minds eye he could see Ron as he had once been. The skinny kid who had befriended Harry on a magical train, who had set up a chess game and sacrificed himself so that Harry could move forward. Ron, the friend who had rescued him in a flying car, and who’d walked into a cavern of spiders just because Harry had asked him to. The one person who had always tried to protect him, who never shied away from any danger, and who had pulled him away from countless summers with the Dursleys. The first person to call him friend and the one who had opened a whole new world to Harry.

Ron who was now dying because at the first sign of trouble, Harry had turned away and thought only of himself.

Draco slid off the bed and moved in behind Harry, embracing him and resting his chin on Harry’s shoulder. He was staring at Ron, more stunned than he thought he could be.

“Did you know?” Draco whispered, kissing Harry’s throat.

“I…I thought, um, yeah, I guess I knew he was taking something.” Harry tensed, “I didn’t know it was this bad.” He tried to shrug Draco off but his lover held on to him tightly.

“You weren’t to know,” Draco said, and then continued, “this is not your fault.”

“I should have done something. I noticed, and I did nothing.”

Draco was shaking his head against Harry’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault, Harry,” Draco said. “He was being an arsehole. He pushed you away first. You had no reason to feel any pity for him.”

Harry didn’t answer, but he stared straight ahead at Ron’s body and focused his whole body on what Madam Pomfrey was doing.

~ ~ ~

Curator Semeuse awoke as the sun was penetrating London’s gloom and filtering through the double glass doors of his bed chamber. With a flick of his wand the curtains flew open and tied themselves back neatly. Light suddenly flooded the room, as beautiful and as glorious as any Tuscan sunrise. Semeuse reclined back into his pillows and smiled contentedly. Only the best would do for when his Angel awoke.

Within seconds of the contented smile crossing his face, the Curator was served his tea by a House Elf who offered him a copy of the Daily Prophet, which he declined. The tea however, was excellent and Semeuse drank it quietly before turning his attention to the sleeping form beside him.

Lucius was indeed sleeping peacefully. He had curled himself on the very edge of the bed, as far away from the Curator as he could manage to get without falling out. His heavy hair filled the void between them, and it was so long now and growing at such an unnatural rate, that even if Semeuse cut it back by half it would still reach his Angels thighs. But to cut it would be akin to desecrating perfection and Semeuse would never bring himself to do such a thing. He pulled back the covers to expose the lean body beneath.

Beautiful.

He traced his fingers lightly down the length of Lucius’ body, taking in the gentle curve of his spine, his boney hip and the newly formed muscles in his legs. Gently, lightly enough not to wake him, Semeuse kissed the knobbly bone at the top of his shoulder. The flesh beneath his lips was warm and smooth. Lucius felt fresh and clean, and only the excess hair seemed to give any indication that it hadn’t been washed recently.

“It is time to wake up my darling,” the Curator whispered and the body tensed as the Angels eyes snapped open. Semeuse stroked his cheek, soothing him gently, “shh, relax my darling. I am going to have some breakfast brought up for you.”

Not that Lucius would ever eat so much as a mouthful in front of him, but Semeuse always kept his hope. He usually found that if he left Lucius alone for an extended period of time that he would eat at least some of the food that was left for him. Through trial and error he had discovered that it was best to cut anything into small pieces. Lucius had little control over his body and his jaw would often fall open. Actually forcing himself to chew took an enormous effort and thus the smaller the pieces, the more likely Lucius was to actually finish it.

“Are you hungry my darling heart?” He rolled Lucius onto his back and propped him up in the pillows, then retrieved a clean nightshirt from his tallboy and dressed the Angel before the House Elf returned with his breakfast. He brushed as much of the Angel’s hair as he could, pulling it back from his face and tying it with a white ribbon. He looked presentable enough for a House Elf, even if his head did keep falling forward and he was dribbling. Semeuse lifted his face and wiped his chin, tutting as he did so.

“I will leave you to have your breakfast,” he said cheerfully when the Elf arrived with the tray, “and later I will come back to give you a bath.” He traced a finger along his Angels jaw.  “Your hair is dirty, so we are going to have to wash it today.”

He took his leave reluctantly, taking a last look at Lucius’ vacant stare and noticing with some dismay that he was drooling again. He closed the door behind him and set off to his bathroom to ready himself for the day.

Lucius blinked, and blinked again. His eyes seemed to clear and they drifted across his lap to the plate of food that had been placed beside him. His hand shifted slowly, moving clumsily and dislodging most of what was on the plate to the mattress. His fingers closed around a small piece of pastry that Lucius then painstakingly lifted to his mouth. It took a great deal more effort than Semeuse realised, and once he had managed to get the food into his mouth, his hand fell uselessly back to the plate.

Lucius chewed slowly, dribbling most of his breakfast down the front of his nightshirt. It took him an hour to eat half of the croissant, and after that he was too tired to continue trying. He closed his eyes and sank back into the pillows, waiting for his tormentor to return.

~ ~ ~

Poppy discovered that with a few well chosen ingredients, she could seal the wounds in Ron’s arms temporarily, at least until they could get him to the specialists at St Mungo’s. She was also wondering if perhaps they should Enervate him, to try and bring him out of the comatose state he was currently in. She wanted to know that he was still able to function, or if there had been some kind of lasting damage.

Minerva had pulled a sheet out of the cupboard and was unfolding it, getting ready to throw it over Ron’s body. There was no point keeping him exposed, and it was cold in the room, despite the fire.

“Should we Enervate him?” she asked after a while, “get his blood moving around a bit?”

Poppy nodded swiftly. The boy was horribly cold and clammy to her touch, and he needed his circulation to be working in order to heal. “He might not react well to waking up, and we might have to hold him down.”

“Not a Body Bind, surely?”

“No, Minerva, we can hold him physically, and it will probably panic him a lot less.”

Dumbledore drew Harry around to the top of the bed and smiled, “I want you to hold his hands above his head for me.”

Draco and Minerva held his feet.

Arthur and Molly Weasley came rushing into the room just as Dumbledore cried “Enervate!”

The effect was instant and awful. Ron convulsed, coughed and convulsed again. His eyes shot open, wide and confused and he began to struggle, instinctively thrashing out at the people holding him down.  His focus did not seem to fix on any one person, and he was looking wildly about the room. Harry wasn’t sure that Ron even recognised a single person there. Finally, he keened out a long, high pitched wail.

“Calm down Ron,” Dumbledore said gently, but to no avail Ron wrenched his arm out of Harry’s grasp and desperately began to claw at his other arm, trying to tear apart the newly joined skin.

“I have to get to Charlie!” he cried, panicked, “I have to find Charlie and make it better…”

“In order for you to make things better, Ron, you need to calm down now!” Harry pleaded.

“No! No! I have to find Charlie, I have to…”

Harry fought to hold Ron’s arms, amazed at how much strength he possessed. With his hands restrained, he lashed out with his feet, catching Minerva in the hip and Draco in the stomach. The sheet that Minerva had placed over him was dislodged and it slid to the floor.

~ ~ ~

Molly and Arthur had been seemingly rooted to the spot with horror, and then the sheet slid from his body and Molly screamed. Minerva rushed over to them, realising for the first time that they were actually there. Molly had gone white, and her lips were the colour of fresh parchment.

“I did this,” Molly’s voice was full of air, “I did this to him!”

Arthur didn’t argue with her. He watched as one of his son’s wounds ruptured under Harry’s grip and revealed the full extent of the damage done. He couldn’t move, but he allowed Minerva to restrain his distraught wife who was charging forward to her youngest sons hospital bed.

“What are they doing to him?” Molly screamed.

“They are trying to save him,” Arthur replied, “just stay where you are and let them do what they need to do.”

~ ~ ~

“Ron,” Harry was saying, holding Ron’s arms firmly and not caring that the scars had ruptured, “Ron, look at me!”

Ron’s eyes rolled up in his head and locked on to Harry.

“Ron, you have to stop struggling; we are trying to help you.”

“Harry?” Ron actually smiled, a smile of relief, “I have to find Charlie, please…please let me find him.”

“It’s too late to find Charlie now Ron. Charlie would be very angry with you if you found him now.”

“But…” Ron’s eyes flooded with tears, “I have to, I have to make things better.”

“I don’t think that you finding Charlie is going to make things better Ron.”

“But…it will make them…happy.”

“No, no Ron, it would make people sad. Very sad.”

“Where’s bear?”

Harry looked confused. “Who is bear?”

“He…he was with me…where’s pirate bear?”

Harry remembered the blood soaked teddy bear on the floor of Ron’s room. “Bear is safe. He’s in your bed, safe and sound.”

“He gets frightened without me.”

“Well, I’ll go and get him, but you have to calm down first.”

Ron began to still and then he looked at Dumbledore and strained towards him. “Please,” he whispered, “please let me find Charlie…”

Harry looked away and caught Molly Weasley’s eye. The woman who had been a mother to Harry was staring in horror at the sight in front of her, and her face was a mask of guilt and pain. She looked at Harry and tried to speak, but all she could say was “I’m sorry,” over and over again, as though she knew it would never be enough.

~ ~ ~

Dumbledore had sent Harry and Draco back to bed, with promises of waking Harry in time to go to St. Mungo’s with Hermione. And so, despite his initial argument, Harry slept. He wasn’t certain how he’d managed to do so, but the lull of Draco’s breathing, the warmth of his skin and the solid beat of his heart beneath Harry’s palm had become hypnotic, and after a time, Harry had fallen asleep to its rhythmic beat. By the time Harry awoke, Ron had been transferred to St. Mungo’s, and Professor McGonagall was informing Hermione about the events overnight. Ginny was being hastily roused by her father, and she wouldn’t believe it at first, even when Arthur took her from the castle and they made their way to the hospital in London.

