Objects of Desire

Chapter 17 - Mad World

By Azrael Geffen

There was a fine line, Draco decided, that separated sanity from insanity. The problem was that he wasn’t entirely sure what side of that line he was currently standing on. Time had ceased to exist and when it had lurched back into view again, it seemed like hours after he had felt it leave. He didn’t feel quite sane, and he didn’t know if he would ever feel truly sane again. When he woke it could have been late night or early morning. The only thing he could honestly say was that it was dark. He wondered briefly if Harry had missed him and then he decided that he didn’t really care. After tonight he figured that he’d be lucky if he kept Harry for another day.

But of course he did care, deep down, beneath the bravado, he cared very much.

Draco had no idea how he had fallen asleep. He was nowhere near the bed and he was thankful for that. He was on the lounge. A light was burning dully in a sconce on the wall and the room glowed eerily. He looked around, seeking out the familiarity of his Godfather and he found him, curled awkwardly on a leather wing-backed chair beside the fire.

So he hadn’t gone near the bed either.

Draco forced himself up, not wanting to stay, but desperately afraid to leave. It wouldn’t take much for Harry to find out. All it would need was an unguarded thought dropped carelessly into Harry’s lap. Harry had promised not to look, not to press into Draco’s mind without his permission, but he was only human, and if Draco had the gift of Legilimens, he’d be in every head in the school, without hesitation.

He had to leave. He had to go to his own bed, because if he stayed here he would have to wake up in the morning and she would be there…and he didn’t want to have to deal with that. He made for the door, pausing for a moment at the chair where Snape was asleep. Gently he leaned down and pushed a lank shank of hair out of Snape’s eyes. Snape’s eyes opened, but he wasn’t seeing Draco right because he mumbled, “go to sleep, Lucius,” which caused Draco to smile sadly and gently place a kiss against Snape’s pale lips. Draco was surprised by an immediate recognized response. A gentle crush of lips, the tip of Snape’s tongue running across his inner lip and a murmured, “Lucius,” into his throat; then Snape frowned sleepily and shifted on the chair.

Draco pulled back and ignored the stirring in his cock. He looked quizzically at his sleeping Godfather and whispered; “Good night, Uncle Severus.”

Snape’s eyes snapped open. “Draco?”

“Yeah.”

Snape groaned, blinked and aggressively rubbed his mouth as though uncertain about what he’d just felt. “You should be in bed.”

“I’m not four Professor.”

“Go to bed, Draco.” Snape’s voice was tired and he was already sinking back into sleep.

Draco couldn’t help but smile again. Not so long ago Snape was looking horrified and sick, now he was lost in the remembrance of thinking that Draco was Lucius. Draco could only hope that it was a good thing and that his dream was a pleasant one.

He let the door to Snape’s chambers close behind him and his desolation returned full force. He felt so utterly alone in this. Snape had refused to help with the mad woman. Refused to come near her. Refused to do anything other than to recede into the background of his chambers with that look of horror that had lead Draco to hate himself for causing it.

But in his own mind, Draco knew he had no choice. He needed to learn things and in his mind he could only force himself to think of this as a mere business transaction and that was all. It was in the act itself that he realized that he had finally become what he had always driven himself to be. Draco had unwittingly become just like his father.

Snape had said it, mumbled something before pushing himself into an alcove and shutting himself off from what was happening. It wasn’t until he finally spoke again; it could have been hours later, when he spoke and said “Lucius, stop it,” that Draco even remembered that he was there. And it was those words that had driven home the truth. Once upon a time Draco would have welcomed such an event, now the realization served only to chill him.

He finally knew how his father thought; get what you want, at any cost. The prize is worth the payment even if the expense is that of your own self worth.

Draco reached the tower without even realizing that he had been heading in that direction. He stopped at the portrait hole and stared blankly at it, as though wondering how he had arrived there. The monk was sleeping, snoring loudly and looking incredibly comfortable in his place. Draco reasoned with himself that he didn’t have to wake the painting; he could turn and walk away, return to the dungeon; to Snape’s chambers, and sleep there. He could sleep on the lounge, and draw his Godfather down with him to sleep. It would almost be like sleeping under the protective wing of his father. Shielding him, making sure that he didn’t feel the terrible overwhelming guilt and justifying his actions with soothing nonsense.

