Objects of Desire

Chapter 16 - Some Kind Of Madness

By Azrael Geffen

Harry unlocked the door to Grimmauld place and shuffled Draco into the front hall. The air was stale, a product of the house being shut up for months and Harry was aware for the first time that he owned the house and that perhaps dismissing Kreacher had perhaps not been the wisest of moves. Kreacher certainly never kept the house particularly clean, but he did at least give it a ‘lived in’ feel. Without the constant comings and goings of the Order members, the house was cold and uninviting…not that inviting was a word that anyone would ever have used to describe number twelve Grimmauld Place. Harry was fairly determined to change that. He hit the lights and the hall was illuminated with a soft glow.

“You have to be really quiet in the hallway,” he whispered a moment too late as Draco let the door slam shut behind them and moth eaten drapes flew open to expose the drooling and demented face of the ancient Mrs Black, who was suddenly thrown into terrible view.

Draco took a step back from the portrait (so much like a window that it was frightening) and the woman opened her drooling mouth and began to scream. Her eyes rolled about her head and she brandished her claw like hands at them and screeched louder still.

“Filth, scum! By products of dirt and vileness! Half breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my…”

And she suddenly stopped, blinked and shook her head as though trying to clear her vision. She raised an eyebrow and her visage changed. The drooling ceased, the rolling eyes were suddenly focused and sharp and her mouth stretched into what Harry could only describe as a pleasant smile as she looked Draco up and down.

“If the time had not moved on so far I would say that you were Lucius Malfoy.” She did not wait for an answer, although Draco moved to give it, “but as it has, I can only assume that you are Draco. I can see your father in you…but only a little of your mother, such is the shame. The Black blood is very noble, but perhaps it strengthens your veins?”

“Perhaps,” Draco replied quietly.

“You are a very pretty boy too young Draco. Come closer so that I can see you.”

Draco took a step towards the painting and she looked him over, determined to find something of herself in his features. Harry watched with some revulsion as she found something to satisfy her.

“You have your mother’s brow, her cheekbones and clearly her intelligence.”

Even Draco thought that was a little rich coming from a demented old painting and he almost scoffed outright. Harry, determined to keep the house quiet, nudged him hard and Draco smiled politely.

“But you do look unfortunately like your father, an excellent man but tainted by that Malfoy blood.”

Draco began to look indignant and Harry supposed that it was possible that he could give her a run for her money in the rant stakes if she persisted along this line.

“French you know, the Malfoy line. They let half the family line die out in the Witch Hunts before moving to a more stable country.   They needed good British stock to build them back up again, but the blood has always been there, that’s why you all look the same. French blood.” She almost spat. “But still, Lucius was always very good, up for plenty of Muggle sport, although perhaps not as strong as his own father. Antonin Malfoy was a strong man, someone I thought would beat that Malfoy streak out of the line, but Lucius had his weaknesses as I recall.”

Draco had backed away, his features had taken on a haughty look of one who was quite happy with his bloodline and rather peeved that anyone was questioning its validity.

“I never really got along with my grandfather,” Draco said tightly, “I believe that he and my father had their differences, however, and as neither are available to comment on their relationship, I suggest that speculation about it should cease.”

The woman looked at him again, as though seeing him a fresh light and for a moment Harry thought she would start screaming again, instead she sighed; “they are trying to destroy the bloodlines,” she said, “Muggle loving traitors have infiltrated the Ministry, and there are so few of us left now. Be careful young one; be careful to choose a wife of proper blood. It is the only way we will hope to survive.”

Draco opened his mouth to say something scathing   and Harry hurriedly took the opportunity to pull the curtains shut.

“She’s a little…racist,” Harry said lamely and Draco sneered.

“Why don’t you take her down?” Draco was glaring at the curtains, half hoping they would slide open again, he was up for the fight, “it’s your house now, why would want that hanging there?”

“She won’t come off the wall, she’s stuck there and she won’t let go.” Harry grinned and stroked the back of Draco’s neck. Draco was still bristling about the apparent aspersions that had just been cast on his father’s name and wasn’t ready to be consoled.

”Then take the fucking wall out!”

“Its load bearing.”

“Then charm it to stand up!”

In all honesty, Harry had never even considered that, which was embarrassing enough, and he couldn’t think of a convenient excuse as to why he hadn’t, which was worse. He blushed. “There’s a family tree as well, Sirius hated it, but I can’t get that off the wall either.”

“You can be really thick sometimes,” Draco, said irritably, “Where is it?”

Harry showed him the huge Black Family Tree and Draco traced his own line with some interest. “It needs to be restored,” he said blankly, “some of the names have been burned off, and I know that my mother had two sisters. One married a Muggle and had a daughter.”

“Which is why she isn’t on there,” Harry explained.

“It would be easy enough to restore,” Draco said   standing back and surveying it, “if you hate it so much, can I have it?”

Harry looked at him surprised, “um, sure…why?”

“I’ve got dad’s family tree at the Manor, and it’s huge like this one, but I’d love to have mums to go with it.”

“Well, if you can get it off the wall...”

“It probably just needs a little coaxing; we can try in the summer.”  

Harry smiled with pleasure as he always did when Draco mentioned the summer. No more school and they’d be starting the rest of their lives, and Draco was talking as though they would always be together, which warmed Harry no end.

“You tired?” Harry asked quietly. He was suddenly sick of standing in the hall of his house. He had been eager before, to get Draco here, to show him what he owned, but now he wanted nothing more than to take Draco to bed.

“Yeah, a bit. It’s been a long day.” Draco shrugged, he hadn’t expected a night away from school, and had be been back at Hogwarts he’d be studying until late. Harry was looking tired and drawn and Draco looked him up and down, “you ok?”

“Yeah, like you said though, it’s been a long day, and I just want to go up to bed.”

“Your house,” Draco grinned. “ You lead the way.”

****

Snape left several phials to steep overnight, certain that he would have whatever potion Weasley had running through his body, analysed by the morning. He had a silent wish that he could sit and stare at the phials all night, but it would accomplish nothing, if they needed to steep there was nothing that he could do to speed the process. So now that he had nothing to do, other than read more of the journal, yet he found himself sitting beside his fire thinking about Hermione and just what he was going to do next.

It had been a long time since Severus had prowled the corridors at night, and without Voldemort to worry about he had found that he was able to sleep with far greater ease. But somehow he knew that sleep was not going to come to him tonight. And so he sat by the fire ; something that he would always consider a legacy of Hermione, a need for a fire in his room, like some kind of warming comfort.

At half two he climbed into bed and lay in the dark, trying to convince himself that he had not a care in the world and not to sleep was a foolish thing. But his stomach was churning and despite the temptation to take something to knock himself out, he found that he wanted to feel the stomach churning nausea. He didn’t want to numb it. He wanted to feel it and what? Learn his lesson? Feel just how foolish he had been?

The bed felt cold without her. She was such a small thing, so seemingly fragile and yet her presence in his life had become so all consuming. He wanted to take that foolish contract and hide it away, pretend that it didn’t exist and cling to her, and never let her go.

But he had to let her go, and he knew he had to let her go.

It was not because she didn’t love him. He had come to the conclusion, whilst isolating individual elements of Weasley’s potion, that she had not been playing with him. Severus knew that he thought best whilst he was working, because there was no room for emotions in creating a potion. It was a science, a series of precise steps that needed to be performed at exactly the right time. Thus, when he was working, he was at his most logical. And logic told him that his beautiful girl was neither stupid nor a slut. She would not screw someone she found vile in order to win a bet, and even if she had (and logic told him that she hadn’t, because she just wouldn’t) she certainly wouldn’t continue with the charade. When she had been brutally attacked, she had called for him, and she would never have done that had she not loved him. And so it was not lack of love that was going to force them apart.

It was stupid really, it was something that he’s thought he’d conquered, but finding the contract they had written over the summer had brought it forcibly back to him. It was her age that would end it. She was simply too young.

He had wished that his strength of character would imbibe him with some kind of fortitude when it came to the wording of the contract, but he had always been a petty man and the contract had done little more than piss him off and make him think about the manifold problems that could well arise. He had resolved not to be angry, or at least not to let her see that he was. The contract had been written in the summer when she was carefree and happy…and no doubt drunk. She was young then, and she should still be young now, not forcing herself to grow up in order to fit into his world. She should be free to make stupid mistakes, and drink and fuck and do things that eighteen year olds do.

His stomach churned uncomfortably and again the thought that he could just hide the parchment and pretend it didn’t exist came to him. Cling to her, his beautiful girl, for ever and ever.

But who was to say that it would last for ever? Snape was not foolish enough to think that it would. Did he really want to see himself happy and comfortable and so sickeningly in love that he smiled at his first years, only to have it all taken away from him? It would be far easier on heart and mind to go back to being what he always had been, a miserable, self sufficient bastard – who had always been completely happy that way.

Oh yes, always completely happy, just look at how happy you were.

He frowned at the dark ceiling and he willed his mind to shut up.

The point was that he could do well enough without her. He had done so for most of his life, and the past few months, while exceptional, were hardly habit.

He felt an unwilling whimper escape him and he thumped the mattress with his foot. He didn’t want to be sensible or logical or miserable or self sufficient. He wanted to be sickeningly in love and smile at his first years and be completely heart broken years down the track.

He rolled onto his stomach and beat his pillow into submission.

Damn her! Damn her for coming along now, twenty years too late when he had no semblance of optimism left in him. Damn her for writing that fucking stupid contract and ruining all his delusions.

He rolled onto his back again and looked at the clock. Three o’clock in the sodding awful morning. It was going to be a very long night.

~ ~ ~

Harry had taken Sirius’ room because he had felt close to him in this room and its decoration, or lack thereof, had changed very little since Sirius had died and Harry had moved in. It had never bothered Harry before, but suddenly the sparseness of room seemed overwhelming. He set a fire in the grate in the hopes of making it more welcoming.

It felt strange being here with Draco.

Draco was looking with interest at the photographs of Harry’s parents and the few of Sirius and Remus that littered the place. If he noticed the lack of decoration then he didn’t mention it.

Harry pulled back the bedclothes. He had changed them before he left for Hogwarts but they smelled musty from not being used. “Do you want me to change the sheets?” he asked, a little embarrassed. If Mrs Weasley had come with them she would have made it her first priority, as it was she was probably not far behind. Everyone was descending on the house soon enough, and she had offered to get Draco’s medicine before she left the hospital. Harry had agreed because he’d wanted to get Draco home, and now when they were actually in his bedroom, he was wishing that he’d learned some basic housekeeping spells.

Draco looked at the sheets and sniffed, “Are they clean?”

“Yeah, it’s just that they’ve been on there for a long time though.”

“It’s ok, they’ll be fine.” Draco grinned, “Is this you as a baby?”

Harry grinned, “Yeah, cute wasn’t I?”

“Fat springs to mind.”

“All babies are fat,” Harry looked at his baby picture . He looked normal, and his mother certainly had no problems lifting him. “Just because you were a girly skinny little runt of a thing.”

“Runt?” Draco laughed, “Might I point out that I tower over you Potty.”

Harry pushed him affectionately, and then grabbed him harshly and kissed him, feeling something like aggression rising in himself. He bit down into Draco’s lip and felt the flesh give a little, the copper taste of blood rushed over his tongue. He thought Draco would yelp, say something, abuse him perhaps, but Draco moaned softly at the pain and surrendered to it, allowing Harry to suck at his bloody mouth, relishing the feeling of Harry dominating him, perhaps for the first time since they had been together.

“Take your clothes off,” Harry whispered huskily and when Draco wasn’t fast enough to comply he began to tear at Draco’s body, pulling his jumper bodily from his skinny frame, his fingers scratching and bruising.

Draco cried out a small cry, but made no moves to stop him. He fumbled with his pants, trying to get them undone before Harry finished with his shirt. He was naked within a minute and Harry pulled back from him, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at his lover in wonder. Draco made to go to him. ”No, stay there, I want to look at you.”

Draco stood still and watched transfixed as Harry unzipped his own jeans and began to stroke his own cock.

“Turn around.”

“I…” Draco flushed awkwardly, “n…no…”

“Turn around Draco.”

Draco hesitated and slowly turned.

Harry surveyed the ruined flesh. Purple , raw and painful. Someone had deliberately caused this; Moody had caused this and Draco hid it away from the world. Under the tight, purpled flesh Harry could see the curve of Draco’s shoulder blades, the notches of his spine that dipped a little in the small of his back, and two small dimples above what were once no doubt perfect buttocks. Draco had once been perfect and now… 

And now he was more perfect than he was before.

Harry pulled his own clothes off with little regard for what happened to them, his own lust was all consuming and at that moment he wanted to devour Draco Malfoy whole. He went to Draco, embracing him from behind and rubbing his hard cock between Draco’s buttocks. He kissed the point at the base of Draco’s neck where the scars began and nuzzled gently, enjoying the heat of Draco’s skin. ”You are so beautiful…and so perfect.”

“You don’t have to touch them,” Draco whispered urgently. He sounded vulnerable and scared, as though he had been waiting for some kind of rejection.

Harry kissed him again, trailing his tongue along the gentle curve of Draco’s shoulder blade, “So beautiful.”

“Don’t… it’s ugly…”

“Beautiful.”

Harry kissed a trail down Draco’s spine, listening to Draco’s breaths becoming short and harsh as he fell to his knees and gently parted Draco’s buttocks, pressing his mouth against the puckered entrance of Draco’s anus. He flicked his tongue tentitively against the flesh, circling Draco’s entrance, probing gently with the tip. He heard Draco gasp, astonished at the intimacy of the contact and Draco’s body tensed against it for a moment, before seeming to melt in wonder.