When Harry opened his eyes, light was streaming into the room, and he sat up, momentarily disorientated and panicking that it was too late. Draco grumbled and rolled over and for the briefest moment Harry enjoyed the feel of Draco shifting his long limbs beside him. Draco was here, alive and whole. He could live forever as long as that one constant remained. Harry stroked Draco’s soft hair lovingly and then slipped out of the bed, padding silently to the wardrobe to grab clothes and toiletries to take with him to the bathroom. He desperately needed a shower, he was covered in Ron’s dried blood and part of him couldn’t believe that he’d slept that way.

“Were you going to wake me up and tell me that you were going?”

Harry froze, unable to stop the strange sensation of guilt, as though he had just been caught doing something wrong. Something in Draco’s voice was accusing and spiteful.

“Of course I was,” Harry said quickly. “I’ll be back later anyway.”

Draco sat up and glared at him. “So you’re going to the hospital?”

“Yes, why wouldn’t I?”

“There’s nothing you can do there. Wouldn’t it be best to leave him to the healers and his family, until he wakes up?”

Harry stared at him, open mouthed and incredulous, “If it was me, would you go to the hospital?”

“I think that this is a little different to that scenario.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it is. You’re my lover. You’re the person I love and want to spend my life with. You didn’t just spend the last few months making me out to be a dirty queer and tormenting me.”

“He was sick Draco!”

“Bullshit!” Draco swung his legs out of bed. “He wasn’t sick, he was willingly injecting himself with drugs!”

“It wasn’t his fault.”

“Then whose fault was it?”

“I don’t know!”

“For Merlin’s sake Harry, he’s spent months being a complete fuckwit. I mean, I don’t give a fuck if it is true that he slept with his sister-in-law, but to turn around and put all that moral shit on us for our choices – just to cover the fact that his own were so fucked up, is fucking wrong!” Draco looked angrily at Harry, unable to stop the words that were now flying out of his mouth, “and now, when he gets found out and everyone is pissed at him, what does he do? He cuts himself up to get some fucking sympathy!”

“DON’T!” Harry yelled, “don’t say anything else.”

“Why not?” Draco demanded. “It’s true! And it’s working. Look at yourself, Harry. You can’t stop yourself from running to poor ickle Ronnikins! He doesn’t need sympathy. He needs to fucking wake up to himself, realise he did it all himself, and get the fuck over it!”

“You don’t know what it was like!”

“What what was like?”

“The war. You don’t know how hard it was!”

“And what does that have to do with it?” Draco sneered, “Let me guess. You’re going to blame Voldemort because Ron Weasley fucked his sister-in-law?”

“It did things to us, and it left us weak. You wouldn’t fucking know because you spent the whole fucking war hiding in your Manor like a fucking little coward! You know nothing about what kind of pain and loss it left behind!”

Draco looked amazed, “You think I know nothing about pain and loss?”

“What did you lose?” Harry asked bitterly. “You have everything shoved at you on a platter, just like you always have.”

Draco paled and went silent, and he seemed on the verge of letting Harry leave when he finally said in a quiet hiss, “I lost as much as anyone else did. I just didn’t choose to go and play the sympathy card to get into everyone’s affections.”

“No, you didn’t, because no one would give a rats arse if you dropped dead tomorrow.” Harry spat.

Draco stared at Harry bristling with anger and malice. “If that’s how you feel then perhaps you had better go to the hospital. I’d hate to hold a selfish little shit like you up.”

~ ~ ~

Hermione sat down to breakfast with a contented smile on her face and a nagging feeling in her heart that this happiness could never last. She was after all, eighteen and Severus; some twenty years her senior, would surely tire of her eventually. She asked herself, for the first time, exactly what he saw in her. As adult as she felt, Hermione knew that she acted her age most of the time – and Severus despised eighteen year olds as a general rule. So what did he see in her? Youth and exuberance? Severus hated youth and exuberance.

But still, all was well for now and perhaps she should count her blessings and not question it.

Lavender was already at the table when Hermione arrived. She looked red eyed and miserable, as though she had spent the entire night crying.

“Are you alright? What happened?” Hermione asked anxiously. It was a drawback staying with Severus because it meant that she wasn’t there for her friends if anything went wrong, and by the look of Lavender, something had most certainly gone wrong.

“It’s nothing,” Lavender sniffled, drawing out her handkerchief and blowing her nose, “I had a bad night, that’s all.”

“Your date with Ernie didn’t go well?”

Lavender looked sideways at her and began to sniffle loudly. She blew her nose again and dabbed her eyes, “No,” she said in a cracked voice, “it did not go well.” She tried to smile bravely but only succeeded in looking more miserable. “He turned up half an hour late…and when he did he was with this woman. They’ve been seeing each other for months. The bastard couldn’t work out how to tell me, so he thought he’d show me instead.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open and her hands flew to her face, “But that’s…that’s terrible!”

“Yeah well, I should be used to shit like that by now. Every boyfriend I’ve ever had has been a fucking prick in the end.”

Hermione stared at her friend in horror. How many boyfriends could she possibly have had? Did they all end like that? She cast a quick glance at Severus and shivered…’would they end like that’? “Oh Lav, I’m so sorry.”

Lavender dabbed her eyes again and took a deep breath. “It’s alright, I’m a big girl. I’ll get over it, eh?”

Hermione put her arm around Lavender’s shoulders, hugged her tight as Lavender half laughed and choked back a sob.

“So how was your dinner?” Lavender smiled, deciding to be brave. She was perfectly aware that this was Hermione’s first boyfriend, and she really shouldn’t give her such a bad impression of dating. If men weren’t such arseholes, she would probably have an easier time of it.

“Well,” Hermione said slowly, “the restaurant was crap. I don’t know who chose it, but wow, they need a serious re-think about romance.” She thought wildly for some interesting titbit from the restaurant, “Oh yeah! We had to sit on this giant condom box! And I had the worst drink in the world, but then…” she lowered her voice, “then Severus got me something decent, so that was ok.”

“OK,” Lavender sniffled, “cut through dinner, was the sex any good?”

“The sex is always good.”

“Believe me, you will have bad sex at some point.”

Hermione fell silent. Perhaps discussing her Valentine’s Day activities with Lavender wasn’t such a brilliant idea given her present state of mind? “Um…I…”

“Miss Granger?”

Hermione looked up at Professor McGonagall, almost welcoming the interruption. She smiled, “Professor?”

“Could you come with me dear, I need to have a word with you.”

Hermione looked nervously to Severus and then back to McGonagall, “Am…am I in trouble Professor?”

“No!” Minerva swallowed and restrained herself from pulling out a handkerchief. She looked at Lavender Brown and realised that she very much felt the way Miss Brown looked. “No Miss Granger, you are not in trouble. I just need to speak with you privately, that’s all.”

Once again Hermione looked to Severus who frowned questioningly at Minerva. She gave Lavender one last squeeze and followed Professor McGonagall from the Great Hall to her office.

“Hermione,” Minerva tried to smile reassuringly but felt too tired and drained to make it look convincing, “perhaps you should sit down dear.”

Hermione stood awkwardly for a moment, “You’re not going to expel me are you?”

Minerva opened and closed her mouth, unable to comprehend how a single person could be so incredibly obsessed with school. “No Hermione, nothing like that. Please, sit down.”

Hermione lowered herself into the offered chair and fidgeted nervously.

“There has been a…an accident…” Minerva looked away, not really wanting to do this. Perhaps she should get Severus, at least he could comfort the girl.

Had she not been in such a bad frame of mind, Minerva decided that she would have found the situation laughable. The mere thought that Severus Snape could comfort a distraught girl.

“An accident?” Hermione grew pale, “Is it Harry? Is he alright?”

“Harry is fine Hermione; he’s just fine. I’m afraid that the one who has been hurt is Mr. Weasley.”

“Ron?”

Five minutes later, with all explained, Hermione ran from the office and mounted the stairs to the tower. It couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t be. Ron wouldn’t do something like that…Ron was stronger than that.

Harry was waiting for her in the Common Room looking pale, drawn and miserable. “Are you coming to the hospital with me?” He asked, his voice dry, flat and plain.

In that moment, she knew it was true. She knew that Ron had hurt himself, knew that everything had fallen apart for him and that neither she nor Harry had been there to help him pick up the pieces. She had been too preoccupied, too intent on her own happiness to think about Ron. She had noticed something, and she had said something to Harry once, then with everything else she had forgotten about it. And now Ron was paying for it.

“I…”

“I know,” said Harry quietly. He pulled her to him and hugged her tightly, trying to draw on her strength as much as she was trying to draw on his. “It’s not supposed to be like this,” he whispered. “We’re supposed to be happy. It’s all over now. We’re supposed to be happy and free.”

Hermione cried then, allowing herself to dissolve into tears while she could, knowing that she would have to be strong later. She buried her face in Harry’s neck and cried, taking comfort in the feeling of his arms and his warmth. They stayed that way, supporting each other’s shaking frames, until Dumbledore arrived to take them to St. Mungo’s

~ ~ ~

“You would not believe what I saw last night,” Semeuse was saying conversationally as he massaged Gilderoy Lockhart’s Natural Blond Hair Dream into Lucius’ scalp. Lucius sat in the bath of hot water, supported by a makeshift backrest of Semeuse’s own design. He looked uninterested at the conversation, but the Curator continued regardless. Leaving the Hair Dream to cure, he lifted one of Lucius’ arms and began to lather.