Snape could do that. Whilst he had never struck Draco as being affectionate, Lucius had loved Snape enough to make him Draco’s Godfather, and Lucius was careful of those he truly loved. He wouldn’t love someone who had no feelings.

But Harry was asleep in their room. The biggest complication in his plan as he tried to ignore his own irrational behavior. Harry. His beautiful Harry, who trusted him implicitly for some unknown reason and really shouldn’t. Harry, who was no doubt fast asleep on his belly, sprawled across the bed, blankets askew. In the darkness Draco knew he’d be able to see the curve of a shoulder blade, his profile on the pillow, and his tousled hair like an inky stain on the pillow.

It would be warm in that bed. Draco knew full well that it would be. He would be able to slide in behind Harry and Harry would shift and move until they were spooned around each other. Skin on skin, wrapped in warm limbs and the scent of his flesh acting as a balm for the darkness in Draco’s soul.

He would, of course, have to wash before he could even consider such comforts. He’d have to clean himself of all evidence of his evening. He could smell her. He could smell her on his skin, as though she had impregnated herself into his very pores. He could feel it. He could feel her under his skin taunting him even from a distance.

His lip began to curl in self -disgust. He was filthy, and he needed to scrub himself. He reached forward and tapped the picture frame.

The monk awoke suddenly, snorted and glared bleary eyed at the young man who had disturbed his rest. The monk had often considered himself unfortunate in his position; he had drawn the short straw as far as guardians of portrait holes. They had all laughed at the Fat Lady for years because as guardian of Gryffindor she was the guardian of the biggest collection of troublemakers in the school, but at least they went to bed at a reasonable hour. This special year; so unlike any of the houses, came and went as they pleased…and oh how they pleased. Since the school year had begun he had been up and down all night long, but as exams approached they had calmed down.

And so the monk looked down at the blond at the door and frowned. Draco raised an eyebrow and mumbled the password and the monk opened his mouth as though to reply, perhaps say something about the time, about how he was sleeping, something to make the blond in front of his portrait sorry for having woken him. But he looked a little closer at the tired face, kept his tirade to himself and allowed his portrait to swing open noiselessly.

Draco slumped into the Common Room and found it deserted. It must be very late . Draco wondered just how late…or perhaps people had gone into Hogsmeade and no one was back yet ? Maybe Harry had gone with them and he wouldn’t have missed Draco at all? But from somewhere Draco could hear the faint sound of snoring and some gentle murmurs from another place. The tower was asleep and Draco knew it. The tower was sleeping much as he should be sleeping.

Instead of going to bed Draco made for the shower. He couldn’t lie beside Harry feeling like this. He couldn’t hold him feeling this unclean.

He showered, washed his hair, scrubbed himself hard enough to make his flesh red and raw, and brushed his teeth until his gums bled. He looked in the mirror and stared for what seemed like forever. He scrutinized his features, staring at the familiar combination of facial landmarks that made him who he was. His eyes, the sharpness of his chin and his nose, the way he could look pinched and ugly when he was tired or feeling particularly mean. Inherited facets of his father’s face. He had always thought that his cheekbones came from his mother, but no, they came from Lucius too. It was as though the fates had converged and made him the mirror image of the man who spawned him. Draco searched in vain for Narcissa and found nothing, as though age and experience had finally managed to push her out. The prettiness that had once betrayed his mother’s bloodline in his features was finally gone and he now looked like the man who created him.

He wondered just how much influence Lucius had in this fate. Had it been a spell, cast on his own seed the night Lucius created his son? Draco wouldn’t put it past him to do such a thing. The more he found out about his father the less Draco could put past him. The more he learned about his father the more he understood about his own inherited nature. It was as succinct as being able to say, “Get what you want regardless of the consequences.”

Gods how could he love the man so much?