Harry felt Draco’s legs part as though he needed to give Harry greater access with his mouth. He was opening Draco up with his tongue, preparing him for the sex that was to come, listening to every gasp and harsh intake of breath, feeling Draco writhe, whilst desperately grinding his arse against Harry’s mouth like a horny cat.

“Fuck… fuck me…please,” Draco was almost sobbing with need, “please, please…fuck me…”

Harry raised himself, pulling Draco up with him so that he could turn Draco’s head and plunder Draco’s mouth with his tongue, rich with Draco’s own flavour.

Draco cried out into Harry’s throat, whilst his cock seemed to grow harder; its head tightening painfully, and as Harry watched a perfect pearl of pre-come emerge, he delved down to lick it away, almost bringing Draco to orgasm. Harry then pushed Draco back to the floor, caressing his back, his buttocks, and his tight thighs. Harry pressed a finger deep inside Draco and caused him to cry out again, and then he withdrew his finger and moved his hips in behind, pressing his cock against Draco’s entrance.

Harry had never done this before and for a moment his bravado failed him as Draco screamed, a note of pain ringing through the pleasure. But Draco wanted him, Draco trusted him and slowly, Draco opened for him and he felt his cock slide into the heat of Draco’s body.

It was as though he was losing his virginity all over again, something so strange and wonderful and new. Draco was hot inside and tight. Harry couldn’t fathom how wonderful this was, nor how incredible and intimate the heat of Draco’s body could possibly be. He was gentle at first, uncertain about his movements. He didn’t want to hurt Draco, but he knew that he was.

Draco was half crying in pain and half moaning in ecstasy, grinding his arse against Harry’s hips, and urging Harry on until Harry began to move faster and harder. He watched Draco’s body, the way his muscles flexed as he struggled to maintain his position. Harry was amazed that Draco was keeping rhythm with him.

They were both moaning incoherently, and their breathing was harsh. Harry ran his hands down the length of Draco’s back, stroking his body, his hips, his legs. Gently he slid his hands around Draco’s hips and began stroking Draco’s cock in time with each thrust, and Draco began to wail. He came with a sudden ferocious burst that creamed across the rug and over Harry’s hand.

Harry came as he felt Draco’s orgasm take hold, filling Draco with hot seed and crying into the purpled flesh of Draco’s back.

Later, curled in the bed and tangled in each other’s limbs, Harry nuzzled Draco’s throat causing him to laugh softly.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No,” Draco couldn’t help but laugh at his own lie, “well, maybe, a little.”

“I think I made you bleed.”

“It’s ok, it doesn’t hurt.” Draco shifted uncomfortably and hid the wince. He’d made Harry bleed in the past, it seemed ridiculous to make a thing of it. In truth he was tired and his body was aching. He was tired of talking, he just wanted to sleep. Harry seemed to sense it and snuggled down into the bed, cuddling Draco close and putting out the lights.

“I love you.” Harry whispered.

“Love you too.” Draco yawned.

“You sleepy?”

Draco yawned again, “yep.”

“You want me to shut up?”

“Yep.”

Harry smiled in the dark and pressed a kiss into Draco’s soft hair, glad that the day was over at last.

~ ~ ~

Hermione had amazed herself by sleeping long and deep through the night. It was a sleep fuelled by physical and emotional exhaustion though when she awoke she felt none of the benefits of a good nights rest, and she was confused as to exactly why she was there. Her eyes opened and the room was still reasonably dark. The orange light that seemed to indicate night in London was filtering through the crack in the curtains and so Hermione knew it was still dark outside, although it was probably early morning as opposed to night.

The curtains were frilly, and her mother had given them too her over the summer to replace the moth eaten drapes. This was her room at Grimmauld place; she had spent the summer decorating it. She hated the curtains, but they were not musty and worn and she had been grateful to have them. This was definitely her room, but for a moment, when she first opened her heavy eyes, she could not fathom why she was there.

It wasn’t summer, the room was cold, and the absence of heat beside her helped her to understand that Severus was not here with her. Hermione was not at school and dreaming that she was here. Then a soft female whimper from somewhere else in the room made her remember. Ginny was in the room. Ginny was here and Ron was nowhere near the house. Ron was in the hospital.

She lay in the dark and stared up at the ceiling. She should say something to Ginny. She should, but she didn’t want to. Aside from the New Years party, Hermione hadn’t said much to Ginny since the end of the war. Ginny had blamed anyone and everyone for her failed relationship with Harry, and Hermione had been the first in the firing line. A woman close to Harry, any woman close to Harry, had been ripe to be blamed, and Hermione was the closest woman to Harry that anyone knew. She had taken months of alternate cold shoulder and abuse until she had stopped caring, listening or trying.

After Harry had left her, Ginny had earned herself the nickname The Broom, for she was willing to give anyone a ride. Hermione supposed that it was her way of trying to get back at Harry, but the sad fact was that Harry just didn’t care. The only one of Ginny’s ‘conquests’ that concerned Harry was Draco, and Harry was pretty secure in his relationship there.

“Hermione? Are you awake?”

Hermione had no real choice but to answer. “Yeah…how are you?”

Ginny sat up in her makeshift bed and whispered for light. “I’m okay,” she smiled a little weepily, “I’ve just been thinking, that’s all.” She frowned, “do you think he’ll be alright?”

“Ron’s going to be fine, you heard the healers, he’s really strong. He’ll come through this.”

“On Sunday I wouldn’t even give him the time of day, and I just keep thinking that if I’d spoken to him he…”

“I think we’re all pretty guilty of that Ginny, It won’t help to dwell on it. We have to look forward, not back.”

Ginny seemed to smirk, “That’s some beautiful rhetoric you have there.”

Hermione blanched and looked away.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s alright, I didn’t expect anything better.” Hermione winced and bit her lip . It wouldn’t help to carry on like this, fighting with Ginny wasn’t going to help anyone. But Ginny was not so willing to let it go . She had spent almost two years obsessing over Harry and hating anyone close to him, and here was a prime opportunity to have a rant.

“Of course you didn’t,” Ginny retorted, affecting an airy tone, “but of course, when you put yourself so far above everyone else…”

“I don’t put myself above anyone Ginny.”

“Of course you do, you’re just so far up yourself that you don’t realise it.”

Hermione swung her legs out of bed, deciding that leaving was probably the best thing she could do, but Ginny decided to change tact.

“So, Harry and Draco are fags eh?”

Hermione rolled her eyes; she wondered how long it would take. “Yeah…I guess,” she scowled, “although I doubt they’d like the term ‘fags .</>’”

“I would never have picked it though,” Ginny continued, “well, I mean, I guess it makes sense with Harry, because he never was very good with girls.”

“He just wasn’t interested in them Ginny,” Hermione sighed, “and it had nothing to do with you.”

“I should have guessed he was a fag,” Ginny mused.

Hermione had heard enough. “So,” she said stiffly, “George says you have a crush on Lucius Malfoy? Draco not enough for you?”

Ginny smiled shrewdly and raised an eyebrow. “Well you have to admit, there is something about him.”

“He’s a dribbling idiot in a box.”

“He felt incredible between my legs.”

“One trip down the stairs does not a relationship make Ginny.”

“And he was as hard as a rock too, fighting really turned him on.”

“You’re delusional.”

Ginny grinned, “Am I? At least I can see something beautiful and want it for what it is. Last I heard you were fucking Snape. What barrel did you scrape to decide on that?”

Hermione turned on Ginny, rounded on the red head, her eyes blazing, “Who told you that? Who the fuck is saying that?”

“Oh calm down, it’s not all over the school or anything. Remus Lupin told mum and dad at that party, and I heard him. He said that he caught you in bed with that greasy thing . Mum was really disgusted and dad was…speechless.”

Hermione sank down to the side of the bed. So the Weasley’s knew, and they never said a word.

“So, are you fucking him?”

“Don’t believe everything you hear,” Hermione said shakily. “Remus Lupin doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“That’s funny; it sure sounded like he did. He was walking around the upstairs corridor when he saw you and Snape in one of the bedrooms and when he asked what was going on, you told him what you were doing. Remus then took Snape outside to talk some sense into him, and Snape told him to fuck off.”

Hermione smirked, she highly doubted that Severus had said ‘fuck off,’ but still; at least he’d said something.

“Oh god, you are fucking him,” Ginny’s mouth curled in disgust, “Oh Hermione, I always thought you had taste in your arse, but wow, that’s just feral!”

“What would you know about it?” Hermione hissed, “You’re known as Hogwarts resident ‘school broom’, and you know nothing about an adult relationship.”

Ginny began to laugh, “A relationship? Oh my god you’re having a relationship with him?”

Hermione stood up again and grabbed her robe.

“Come on Hermione,” Ginny chortled, “tell me all about this relationship you’re having.”

“Go to hell.”

Ginny was laughing hard now and Hermione collected her toiletries angrily.

“I don’t want you in this room,” Hermione hissed, “I’m going back to school after breakfast, and I don’t care if you have to sleep in the fucking living room, but you don’t stay in my room anymore.” She turned to leave the room, “I’m sorry for whatever made you into this bitter person Ginny, but I have no interest in having any kind of friendship with you. I’ve tried to be understanding, I’ve tried to be there for you, but all you are now is this nasty little mind. You’re nothing like the person you once were. You’re bitter and twisted, and you’ve become mean and spiteful!”

“Well, we can blame Harry for that.”

“No! We can blame you for it! I’m not going to enter into your Harry obsession. He tried , really he did, but it didn’t work . He’s gay, so get over it and move on with your life.”

Ginny stared maliciously at Hermione. “I hate you,” she said quietly. “I hate him too, and I guess there was a part of me that hated Ron for sticking with him.”

Hermione was quiet, and not at all sure what to say. At least it had come out now; at least there was no pretending left to do. She didn’t speak , just clutched her toiletries bag a little closer and left the room.

~ ~ ~

Harry awoke to the smell of bacon cooking, a smell which had managed to permeate the entire house. Harry found himself smiling, and it seemed almost as though it was summer and he was here to stay.

Except that Draco was still cuddled in close to him, sleeping peacefully, and that was something that his summers had definitely lacked. It seemed a shame to wake him, but they had to get back to the school. He shook Draco gently.  

“Come on baby, it’s time to wake up.”

Draco groaned and muttered before rolling onto his belly and burying his face in the pillows.

“Come on sweetheart, you have to wake up.”

“No.” Draco’s voice was muffled but unmistakeably obstinate.

“We have to get back to school, I promised Dumbledore.”

Draco lifted his head and opened his eyes blearily, “What time is it?”

“About six.”

“Too early.”

“Mrs Weasley is making breakfast.”

“Good, you go and eat, then wake me up when you’re ready to leave.”

“You’re having breakfast.”

“I’ll have some when I get back to school,” Draco lied.

“No,” Harry said irritably, “you’ll eat here where I can see you eat. Mrs Weasley has made breakfast and she got your medicine for you last night, so you have to come down to have that anyway.”

Draco scowled and rolled over. Breakfast with the Weasley’s, just what he’d never wanted. Also, he was feeling particularly tender, and he was wondering if he’d even be able to sit down at the breakfast table. He sat up a little painfully in the bed and winced. Harry saw, and panicked.

“Are you okay? Are you in pain?”

“It’s fine, don’t worry,” Draco laughed and shifted and tried unsuccessfully to suppress another wince.

“Do you want me to go and get your medicine? Do you feel sick?”

“No, nothing like that.” Draco smiled although he was a little annoyed. One of the reasons that he’d not said anything to Harry about his back was this very thing.   Like Snape, Harry was now convinced Draco would drop dead at the slightest jolt. “You gave me a bit of a pounding last night, so I’m a bit sore this morning…does that answer your question?”

Harry blushed. “Oh.”

They showered together, enjoying the private bathroom and the ability to run their soapy hands all over each other’s bodies, so much so that the option of going down to breakfast was fast becoming something that neither of them wanted to do.

When they finally reached the kitchen, they found the Weasley’s already seated and eating. Mr Weasley had already left, heading for the Ministry before returning to the hospital. Mrs Weasley was worrying over her children more than usual and when she saw Harry she bustled over and began ushering him into the kitchen.

“There you are Harry dear, I was about to come and wake you.” She guided him to a chair beside Hermione and turned uncomfortably to Draco. She wasn’t sure of what to make of him, Lucius Malfoy’s son. Every part of her rebelled against the idea of Harry being with him and yet here he was, standing in the doorway awkwardly, looking skinny and a little lost. But he was a child, the same as Ron was a child and she wasn’t about to scorn him because of his father’s sins. She pulled out the chair beside Harry and smiled at him. “Now Draco, you sit here, there’s a good boy. I put the Navitas Serum into some juice for you, as the Apothecary says that it tastes dreadful.”

“Err, thank you…Mrs Weasley.”

Harry grinned as a large glass of juice was placed in front of Draco, followed by a plate full of food. Draco’s eye’s widened and he looked to Harry in panic.

Molly caught the look, “I spoke to the Apothecary,” she explained, “and according to what he was saying, you need to put on some weight dear.”

“I…” Draco looked down at his plate of sausage and eggs, bacon, tomato, beans and toast. “Um…thank you…may I have some coffee?”

“Oh no dear, coffee is bad, but I’ve made you some weak tea.”

Hermione couldn’t suppress the snort of laughter as Draco weakly offered his thanks again. Harry had begun to tuck into his own breakfast and watched as Draco started on his, knowing full well that under Molly’s watchful eye, Draco would finish every bite. Harry also noticed that Draco’s hand shook a little as he quickly gulped down his juice.

Fred leaned across the table. “This is nothing,” he whispered as Mrs Weasley left the kitchen and Draco began transferring food from his plate to Harry’s. “You wait until she gets Ron home . He’s going to end up the size of a house in no time at all.”  