“It was your friend, that Professor from Hogwarts, what was his name? Snape?” Semeuse smiled as Lucius’ eyebrow twitched slightly and his eyes flickered minutely with interest.

“He was quite busy I must say, all over this young girl in the doorway to a public building. Her taste is questionable to say the least, and he really is the most vile looking man I have ever had the displeasure to meet (not like you my Angel) but then, perhaps he had used the Imperius curse on her. But then, she did appear to be enjoying his attentions.”

Lucius blinked and Semeuse scrubbed his armpit.

“The most interesting thing was that the girl is a student! She is a friend of your son Draco. I saw her in the Edrasil. Now, I wonder what the Ministry and the School Governors will think of a Professor, and Head of House so I’m told, having sex with one of his students? I don’t believe they would consider it particularly ethical, do you?”

He bowed Lucius forward and poured water over his head to rinse out the Hair Dream. In truth he had been looking for a way to avenge himself on Snape, ever since he had come to the museum and flatly refused to help Semeuse acquire Lucius on a more permanent basis. The man was also Draco’s Godfather, and was no doubt going to prove a problem when it came time for him to ‘acquire’ the boy.

“I think with some information like that, Professor Snape won’t be a problem for much longer.”

“Leave him alone.”

Semeuse sat back in astonishment. Lucius had not spoken, his lips had not moved and yet his voice was very clear. It was as though it had sounded inside the Curators head. He lifted Lucius’ chin with his forefinger.

“Did you just say something my Angel?”

“Leave Severus alone.”

Semeuse smiled, feeling more joy than he had felt in half a century wash through him. “So you can talk my darling one!” It wasn’t as though Lucius was really talking as such, but he was communicating, and Semeuse could hear him quite clearly.

“I hate you.”

Far from being upset by this declaration Semeuse seemed overjoyed. “Oh Lucius, my darling. There is such a fine line between love and hate. They are both such intense emotions, and how can one exist without the other? In time, my darling, you will learn to appreciate me.”

“Where is my wife? She is not in the exhibition. Is she still in Azkaban?”

Semeuse almost felt sorry to tell his Angel the truth, but the wife was nothing to him, and a rival for his affections. “Your wife is dead my darling,” he said quietly. “It was a terrible shame, breaking up a set like that, but then, she was not blood was she? She was only related by marriage.”

Lucius fell silent again, apparently digesting the news and Semeuse feared he would not speak again.

“Don’t fret beautiful one. I will have Draco here soon enough and then you will have one of your own here to love.”

“Don’t touch my son.”

Semeuse smiled, “Oh but darling, I want to see you both together, and he is particularly receptive to Imperius. Imagine his mouth on you my Angel, his mouth trailing all over you, and his body against and in yours. There would not be many sights sweeter than that.”

“Don’t touch my son.”

“You can’t stop me Lucius,” the Curator continued, suddenly serious, “I don’t know how you’ve managed this wonderful feat, but you are essentially powerless, and broken mirrors or shattered cases are not going to hold me off for long. I know what I want, and I like to get what I want.”

Lucius was silent again and Semeuse poured more water over his head, removing the last of the soap. After a long time the voice returned, but it was stronger now, drawling in a lazy sort of way.

“Perhaps we could make a deal,” said Lucius.

“A deal? Semeuse moved around the tub to fetch a towel, “what kind of deal would you like to make my Angel?”

“If you leave my son alone, I will learn to…appreciate…you a great deal faster.”

Semeuse crouched beside the tub again and lifted the Angel’s chin to look him in the eye. “How much faster is faster?”

He could almost see the strain of effort on his Angel’s face and he heard the water being broken as Lucius raised his hand with excruciating slowness. Lucius pressed his palm flat against the curator’s cheek in a lovers caress.

“Almost immediate,” said the voice.

~ ~ ~

The walls of Snape’s office were lined with shelves full of jars of Merlin only knew what. It was not a place that many students would have felt comfortable. There had even been wild rumours that he kept the pickled head of a student in one of those jars. No doubt a story made up by a Slytherin seventh year to terrify the first years. As Draco stared idly at what looked like a Kappa embryo floating silently in its jar, Draco couldn’t help but see why it was all so widely believed. Who in their right mind kept a floating Kappa embryo in their office?

He had skipped his Transfiguration lesson, pleading that he was far too distraught about the poor Weasel’s dreadful accident and of course McGonagall had believed him. She seemed so upset herself about it that Draco was sure she would have made it a national day of mourning if she could…and the selfish git wasn’t even dead! Draco figured that he was so far advanced of most people in Transfiguration that he could afford to skip the class. Draco also knew that Snape had that period free – and for some ridiculous reason, he felt like talking to Snape.

He turned from the jars and wandered aimlessly for a moment, well, as aimlessly as one could wander in a circular room. After a while the cold began to irritate him, so he lit the fire and slumped into a chair near by to wait for the Potions Master to finish his class and return to his office.

It didn’t take long. Severus Snape was usually keen to escape a class full of first years and he slammed his way into his office in such a temper that Draco almost regretted coming. Upon seeing Draco he did not look entirely pleased, but he stopped himself from muttering under his breath and seemed to calm down considerably.

“To what do I owe the honour, Draco? Aren’t you supposed to be in your Transfiguration class?”

“Did you hear about Weasel?” Draco asked, not getting up from his place in front of the fire.

“If you are referring to Mr. Weasley, yes, news of his unfortunate…accident has reached me.”

“And?”

Snape glared, “And what? Am I supposed to feel some particular emotion about it?”

“No!” Said Draco, and then under his breath, “exactly…” He looked up at Snape and to Snape’s great dismay, he looked distressed. “Harry and I had a fight about it.”

Snape swallowed hard. Oh dear god, he’s come to me for relationship advice. Snape made a non committal sound in his throat.

“And Harry stormed out.”

Snape wondered how he could extract himself from the conversation…and then wondered what Lucius would say.

“He said I knew nothing about pain or loss…and that if I died tomorrow no one would miss me.” Draco chewed his thumb, then continued, “He said I was a coward because I hid during the war…I guess he’s right.”

Snape sat opposite Draco and steepled his fingers. He knew of course exactly what Lucius would do in this situation. Set off after Potter, where he would hex him to death for having the audacity to say such things to his precious spoiled brat of a son.

But Draco was not a precious spoiled brat, not any more. Draco was also alarmingly like his father, a veneer as hard as a diamond that covered a vulnerability that was truly pathetic to behold.

Then again, Snape had spent his morning having his name associated with various forms of the word ‘Snuggles’, so who was the pathetic one? He cleared his throat and addressed Draco in the most fatherly manner that he could muster.

“I would suggest that perhaps Potter did not know what he was saying.”

“Harry knew what he was saying.” Draco folded his arms across his chest and slumped still further in his chair.

“Potter has a habit of not thinking about more than one crisis at a time,” Snape smiled, “although I have to say; you must have really pissed him off to make him say that. But, what is that old Muggle saying? Each man hurts the thing he loves?”

“I think it’s ‘kills’.”

“Well, let’s hope he doesn’t go that far.”

“Besides, I don’t think Harry loves me any more.”

Oh good grief, someone just kill me now. Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to find a happy thought. “Don’t be ridiculous Draco.” He sighed, “I am not in the habit of counseling students on their love lives.”

“But I’m not just your student…am I?”

“No, you’re not.” He stared at Draco a little awkwardly, and suddenly realised that he just wasn’t any good at this sort of thing. Had Draco gone to Flitwick or Sinistra, he’d have enough sentimental advice to fill volumes. But instead Draco had come to him, and he was lost for words. Finally ,he decided that telling the truth was probably the best thing he could do. “I personally find Mr. Potter abhorrent, however, I am certain of one thing, Potter, little hero that he is, is in love with you. Don’t doubt it, don’t think about it and for pity’s sake, don’t bring it up with me again. Just accept it as fact and get on with it.”

Not bad Severus, you’re getting good at this sentimental drivel.

Draco was fairly gaping. He worked his jaw a few times before frowning at his godfather. “You worked with him fairly closely during the war didn’t you?”

“Unfortunately.”

“And there really isn’t anything at all that you like about him?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“But you saved him a few times, he told me you did. Why did you do that if you didn’t see something in him that you liked?”

“I had a duty to protect him, and he was a necessary weapon.”

Draco frowned harder. A weapon. Harry had referred to himself as such, usually when he was tired and depressed or feeling vulnerable. “A weapon was all he was?”

“Basically.”

“Were you one of the people who wanted to destroy him after the war?”

Snape looked into Draco’s grey eyes and wondered just how a Malfoy could have fallen so hard for the Gryffindor hero. There was also the fact that Potter knew about the plan to ‘dismantle’ him. “So he knows about that? He’s more perceptive than I gave him credit for.”

“Were you one of them?” Draco insisted.

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose again. He would have dearly loved to say that yes he was, but he was telling the truth now and he saw no reason to stop. “No,” he said, “I wasn’t. I spent enough time and effort ensuring he survived the war, and I thought it would have been a waste to see him killed by his own side.”

“And every time you look into his eyes you see his mother. He has his mother’s eyes doesn’t he?”

Damn you Lucius, was nothing ever sacred with you. Of course he knew the answer to that. Lucius thought the sun rose and fell with Draco; he told him everything. “Everyone has secrets Draco, don’t push me.”

“Why did people want to kill him? He saved their arses, so why would they want him dead?”

“People are afraid of power Draco.” Snape began to pace. “Dumbledore made sure that Potter was extremely powerful, more powerful than even he knows, and people were afraid of it. They feared that once he had grown, that he would grow to like the power…and become another Dark Lord. Let’s face it, who wouldn’t flock to Harry Potter’s banner? He’d amass an army in no time and bring our world to it’s knees if he wanted to.”