Because Lucius was his father and Lucius had always been there. Every year since Draco had started school he had arrived back at Kings Cross Station in some dreadful state or other (usually because Harry had foiled him yet again). Unconscious, covered in tentacles and Merlin only knew what else, and every year Lucius had been there to reverse it and pick up the pieces – not happily Draco had to admit – but he’d done it. Even after he went to prison Lucius had come back to Draco. He’d risked coming out of hiding just to be with his son. As evil as he was, Lucius loved Draco, and Draco knew it.

His father. His beautiful, glorious, evil, utterly unrepentant father.

Gods how he loved him.

But now there was Harry and as unlikely as it had once seemed to Draco, the solid reality was that he now loved Harry too. It was as horribly frightening, as it was wonderful and the longer the relationship continued the more Draco had to consider before helping his father. The more Draco had to consider that he could ruin everything by doing something that he knew Harry would never agree with.

But maybe he would because he loved Draco too.

Draco returned to the image before him, his father staring back at him. Was this what Harry saw when he looked at him? Did Harry see Lucius to the same extent that Draco did? And if he did, how could he stand it? For as beautiful as many people found him, Draco could not see it. He was not foolish, he knew he was good looking, it was something he had always taken for granted and if he was honest he would say that he had used those looks to get what he wanted as often as he could. But like most people who had lived a lifetime with their looks, he could see every flaw. His features were too sharp, his grey eyes could look dead, he had grown too fast and he seemed gangly and awkward. Whilst he looked just like his father, he was far too tall. He envied his fathers build and he was amazed that a flood of relief washed over him…he was not so much like his father that he had nothing left to wish for.

He found it odd that no one else noticed these flaws. He found it odd when Harry had stared at him incredulous when he had pointed out the flaws to him. Like his father, Lucius had developed a disdain for what he considered the fragility of his features. Deep down he wished that he looked harder and he had spent much of his life creating a scowl that made him look arrogant and spiteful.

Another of his father’s characteristics. What else had he inherited? A certain attraction for other peoples flaws perhaps. He loved Harry’s scar, the slightly drawn face that had seen too much, his lack of height and the way that his shoulders seemed to broad for his hips. He loved that ridiculous shock of hair that refused point blank to sit down, no matter what was done to it.

And so he loved flaws, just as Lucius loved flaws. He could remember one evening when he had returned home for Christmas, they were in front of the fire and Draco was laughing about just how ugly his Godfather was. Lucius had thoughtfully swirled his Brandy and said, “Oh I don’t know, I think he’s beautiful.” Then Lucius had laughed when Draco had looked horrified at the very idea.

Could evil be inherited? Could a certain weakness of blood make an entire family line predisposed to be bad? There had never really been a Malfoy that had been considered a good person, so did he really have a choice?

He found it hard to believe, because he didn’t feel like a bad person. But then tonight he had hardly acted like a saint. He’d had no choice…well, he’d had a choice but the alternative seemed so much worse.

It wasn’t worth standing here all night wondering about it. Draco wrapped a thick toweling robe around himself and hurried from the bathroom before he could start thinking again. He padded silently across the Common Room and down the short corridor to his room.

Harry was, as Draco had predicted, fast asleep and Draco was more than a little relieved. Harry was a deep sleeper, and so long as he was quiet Draco figured he could sit and contemplate his life without interruption. He wanted Harry close though, the sound of his even breathing would calm him and for some reason knowing Harry was there was important at that moment.

Draco just hoped he would stay asleep.

Rummaging quietly through the bookcase, Draco located a joint, cast a weak Lumos charm and wedged himself in the space between the wall and the end of the bed, where the door to the balcony could be opened to let out the smoke. He opened the door a crack and a rush of cold air chilled him. It was, as it had been all winter, raining. He wished it would stop; it was probably the last month that there would be a chance of snow and Draco had been longing for it. It was an unreasonable wish. There was nothing special about snow, it was simply that Draco missed it and the rain had made the winter a miserable mud pit. Not that it mattered, they hadn’t been allowed into Hogsmeade since coming back from the Christmas break, so it wasn’t as though either he or Harry had tromped their way through the sludge.