Harry snorted with laughter and returned the food to Draco’s plate. Draco kept his head down and said nothing. He had no affection for Fred Weasley, after seeing the way he had touched Harry the night before he had no doubt what Weasley’s aims were. He was certain that had Fred known of Harry’s sexual orientation earlier, he would have swooped in like a vulture over a carcass, regardless of what Harry wanted.

Hermione saw Draco’s look and tried valiantly to steer the conversation in another direction. “What happened in Transfiguration yesterday?”

“No idea,” Draco grumbled, “I didn’t go.”

“What? Why?” Hermione scowled, “you can’t just not go to classes! What makes you think that you can just not go to classes.”

Draco sighed, Hermione had a terrible habit of sounding like his father sometimes. “Look, they are still learning how to turn animals into furniture, and as I know how to turn animals into furniture I see no point in watching the likes of Neville Longbottom try and muddle their way through it.”

“You could help him you know?”

“Now why would I do a thing like that?” Draco replied snidely.

Hermione rolled her eyes, “you really are a prick, you know that?”

“I aim to please.”

Fred watched the exchange with some interest before saying cheerfully, “so, you lot have been all chummy then? Wonders will never cease.”

Draco said nothing and looked down at his plate.

“Oh lighten up Malfoy. The last time I saw you, you hadn’t had a bath for a few days and you threw up all over my brother’s shoes, and I have to say you look a damn sight better now – and you’re being civil! Now what could have affected this change? Could it be possible that the great Draco Malfoy is,” he affected a gasp, “in love with Harry Potter?”

“You’re really behind the fucking times Weasley, everyone already knows that.”

“All heresy and conjecture,” Fred said dismissively, “I want to hear it from your own mouth.”

Draco glared at Fred, “I love Harry Potter,” he deadpanned, “anything else you want to hear from my mouth? How about ‘touch him again and I’ll hex your fucking balls off.’?”

Harry coughed into his coffee, not sure if he should laugh or be annoyed. Fred was smiling openly.

“Oooh, he’s jealous too. You’d better watch yourself Harry, he’s not going to let you have any fun.”

“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Harry grabbed hold of Draco’s jumper as he began to stand up. “Stop it,” he murmured, “he’s just trying to get a rise out of you.”

“Come on Harry,” Fred was laughing, “there is a whole world of clubs and gorgeous men out there, so you really don’t need the son of evil here holding you back.”

Harry was glaring now, along with Draco and for a moment Hermione feared that Fred was about to end up in a bed beside Ron in St Mungo’s.

“And,” Fred continued unabashed, “which one of you screamed like a banshee last night? We had to stop mum from running into your room to make sure you weren’t being murdered in your bed.”

Draco returned to his food and Harry gaped, profoundly grateful that Mrs Weasley hadn’t burst in the night before . He really didn’t think she was ready to witness that.

“So what about this weekend Harry?” Fred grinned, “Want to go clubbing?”

“You have to be kidding me,” Harry replied, amazed.

“You’d have a great time!”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“There is no need for language Harry,” Molly bustled back in and Fred burst into laughter. Harry flushed and apologised, and tried to ignore the scowl on Draco’s face.

~ ~ ~

Minerva had seen Severus angry before, and he had frightened her when it was quite obvious that he hadn’t slept. Severus usually looked greasy and unkempt, but today he looked positively unhinged.

Minerva looked nervously at her breakfast companion. They were in Minerva’s tidy chambers, as light streamed through the windows. Minerva lived in comfortable and spacious rooms at the top of the west tower . It was her choice because of the French windows that encircled the entire room. Dumbledore had gone down to breakfast when Snape had turned up at the door looking like hell and in obvious need of a shoulder to cry on.

Of course he wouldn’t cry, but still, he probably needed it.

Minerva poured some more coffee and finished reading the contract in front of her. Severus was picking at a brioche roll, tearing it to pieces and then picking up the pieces and tearing at them. Minerva wished he would just yell or rant…or something.

“They had to be drunk Severus.”

“Mmm,” he agreed absently and started disintegrating the crumbs.

“I think that is pretty much gone now Severus,” Minerva indicated the roll, “how about you start on a fresh one?”

“Huh?”

Minerva pulled the plate away from him and placed a fresh roll on it before pushing it back towards him. “They are young Severus; they no doubt got very drunk and made this ridiculous thing. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means she hated me.”

“ Everyone hates you Severus,” Minerva couldn’t help but smile, “if this was written in the summer, before they came back to school, they probably had the same opinion of you that every other student has.”

“I saved that little shit's life!”

“Harry’s life Severus, for Merlin’s sake, call him by his name.”

“Alright, I saved Harry’s life, which means they should have been on their knees thanking me.”

Minerva sighed, “You did it most unwillingly, and you made no secret of that fact. How can you possibly expect them to suddenly like you?” Minerva rolled her eyes, “That’s entirely beside the point and you know it. Just because they wrote this ridiculous piece of drivel does not mean that they still feel that way. It simply means that they are young and stupid and should probably reconsider how much they drink. People do foolish things when they are drunk Severus.”

He seemed to snap out of his stupor, “Yes, yes they do don’t they? Foolish things.” He shook his head.

“Tell me that you didn’t get together while you were drunk,” Minerva groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose, fighting off a headache that was threatening. “Severus, she loves you, just leave it at that, don’t start looking for things to make it wrong.”

“But you are right, she is young. She’s too young.”

“She wasn’t too young yesterday.”

“My eyes were closed yesterday.”

“Then close them again, that’s my only advice.”

Severus pushed crumbs around his plate, “and what if I can’t?” He frowned. “When I first saw it I thought it had all been a game…but she couldn’t have, why would she be so stupid as to lose her virginity to a man she hated? And after Krum she was too fragile to lie to me. So I accepted that she really loves me.”

“Then what is the problem?”

“She is eighteen years old. She has her whole life ahead of her. She should be out screwing people, having fun, being an eighteen year old girl.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to be out screwing people, or maybe she’s quite content to be screwing you ?”

In truth he wanted her to be screwing him too, but she needed to live. He sighed and suddenly banged his head on the table.

“Severus!”

“Oh shitfuckbuggerarseheadandhole!”

“Severus, it’s not that bad.”

“Why me?”

“Listen to yourself, Severus! It’s not that bad . She loves you, and you love her . I really can’t see the problem.”

“I don’t want to wake up one morning in three years time and find a note saying she’s gone because she’s found some one younger, prettier and happier than I am.”

“You’ve already made your mind up about this, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then why did you come to me?”

“Sympathy?”

Minerva pursed her lips as though he was her student again, “I’m not going to give you any sympathy if you are going to go and ruin the best thing that has ever happened to you, just because you’ve convinced yourself that it is doomed.”

Severus chewed at his thumbnail, “not even a little bit?”

“No!” She glared at him.

“Not even if I beg?”

“No!”

“What if I cry?”

“Severus, stop trying to make light of this, you’re obviously miserable. Why don’t you ask her about this silly contract, listen to her explanation and leave it at that?”

But the look on his face told her that he was not going to do anything of the sort. He was still determined to ruin every blessing in his life, and all the more determined to look at everything from the negative.

“For such a smart man Severus,” Minerva sighed, “you really can be very stupid.”

~ ~ ~

Snape returned from his breakfast still hungry and feeling worse than he had before he’d gone looking for Minerva. He really didn’t know what he had expected, although perhaps he hoped that he’d get a comforting pat on the back and a reassurance that he was doing the right thing. Minerva, it seemed, was not the person to do that. She wouldn’t even humour him by pretending and it disturbed him no end to think that he needed some kind of reassurance from anyone. He was truly going soft in his old age. He let himself into his rooms with the full intention of lying down before classes, and if at all possible, breaking something in anger so as to stop himself from actually crying – something he considered unforgivable considering he had watched most of his friends die and had never shed a tear.

“Hi!”

He jumped and reddened at his own surprise. She wasn’t supposed to be here, she was supposed to be in London comforting the dozen or so Weasley’s who had descended on Potter’s house. She was supposed to be coming back tonight, after he’d had several fourth years to drive him insane and a melted cauldron or two to mop up, and thus be in the right frame of mind to do some heart breaking.

She certainly wasn’t supposed to be sitting on his bed at seven thirty in the morning, well before schedule, and looking all fresh faced and sweet.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said stupidly and felt his brain smack him over the head.

Hermione frowned, then smiled and tilted her head a little to the side, “and where am I supposed to be?”

“ London .”

She laughed as he mentally hit himself again, “you are so cute when you’re confused.”

Well at least she was observant. He shuffled uncomfortably on the doorstep; “you should go and get ready for class.”

“It’s still early, we have ages,” she lay down and stretched out, “and you look terrible . Didn’t you sleep last night?”

“I always look terrible.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

He really wasn’t prepared for this. He should just open his mouth and blurt it out and finish it right then and there, but the words eluded him and he found himself stumbling over things to say. “Perhaps you should leave…you have class soon and no doubt have things to prepare.”

Hermione sat up and gave him a quizzical look, hadn’t he just said that, just with different wording? She figured that she should make herself clearer. “I have everything already,” she indicated to her bag, propped up beside the bed, “I thought I’d just come down here and have a bit of a rest before class . I mean, we have Potions first up and if I’m already in the dungeons then I can lie here until the last minute, right?”

“Oh…well…did anyone see you come down here?”

“No, of course not!” Something was very obviously wrong. Severus was standing in the doorway looking like a stunned rat, but getting it out of him was obviously going to be like pulling teeth, and she really wasn’t in the mood to discuss any problems he may have at that moment. She had just spent the morning arguing with Ginny, comforting George and helping Harry hold Draco back from Fred’s throat. She desperately wanted either total peace and quiet, or some tender loving care.

She slipped off the bed and went to him, hoping to get him into the room somehow, and perhaps get him to relax. She took his hand and gently kissed each finger, and she felt herself relax as his other hand came up and tangled in her hair.

“We have time,” she said quietly, “ we could have some coffee ?” She sucked his thumb into her mouth, running her tongue over the fleshy pad. “Or we could do something else ?”

“Stop it baby,” he almost hissed the words, but they were unconvincing. He didn’t want her to stop and she knew it.

“I’m not doing anything bad, in fact I think you quite like it.”

Her voice had lowered and she smiled up at him. It would never cease to amaze him just how seductive she could be, and that under all that hair and those shapeless school robes lived a seductress of the highest order. It would probably shock even her greatest admirers and as he watched her little hips sway ever so and the robes open, revealing the grey skirt and a glimpse of knee, he gave the smallest of moans. She grinned and pressed her body close to him.

“We can’t…” he seemed to choke on his words, “classes…”

All doubts fled as she slid her hands under his shirt and he caught a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes seconds before she stood on the tips of her toes and leaned her weight against him, nuzzling her mouth against his neck. He groaned softly as her teeth scraped against his pale throat. Her palms were cool against the hot flesh of his chest, seeking out and finding his nipples. Then her hands skirted lower, skimming along the tight flesh of his belly. When his shirt hindered any further exploration she snorted with impatience and, to his dazed amazement, she grabbed both sides of the garment and yanked hard, sending buttons flying around them.

He gaped, momentarily speechless. Gods she knew how to turn him on and Hermione definitely knew how to please him . She was eager to discover different variations of love making, and he surprised himself sometimes at just inventive he could be. She could also be incredibly aggressive, deciding what she wanted and not taking no for an answer. It was yet another thing he had never expected from her, but if he considered it rationally, she was such a know-it-all little school girl, certainly no shrinking violet, and her sexual aggression was probably just a natural extension of her personality. He loved it and he loved being the recipient of her arousal.

He shook his head, trying to clear it and hoping to get some kind of control over himself and the situation, but his mind felt confused as it swirled with the drugging lure of desire.   “'Mione…baby…”

She gently pushed him backwards until his shoulders were pressed hard against the solid oak door and before he could issue another word, her mouth covered his and she slid her tongue between his teeth. Suddenly, denying her was a distant memory.

He shrugged out of his shirt and pulled her tight against him, running his hand up the back of her thigh and over one soft buttock. His fingers tangled in the elastic of her panties and delved deep to find the damp curls between her thighs.

She broke their kiss and pushed away his hands, her breathing fast and harsh. “No Severus, I’m not finished with you yet.”

Not finished? What else was she going to do?

“I love you,” she whispered and he believed her. Gently she placed a lingering kiss on his shoulder and then moved lower, to where her tongue could swirl around his nipple. She moaned softly into his chest and whispered to his pale flesh, “you taste so good,” before sinking to her knees in front of him.

His breath left him, deflating his lungs and he looked up at the ceiling, wondering if perhaps the gods might save him, but they were nowhere to be found. She pressed her lips to his flat belly, then tossed her head back and watched him as he inspected the ceiling for something unseen.

“What are you thinking?” she whispered and he didn’t answer, afraid to speak lest she stop.

Hermione smiled and worked his belt loose and unbuttoned his trousers. She pulled his trousers and briefs down and he felt himself spring free, fully erect and aching for her attentions. She untangled his pants from his feet and swept them away, fumbled with his boots then his socks, lovingly running a finger along the strange indented markings around his ankles where the knit had clung tightly. She kissed her way up one long skinny leg, relishing the soft feel of the dark hair against her lips, licking the hard bone of his knees before ascending up his thigh.

He had to look down at her. He had to watch her because it was torture to feel what she was doing and not watch her doing it.

And then suddenly the realisation that the door was unlocked and that anyone could walk in hindered his pleasure and he reached behind him and began fumbling for the lock. She hadn’t even left him his wand to ward it. Not that it really mattered, no one would dare to just walk in to his chambers. No one except Minerva…

He renewed fumbling with the lock.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione murmured into his inner thigh.