“But he wouldn’t do that!”

“Well, I know that, and you know that, but it took Albus Dumbledore a good long time to convince the Ministry of that.” Snape hesitated and then added, “Of course, his connection with you is not really helping that cause, but I am fairly certain that they’ll leave him alone.”

Draco reclined back into the chair and looked up at the dusty ceiling. “He deserves better than that.” Draco set his jaw hard and sneered, “the whole fucking Wizarding World can just fuck off. When school is finished I’m taking him with me and he is going to lead a long and happy life without all this bullshit.”

“And what about your father?”

Draco fell still and bowed his head. “My father wants me to be happy.”

Snape looked surprised. “Then am I to assume that we should stop this search for the potion?”

Draco closed his eyes and felt the first traces of a stress head ache start at the back of his skull. “No…I can’t leave him like that.”

“Then you plan on telling Potter everything?

Draco looked decidedly uncomfortable. “I don’t know what I am going to do.”

“Then perhaps you have some things to think about. In the meantime, might I suggest that we need to keep an eye on Archibald Semeuse? We need to know what is going on in that Museum…and we need to know that Lucius is safe.”

“How safe can he be?” Draco asked bitterly, “apparently he’s being raped by some lecherous old shit.”

“I’m working on that.”

“So what are you suggesting for now?”

“A spy.”

Draco considered this and, feeling a little foolish, asked, “What kind of spy?”

“One that watches what is going on and reports back to us Draco,” Snape snorted impatiently. “What other kind of spy is there?”

“Who?”

“Well, that I don’t know. I’ll think of something.”

“And what about Regina Vermoral?” Draco asked, not really certain if he wanted to know the answer.

“All being well, we should meet Miss Vermoral on Saturday.”

~ ~ ~

Hermione returned to the castle during the lunch break, planning to pack a few things into an over night bag and leave a quick note for Severus. As an after thought, she also packed several textbooks. She figured that she would probably get little to no sleep that night, and if she was going to be sitting in the waiting room as she had all morning, she may as well be productive. She had a report due on Memory Charms due the next week and she could probably get a good start on it.

After locating everything she needed, and packing a few magazines for the others to read, (the ones at the hospital all seemed to date back to before she was born) she looked at her watch and was dismayed to find that the lunch break was almost over. She had actually hoped to see Severus and not just leave him a note, but she would have to find him first and by the time she did he would probably have to head back to class. She sighed and realised that she would only just have time to stammer out a goodbye and that would be it.

She found some parchment and quickly and sat down to write a note.

“How are you?”

She almost leapt out of her skin in shock and then her shock turned into a smile of delight. Severus slipped into the room and closed the door behind him.

“Minerva said that she’d seen you come back, and that you are returning to the hospital. I didn’t think you’d have time to find me.”

She smiled with pleasure. “I thought I should stay. I don’t want to be the last to know if anything happens, and they all need some support at the moment.” She stopped and bowed her head and when she looked back up at him. She looked troubled. “I just can’t understand what happened. I mean, I know he’s been a bit…odd…lately, but I had no idea. I’ve known Ron for so long now and he always seemed ok, you know, stable. I know this sounds awful, but if it was Harry I would have understood it more, because he gets these fits of melancholy. Harry can get so incredibly depressed…but Ron…” Hermione shook her head. “Ron was always so normal, like he could face anything…”

“Sometimes people hide things so deep inside that no one can see the truth.”

“But we should have seen it coming. Harry and I should have seen it.” Hermione looked away. She hated to admit it, but since the day that Ron had accused her of being with Draco, Hermione hadn’t spoken two words to him. She hadn’t even tried. Her head had been full of Severus and Krum and Harry and Draco. With Ron acting so nastily, she hadn’t even given him a second thought. “I should have been paying more attention,” she finished miserably.

Snape sat beside her and drew her close. “Hermione, you can’t blame yourself for someone else’s actions. From what Minerva told me, Weasley set his own path to self destruction.”

“Yes…but he may have had some help with his actions.” She told Severus about the mystery drug and about Angelina, a fact of which Snape was already well aware. Minerva had filled him on every detail.

“Hermione, you can’t play mother to them forever. You can’t be everywhere. You are not all seeing and all knowing,” he smiled thinly, “no matter how much you would like to be.”

She turned her face and kissed his pale cheek. “I know…but I can’t help it, they’ve always been there for me.”

He kissed her, lightly at first, just a gentle brush across her lips and then the kiss deepened as she melted into his warmth, desperate for comfort and consolation.  Hermione pulled away from him and smiled, and then laid back, pulling him to the bed with her, knowing that there was no time for this, but just wanting to feel the comfort of his weight on top of her. He went willingly, finding her mouth again and sliding his hands down the length of her body, caressing her jean clad thighs.

“You had to be wearing jeans didn’t you?” He murmured into her mouth and Hermione surprised herself by laughing quietly.

“It’s cold outside.” She kissed him again, “and you have a class to teach, so it wouldn’t do to get you all excited.”

It was too late for that, and they both knew it. His cock pressed hard into her groin, making them both ache for it, and he was kissing her again, harder now and desperate, making her dizzy.

The door opened suddenly and Hermione shrieked. Lavender gaped from the doorway, not knowing what to look at first when it came to the tangle of arms, limbs, hair and Snape that was piled onto Hermione’s bed.

“I…I am so sorry!” Lavender ducked back out the door and slammed it shut, but not before they heard a snigger and then a snort of embarrassed laughter.

Severus scrambled off Hermione, straightening his robes and his hair, checking to see if everything was…tucked away neatly.

“It’s alright,” Hermione sat up on the bed, laughing at the expression of pure panic on his face, “Lavender knows.”

“She what?”

“She knows. Who do you think gets me so dressed up to go out with you?”

This was all too much for Snape to take in. Not only had he just been caught rolling around like a naughty student, it now appeared that half the student populous knew exactly what he was doing with the schools star pupil.

Not that Lavender Brown was half the student populous, but he didn’t know if she was a gossip or not.

“I should go, I’ve got classes.”

“Are you pissed off with me?”

“No, of course not.” He leaned down to kiss her goodbye, “You’ll be back tomorrow?”

“I should be, and when I am, I’ll give you some good ‘lovin’.”

Snape chuckled softly and opened the door, checking outside for students he found only Miss Brown sitting near the fire sniggering to herself. He turned back to Hermione. “I might just hold you to that.”

“I was counting on it,” Hermione winked, “Snuggles.”

Snape blanched and then closed the door behind him.

~ ~ ~

Classes had dragged that day. Without Harry to distract him, Draco found himself bored and listless. He knew most of what he needed to know to actually pass his NEWTS; the long day seemed nothing more than revision. By the end of it, he found himself wishing that he had taken Dumbledore up on his offer and missed all of them and not just Transfiguration. He could have happily taken a sleeping draught and spent the whole day in bed. But anger had propelled him from his room and down into the main school. Anger that had, admittedly, died as the day dragged on.

Without Harry, people seemed to suddenly grow backbones. The whispers and stares in the Great Hall became more prominent. Enough of what happened that morning with Weasley had been kept quiet, so aside from the idea that he had taken ill during the night, it wasn’t a talking point. The fact that Draco was walking around without Harry was.

“So, did Potter finally come to his senses and dump you?”

“Fuck off, Creevy.”

“So the Malfoy arse not all it’s cracked up to be?”

“Eat shit and die, Goldstein.”

Draco found himself walking a fine line, aching to hex anyone in his path and not being able to do it. He and Harry had not parted on the best of terms, and it would probably only cause more arguments if Harry returned to news that Draco had knobbled half the school. Draco wasn’t a fool and his main interest at that moment was to preserve what he held dear, what he truly wanted.

Unfortunately, what he held dear and truly wanted at that moment contradicted each other in the worst possible way. Harry and Lucius. His father and Harry. Which ever way he looked at it, the combination was just not compatible.

But he had to make it work…somehow.

As classes came to an end, Draco returned to his room, debating with himself on whether he should go down to dinner (no doubt Lavender would keep him company) or just go to bed. He was tired, his head was throbbing and he just wanted to lie down and forget that today had ever happened.

He lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. A feeling akin to a thousand butterflies fluttered in his stomach, and he found himself chewing his lip. He and Harry always argued, and this time was no different. But Harry had been more pissed off than Draco had seen him in a long time.

And now he was with the Weasley’s, who could possibly be pointing out the various evils in his choice of Draco as a partner. And if Draco knew Fred Weasley at all (and he was fairly certain that he did), the man would be all over Harry like some kind of insidious rash. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about it.

He did not hear the fire roar to life, he was too busy creatively subjecting Fred Weasley to a particularly nasty level of Hell.

“You look pretty tempting like that.”

Draco sat up with a yelp and found himself staring straight at Harry. Well, not all of Harry, just Harry’s head, sitting just above the flames.

“Hi baby,” Draco rubbed his eyes a little, “how’s Wease….Ron?”

“He’s asleep,” said Harry quietly, “but he’s out of danger.”

“Well…that’s good then.”

“Yeah.” Harry was looking bone tired. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to stay in London tonight.”

Draco frowned, “At the hospital?”

“No, at my house. It’s close to the hospital, so the whole family can stay there and get some sleep.”

“Oh.” For some reason Draco felt the butterflies in his stomach increase. He had never been to Harry’s house, he didn’t even know where it was, and he knew that he’d never find it, even if he did go looking; Harry had a Secret Keeper. Yet the Weasley’s were all welcome to stay. He could only guess that perhaps it still wasn’t prudent to let a Malfoy know about it. “When will you come back?”

“Tomorrow, I’ll come back early, I promise.”

Draco nodded sullenly and asked, “What time are you leaving the hospital?”

“I don’t know, late I guess. Why?”

“I thought I might go to the hospital.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“There is nothing for you here, they aren’t your family, you don’t even like them.”

Draco swallowed and looked down at his hands, fidgeting in his lap. “I was coming to see you, not them.”

“Well, if you want to…” Harry sounded a little reluctant.

“Don’t worry, forget I mentioned it. I’ll see you tomorrow anyway, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll come early.”

Draco forced a smile, “Okay, well, I’ll see you then.”

“Bye, sleep well.”

And then Harry was gone. Draco sat staring at the fire for a few seconds before bringing his knees up to his chin and rocking back and forth, wondering how he was supposed to get through a night without him.

~ ~ ~

Harry returned to the small waiting room that had been set aside for the Weasley’s. Bill had gone home, with promises of returning later. Fleur was close to full term so she couldn’t travel, and Bill was anxious to get back in case the baby decided to come. George was curled in the corner, his hair a mess, gnawing at his thumbnail. He looked dazed and confused, as if he was unable to comprehend the fact that this was truly happening. Ginny was asleep with her head on Fred’s lap, and Hermione had her nose shoved into her Potions text book.

Fred watched Harry as he came back into the room and slumped into one of the old armchairs that had been placed around the walls.

“Did the walk do you any good?” Fred asked, breaking the silence for the first time in what seemed like hours.

“Huh?” Harry looked at him in surprise, “Oh, um, yeah…I went to the lobby to contact Draco…to tell him I was staying in London.”

Fred almost laughed at this and under his breath his muttered, “Draco Malfoy” with a note of incredulous disbelief. Harry’s face hardened a little, but he said nothing. Fred was reluctant to drop the topic however and continued on. “So why didn’t you tell us that you were gay?”

Harry blushed and shrugged as all eyes turned to him. It was a legitimate question, they were, after all, his friends and he had kept it from all of them for a good long while, even before Draco came along. “I guess I wasn’t sure if I was,” he said at last.

“You could have talked to me about it,” said Fred, he was smiling strangely, “you didn’t have to wonder about it alone.”

“I…I know, I just, I guess I…didn’t want…to be.”

“And Draco Malfoy?”

Harry blushed again. “Draco…Draco was…always…I always…”

Fred smiled again and put him out of his misery, “well, congratulations, he’s fucking gorgeous. So, you fucked him yet?”

“Fred!” Ginny sat up and glared at him.

“Ok, sorry, personal question. Besides, I know you sucked his cock at that New Year’s party, I think Ron told anyone who would listen.”

Harry looked anywhere but at Fred, wondering if he could just get up and walk out without it looking as though he was trying to escape.

“Is it a serious thing? I figure it must be if you felt you had to let him know you were staying out.”

“I…” Harry wondered for a moment why he was so embarrassed about this, he frowned at himself and said, “Yes, it’s serious.”

“You sleep together?”

Harry actually laughed now. Was nothing beyond Fred’s range of interest? Then he realised that he was probably just trying to take his mind off his brother. “Yes,” Harry laughed, “we sleep together…we practically live together!”

Fred’s eyebrows shot up into his hair line, “And Dumbledore has no problem with that?”

“No…” Harry stopped, “well, not that I know of. We didn’t really have much of a choice, Ron kicked me out of the room after Christmas…” he bit his lip, he shouldn’t have gone down that path. “Ron was sick though, I guess.”

“So it would seem,” Fred looked at his feet.

“It was Angelina.”

They all looked at George, who had stopped gnawing at his thumb for the first time in hours.

“She made that drug, it had to be her.” George looked at them, “you heard what the healer said, that only someone who worked here would be able to do it, someone who had access to all the Muggle drugs that went into it.”

“We don’t know that,” said Hermione plainly. “Why would she give him a drug that would hurt him? What would be the point?”

“She doesn’t need a point! She’s fucking mental!” He began to chew at his thumb again and Harry noticed that it was raw now and bloody. “You just wait. When they can get enough of it to analyse you’ll see, she made it.”

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances.

“You don’t know her…she has this vindictive streak…” George closed his eyes and fought back tears. He wondered why he hadn’t thought about that when he was beating his brother to a pulp the day before.

Because he slept with her and because she left me…because he knew we were having trouble, and he still slept with her.

Fred reached over and rubbed the back of George’s neck. “Hey, it’s alright. He’s alive, and they will find out what was in the drug. They’ll find out and then he’ll be fine.”

“Will he?” George asked wildly. “He hurt himself Fred! He wanted to die, and I beat the living shit out of him!”

“The healer said that most of the bruises on him were old; you didn’t do all that damage.”

“Then who did? Someone has been hitting him, and he’s covered in track marks! Why didn’t we see that? Why didn’t any of us see it and do something? You don’t just do something like this and bounce back the next day all happy because you survived…go out into the fucking wards Fred, go and have a look at the people out there! Some of them have been here for years because they keep trying it over and over again!”

“Ron won’t.”

“How can you say that? You don’t know!”

“Because we love him…and we won’t let him!”

“Maybe that won’t be enough Fred.” George said quietly, “maybe I should have remembered that yesterday.”

They fell into silence again, each staring at the floor, lost in their own thoughts of guilt. After a while, Arthur came into the room to let them know what was happening. He looked older than Harry had ever seen him, as though he had aged ten years in a day.

“Dumbledore has agreed to get Severus Snape to go through Ron’s room to see if he can find any remnants of this drug. He’s going to ask him to analyse it. They have decided that it would be better for an outsider to do it.”

“So they still think that someone here made it?” Hermione asked.

Arthur sighed, “Yes, there is more to it. They think it was made by…”

“Angelina,” finished George.

Arthur looked surprised, “Well, yes.”

“Has Ron woken up?” Ginny asked softly. She didn’t want to get onto the topic of Angelina again, until they knew what had happened, Angelina could simply disappear and Ginny couldn’t care less.

“They are going to try and wake him up soon, but they are waiting for the Navitas Serum to take effect first.”

Harry lifted his head and frowned, “Navitas Serum?” he asked quickly, “what…what is Navitas Serum?”

“It’s a pain killer,” Hermione answered, pleased to be of some use at last, “but it also regulates heartbeat I think.” She turned to Arthur, “wouldn’t they normally use that on people who have long term problems? It’s supposed to prevent pain and keep the heart steady…and the person has to be really healthy for it to work properly…”

“A large, concentrated dose will stop him from panicking when he wakes up. When he was Enervated this morning he…well, Harry was there.” He looked back through the doorway and sighed heavily. “I should go back now. I want to be there when they wake him up…and if I’m not in there Molly keeps trying to pick him up and no one can work on him if she won’t let him go.”

Harry watched him go and turned back to Hermione, “this Serum, why would someone take it every day?”

“Well,” Hermione started flipping through her Potions book, “there are certain things that can happen to a Witch or Wizard that can do them permanent injury. Hang on, here it is.” She handed the book to Harry and he began to read.

“’Navitas Serum was developed in 1947 after Healers were faced with the complications of Grindelwald’s Madragora acid. Navitas Serum eradicates the feeling of burning and pain that the victims suffers as well as calming the heart palpitations and fevers that many victims experience. Without the continued use of the serum, victims of a Madragora attack would succumb to their injuries.

In recent times Navitas Serum has been used in increased doses as a calmative by healers the world over.’”

Harry looked at Hermione who was returning his shocked expression. He stood up and made for the door.

“Harry!”

“I have to speak to Draco.”

~ ~ ~

“Severus, no doubt you have heard about this sad business with Mr. Weasley.”

“I could hardly escape it, Headmaster,” he caught Dumbledore’s look and corrected himself, “Albus.”

“What you might not know is that Poppy and the Healers at St Mungo’s have detected a drug in his body, something that they cannot account for and one that may be impeding the boy’s healing. Arthur and Molly have requested our assistance. They are hoping that Ron left some of this drug in his room, something that could perhaps be analysed.”

'So what does that have to do with me? Snape questioned to himself, but did not speak.

“I was hoping that you could go and have a look for it. I would ask Mr Filch, but I would prefer you go,” Dumbledore smiled, “as you have a knack for finding things that others miss,” he said delicately.

Snape didn’t bite, and he thought about it for the moment before he replied, “Certainly Albus, and what should I do with this drug if I find it?”

“Ah, well, actually, we are hoping that you might analyse it. The Healers at St Mungo’s have a sneaking suspicion that the drug was manufactured there, using their resources. They believe that a third party should undertake to look at it, so that the results cannot be corrupted.”

Snape pursed his lips, so now he was analysing drugs for St Mungo’s. He decided that he should ask for a raise, but bit the thought back. Besides, working out what was harming the Weasley boy would make Hermione happy, and making Hermione happy had become something of a priority in his life at present.

“I will search his room after dinner Albus.”

“Good, “Dumbledore smiled and reached into his desk draw, “Thank you Severus.” He offered a large bag of sweets to Snape, “Sherbet Lemon?”

“Err, no, thank you.”

Albus shrugged and his eyes twinkled, “I think there are some Fizzing Wizzbees in there somewhere.”

Snape looked at the bag with a little more interest. He was always a sucker for a Fizzing Wizzbee.

~ ~ ~

Draco decided, after an hour of pacing the length of his chambers, that he really needed a walk. It was far too cold to go outside, and it was reasonably late, so he wrapped himself in his warmest robes and descended to the familiar corridors of the dungeons. He could never understand why he found the dungeons so comforting. Perhaps because he had grown up in Slytherin and that the Slytherin Common Room was down here.