“The door…”

Hermione grinned, pulled out her wand and sealed the door tight, she then skimmed his tense thighs with her hands, moving over his bony hips and grazing his cock with her thumbs.

Severus groaned, wanting her to stop, but wanting her mouth on him more than he wanted to take his next breath. A moment later his wish was granted. Her fingers circled his swollen shaft and stroked him. Closing his eyes, he tangled his fingers in her hair, melting as the pleasure consumed him, and then the wet heat of her mouth enveloped him, velvet soft and wicked as sin. He gritted his teeth, his body jerking and shuddering in warning.

“Stop,” he rasped, pulling her back up the length of him and taking back control. His only thought was to get her to the bed, and he kissed her, backing her across the room until they made it there. He released her and she lowered herself onto the soft quilt and lay back, lifting her hips to remove her panties. She dropped the flimsy piece of fabric to the floor and parted her legs invitingly.

“Love me,” she whispered huskily.

Dear Merlin, how could he not? He had never known someone to be so enticingly erotic as she was and his body responded with a demanding, powerful surge of need. Settling himself over her, he locked their hands on either side of her head and felt her legs curl around the back of his thighs, urging him forward. She was hot, panting, and astonishingly, still mostly clothed.

His body shuddered and slowly he pushed into her tight welcoming heat. They shared mutual groan of pleasure and she arched her back with a sharp gasp, raising her knees around his waist to take him deeper and deeper still with every measured stroke.

It would never matter how many times he made love to her, he would never get enough of her, and he could never get deep enough inside her. He wanted to be part of her in every elemental way that mattered. The wave of emotions unravelled within him, breaking on a wave so powerful that his body shuddered. He thrust hard and fast, triggering a breathless cry from Hermione as he reached his peak and soared over the crest, coming deep inside her.

When he could breathe normally again he pushed himself off his beautiful girl and pulled her close to his side, cradling her in his arms, knowing it would be the last time. She buried her face in his neck and let out a contented sigh.

“I love you,” she murmured softly.

Severus closed his eyes and swallowed hard, wanting to answer her and knowing that he couldn’t.

****

Parashat Pinahas had once been a Death Eater and, as luck would have it, one of Severus Snape’s oldest friends. Not that Snape spent a lot of time in Parashat’s company in recent years, but he had helped the man avoid Azkaban and the Kiss and he owed Snape a very big favour. Until late Monday evening, Snape had not called in the debt and Parashat had gone about his business unhindered. He had found himself a respectable job in the Department of House Elf Relocation and was making a valiant attempt to forget his sordid past. So when he was closing up his office on Monday night he had jumped when his old friend’s head had suddenly appeared in the fireplace for a chat about the repayment of his debt.

The result of the conversation saw the small House Elf Non arrive at the Museum Magical Arts and Antiquities mid-morning on Tuesday and present himself, complete with his transfer papers, for his new job. He had shuffled nervously on the spot for a while, waiting for someone to come and tell him what to do. He was still waiting for someone to realise that he just didn’t belong here. He was then led to the cellar by an elderly Elf who looked as though he was at least twice Non’s age and had no doubt served the Museum for the term of his life.

Once in the cellar rooms Non relaxed considerably, as it seemed that the majority of the museums Elves had once been at the Manor and he knew them well. The other Elves crowded around him, asking him dozens of questions about how he had come to be freed and how he’d arrived at the museum. Non stuck to the well practiced script that Snape had developed. He had gone against Master Draco because of his relationship with Harry Potter and Master Draco had freed him. He also had to force himself not to call Master Draco Master, or refer to Master Lucius by the same term.

“He’s here you know,” squeaked one little Elf that Non seemed to recall was named Tess, or something like that . “Lucius Malfoy is here.”

Non almost shivered with excitement and forced a grimace to his face to cover it. “He is?”

”Oh yes, but the Curator is very possessive of him, and not many of us are allowed to touch him. Hob left him out on the balcony one day and he…” the girl stopped and looked a little dismayed, “well, he just disappeared.”

If Non had eyebrows he would have raised one. He had thought that the Death Eaters were all on display, so what was Master Lucius doing out on a balcony?

“No one wants to attend him now . Hob was the fourth Elf that had disappeared mysteriously. There were three others, but I think they might have kicked him.”

>“The Curator?”

“No, Lucius Malfoy.”

“Oh? But why should the Curator be possessive of him?” Non asked calmly. “He’s received the Kiss, so why would the Curator think him special?”

Tess looked around conspiritously, as she had always liked Non, “I haven’t seen, but there has been talk about what the Curator does up in his bedroom. They say he actually sleeps with Malfoy in his bed!”

Non didn’t know what to say, so he just gaped at the gossiping Elf and was grateful when the elderly Elf returned with a clipboard and Non’s papers. He’d heard nothing about a new Elf coming and it perplexed him not knowing what to do with the newcomer. “I think the Curator must have arranged for you to come to look after his…toy.” He looked at Non in a withering way. “You have been a valet for the Malfoy’s before?”

“You don‘t want to do that!” Tess hissed urgently. “ You’ll disappear like the others!”

Non ignored her, “I was Lucius Malfoy’s valet for ten years.”

“Good, then you’ll be prepared for your new duties. You won’t find Lucius Malfoy to be anything like you remember, but it is the Curator you must serve, not Malfoy.”

Non tried hard not to smile, Master Draco was going to be well pleased.

****

Draco was still fuming over Fred Weasley when he reached Herbology that afternoon. To make matters worse, Herbology was possibly his least favourite subject and more often than not he found himself deeply regretting dropping Magical Runes in favour of the hated class. Professor Sprout seemingly had a problem with making any class less than a practical experience, and even today when all should be theory, Draco knew that he would probably end up filthy and smelling of something foul.

His hunch proved correct, as he walked into the classroom he saw the revolting potted Dragon’s Claw’s that they had been growing, sitting on the desks. He sighed and ran his hand lovingly over the embossed cover of his Medicus Botanica and realised that once again they probably wouldn’t be opening it. So now he had Fred Weasley on the brain and any minute now he would be up to his elbows in manure. What a perfect end to a shitty day.

And of course, who could forget that they were obviously going to be studying the properties of the Dragon series of plants…again. Which of course meant that Sprout would be taking great pleasure in making everyone pronounce their Latin names over and over, just to (and he was sure of this) make Draco’s life uncomfortable.

Calamus Draco, Periculum Draco, Novus Draco, and the list seemed never ending and every time they said it Harry would make doe eyes at him across the room…which would be cute if it wasn’t so annoying that he could spit.

His reasoning for taking the class had seemed well founded. He shared; in common with his father, a general mistrust of most medical practitioners and apothecaries. His problem was that he would be forced to take Navitas Serum for the rest of his life, which meant that he either learned to trust, or he learned to make it himself. He had decided on the latter and in order to do that he had to learn how to grow the necessary ingredients. Hence Magical Runes was dropped and Herbology was taken up.

And oh how he hated it. He had long held the opinion that Herbology was the class for your average idiot (second in this field only to Divination which really had escaped his notice entirely). He held the fact that Neville Longbottom was the star student in the class as proof of this opinion.

“Now, the Morbus Draco (eyes from Harry to Draco) secretes a thick pus like sweat from the bulb which has many uses, but is primarily used for conjestion. In it’s pure form however it is very corrosive so I hope you all have your Dragon hide gloves as we will be scraping the bulbs today.”

Great. Draco hunted through his bag for his gloves, having learned long ago never to take a scheduled theory class too seriously. He wondered just how corrosive this pus was and if contact with Fred Weasley’s face would be in any way satisfying. He decided almost immediately that it would give him a great deal of satisfaction to test that particular theory.

“Now pull the Morbus Draco up (more eyes from Harry to Draco), out of the pot by the thick part of the stem”

Ugh, it smelled disgusting, and the pus was yellow. Draco almost gagged. Yeah, smearing that all over Fred Weasley’s face would be immensely satisfying. The bastard. If he’d been any more obvious in his intentions he would have been sitting on Harry’s lap with his tongue down his throat. Draco scraped hard at the bulb with his strigil taking off more than the pus.

“Careful Mr Malfoy, the Morbus Draco’s bulb is very sensitive.”

General sniggers and more eyes from Harry. Gods he wished she would stop saying the bloody name. It was almost as bad as studying the damn constellation in Astronomy, and Harry had kept humming ‘isn’t it romantic?’ every time he moved the bloody telescope. For more than the first time in his life Draco was hating his name. Who in hell would willing choose to name their kid Draco anyway ?

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, that’s who.

“It is the most beautiful constellation in the sky,” Narcissa had told him, “ and when you were born I could see it outside the window, shining down on me.”

“And it’s strong, and unique,” Lucius had added. “ It is a name you should be proud of.”

Draco could only thank his lucky stars that Orion hadn’t shone down on them that night. Orion Malfoy, now there was a name.

Draco shuddered.

“So, how’s my little Dragon?”

Draco jumped and glared at Harry who had crept up behind him. “Fuck Harry, don’t call me that.”

“Why not? You are a little Dragon. In fact, you’re my little Dragon.”

“Yes, and my father thought so too and used to call me the same thing, so unless your seeking to take his place, stop calling me that.”

Harry shrugged and rolled his eyes . It was fairly obvious that ‘his little Dragon’ was obviously in a very bad mood today.

****

Hermione was glad when the day had ended. Classes were over, and after two extra hours of coaching Harry through the day’s Potions lesson, she felt as though she could just curl up and go to sleep. Of course she wouldn’t, and so after helping Harry she had to find time for her own study . She decided that for the sake of getting away from Harry’s constant questions , it would be best if she went down and hid herself in Severus’ chambers. She doubted he would mind, as he spent most of his nights marking papers and working on various bits and pieces, so it would be easy enough to settle by the fire and not be disturbed. She collected her books and managed to duck out just as Harry had turned a pleading eye in her direction.

She couldn’t help but smile. Hermione had no doubt that Harry was a brilliant Wizard, really he was. But in order to become what he wanted to become he had to pass his two worst subjects, Potions and Transfiguration. He was mildly better at Transfiguration, but in Advanced Potions, Harry was clinging to anything or anyone that he could just to scrape through the course. For her own part, Hermione thoroughly believed that she owed him the help. He had, after all, been the means of ensuring a peaceful life for all Wizard kind when he killed Voldemort, and perhaps, had he not had the responsibility placed on his shoulders from such a young age, he might have had a better understanding of the more scientific of the magical arts. She had watched him struggle through school for years with headaches and traumas that would have sent a lesser Wizard mad, so he deserved something good now when all the trouble had ended.

But no matter how much she thought she owed Harry, she couldn’t help but be glad when the day had finally drawn to a close and she could head down to Severus’ rooms to enjoy the companionable silence while she studied her own work.

Except that he was waiting for her, though how long he had been standing there staring at the door she did not know. His face was a mask of composure, and he had obviously been steeling himself to say something to her. He had obviously been preparing himself for this moment, and she knew instantly that it could not be anything good.

Hermione’s stomach seemed to flip and then a batch of butterflies hatched and fluttered about her innards. “Severus? Is…is there something wrong?”

His intense gaze focused on her face, his black eyes boring into her and she felt herself shrink back, as though she was a junior again and he’d demoralized her in class. She dampened her bottom lip with her tongue, the precursor to a good nervous chewing session, and launched into whatever popped into her head. “I’ve been working with Harry, and I think he actually managed to get his Millefolium infusion right; he might even pass this year…” she waited for the inevitable remark about Harry’s intelligence, or lack thereof, but it did not come.

He cleared his throat, hesitated and then; “I think we should break up.”

Hermione’s stomach now took a plunge from a very high cliff, taking her heart along with it. “Break up?” she echoed faintly, praying that she had somehow heard him incorrectly.

“Well,” he said stiffly, deciding to stick to a mentally well rehearsed conversation so as to maintain an outwardly calm appearance, “considering your age and our situation, it would seem prudent to let things rest for a while. I have no doubt that you have certain requirements in your life and I don’t believe that those requirements can be fulfilled if you are bound to me.”

“What…what requirements?”

“You need to grow up Hermione.”

“No.”

He seemed taken aback at the simple reply. He had expected a fit of hysterics in which he could take the moral high road about her immaturity and that would be that. Instead she was looking at him as though he were mad and announcing ‘no’ as her only comment. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

“I mean no. No I am not prepared to accept that as a reason to break up.”

And all he could think of to say to that was, “why not?”

“Because,” she said calmly, “your reasoning is completely flawed. If you said that it was something that you didn’t like, something that drove you crazy, like a bad habit, I could probably understand it a little more.” She shrugged, unconcerned, “not that I have many bad habits”

He lifted an eyebrow at her arrogant assumption.

“Well, alright, I have a few habits that are less than desirable,” she admitted, “but I hardly call leaving my hair in the shower drain a crime, and I know that you hate it when I squeeze my zits in the mirror, but I wipe it off eventually.”

Had they been having the discussion under any other circumstances, he probably would have laughed, but laughing wasn’t an option right now, in fact, he felt more like crying. “It’s not about your hair in the drain, or…zit splash…on the mirror Hermione, it’s about you needing to grow up and get on with your life.”

Hermione jammed her hands onto her hips, her anger finally surfacing, “I thought that was what I was doing!”

He swallowed the knot in his throat and tasted the awful bitterness of despair. “You are, but you need more time …to act your age, meet other people, sleep with other people. You’ve spent almost eight years tied to this school, and now you are tying yourself to your Professor. There has to be a time when you leave this place and forget all about it.”

“Why? You never did. You were out of school three or four years and then you came back again, so you can hardly talk about distancing yourself from this place.”

“I came here because I had to.”

“And what about now?”

“And now I’m too old and set in my ways to leave, which is another good reason for this to end here and now.”

“You’re being ridiculous. I don’t want to go out and meet other people, I have plenty of friends, and as for the other, I don’t want to sleep with other people like some common slut. I’ve seen where that got Ginny Weasley and I hardly plan to emulate her!”

His jaw tightened as it always did when he knew that he was losing an argument that he was determined to win. She would not dissuade him from his final decision, and she could argue to her hearts content, but the outcome would be the same. “It has come to my attention that you are perhaps too young to be in a relationship with someone like me…just yet.”

“Too young? What has happened? My age didn’t matter a month ago,” she pointed out, her voice rising in frustration. “It didn’t matter a week ago…it didn’t even matter a day ago!”

He made an irritable noise in his throat and strode across the room, picking up a roll of parchment from the bedside table and turning to her, “yes, but a day ago I hadn’t seen this little work of literature,” he shoved the parchment in her direction and she crossed the room to take it from him.

“Oh,” she looked at the Contract with a mixture or horror and dismay. “Oh Severus…”

“It makes for rather interesting reading. I particularly enjoyed the part about Hags, Banshees and me being the most undesirable of creatures that you would try your luck with.”

“This…this is…we were…so…so incredibly drunk,” she looked at him desperately, “we didn’t know what we were doing.”

“Yes, well, you appear to have a problem with doing foolish things whilst you are drunk.”

Hermione blushed, knowing full well that it was true. But then she had first known just how incredible he was when she was drunk, so it can’t have all been a waste. “Not everything,” she whispered helplessly, but her gaze was still focused on the Contract.

He prowled around the room, his body tense. She watched him trying to understand just what she could say to make this right. He wasn’t speaking, as though he had simply decided not to respond any further.

“You’ve been so great about every stupid thing I’ve done, and this is such a small thing. Why are you being so stubborn about it?”

Severus didn’t answer the question. He just continued to pace the room, a little like something caged and desperate for escape.

“I love you Severus.”

He stopped and blinked, then stared at her for the longest time before responding. “I know you do.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

“Because I don’t want to wake up a year from now and find you’ve gone.” He sounded bitter, as though it had happened already.

“I’m not going to do that.”

“Your feelings will change , I know they will, and the idea that people love each other until the end of time is an illusion. It’s a pretty idea that doesn’t really exist.”

“That’s not true,” she argued, “my parents are in love and they married straight out of school!”

He shot her a baleful look . “Your parents are in the minority. My parents married young and stayed together out of spite.”

Hermione digested that. She didn’t have to scratch far beneath the surface to realise that he’d had an awful childhood. He did not mention his family often, but when he did it was never to say anything good.

“There’s nothing else to say, I’ve been through all of this, and I don’t need to go through it again.”

“What have you been through?” she demanded, “What do you know about love? You left school became a Death Eater and then you came here when the whole thing fell apart! You’ve spent most of your life hiding in this school because when you left you made the worst decisions possible. You don’t know anything about love or life because you won’t let yourself experience it…and you presume to dictate to me about how to grow up?”

“You don’t know anything about my life!”

“I know plenty about your life!” She was flushed, angry now and ready to fight with him until he saw reason . “ You’ve done everything Dumbledore told you to do and before that you did everything Voldemort told you to do, because you need a master , Severus. You have no idea of how to be your own person! Look at the mess you made of your own life, and you’re so afraid to leave these walls because outside them you’re nothing but a Death Eater scum …who got away. You were best friends with the likes of Lucius Malfoy…”

“Leave Lucius out of this!”

“Or what? You’ll fall over yourself defending him? I can understand Draco living with the rose coloured glasses on; that piece of shit is his father, but you know exactly what Lucius Malfoy is! You knew exactly what he was…”

“He wasn’t always a thug, and you know less about Lucius than you do about me…” He stopped suddenly and shook his head, his own anger mounting fast. She was distracting him and he wasn’t prepared to defend Lucius to her. “It’s beyond the point.”

“It’s exactly the point!” She began stalking about the room, searching for things that belonged to her. “You presume to know what is going to happen and how I am going to feel years from now,” she tore her cloak from the peg by the door, “you’re just too fucking scared to try!”

“YOU COMPARED ME TO A HAG!”

She stopped and stared at his pale face, her fist clenched around the contract, realising far too late that she had hurt him and that fighting with him was not going to solve anything. “I…I never meant to hurt you.”

“Well it’s too late,” he snapped, “ you did.”

“What I felt then is so different to how I feel now. I didn’t know you, Severus. You were like some frightening thing left over from our childhood…so it was easier to think of you that way. It made the three of us feel like we were still innocent.”

“And what now? I’m part of your corruption?”

“No! Of course not.”

Severus slumped into a chair, sick of it, not wanting to argue anymore, not wanting to reason. If she came to him now he would love her, but he couldn’t fight anymore. She either came to him or she left, and that was all.

She stared, unable to fathom his thoughts, wanting him to give her something, some ray of hope, but he was silent, still and completely impenetrable. “And so it’s over?” she asked bitterly. “Just like that?”

And so the decision was made. “Just like that.”

Hermione drew a shaky breath and resisted crying and throwing herself at his mercy. She jerked her chin defiantly, “alright then, goodbye Severus.”

He watched her walk out of his door and out of his life, listening to the lock click behind her. He sank back into his chair and stared into the fire, an empty, bleak feeling consuming him. He’d spent the majority of his life alone but he’d never felt as desolate as he did at that moment.

****

Non was a sensible House Elf. Throughout his entire employment he had never craved his freedom and when it was thrust upon him he had been beside himself with worry and despair. The fact was that he had liked the Malfoy’s, not a popular opinion around the kitchen fires when elves took a break and gossiped, but Non could not help himself . He quite simply liked them. He had no fear of discipline, for if he was a good elf and worked as a good elf should work, then he would be left well enough alone, and despite a period of four years when he was cursed with an itchy case of hirsutism (he’d accidentally ruined Master Lucius’ favourite travel cloak and quite rightly deserved the punishment) his theory had worked out quite well. It was in these four years that he had actually developed his affection for the family. The child Draco had taken one look at the hairy Elf and fallen desperately in love with his new ‘teddy’, and Lucius, thinking is was funny, decided to keep Non that way until Draco tired of him. Over those years Non had cared for his little Master who in turn had grown up with a healthy respect for the Elf, so much so that Non had risen far above his station, which in hindsight was perhaps not so sensible at all.

Because now he was a trusted spy and he did not know if he could live up to the task. Especially since the Curator of this Museum was quite obviously mad.

Non’s initial elation at the position he had fallen into was short lived. He had been shown to the Curator’s quarters and the elderly Elf who had assigned him promptly fled, as though being in the Curator’s presence was too much to bear. Non had fixed a smile on his ugly little face and knocked on the door. At the call to enter he did so to find a tall, thin, well groomed man, combing his moustache in the dresser mirror. His robes were well pressed and his short grey hair was oiled back. He turned to Non with a momentary look of confusion and said in a bewildered voice; “who are you?”

“I am Non, Sir, a House Elf. I is being sent here as a valet.”

The Curator’s bewilderment vanished instantly and it had been replaced with a sudden superior air, tinged with predatory suspicion. “ I do not need a valet, so am I to assume that Mungo sent you here for the angel?”

Angel? Non had no idea about any angel, but he nodded his head anyway, “yes Sir, that is right Sir, Non is to be a valet to the angel…Sir.”

“And have you been a valet before?”

“Oh yes sir, for many years Non was a valet Sir.”

“Where?”

Non blushed . It would be pointless to lie, as every Elf in the Museum knew where Non had come from, and it wouldn’t do to be caught out in this lie. “At Malfoy Manor Sir, the new Lord…freed me Sir, because I did not please him.”

The Curator broke into a sudden smile, “why how perfectly delightful, and the new Malfoy Lord, that would be Draco, would it not?”

“Yes Sir.”

“And what did you do that displeased him so?”

“I wouldn’t let his lover wear the clothes from his father’s wardrobe.”

As luck would have it, it was the perfect thing to say. The Curator looked as though all of his Christmases had come at once. “Did you like the family? Did you like the old Lord?”

“Non liked Master Lucius very much Sir.”

Even better, the Curator was smiling broadly now, “then perhaps you had best come and meet my Angel.”

Semeuse then pulled back the heavy doors that lead directly to his bedchamber and it was then that Non first saw his old Master. Pale as ivory, Lucius lay asleep, drowning in a sea of bedclothes and hair. Non couldn’t help but gasp, his first instinct being to rush to his Master’s side, but he held himself in check. The Curator looked down at him , then to the bed and then towards Non again.

“Extraordinary isn’t he? One of a kind, a truly perfect specimen,” The Curator smiled with pleasure, “and he is all mine.”

>Non swallowed hard. Why was Lucius here? Why was he not in the exhibition, and why was he asleep in that soft bed?

“The last Elves that attended him were neglectful, inattentive, and they were,” the Curator smiled cruelly, “ dismissed…after a fashion.” In actual fact they had found themselves as part of the rather extensive taxidermy display in the *** room. “I want to ensure that my Angel is well cared for, and if you have served him in the past it may well work out that you will do a good job now. I do hope that you are able to attend this task adequately, for I would so hate to hurt you.”

“Non can assure you Sir, Non is very attentive.”

“Good, very good,” The Curator had then swept over to the bed and to Non’s horror, had woken Lucius by kissing him deeply. Lucius had woken with a start, unable to breathe.

“I must go to work now Lucius, the others will be coming back today and the Sais Room must be reconstructed for them .” He looked a little bitter for a moment, “that stupid fool Fudge will be coming to inspect the exhibition on the weekend and he expects to see you back on display, so I’m afraid you won’t have the luxury of a lie in much longer.”

The Curator waited, as though expecting some kind of answer and after a time he spoke again; “I will bring you something tempting for dinner, do you like olives?”

Again he waited, confusing Non thoroughly; “I know you can’t eat them if they are not pitted, so I will get them stuffed with pesto and feta . Would you like anything else?”

More silence and then a smile, “then I shall have to surprise you.” He looked back at Non, standing awkwardly in the doorway . “There is a new Elf to attend you, and he assures me that he won’t do anything to hurt you, but I am sure you will tell me if he does.”

After that he said his goodbyes, kissed the passive Lucius again and then turned and swept rapidly out of the room; almost knocking Non down as he did so. Non stared after him, deciding that the man was positively barking mad.

And he was kissing Master Lucius! Kissing him in a most familiar way, like a lover, and yet Lucius was as impassive and motionless as a corpse. Once alone in the room, Non cautiously approached the bed, not sure of what to expect. Lucius was no longer asleep, but staring up at the ceiling blankly. He looked pale and gaunt, it would appear that despite the Curator’s tempting dinner treats, Lucius was barely eating. Non wondered if he could eat, considering his condition. It was possible that this was a lost cause on Master Draco’s part. Master Lucius was clearly gone, and it was only his body that remained…although a madman was probably violating his body.

“Hello Non.”

Non almost leapt four feet into the air, doubling his height and having his tiny heart thundering in his chest with panic. His huge eyes stared wildly at the body in the bed, so much like a giant doll. His lips hadn’t moved but it was certainly his Master’s voice that had reached in and caressed his brain.

“M-m-m-m-Master L-Lucius?”

“Why are you here Non? What did you do to Draco to make him free you?”

Non looked down at his little velvet suit rather shamefaced and then looked back at his Master. “It is not what you think Master Lucius, it is a plan! A plan to help you! I am here to look after you for Master Draco.”

“Go home Non, there is nothing you can do here.”

“Non promised Master Draco that he would stay here, and Non wouldn’t dare break his promise.”

Lucius fell silent then and Non waited patiently for him to speak again, but his voice was not forthcoming and Non felt a pang of fear rush through him . Perhaps he had imagined it all ? He wondered what he should do, and what his duties were ? There was a pile of neatly folded clothes on the chair beside the bed, a nightshirt ; that he instantly recognised as one of those that Master Draco had requested that Non purchase last year before school started, and a plush robe. He looked back to the bed and saw Lucius’ bony shoulder and realised that his Master was indeed quite naked beneath the covers, so it would probably be a good idea to dress him.

He did so, quickly cleaning Lucius as he went, moving his body with the aid of various little charms that only Elves could do, and when Master Lucius was dressed and wrapped warmly in his robe, Non set about brushing out the mass of hair, savouring the silken texture in his fingers.

“You must hate this,” Non said at last, not really expecting an answer but feeling the need to speak, “all this hair. Why does it grow so fast? Non would have cut it long ago.”

“It’s part of the spell.”

Non jumped again and then calmed himself. “The spell you used to preserve your soul?”

Non heard the softest of chuckles, “So Severus is involved in this plan as well? Those are his words not yours.”

“Master Severus is trying to find out what you did.”

“ Master Severus? Since when has Severus Snape been your Master?”

Non hesitated, “s-since Master Draco freed me and Master Severus employed me to do this.”

Lucius fell silent again, obviously digesting this news. There was something petulant in the silence, as though he was a child who was now refusing to speak. Lucius Malfoy always did hate to lose an Elf. Non continued to brush out the hair, and the way it was going, the task could take all day.

“Non?”

Non looked at his old Master, whose eyes were now closed. He sounded tired, and his voice was tinged with defeat. “Yes Master Lucius?”

“Could you cut my hair?”

****

It was almost a week before Harry could get back to St Mungo’s. Work at Hogwarts had become hectic and Harry had discovered (much to his dismay) that Transfiguration had fast outstripped Potions as his worst subject. It was a fact that irked him no end, while Hermione was able to teach him how to pass Potions; Draco, who was a genius at Transfiguration, could do nothing at all to help Harry change a table into anything that so much as resembled anything other than a table. He was beginning to wish that he had taken Muggle Studies instead, for at least that way he would have been assured of passing. Coming to St Mungo’s instead of staying at Hogwarts and studying was almost unforgivable, but there was no way that Harry was going to let a week pass without going to see Ron, and he wanted to bring Ron’s bear to him, and somehow that seemed more important.