For some reason, he felt close to his father there. Lucius had walked these same corridors once. It was almost as though Draco could sense him, imprinted somewhere in time.

The dungeons were also quiet. Peeves usually stayed away because the Bloody Baron considered the dungeons his domain, and so Draco was free to wander, lost in his own thoughts. He was free to think.

So, Harry was staying in London with his friends. Staying with the Weasley’s. More importantly, staying with Fred Weasley. Fred had a certain reputation amongst the club crowd of Diagon Ally of just loving to jump anything that was cute, male and moved. Harry fitted into all three categories…plus he knew Harry very well, so there was half the seduction done.

But of course, Harry wouldn’t be interested and if any advances were made Harry would turn him down in no uncertain terms. Of course he would. It was useless to dwell on any other possibilities. Draco had absolutely no question about Harry’s love and devotion to him. 

But Harry didn’t believe that Draco knew anything about pain and suffering or what he went through with the war, and Fred Weasley, who had been there right along side Harry, could well sympathise with that.

And Harry had been…abrupt…when he had contacted Draco. He hadn’t wanted Draco to go to the hospital, and he hadn’t wanted to see him.

Draco frowned and changed direction.

Why hadn’t Harry wanted to see him? Why did he want to keep him away from the hospital?

And the Weasley twins could be charming…and they were both good looking.

Well, reasonably good looking, but hey, they were no Draco Malfoy. Draco was no fool. He was well aware of what he looked like, well aware of how truly blessed his family line had been. There had been a time when such a thought, that a lover would dare to cheat on him, would never have entered his head. But still, several hours with Alistair Moody had changed a lot of things – and Draco Malfoy was nowhere near as appealing as he used to be.

There were scars and then there were scars. Harry’s lightening shaped scar was both fascinating and sexy, Draco’s scars mutilated his back and bit deep into the flesh, changing him so that he looked unfinished and raw. He could hardly blame Harry if he wanted to touch something smooth and unblemished. Something beautiful.

For fucks sake, they are at the Weasel’s bedside. They are probably all in shock, and they are hardly going to take time out for a quick shag!

Then again, Harry did have a habit of getting horny at the most inappropriate of times.

Draco stopped again and stared unseeing at the wall in front of him. This really was stupid. This was Harry. His Harry. Harry whom he trusted beyond measure. Harry who was not going to jump and shag the first gay man he met. Harry wouldn’t hurt him…even if he hurt Harry.

“You’re pacing?”

Draco didn’t even flinch. It was the dungeons after all, and it made sense for Snape to be prowling around. “I wasn’t pacing, I was wandering aimlessly.”

“Are you concerned about finding a spy? I told you I would deal with it.”

And then there was the whole spy thing…and he hadn’t even thought about that properly yet.

“You say that you will deal with it, but who are you going to get? You? No offence, but I think your spying days are done.”

“I was hardly planning on going myself Draco.”

It struck Draco in that moment that perhaps Snape was as nervous about this whole hospital thing as he was. Hadn’t Hermione gone out with the Weasel once? Was she staying in London too? Perhaps they should discuss the spy, for both their sakes.

“Alright then,” Draco said, knowing when to soften his tone, “what do you have in mind?”

“I haven’t had time to think about it just yet, I…”

They were interrupted by the appearance of a first year who had obviously taken a wrong turn in his search for the Slytherin Common Room. The boy stopped in his tracks and stared at his Head of House with an unmistakable look of terror. Draco almost grinned.

“Lost again Bains?” Snape asked impatiently.

“Y-y-yes, P-p-professor…Sir…I-I-I-I…” Bains flushed hopelessly.

“But for the purity of blood Bains, you would have been a Hufflepuff,” Snape murmured disdainfully. “Now turn around and retrace your steps.”

Bains turned around quickly, keen to remove himself from Snape’s glare.

“Oh and Bains?”

Bains jumped and squeaked, “Yes Professor?”

“You had best ensure that you are in your dormitory before curfew. I do hate to take points from my own house, and I would rather put you on the train home.”

Bains nodded obediently and scuttled away. Snape turned back to Draco and suggested that perhaps they should not be discussing such delicate matters in the corridor. Draco found himself in Snape’s chambers soon after.

Non was busy dusting the bookshelf. Draco stopped, raised and eyebrow and smirked. Snape on the other hand, looked as though he had reached the end of his tether.

“I thought I told you to stay in the cupboard?”

“Non was bored in the cupboard, Sir.”

Clearly, Non did not consider Snape his Master and chose to act accordingly. His Master had told him to stay where he was, which was the only reason he hadn’t returned to the Manor, but just because he was staying put, did not mean that he liked it.

“Weren’t you going to put him to work in the kitchens?” Draco asked, watching the less than happy Elf continue with the dusting.

“I did,” Snape replied bitterly, “but it seems that one of the House Elves took one look at him and had some kind of panic attack. Stupid little thing, with a tea cosy on it’s head…the one Potter freed, what’s his name?”

“Dobby,” Draco and Non replied in unison.

“Yes, well, that one.”

“Non is a bit of a tyrant at the Manor,” Draco conceded proudly. “You’re the eldest aren’t you Non?”

Non stopped his dusting as if to consider what he already knew to be true. “Non is the oldest Master Draco.”

“How old are you anyway?”

“Non is 87 Master Draco.”

Draco’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. The bloody Elf was ancient!

“Non was born in the same year as Master Alexius,” Non continued, warming to the subject, “Non’s ancestors have served the Malfoy family for centuries.”

Draco was still shuddering at the mention of his Grandfather. Draco’s memories of the old man had been of a bully who had died just before Draco started at Hogwarts. From what he could tell, not many people liked the man. Draco’s mother certainly despised him, and Lucius had set up his little family unit in an opposite wing in the house to his parents, and avoided them when he could. He could remember one incident, when Grandfather Alexius had caught Draco eating biscuits on the old mans favourite chair. He’d put him in a full Body Bind for three hours as a punishment, until Lucius got home and found Narcissa screaming the house down, trying to convince her father-in-law to release her son.

Alexius Malfoy had died soon after and no one had shed a tear. Draco had wondered for years after if Lucius had killed him. In his heart, he still believed that to be the case. Even Non had said his name with dislike in his tone, and Non was as faithful to the family as they came.

Non even seemed happy at the Manor, certainly not scared as most of the other House Elves were. Draco had no idea why the little Elf was so content, and Non had certainly received his fair share of kicks in the arse and was given no real preferential treatment. It was true that Draco had a strange sort of affection for him, but he supposed that it came from years of carrying the Elf around like a teddy bear.

But Lucius was fond of the ugly little thing as well, and Non…well, Non was devoted to Lucius.

Devoted.

Utterly devoted.

“Non?” Draco asked suddenly, “If you were freed, what would you do?”

“Freed? Master Draco Sir?” Non looked as though Draco had just suggested a beheading. “Master Draco must not free Non. Non has done nothing to cause Master Draco to free him!”

“But if you were free, what would you do?”

Non looked horrified and at a total loss.

“Would you come and work for us, even though you were free?”

Non looked hopeful, “Non would beg Master Draco and Master Lucius to let him come back!”

“Would you do anything to come back?”

“Non would do anything Master Lucius told him to do.”

Draco smiled as he crouched in front of the Elf. “Would you do anything for him?”

“For Master Lucius?”

“Yes, for Master Lucius.”

A strange colour infused the Elf and Draco realised with some shock that he was blushing. ”Non would do anything for Master Lucius. Non loves Master Lucius.”

Draco stared, confused for a moment as the Elf looked nervously at his feet. Then the full implication hit him hard and he stood up and backed away. “You love my father? As in, you are in love with my father?”

“N-n-n-not in the w-w-w-way that you think!” Non stammered, “Non loves him, Non would do anything for him, Non would die for him!”

“Does he know this?”

“No!” The strange colour deepened. “Well, perhaps…Master Lucius has never said anything to Non about it.”

Oh this was just too weird!

But still…

“Non, I have a very special task for you…and you can help father if you do it well.”

Non looked up, hopeful and eager.

“There is just one catch to the whole thing.”

Non looked confused. “Catch, Master Draco?”

Draco removed his school tie and crouched back down in front of his most trusted Ef. “It is a big catch, but I think you will find that it is necessary to make this work.”

“Master Draco?”

Draco gently wrapped the tie around Non’s scrawny neck. “You’re free Non.”

Non paled, he swayed on his feet, as though he would faint. Draco turned to Snape, who had watched the proceedings in silence.

“I think we have ourselves a spy Uncle Severus.”

~ ~ ~

Semeuse returned to his chambers late, and angry after a meeting with the Minister of Magic who had decided to cancel the touring exhibition and return it to its permanent home at the museum. Fudge expected Lucius to be back on display and nothing that Semeuse could say about the dangers would sway the man.

He slammed the door and stormed into the room, muttering about the idiocy of the man and feeling his stomach knot at the prospect of putting what Semeuse considered sacred to him, back on public display.

Lucius was sitting in his chair on the small balcony, overlooking the dark London sky line. It had been raining down hard on him and Semeuse took one look and panicked, rushing to pull him back inside.

“Who put you out there?” Semeuse demanded, vowing to kill whichever fool Elf had left his Angel out of doors.

“I did.”

“How? How did you get out there? Why did you want to be outside in the rain.”

“I asked a House Elf. It wasn’t raining when I went out and when it started he wasn’t here to take me back in again.”

Semeuse swore and unwrapped the heavy cloak the Elf had wrapped around Lucius, it was soaked through with water and Lucius was almost frozen, but didn’t seem overly concerned.