The psychiatric wing of St Mungo’s was as quiet as it had been on Monday night. Harry had expected some movement, some kind of sound. He caught the occasional glimpse of someone in a dressing gown, quietly moving from one room to another, or shuffling their way down the hall. Harry felt a shiver run down his spine; he hoped that when Ron woke up, he would be able to go home. The very idea of him living in this place was almost too much to tolerate.

As Harry drew closer to Ron’s room the noise that Harry was craving finally became apparent. Two voices, one loud, shrill and familiar, the other low and calm, caused Harry to hasten his step.

“Well if you told me that you prefer nightshirts to pyjamas, I would have brought nightshirts for him!”

It was obvious to Harry that Mrs Weasley was distressed, but somehow the idea of her getting hysterical over pyjamas was a little ridiculous.

“Mrs Weasley,” came the other voice, a female one whose measured tones must have been trained to convey calm, “we are quite happy to supply him with nightshirts, so you don’t need to go to any extra expense.”

“But he should have something from home, something familiar! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me not to bring pyjamas!”

Harry stepped forward, smiling sympathetically at the nurse, all the while knowing that Mrs Weasley was not going to be happy until she had Ron was at home where she could fuss over him unhindered.

“Hi,” Harry demurred as the nurse’s eyes trailed over his scar and her calm demeanour failed her for a moment.

“Harry…dear,” Molly forced a smile and tried to hide the anxiety that was overwhelming her, “she…she didn’t tell me about the nightshirts…” Molly blushed at the absurdity of it.

“I brought Bear with me, Ron asked for it…before.”

Molly looked at the threadbare little toy and to Harry’s alarm a sob wrenched out of her throat.

“I…I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

“No!” Molly dabbed at her eyes and calmed herself, “I just didn’t think he still had that old thing.” She took the bear from Harry with shaking hands, hardly believing that he still existed. The twins’ bears had disintegrated into little more than scraps of fabric and bit’s of stuffing, and both were rotting in their old bedroom at the Burrow. Bear had lost his hair , that was true, but he was whole and intact ; a combination of her ancient mending and a constant reworking of charms that Ron himself had performed. A beloved toy held together by her son’s magic.

“Thank you,” she said quietly and her hands began to tremble. Harry smiled gently and steered her away from the weary nurse, making apologetic noises to the woman who looked relieved to be able to go about her business.

Ron’s room had changed considerably in the week since he had been brought into the hospital, and Ron did not need a pair of pyjamas from home to be in familiar surrounds. Molly had seemingly transplanted Ron’s bedrooms at the Burrow and Grimmauld place to the plain white hospital room. From his battered Chudley Cannons poster to his crocheted bedspread, the room had become unmistakeably Ron’s.

Molly gently tucked Bear into the crook of Ron’s arm and Harry forced her into the armchair beside the bed.

“How are you?” Harry asked quietly. He was finally able to take a good look at her and she looked older than he had ever seen her, pale and drawn.

“I’m fine,” Molly replied, obviously not fine, but probably unable to discuss it with a boy she had watched grow up. She looked up at the bed and absently reached for Ron’s hand. “I just want him to wake up, that’s all.”

“He hasn’t woken up at all?” Harry forced the note of panic down; he didn’t want to upset her more than she already was.

“The healers think it is better if he sleeps, and they keep giving him a potion to make him sleep.”

“But why would they do that?”

“Something they call ‘withdrawal’. They seem to think it would be worse if he were awake through it. It’s because of Angelina and that…thing…she put into him.” Molly trembled again and muttered under her breath, “If I find her, I’ll kill her.”

Harry bowed his head, as the Angelina aspect of this was something that he didn’t fully understand. He had listened as the Weasley’s had made references to whatever had happened, and he knew that there had been an affair and some kind of drug involved, but just why it had happened he didn’t understand. Had Angelina instigated it, and had she done it on purpose? George seemed to think that she did, and Harry could only wonder why.

“Is George still at the Burrow?” Harry asked gently, as he had offered all the Weasley’s unlimited access to stay at Grimmauld place until Ron was able to leave the hospital, but they had returned to their homes, and George went with his parents to the Burrow.

“George wants to be there when we bring Ron home.” She stood up again and began fussing over Ron’s bedclothes.

“He’ll be okay Mrs Weasley,” Harry said earnestly. “He’ll come through this.”

“But he’ll never forgive me,” she said so quietly that Harry barely heard her.

“He will.”

“No, he won’t.” She stroked Ron’s pale cheek, lovingly, willing him to wake and see that she was there and that she loved him. “I told him that I didn’t love him…that he should have died…and then his...”

Harry didn’t know that. Harry hadn’t heard that much and he couldn’t suppress the look of shock that caused his mouth to fall open. He tried to recover himself, tried to get over the fact that the woman he had always considered the perfect mother had told her son to die. Harry snapped his mouth shut. “Ron was in a pretty bad way,” he said hoarsely, “he probably would have done it anyway, regardless of what anyone said.”

He didn’t believe his own words and Molly knew it. Harry was fairly certain that if anyone had spoken to Ron, anyone who he tried to reach out to had listened to him, then Ron wouldn’t be here now. So perhaps none of them were particularly innocent, but still…Harry looked at Molly and didn’t know what else to say; he didn’t want to see her any more.

Molly was the first to look away. She sat back down opposite Harry and rubbed her temples as though she felt a headache coming on. She didn’t want to dwell on her manifold sins in front of Harry, and he was certainly shocked by what he had just learned. She forced a light note into her voice, deciding that the best tactic would be to change the topic entirely. As much as she didn’t want to dwell on her sins, she also didn’t want Harry to leave hating her.

“How is Draco?” She asked, smiling. “I was surprised,” she said to Harry’s uncomfortable silence, “he was far more polite than I expected.”

“He has his moments,” Harry conceded, “and he can be a real shit when he puts his mind to it.”

“I’m sure he can.” She smiled again, “but then, my lot can be real shits when they want to be too. He needs to eat more,” she said in a motherly way. “ I’ve got some information for you, about the Navitas Serum and how it works. Remind me to give it to you before you leave.”

“Thanks;” Harry nodded absently, his gaze wandering to Ron, “Draco’s ok though…I’ll try to get him to eat more.”

“He’s looking healthy though. Arthur thought that he’d be dead within a year, and I’m so glad he’s proving everyone wrong.”

Harry’s attention snapped back to the conversation with alarming speed.

“When they found him, after the interrogations,” Molly continued, “he was in a shocking state; even Dumbledore thought he would die. When he turned around and lived, well…it was something of a miracle.”

“What…what do you mean, ‘when they found him?’ Harry interrupted, “I thought the Ministry…Moody…did those things to him…they wouldn’t have to find him…he’d be right there!”

Molly flushed, “Oh, oh Harry,” she looked flustered, “the things that the interrogators did, they weren’t entirely sanctioned by the Ministry…they didn’t just torture people and take them to the Hospital, they…” she stopped abruptly and looked past Harry, her eyes narrowing suspiciously, “who are you?”

Harry quickly craned his neck around in time to see a slim pale girl in a pink flannel dressing gown looking back from the doorway. “Pansy?”

The girl stumbled backwards and stopped herself from falling by clutching at one of the chairs in the waiting room. Harry made to stand up, to see if she was alright. The girl took one look at him and fled.

~ ~ ~

“I thought you said that Pansy Parkinson was at her uncle’s place at Christmas,” Harry had returned from St Mungo’s to find Draco sitting cross-legged on the bed surrounded by books he was studying and munching on an apple.

“And hello to you too,” Draco replied, mouth full, quill in hand.

“Sorry,” Harry grinned apologetically and leaned across the bed to kiss Draco, “you taste like apple.”

“I promised you I’d eat.”

“It tastes good.” Harry kissed him again, “I saw a girl at the hospital, and I’m sure it was Pansy Parkinson.”

Draco sat back and placed his quill into the ink well that was floating neatly in the air . It was Draco’s way of studying Charms, and it definitely was not his best subject. “Do you ever listen to a word I say?” Draco couldn’t help but smile as Harry looked indignant, “Pansy was at her Uncle’s for the holidays, but he couldn’t look after her all the time so she had to go back.”

“Why does she need someone to look after her? Is she sick?”

“Well, no,” Draco explained patiently, “but she’s obsessed with dying, and they don’t want her going and topping herself now do they?” Draco sat staring off into space and he looked a little troubled. “Of course, St Mungo’s answer is to fill her with a numbing potion that makes her dopey, so who knows how she feels at the moment…” he smiled weakly, “but that’s another story.”

“She was spying on Ron,” Harry said and Draco glared at him. “We caught her, looking through the doorway, and when I said something she ran off.”

“Well, first, I highly doubt she was spying on anyone. She probably wanted to see who was in there. I mean, the place was over-run with Weasels last night, so she was probably curious.”

“So why did she run away?”

“Have you considered that you scared her?”

Harry automatically took the defensive, “How could I have scared her? I said ‘Pansy’ and she piss bolted . That’s hardly threatening.”

“Yeah, but the last time she saw members of your Order, they used her like a toilet and killed her mum and dad, so maybe you scared her!”

Harry paled and pushed some books out of the way so that he could sit on the bed. “I’d never do something like that.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” Draco smiled gently and reached forward to caress Harry’s cheek, “but Pansy doesn’t.”

“I guess not.”

“When are you going back? I’ll come with you next time; I should go and see her.”

“Probably a good idea.”

“You’re very cute when you’re indignant, you know that?”

Harry grinned, “You think?”

“Yeah, for a scar headed git.”

Harry’s grin became a wry smile, “ ahh, that wonderful politeness that Mrs Weasley mentioned.”

“What was Mrs Weasel saying about me?”

“That you were surprisingly polite.”

“Surprisingly? What, just because I’m a Malfoy she was expecting a barbarian?”

“Something like that.”

Draco made a disgruntled noise in his throat. “My family were not barbarians! If you’d known them under different circumstances, you might have liked them.”

Harry highly doubted it, but he knew better than to argue.

“I know they weren’t saints Harry, but they could be nice when they wanted to be.”

“Especially if you were a Pureblood follower of Voldemort.”

Draco winced, as he could hardly argue with that. His father saw Voldemort for what he was far too late and like most Purebloods, he wasn’t overly fond of half bloods – and he hated Muggleborns with a passion.

“Mrs Weasley was also saying something else about you though,” Harry said, changing the subject admirably, “about when you were tortured.”

Draco blanched and began packing up his books. “Well that’s a stupid topic,” he said crisply, “didn’t you have better things to talk about? Her half dead son for instance?”

“She said that they found you, after the interrogations, what did she mean by that?”

Draco sighed and stopped packing his books away. “Harry, it’s over, why dwell on it?”

“Because I want to know.”

“There is nothing to know. It happened, I recovered, end of story.”

“I want to know what happened to you and you never let me in without a fight. Why can’t you just tell me? He can’t hurt you now, so what harm can it do?”

Draco closed his eyes and the inkwell suddenly dropped. Harry caught it easily, years of catching snitches finally coming in handy. “I don’t want to remember it,” Draco said suddenly. He looked at Harry and for a moment Harry thought he would cry, but his eyes cleared and his pale face hardened. “It is something I don’t want to think about and I don’t want to remember and perhaps if you would let it drop, I might be able to forget about it.”

“How can you forget about it when you won’t even take a fucking shower at the same time as everybody else? Or do you want to try and forget that ugly mass of fucking scars that makes up your entire back?”

Draco looked stunned and he self consciously tugged his jumper a little tighter to his body. “I can hardly forget that,” he said quietly.

“Then you can hardly forget what happened to you!”

“They…they hurt me and the hurt my father and when it was all over and I survived it they got their own back by forcing me to watch him receive the Kiss. It is not something I want to relive on a daily basis for your entertainment.”

Harry couldn’t believe his ears, “Entertainment? You think I find the fact that people I know and trusted did this to you entertaining? I want to know what happened to you, I want to understand how it happened.”

“But why? There is no point ! There’s nothing you can do, and you can’t go back and change it all so just let it go.”

“Use a Pensive.”

“What?”

“ You heard me - use a Pensive . Take the memory out of your head and let me see it, then you won’t have to think about it too hard. You’ll only see it just long enough to bring it to the surface and get it out.”

Draco returned to packing his books away, sliding off the bed to place each one on the shelf neatly.

“Why won’t you do this for me?”

Draco turned back sharply . “Why do you have to see? Why do you have to know everything?”

“Because I do, it’s in my nature.”

Draco glared and then slumped down into the chair by the fire. “I don’t do this to you, I never say, ‘tell me how you killed Voldemort,’ no matter how much I want to know. So why can’t you give me the same courtesy, why can’t you just let it go?”

Harry considered this and after some time he looked evenly at Draco, deciding not to back down, but to perhaps offer a compromise. “If you show me what happened to you…if you use the Pensive, I’ll give you that much. I’ll show you what happened with Voldemort.”

******

“How long are you going to mope?”

Hermione looked up at Harry who was leaning over her bed with a look that was not so much pity as it was sheer irritation. He was clutching his Potions textbook and a series of notes, not written in his own handwriting; they were probably Draco’s. There was an air of desperation about him and she knew that it would be because she hadn’t been through his Potions work with him for two days and he was no doubt falling behind.

“I’m not moping,” she sniffled and was thoroughly aware that all appearances pointed to the contrary. She was in bed in her food stained pyjamas, with hair that had not been washed or brushed since Tuesday evening and now stood out in all directions. Lavender had been sharing her misery and while she wasn’t in the room at that moment, Hermione knew that she had probably just nipped down to the kitchen to replenish the chocolate supply…the constant diet of which had left both girls with bad skin that didn’t help their dishevelled appearance.