“Why did you want to go outside?”

“Because I haven’t been outside for a long time.”

Semeuse was going to kill that damned Elf. What if his Angel got sick? He quickly stripped Lucius naked and dried him off. He lifted the Angel out of the chair and carried him to the bed, placing him gently amongst the pillows.

“If you want to go outside in the future, you will ask me.”

“You weren’t here to ask,” Lucius drawled.

The Curator fanned the multitude of hair out over the pillows and looked into the Angel’s pale eyes. “Do not push me Lucius, I have not had a good day.”

“That is hardly my fault now is it?”

Semeuse almost slapped him, but he had been praying for Lucius to be able to speak, and now that he could, the Angel seemed intent on infuriating him. “I think it may be time to discover how seriously you are going to take our agreement.”

He was met with silence.

“Nothing to say Lucius?”

“Now?” Lucius asked dubiously

“As I said, I’ve had a very bad day, and I think you can help fix that.” Semeuse unbuttoned his robes and discarded them carelessly. He lay beside Lucius and began to stroke his pale body gently. “Can you move your legs?”

“Not really, not in the way you want me to.”

“And your arms?”

“I really don’t know,” Lucius replied, sounding a little bored.

Semeuse did hit him this time, slapped him hard and heard a small yelp in his head. “You proposed this bargain Lucius, and I for one expect you to keep to your end of it.” He stopped and smiled nastily, “Or what say you Lucius? A quick Imperius and I’d say young Draco would have his little arse in the air most willingly.”

“If you position my limbs I will try to hang on.”

“Very good Lucius, you learn so quickly.” He parted his Angel’s legs and crawled between them, kissing the length of Lucius’ torso as he went. Gently he moved Lucius’ arms so that the Angle’s hands were on his shoulders and he felt a slight pressure as Lucius started to hold on. Semeuse lifted the Angel’s legs himself, hooking them over his elbows and pushing them back so that Lucius was lifted quite high off the bed.

He entered Lucius with one sharp thrust and grinned as he felt the fingers dig sharply into his shoulders.

“I want to hear you Lucius, I want to hear you while I am moving in you.”

And the Curator’s head was suddenly filled with panting, and the erotic sounds of a lover gasping and moaning.

“Good boy, good boy my Angel….” Semeuse thrust harder and the appreciative moans became harder to maintain, giving way to harsh rasping sobs and Archibald smiled, relishing the true effect of his love making. He pushed harder, moving faster within Lucius, riding him, hurting him.

“Am I hurting you Lucius? Does it hurt?”

“Y-yes…”

“Tell me again…say it for me…”

“Yes.”

“Again!”

“Yes…”

Lucius’ fingernails were digging so hard into the Curator’s back that they drew blood. His face remained as impassive as ever, but he was sobbing hard, and obviously aching all over. Then the invisible hands began to push at Semeuse and he almost came for the joy of it. So there were things that Lucius could not control, delightful things over which Lucius had no command.

“I love you,” Semeuse was sobbing, panting, pushing harder, deeper, feeling his body peaking, his orgasm only a matter of moments away. “I love you my beautiful one, I love you…I love you…”

He could not hold his orgasm off and he fucked Lucius hard, taking his pleasure on the glorious body beneath him. “Tell me my darling…I love you…tell me…”

Lucius sobbed and gasped and finally, as though wrenched unwillingly from his being, the Curator heard the voice in his head; “I love you too.”

~ ~ ~

Draco felt a little foolish, wandering the corridors of St. Mungo’s when he knew that he wasn’t wanted there. Harry had told him not to come, but if he could see Harry, and talk to him for just a few minutes perhaps, Draco might well be able to go back to the castle and sleep. Dumbledore had allowed him to go, and had even given him a Portkey to get back. He only hoped that Harry was still there.

The nurse at the reception desk had told him where Weasel was, and Draco knew the ward well enough. Pansy Parkinson was one of the wards residents and after a brief holiday with her uncle, she had been sent back. The ward was separate from most of the hospital, kept aside for patients who suffer from various forms of melancholia and were a danger to themselves.

Someone had decided to paint the walls of the ward with incredibly bright colours, as though colourful surroundings would lift the inmate’s spirits. Draco decided within a minute of being there that if he had to stay he’d probably be suicidal too.

It didn’t take long to find the waiting room. It was one of the few that didn’t have a watcher stationed outside. It was very quiet, and Draco feared that they had already left. He looked through the doorway and spotted Hermione half asleep with a book open on her lap. Ginny Weasley was sitting on the floor with who Draco could only consider to be George. Harry was sitting on a lounge with Fred. He had tried to find Draco again, to talk to him about this Serum, but Draco could not be found and no one in the Tower seemed to know where he had gone. Harry had returned to the waiting room depressed and exhausted. This day had taken away his energy and his piece of mind. He wanted it all to end, for Ron to live and for Draco not to be hiding some illness from him. By the time Draco arrived, Harry was almost asleep, his head resting against the wall. Fred Weasley was looking off into nothing with his hand on Harry’s thigh, and his thumb absently stroking back and forth.

Draco felt his lip twitch and anger, hot and fast, surged through him. Calm down, he’s just had a shock, his brother nearly died, he’s just comforting himself.

Comfort my arse!

Draco cleared his throat, and it seemed unnaturally loud in the stillness. Hermione looked up and immediately set aside her book and came forward to hug Draco as though relieved that someone who wasn’t involved in the whole ordeal was here to take her back to reality. Draco hugged her back and he felt her sag a little against him. She needed to sleep, but she wasn’t going anywhere.

Harry roused himself from his light sleep and blinked a couple of times before his face split into a grin he couldn’t quite help. He had tried to contact Draco and hadn’t been able to find him, and now he only felt relieved that he was standing there. He pushed himself up from the lounge and all but threw himself into Draco’s arms. Draco hugged him tightly, burying his face in Harry’s messy hair and inhaling. He lost himself in the feel of Harry’s arms and the familiar plains of Harry’s body pressed against him.

“How’s Ron?” Draco whispered, more from the knowledge that he had to ask than from any desire to know.

“He’s ok, and he woke up for a little bit, but they put him back to sleep so that his body can recuperate.”

“Are you still staying in London tonight?” Draco murmured, willing Harry to say no, willing Harry to come back to Hogwarts with him.

“Yeah, the whole family is.” Harry fought back the urge to kiss him. No one would have cared, but if he had kissed him, Harry knew he wouldn’t have stopped, and he didn’t want to show them everything, not now, not yet. “Why don’t you come? You could stay with me, and you could see my house.”

Draco smiled wistfully, “I can’t, I promised Dumbledore that I’d be back soon, and he wouldn’t have let me come otherwise.”

“But Dumbledore knows that Grimmauld Place is safe. I’ll speak to him.”

Draco looked around the room. All of the Weasley’s were all staring at him with some interest. The last time any of them had spoken to him he had been Draco Malfoy, all-round arse hole and son of a Death Eater who got everything he deserved. Now he was Draco Malfoy, possibly still an all-round arse hole, still the son of a convicted Death Eater who got all he deserved and, amazingly, the lover of Harry Potter – one of their best friends.

“I think you should be with your friends,” Draco said, “and I’m not so sure that my staying would be such a good thing.” He leaned in and whispered softly in Harry’s ear, “Can we go somewhere quiet?”

Harry smiled and glanced around, as though the rush of sexual excitement that had just coursed through him would be evident to the whole room. He took Draco’s hand and led him silently from the room.

As it was, somewhere quiet was reasonably easy to find, somewhere private however, proved to be a problem. Almost every room on the floor had a watcher stationed outside and it was three floors down that they finally found a secluded corridor and a dark corner.

Draco kissed Harry desperately, pushing him into the darkness and fast becoming hungry with passion. This was no passion born of desire, although he certainly desired Harry well enough. This was passion born of his jealous heart and it was a passion he never thought he would feel. He wanted to stake his claim, to mark Harry with something indelibly his. He could still see Fred Weasley’s hand on Harry’s thigh, his thumb stroking that place that Draco considered his and his alone. The thought of anyone touching Harry sickened him, and the thought of Harry being with anyone else tormented him.

Draco’s hand slid down the front of Harry’s old cargo pants, fumbled with the top buttons and delved inside to cup Harry’s balls through his briefs.

Harry moaned softly and pulled away a little. “Are you okay?” he panted.

“Yeah,” Draco gasped in return, pushing his body hard against Harry’s, “I just missed you today, that’s all.”

Harry suspected that Draco could be a little jealous, but he said nothing. Draco’s long fingers infiltrating his underwear felt too good to bother with speculating on just what was driving Draco at that moment.

“I love you,” Harry whispered and he felt Draco relax a little, felt his kisses melt until they became languid and wet.

“I love you,” Harry murmured again as the kisses trailed along his jaw and down his throat. He felt his pants being pushed down and then Draco’s fingers had tangled around the sides of Harry’s briefs and were tugging gently, drawing them down until Harry’s cock was free and standing to attention.

“I love you,” Harry gasped as Draco sank to his knees and slid his lips down the length of Harry’s shaft. “Oh…oh that’s nice baby, you can keep doing that.”

Draco obeyed, drawing a twisted line up the underside of Harry’s cock with his tongue, then teasing the blood infused head before sinking back down the length again.

Oh sweet fuck…

Harry could never understand how it was that Draco made him so mind numb to anything but pure sensation. He supposed that anyone could touch him or even give him a blow job, but he doubted that anyone would make him feel quite like Draco did. He snagged his fingers in Draco’s hair and yanked him towards his body. Draco let out a muffled yelp as Harry thrust hard into his mouth, pushing his cock deep into Draco’s throat, knowing that Draco could take it. Draco’s fingers dug into the smooth flesh of Harry’s arse and he swallowed Harry deep. Harry cried out, his voice echoing down the corridor.

“Fuck Draco,” he hissed, “Oh…oh…fuck…”

Draco looked up at him, and through the gloom Harry could see the wide pale eyes staring at him and Harry lost all control. He came in a rush of heat into Draco’s mouth, relishing the intensity of it, the way Draco swallowed his seed. The way he still sucked as the last shreds of Harry’s orgasm died away.

Harry pulled out of Draco’s mouth and sunk to his knees, pulling Draco close, hugging him tight.

“That was pretty incredible,” Harry whispered.

“I know, I think I’m pretty incredible myself,” Draco replied with more confidence than he felt. He hesitated, still unable to shake the possessive feeling that was coursing through him, “Sweetheart?”

“Mmm?” Harry traced Draco’s lips with the tip of his tongue.

“At your house, do you have your own bedroom?”

Harry pulled back and grinned, “Yeah, of course I do…It’s my house!”

“So you won’t have to share with anyone?” Draco asked, “You wouldn’t have to buddy up with someone like, say, Fred Weasley?”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Oh my God, you are fucking jealous!”

Draco said nothing, he just looked at Harry for a moment and looked away.

“Why are you jealous?”

“I’m not…” Draco blushed, “promise me that you’ll stay away from him.”

“He’s like my brother Draco!”

“And Hermione is like your sister but you…”

“Sucked her fingers and that is all,” Harry sighed and sat back on his heels, “I’m not interested in Fred in that way. I’m not going to do anything with him.”

“Then promise me.”

“Fuck Draco! I don’t need to promise you, nothing is going to happen!”

“Then why won’t you promise?”

“Draco!”

Draco got to his feet and started to walk away. Harry stood, wrenched his pants up and went after him, grabbing him by the elbow and spinning him around to face him.

“Draco! What the fuck is the matter?”

“Just promise me!”

“Alright, I promise you. Does that make you feel any better?”

“No, not really.” Draco swallowed and hardened his jaw, then blinked and realised that he was going to cry – which was ridiculous, as there really was no need for tears.

“Look, I found my best friend half dead this morning and I have spent the rest of today finding out how he fucked himself up so badly that no one knows if he’ll ever get through it. I don’t need you having a jealous fit on top of it all. Can’t you just hold off and have your tantrum some other time?”

A muscle worked in Draco’s cheek, and he blinked again and backed away. “I’m sorry,” he said, trying to keep his voice even, “I’ll try and have my tantrums at times that fit better into your schedule.”

“Oh fucking hell,” Harry pushed past him and made to leave him there, then he turned and stormed back. “Why don’t you just come to Grimmauld place with me then? You can sit up and watch me all fucking night then.”

Draco backed further into the shadows; “I’m going back to Hogwarts,” he said softly.

“What, you don’t want to arrange a chastity belt before you go?”

“Bye.”

Harry couldn’t see Draco’s face, he was hidden from him in the dark corner, but he heard his voice catch and sob break the word, and then Harry heard him fumbling with the portkey that would take him away.

“Draco?” Harry moved towards the corner and Draco slid down the wall, curling himself up into a tight ball, his tears causing his body to rock. Harry stared and looked at what he had reduced his lover to. A few short hours ago Harry had been desperately looking for him, wanting to find out about why he needed the medicine he had read about, and then the moment he saw Draco, any thought of it had left his mind. Once again he had been preoccupied, this time defending the Weasley’s and himself, not thinking about what effect it would have on Draco to suddenly be left behind.

And he had said things to Draco this morning, this he didn’t mean. Harry sat beside him, sliding an arm around his shoulders and holding him. “Don’t do this baby, you have nothing to be jealous of. I love you, Draco. I don’t love anybody else. I promise you, Draco, that’s the truth.”

“You…you said that I didn’t lose anything,” Draco lifted his head to look at Harry through bloodshot eyes, “you said that I didn’t know anything about pain and loss…but I do…I…I lost my family, I lost my friends, I lost most of my back…I lost things too.”

“I know, I’m sorry…I was being a fucking idiot…I was so worried about Ron, and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have, I love you, you should know that.”  Harry drew him close and decided that he had to say something now. “Does your back still hurt? Is that why you take the Navitas Serum?”

“I wondered how long it would be before you figured that out.” Draco sniffled and pulled an almost clean handkerchief out of Harry’s pocket to blow his nose on.

“Is it true that you would die if you stopped taking it?”

“They don’t know for certain…and…I don’t plan on finding out.” He buried his face in the crook of Harry’s shoulder and closed his eyes. Harry’s fingers gently tangled through his hair.

“Why are you afraid of Fred?”

“He’s…” Draco seemed to push himself a little closer to Harry and Harry held him tight, “he’s perfect.”

“Perfect?” Harry couldn’t help but laugh, “Fred?”

“He’s…whole.”

Harry frowned, “What? Whole? You’re whole!”

“No, I’m not, I’m…I’m damaged.”

“You’re perfect, and you’re everything I ever wanted…I don’t care about those scars, they aren’t you…” He felt hot tears against his neck and Harry stroked Draco gently, “Don’t cry baby, it’s alright, everything is alright.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve been stupid…”

“No you haven’t, don’t worry.” Harry struggled to his feet, pulling Draco up with him, “you’re coming home with me tonight, we can go back to school in the morning.”

“I can’t…I promis…”

”You can and you will. I will speak to Dumbledore. You should be with me, he’ll understand that.” Harry rummaged around in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He murmured “Lumos” and gave the paper to Draco.

“Mr. Harry Potter can be found at 12 Grimmauld Place, London.” Draco smiled, well, at least he now knew he would be able to get there.

“I’ll go back to Hogwarts,” Draco said quietly. “I’m tired and I feel like shit…I don’t have anything with me anyway.”

Harry stared at him, “We’ll get some Navitas Serum from the apocthecary downstairs, and you don’t need anything else. We’ll go back to school early so that we can get changed there.” He slid his arms around Draco and when the blond opened his mouth the protest Harry shut him up quickly by saying, “Don’t argue with me Draco. I’ll let the others know that we’re going home. I’d say Hermione wants to get some sleep and the others know how to get there.”

They wandered slowly down the corridor, each glad to be together for the night and each suddenly desperate for sleep.

~ ~ ~

Weasley’s room stank of blood and sweat and brought to Snape’s mind the idea of a charnel house. It was almost overpowering and Snape forced back a gag. He’d smelt such things before. The scent of death and decay. But there was something else here. Some other smell.

Snape lit the room and surveyed the bed in front of him. He allowed himself one small moment of pity before sinking into disgust. He drew a sharp breath, as it had been a long time since he had seen that much blood. The bed had been soaked in the Weasley boy’s blood, and it glistened a dark red, clotted, cracked and rank. For as much as Weasley had been a pain in the arse for all these years, Snape was glad he hadn’t been there when the boy had been found. He’d seen enough to last him two lifetimes.

On the floor lay a blood soaked teddy bear. Snape picked it up. It was heavy and wet, Weasley must have bled through it. Snape cautiously sniffed the bear and detected Opium and Ashwinder eggs instantly. An opiate and a love potion ingredient. He wondered what else he would find when he found the drug. He pulled a crystal phial from his pocket and opened it, then he pointed his wand at the bear and the blood suddenly began to stream out of the toy, arching in the air and pouring into the bottle. Snape stoppered the phial and returned it to his pocket, then placed the freshly cleaned bear on the bedside table.

Now, the drugs. Where would the boy keep his stash? If it had been Snape it would be somewhere discreet and undetectable. Some hidden place, out of the way of prying eyes. He turned, trying to think of a place or a way the Weasley could have possibly hidden it in this room and his eye fell on the other bed in the room.

Or you could just leave it lying on the bed. He picked up a tiny vial and opened it. The smell was distinctive and unmistakably what he was looking for. He pocketed the drug and moved things around on the bed, looking to ensure that there was no more of the stuff lying around that could fall into the wrong hands. He moved a long piece of parchment out of the way and it rolled open – and something caught his eye. Hermione’s name, and a rather full looking rose bush beside it.

He picked up the parchment and rolled it out fully.

Mr Harry Potter.

Miss Hermione Granger.

Mr Ronald Weasley.

Each name had a rose bush beside it (well, Potter had four).

“This contract, made between the above mentioned, hereby known as the Crusaders, under the agreement that: From 25^th August 1998, the crusaders shall have one full school year (ending 30^th June 1999) to lose their respective virginities, under pain of a life time covered in postulating boils”

Boils? What made them think of boils? Snape sank to the bed and read lower.

“Upon the loss of said virginity and each sexual act performed by said party, a rose will appear on the rose bush corresponding the individual Crusaders name.”

There were almost 100 clauses and conditions to the contract and Snape read through them, his face becoming harder as he progressed through the list.

“Clause no. 79: If success looks uncertain, the Crusader must do anything required to fulfil the terms of the contract, even if this means something vile, such as performing sexual acts with a Hag, a banshee or even Professor Severus Snape. Anyone who does not fulfil the contract and is found to have not explored every option will not only be afflicted with pustulating boils; the boils will sting, smell and be giant in size.”

Snape lay the contract down on his lap and stared blankly at the wall. “I see,” he muttered and his cheek twitched.

She had lied. She had tricked him. She had declared her love for him when all along he was a last resort, in the same category with Hags and Banshees. No doubt the three of them were having a right royal laugh at his expense.

He folded the contract and stuffed it into his robes. It was time for that particular game to end.

Chapter 16 >>