Harry had visited the girl’s room, not because he wanted to but because he knew he had to. Two heartbroken girls did not make for the best of company, and as they were prone to teary attacks he usually found himself sitting with one or both heads on his shoulders attempting to comfort them as best he could. To make matters worse, they had both boycotted the showers and appeared capable of consuming every block and variety of chocolate that Honeydukes had to offer.

Hermione was also refusing to go to Potions classes and Harry felt he should take the notes to her so that she could study on her own time, and possibly tutor him while she was at it. Harry’s notes were a complete mess and so he’d brought Draco’s notes with him as a comparison. He had no doubt Draco would go through it with him, but Draco had a habit of making him feel like a complete fool when he couldn’t understand something that Draco considered to be elemental and easy…and when it came to Potions, Harry got nothing and Draco got everything.

So Hermione had to get up and help him. She also had to get over the miserable git who had dumped her so unceremoniously.

“Where’s Lavender?” Harry snapped, not sounding at all sympathetic now, “I thought you had decided to become the Hag Twins.”

“She’s gone to the kitchens…to see if there is anything left over from dinner . We missed it in the Great Hall.”

Which of course she had all week. Harry sighed witheringly, “If it’s any consolation, the greasy git hasn’t been going down for meals either, so you can probably step into the Great Hall with impunity.”

Hermione looked up at Harry, suddenly anxious. “Severus hasn’t been eating?”

Harry couldn’t help but roll his eyes, “I said he hadn’t been going to the Great Hall, that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been eating. He looked his normal ugly self in class today.”

“He was in class?”

Harry quelled the sigh in him; it was probably a good idea to get off the topic of Snape and onto something that might rouse her from her present stupor. He contemplated inviting her to go and see Ron with him, but she had been reluctant to go the previous day, either through her own misery or something else. Harry was planning to go on Friday night and Draco would stop in and visit Pansy. Hermione was not going to let the subject of Snape drop easily however, and before Harry could utter another word, she was already speaking.

“How did he seem in class? Did he look sad?”

“He looked the way he always looks, a nasty bastard with a worse temper.” He knew he should perhaps stop reiterating just how awful he thought Snape was, but he couldn’t help himself. Deep inside he thought it might do her good to hear it . Perhaps someone could make her realise that she could do so much better than the hated Professor and see the bright side of having lost him. But she was beginning to look teary and Harry sat down on the side of the bed and pulled her into a tight hug.

“He’s not worth this,” Harry whispered into her thick mass of hair, “he never deserved you.”

“No,” Hermione sobbed, “he deserved someone better!”

Harry sat back and resisted the urge to shake her hard. How could she even consider that Snape deserved someone better than her? What was she thinking?

“If I hadn’t written that Contract, if I hadn’t been so stupid!”

“We were pretty pissed,” Harry reasoned, “and we all wrote it, not just you.”

“Exactly, we were pissed; we do stupid things because we get drunk! We’re just little fucking kids playing at being grown ups!”

“That’s ridiculous.” Harry hadn’t played grownups since he was very small. He’d been forced into adulthood far too young and even he recognised that. “I won’t deny that we were perhaps childish when we wrote it, but you have to look at the circumstances. We were free, we hadn’t had a lot of experience with alcohol and we were having fun for the first time in ages.” He thought quickly, cutting her off before she could respond, “besides, I’ve seen people twice our age being just as stupid when they drink. I think Snape’s New Year’s Eve party was perfect testament to that. Snape got stoned, McGonagall fell over and Kingsley Shacklebolt stripped on the bar! So are you saying that they were just cutting loose and if we did the same thing then we would be acting like children?”

Hermione sniffled and wiped her nose ungraciously with her sleeve, “yes…no…oh, I don’t know…”

“Why don’t you get dressed and we’ll go into the village?”

“You’re not allowed to leave the castle, remember?”

Harry grinned, “Dumbledore lifted the wards to let me go to the hospital with Ron and he hasn’t put them back yet. Come on, I’m sure we can get Draco to spring for some drinks at the Three Broomsticks, and Lav can come too. It’ll be fun.”

Hermione looked stern, “you can’t betray Dumbledore’s trust by wandering out of the castle when you know he doesn’t want you to! He only lifted the wards so that you could go to the hospital, not so you can gallivant all over Hogsmeade with your friends!”

Harry couldn’t help but smile at that, for it meant that at least the old Hermione was still there. It just took the promise of a bit of rule breaking to bring her out. “Well you can’t stay locked in here looking like shit and being miserable forever.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere,” she muttered irritably.

“Hermione, I’m going to put this as bluntly as I can, and I’m only saying it because I care about you. Be happy, you are well shot of that miserable git and you should be out celebrating. He has always been a wanker, he prides himself on making everybody’s life a misery and he’s probably patting himself on the back because he’s made yours worse! Get over it …get over him and move on.”

Which was the wrong thing entirely to say as every tear in Hermione’s eye dried up and was replaced by sheer unadulterated anger, Harry could only wonder why he had suddenly placed so much trust in the daytime talk shows that Aunt Petunia had been addicted to for years. So much for tough love, it seriously looked as though Hermione was going to punch him in the head.

“I love him Harry! Why would I go out and celebrate losing someone I love?”

Harry steadied himself for the fight, “He dumped you Hermione! He obviously didn’t love you, so be happy that it’s over and that it didn’t go on so long that it could really hurt you!”

Hermione’s mouth fell open, “AND THIS DOESN’T HURT? Are you telling me that I’m not hurting right now?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“So what did you mean? That it wasn’t a real relationship because it was only a few months old?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“I…”

“What if it was Draco?”

“What?”

“What if it wasn’t Severus and I, what if it was you and Draco?”

“That’s…that’s different.”

“Oh yeah? How? How is it so different?”

“Draco and I…are in love.”

Hermione snorted, “Oh please, a few months of fucking and you’re in love?”

Harry seemed floored for a moment, “you know how I feel about him,” he hissed, “ so don’t try and twist this.”

“Yes, I know exactly how you feel,” Hermione replied hotly. “What I can’t understand is why you can’t see that I feel exactly the same way about Severus, and this hurts the same way as Draco leaving you would hurt!”

Harry was silent, realising at last that he’d made a mistake in his approach and wondering if he would ever learn the intricacies of dealing with a loved one’s emotions.

“I don’t want to go out,” Hermione continued, “I want to stay here and look like shit and miss him, and if you can’t deal with that then just go away.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said quietly.

Hermione looked away and heard the rustling of paper as he picked up his book and his notes.

“I’ll go if you want me to.”

“I don’t care what you do.”

Harry slipped off the bed and when Hermione finally looked at him, he looked almost as miserable as she felt. She hated herself for it, but she demurred and softened, “we can still go over your homework,” she said.

“No, it’s ok, Draco will go over it with me.”

She reached for his hand, “Harry…wait.”

“I’m…I’m sorry he left you. I don’t know why he would. If you were mine I would never let you go.”

Hermione smiled sadly, “well, it’s a bit of a shame you’re not into girls eh?”

“Yeah, a bit.”

She patted the bed beside her, “let’s get this work done eh?”  

****

“My trousers?”

“I tried to stop them Master Lucius.”

“My leather trousers?”

“I told Master Draco they were your favourite pair.”

If Lucius could shake his head he would have, “Harry Potter was in my wardrobe…and he wore my trousers!”

“And your fishnet shirt.”

“Is nothing sacred?”

“Master Draco gave him free rein of the house. It was disgraceful the way they behaved…and they let a girl stay there too, a Mudblood!”

“Did he look any good?”

“Master?”

“Potter, in my trousers?”

Non decided that Master Lucius had become delusional; he was more concerned about his trousers than a Mudblood roaming around his house. “Master Draco seemed to think he looked very good, he threw him on the floor and…”

“Oh Merlin! They screwed in my dressing room?!”

“I would have to say Master Lucius, they screwed everywhere.”

Lucius sighed, “I’d kill for a cigarette right about now.”

It had been an interesting few days. Non had thought he would be killed on his very first day, when the Curator had returned and discovered his Angel’s hair lying in a Rupunzel like braid over the back of a chair and Lucius with hair so short he could have been Malfoy junior. Semeuse had dangled Non over the balcony and threatened to drop him and it was only by Lucius coaxing him back into the room that Non was finally released from the vice-like grip. Then Non was subjected to a full display of the true nature of the Curator’s madness as Non watched him violate his beloved Angel in such a way that Non felt sure that Lucius would never survive. Afterwards the Curator had lovingly held him, speaking gentle words of devotion and Lucius had remained silent, recovering from what Non was soon to learn was a more than regular occurrence.

Non’s first instinct was to report straight back to Draco and Snape, but he felt a duty to stay where he was and tend his old Master, who found little peace from the Curator’s attentions. In every spare moment the man was there and Lucius never complained.

“But why do you encourage him?” Non had asked bravely.

“You don’t understand, I have no choice,” had been the answer.

Friday night found them sitting on the balcony surrounded by a warming charm and basking in the relative luxury of being alone. Semeuse had been asked to attend a dinner party held by the Minister of Magic. From what they could both gather, Fudge was campaigning for re-election and it looked as though Arthur Weasley was going to beat him. Lucius had expressed the shocking sentiment that he hoped Weasley would win, and then the talk had turned to what had been happening since Draco had returned to school. Obviously the subject of Harry Potter was one that Lucius wanted to know more about, and Non was certain that Lucius would never get over the violation to his favourite leather trousers.

“I will have to leave tonight Master Lucius,” non said quietly, “after the Curator returns of course, and I will be back by morning.”

“Where are you going?”

“I have to go and report to Master Severus. He wants me to report every Friday.”

“What are you going to tell him?” Lucius sounded a little panicked.

Non looked at Lucius confused, “well, everything, that they were right about your soul, that you can talk…and about the things the Curator does to you.”

“You can’t tell him that.”

“But I must Master Lucius, he asked me to look into that specifically.”

“He did? Why?”

“I…I don’t know Master.”

“You have to tell him not to tell Draco…and he must keep Draco away from here…tell him to make sure Draco stays with Potter,” Lucius was beginning to sound a little wild, and he actually seemed to twitch . “Potter can protect him!”

“But,” Non frowned, “protect him from who?”

“From the Curator of course!” Lucius sounded exasperated, something that did not sit well with the eerily still exterior, “he wants Draco. Tell Severus not to let Draco anywhere near here . Draco must stay with Potter. Don’t let him do anything stupid, do you understand that?”

“Yes Master Lucius.”

“And you’ll tell him?”

“Yes Master Lucius.”

****

Friday came around quickly and once classes were finished Harry and Draco made their way to London and St Mungo’s. Harry’s first idea was to stay in London for the weekend. He and Draco could then stay comfortably at Grimmauld Place. But Draco had vetoed the idea, as he had business with Snape on Saturday and although Harry was burning to know exactly what that business was, he didn’t ask. He had no doubt that it had something to do with family matters. Snape and Draco had a lot of discussion about ‘family matters’. Draco seemed to spend at least two or three nights a week down in the dungeons.

Once at St Mungo’s Harry found himself being reintroduced to Pansy Parkinson who was nothing like the girl in his memories. While Pansy Parkinson had once been a pug faced, disagreeable girl who had followed Draco around like a dog making everyone’s lives generally unpleasant, the girl that Harry had just met was pale and shy and Harry would hazard an accurate guess that she was frightened of her own shadow.

Harry left Draco and Pansy discussing the Montrose Magpies chances of beating the Chudley Cannons on Saturday, and made his way to Ron’s room with the same uncomfortable feeling in his stomach that he’d first encountered when he realised that war crimes were not contained within the realms of the Death Eaters.

He rounded the door of Ron’s room without even thinking. It was quiet, and it was evident that he was not surrounded by family, which was probably a good thing. His conversations with the Weasley’s of late had not been so good. Fred was obviously trying to devise a way of getting into his pants, Ginny wasn’t far off that, George was too depressed to speak to anyone and Molly…well Molly was being just plain strange.

Ron was sitting up in the bed, he didn’t look entirely healthy, but he was very much awake and Harry stopped dead in his tracks. He had been so incredibly hopeful that Ron would wake up that he hadn’t really considered what would happen if he did.

“Hi,” Harry gasped.

“Hi Harry,” Ron smiled faintly. “Mum said you might come.”

Harry moved into the room and approached the bed. “How do you feel?”

“Sick…” Ron smiled again, “I probably deserve it though, eh?”

“No…of course you don’t.”

Ron closed his eyes, “yeah I do . ” He looked for a moment as though he would fade back into sleep, but then he opened his eyes again. “I’m really sorry…about everything I did to you. I was a real fuckwit.”

“You weren’t well.”

“Once again, my own fault.”

Harry sat on the edge of the bed and hesitantly stroked Ron’s hand. Ron’s eyes flickered open and he sighed, “That’s nice.”

“You scared me,” Harry whispered harshly, “when I found you…you scared me. I thought you were dead.”

“I wanted to be.”

“I’m glad you weren’t.”

Ron moved his hand a little, twinning his fingers around Harry’s, “how did I stuff up so badly?”

“I think we all stuffed up a bit. You had something in your body that shouldn’t have been there, something that Angelina put into you.”

“She…she was confused. She wasn’t…she hates me, she hates all of us…not you, just us.”

Harry closed his eyes, “did she tell you why?”

“No. She just wanted what she wanted and that was all.” He sighed again and after a long silence he murmured softly, “I knew what I was doing, in the beginning at least.”

Harry focused on Ron’s pale hand.

“What’s he like?”

Harry jerked his head up quickly, “huh? Who?”

“Malfoy, what’s he like? What made you go to him?”

Harry felt a blush burning over his cheeks. “He’s beautiful, he’s just so beautiful.”

“Is that all? He’s beautiful?”

“Not just on the outside.”

Ron looked dubious.

“I knew you wouldn’t believe it. You’ve missed a bit.”

“Mostly because you didn’t tell me.” There was no anger in his voice, no reproach, he just stated it quietly and squeezed Harry’s hand a little tighter.

“I didn’t think you’d understand. When you thought he was with Hermione you were so angry, and I didn’t think you’d take it any better if it was me and not her.”

“Probably not,” He focused on Harry, “so, are you in love with him?”

“Yes.”

“Does he love you?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know?”

Harry couldn’t answer. Not because he was second guessing himself but because it was hard to explain how he knew because of a feeling. The feeling went beyond the trappings of touch and taste and the sheer intoxication of lovemaking. It was a pure knowledge; he simply knew Draco loved him. “I…I just know.”

“I don’t think you can know,” Ron whispered, “I don’t think it exists.”

“It has to,” Harry replied, “ people do too many stupid things in the name of it.”

“Maybe people are just stupid.”

“Maybe,” Harry conceded and smiled, ”I love you,” he wheedled.

Ron coughed out a little chuckle, “then perhaps there’s hope for us yet.”

~ ~ ~

Draco knocked on the door and entered Snape’s chambers without waiting for a reply. He spent so much time in these rooms that he felt almost like a permanent fixture. Almost.

Snape was perched uneasily on the edge of a winged back chair, the fire was blazing and the room was as warm and as welcoming as it ever would be. But something was wrong, and that something was standing, immobile, in the centre of the room. There was a woman, beautiful in every way, standing in perfect profile, her mouth slightly open as though in mid speech. Draco looked from the woman to Snape and raised a questioning eyebrow.

Snape returned the look, and shifted uneasily on the edge of the chair.

“She’s very pretty,” Draco said jovially, “but do you always bind your…lady friends.”

“She’s not my friend,” Snape replied irritably, slipping into his familiar role and instantly looking more comfortable.

“Alright then, so who is she?”

“Regina Vermoral,” Snape replied, the uncomfortable sound returning to his voice.

Draco quickly looked to the woman again. His father’s mistress. She was indeed beautiful, and Draco was reminded at once of the fairytale Snow White; lips as red as blood, skin as white as ivory and hair as black as ebony. She was standing in perfect profile, her neck was long and swan like and her elegant chin seemed almost to be carved from pure white marble. For a moment Draco felt the need to run a finger down the aquiline plain of her nose. Her eyes were green, wide and rimmed with dark lashes, whilst her sleek black hair was pulled into a loose chignon.

Draco’s fancy would tell him that if Harry was a woman, he would look like this, but it was only his fancy. His logic knew that Harry was not as beautiful as this. Harry had manifold flaws, was angular and rougher and this woman appeared flawless. But her features had familiar landmarks for him, the dark hair, the straight nose, those perfect green eyes. So perhaps that was why he was so drawn to her.

Draco approached her while Snape kept his distance.

“Why have you bound her?” Draco said in wonder.

“She isn’t…”

Draco didn’t hear the rest, he walked around her, his breath caught and everything seemed to stop. It was a tragedy, some horrific twist of nature so cruel that Draco could not speak. As perfect as she appeared in her profile, and as perfect as the left side of her face appeared, the right proved itself some kind of horrific parody of the other. The woman’s face seemed caught in some kind of slow melt, as though half her face was sliding away. Her right eye was almost non-existent, although Draco thought that he could see some glittering green inside the molten slit. She had been speaking when Snape had bound her, but the right side of her mouth was frozen shut and only the left had opened, Draco could imagine that if she smiled it would be, by necessity, lopsided. The flesh slid from her jaw and down her throat. Draco wondered if she had been burned, as it seemed the only logical explanation.

“Can we talk to her? We need to speak to her, don’t we?”

Snape sighed, as though having to face the inevitable, “Yes, we have to speak to her.”

“So you’ll have to unbind her.”

Snape seemed reluctant and Draco became impatient.

”We need to speak to her! What is your fucking problem?”

“Try to remember Draco, I am your Professor here, and I’ll thank you not to speak to me as though I’m your House Elf.”

Draco tried to calm himself, “Alright,” he took a deep breath, “could you please release her so that we can ask her about my father?”

Snape seemed resigned to the fact that he had to release her, but he still drew his wand out reluctantly. He looked to Draco and then removed the bind from the woman.

She fell forward, stumbled and saved herself from falling. She giggled, embarrassed. And then she looked at Draco and her left eye lit up. “Lucius?”

“No Regina,” Snape said firmly, “this is Draco.”

“Ahh, the little one,” she said and she laughed with a voice of dirt and gravel and with that she swept across to Draco.

She had almost certainly been clothed by Lucius Malfoy. Muggles simply did not wear such gowns and the fabrics of velvet and silk were of the finest quality. Draco could see the mark of quality just by looking at them. The cut of the gown was his father’s taste, something perhaps Draco’s mother would have worn, and it was possibly one of her cast off’s.

The woman came close to inspect him, as though she wished to use all her senses and Draco guessed, correctly, that she could not see clearly. She ran her hands over his shoulders and back, and then down his arms, his stomach, his chest, his throat and hair and face.

“You’re taller,” she muttered, “too tall, mother’s blood, Black blood,” she sniffed at him, “but you have his skin.” She stepped back and stared at Draco.

“The son!” she suddenly cried, and her voice had changed, child-like and sweet, “prodigal son. Little one. Important one. Light of life. Light of all things. Draconis lux Lucius.”

Draco looked at Snape who took a deep breath and turned away.

“Where is he?” she asked and now sounded quite normal and lucid, “where is Lucius? Is he coming back?”

“He was…” Draco hesitated, unsure that she could possibly understand, “he was kissed…by a Dementor.”

Regina Vermoral squealed with delight and clapped her hands. She spun on her heel and smiled her grotesque lopsided smile at them both. “Did it work? Is he coming back?”

“What do you know; do you know what he did?”

“Lucius, my Lucius, little bringer of light and dark and things that squirm and worm and make me…” She giggled and hid her face behind her hand. “I can’t think of a rhyme.”

Draco gaped, unsure of what to say as the woman grinned expectantly. It was Snape, who had been standing back, with a look of loathing on his face, who stepped forward and spoke.

“Regina stop, you must try and think. What did Lucius do, to help him come back?”

“One plus one equals two, two plus two equals four, four plus four equals eight, eight plus eight equals sixteen, sixteen plus sixteen equals thirty two, thirty two plus thirty two equals sixty four, sixty four plus sixty four equals…”

“Regina! Stop!”

She jumped and looked at Snape and her half lip trembled dramatically.

“We don’t know how to get him back, and from what we can tell, you do.”

Regina’s eye widened, and she gasped, “Oh yes! Yes! Yessssssss! I know. I know all! I see all! Feathers and blood and oil. A mortal steals immortal soul and HIDES it away inside!” She turned, smiling manically and then she demurred and bowed her head, “poor, poor Metatron,” she sobbed silently, “so quiet, shhhhhh! He’s sleeping still, not dead but dreaming.”

“Can you tell us what Lucius did?” Snape asked.

“Oh yes! Yes! YESSSSSS!” she turned and grinned evilly, not a sign of a tear in her eye. She danced around Draco, leaning in close, “Such a pretty boy, oh such a beautiful boy. Little one.” She flicked her pink tongue out and licked his cheek.

Draco flinched and began to wish that Snape would immobilise her again.

“I want the little one. I want the precious one. I want the light of all things.”

Draco swallowed and spoke for the first time since the woman’s madness had truly manifested; “what do you mean, ‘want’?”

She laughed, throaty and raw, “ lay down next to me, and take what’s left," she cried, “all I need is someone inside.”

Draco stepped back, shaking his head in horror. “N-no! I…I can’t.”

She pouted and stamped her foot. “Father first, and then the son. Father is an angel now…and you are fleshhhhhh!” She swept around Draco again and embraced him from behind. “Mine,” she hissed, “or the bringer of light goes out.”

“I…I can’t,” Draco repeated again, he looked helplessly at Snape, “H-Harry would kill me.”

“He can’t do what you’re asking,” Snape said with quiet malevolence, “Draco is not like his father.”

“Father and son, alike, like two…like two…like two…like two…”

“Stop it Regina,” Snape hissed.

“Poor poor Lucius, how he cries, how he cries, how he cries, how he cries…how he weeps.”

Snape raised his wand, his lip curled in disgust

“Don’t,” Draco whispered, reaching out a hand, signalling his godfather to stop, “not yet.”

Regina smiled mischievously and rested her chin on Draco’s shoulder, standing on the very tips of her toes to do so.” He loves you, my Lucius does. He says you are his soul, he says you are his life; he says he would give everything to you…and you leave him all alone. He’s an angel now and he can’t fly, his wings are broken…so sad…so sad…you don’t love him do you?”

“I…I do…I do love him…I…”

“I want what is mine!”

“I can’t,” Draco whispered, his voice growing faint, “I can’t, Harry…”

“Who is Harry?” She suddenly sounded accusing, she turned to Snape, her eye narrowed, “who has been touching what is mine?”

”He is not yours.”

“Harry need never ever…ever know!”

“No!” Draco cried, panicked, “what…” he looked wildly around him, “what about him?” He pointed at Snape.

Snape’s mouth fell open; “you’re both insane!”

“No!” Regina looked delighted, “I could have both!” she squealed, “Two is better than one. One plus one is two! One is better than none, but one plus one is two and two is better than one!”

Snape glared at Draco, “well thank you Draco, now we are in a worse position.”

“Lock the door,” she twittered, “lock the door and dim the lights, dim the lights, dim the lights!”

Draco was shaking his head at Snape who had wrapped his own robes a little tighter around himself.

“Come now little one, come along, quickly now, no time to waste!” Regina spun with delight, spun and spun like a demonic ballerina and when she stopped she swayed and giggled and then struggled to reach behind her back. She unclasped the gown and the whole thing fell to the ground, she was naked beneath it.

Draco and Snape shared a look and the naked woman began to run around the room, dancing wildly over the tabletop and the bed, whirling and squealing around them dementedly.

“Y-y-you!” Draco stammered at Snape, “you do it…I can’t do it…”

“Me?” Snape glared at him, “I seem to recall it was you she wanted originally.”

“But…but you left Hermione, you’re not attached…I can’t do this…Harry!”

“So, I’m apart from Hermione for less than a week and suddenly I’m going to desire this mad woman ex-mistress of your father’s?”

They both winced, the same thought running through both their heads, ‘what had Lucius been thinking?’

But then, Snape reasoned silently, she had been a girl of sixteen when Lucius had found her, and this was part of some natural progression of her own. Lucius had kept her well provided. Snape had seen her cottage, but the girl saw celestial beings after all, and after so many years it must have some effect on her mental state...and Lucius had ways of driving anyone crazy.

But she was clearly insane, and Snape doubted that even Lucius could bring on this kind of madness. So she must have been mad from the beginning.

“Please,” Draco was saying, perhaps not really wanting to think about just what his father was doing with this woman.

“No,” Snape had high doubts that he would even be able to get aroused. The woman’s body was incredible ; he had to give her that, but she was…well she was…mad.

Regina stopped mid dance and glared at them both resentfully. “You haven’t locked the door,” she panted and as they stared back in horror. Her lip trembled and her face screwed up as she prepared to wail.

Snape and Draco braced themselves.

“LUCIUS! Mer Sidi! Mer Kurra! Mer Urulu! Mer Martu! Zi Dingir Anna Kanpa, Zi Dingir Kia Kanpa!” And then she stopped and turned hatefully to Draco. “He gave you everything. You and that whore! I looked through the windows of your life and I watched you, you spoiled ungrateful little brat. He gave you all and her as well, because she gave him you and he loved you with everything he had. I got nothing but the scraps that were left over…” but then her face lightened and her mood changed again. “Oh but Lucius you were wrong. He never loved you enough, not enough to save you and you were wrong and I was right!”

“SHUT UP!” Draco screamed and rounded on her, “just shut up you…you fucking HAG!”

“Regina’s face twisted into horrible mock concern, “oh, oh the little one. How he cries. The beautiful one, the darling one, pride of his Daddy’s eye.”

“If you love him,” Draco hissed, his nerves and patience at an end, “then just tell us how to free him.”

To Draco’s shock she laughed in a high and shrill voice that echoed about the room. “Love him? Love your father? Oh no little Dragon, I never loved him. How could I love one who hated me? Who gave me this face and this life?”

“My…my father did this to you?” Draco’s mouth ran dry and Regina smiled sweetly.

“When all is one and one is all, down the rain begins to fall, a curse upon a pretty head and Regina is far better off dead.” She sat herself cross legged on the floor and gazed up at them, childlike and innocent and then suddenly she reached up and plucked a feather out of the air. Snape stepped forward, drawing closer to the feather, knowing exactly what it was and wanting only to examine it closer. Regina smiled at him with her strange lopsided mouth. “The feather of an angel is a powerful thing,” she said quietly and turned to Draco. “Do you love him?” She asked, “Your father I mean. Do you love him?”

Draco was breathing heavily. He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what to say to convince her. “Yes,” he rasped, “I love my father.”

“But not enough to save him?”

“I love him more than anything else.”

Regina smiled again and slowly she lay back on the floor, arching her body and displaying herself fully. “Then lock the door little Dragon, I want what is MINE!”

Draco cast a glance at Snape who shook his head and mouthed ‘no’ desperately, and then Draco turned away and locked the door.

Chapter 17 >>