He reached under the bed and pulled out one of his few remaining bottles of Fire Whiskey. He had started panicking over his dwindling stock, but Dumbledore had said that he was considering letting them go into the village in the next month, now that a lot of the furor over Harry’s sexuality and their subsequent relationship had calmed down. The Daily Prophet had even stopped trying to get photographs of them together. This was probably due to the fact that Colin Creevy had taken a picture of Draco and Harry together watching Quidditch. Draco figured that Creevy must have seen nothing at all of the game because he would have had to have been watching Harry and Draco’s every move to get the shot. In the rain Draco had put his cloak around both of them, which would have been proof enough, but Harry had leaned over and in a split second he had kissed the side of Draco’s neck. It had been a small movement and the contact had been fleeting, but the picture had made the front page. Draco had hexed Creevy so viciously that he was in the hospital wing for a week, but as it turned out, the picture being published was probably for the best. Now that the world had seen it, they could gossip as much as they pleased, but the rush to get proof of the relationship was over, and the Prophet had finally begun to focus on far more important issues, such as the upcoming elections for Minister of Magic. Even some of the strange group of hangers on who had taken up residence in Hogsmeade had departed, seemingly realizing that Harry Potter might well be off limits or not at all interested.

He lit the joint and inhaled the smoke, letting it swirl through his lungs for a little before exhaling out the crack in the door, and then he swigged deeply from the whiskey , feeling a pleasurable shudder run down his back. It was time to get drunk or stoned and Draco fully intended to do both.

Harry stirred in the bed, and Draco heard the rustle of bedclothes moving and held his breath, willing Harry not to wake up. It would be far better for Harry to stay asleep. Draco was in no mood to talk about what was troubling him. He knew he would have to tell Harry eventually, but until he was certain of what was happening; and that there was no other way to help his father, he would rather say nothing at all. There seemed little point in fighting if all was hopeless.

“Draco?”

Draco closed his eyes in frustration and banged his head lightly back against the wall before saying, without bothering to hide the irritation in his voice . “Yeah baby, I’m here.”

There was the sound of rustling in the bed and Draco could have kicked himself for not having sat alone in the Common Room. Harry’s face appeared over the end of the bed, looking sleepy and concerned as he squinted to try and see Draco without his glasses. Harry asked, with a similar amount of irritation in his voice; “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Draco sighed and found himself smiling sadly, “I couldn’t sleep, that’s all.”

As an afterthought he held the joint out to Harry and was surprised when Harry stretched a bare arm out from under the covers and took it. For some reason he hadn’t expected Harry to take the proffered joint. Harry had never smoked pot in front of Draco before, he hadn’t smoked anything in front of Draco, and a strange part of Draco had thought that he just simply didn’t do it. Perhaps he thought Harry was too moral , or too sane?

But the fact that Harry didn’t cough up a fit proved quite adequately that this wasn’t the first time he’d smoked, nor the second. Harry held the smoke in his lungs like a seasoned professional and Draco couldn’t help but find something sexy in it.

“For some reason I didn’t think you smoked,” Draco murmured softly.

Harry exhaled, took another toke and said, “What can I say?” he exhaled, “I didn’t spend my entire school life buying sweets from Honeydukes.”

“And there I was thinking you were Dumbledore’s sweet little angel.”

“Well,” Harry grinned, “Dumbledore realized I was going to develop some bad habits…I think he overlooked them because he thought I was under a lot of stress.”

“He knows you smoke pot?”

“Dumbledore knows almost everything about me.”

“Everything?” Draco couldn’t quite believe that.

“Yeah, he always has. It was kind of part and parcel of being his weapon of choice.” Harry didn’t sound at all bitter, despite the fact that he had just described himself as an object rather than a person.

“So, what else do you do that I don’t know about?”

“Not much, I’m pretty boring.”

“You’re not boring. Have you ever smoked Opium?”

Harry nodded, taking in more of the joint and frustrating Draco by not handing it back, “amongst other things.”

“Junkie,” Draco couldn’t help but laugh.

“Drunk,” Harry shot back evenly.

Draco offered the Fire Whiskey in hopes of getting the joint back, and after a moment’s hesitation Harry gave him the joint but didn’t take the bottle. Instead he disappeared under the covers and Draco could hear him fumbling about. Moments later Harry climbed out of bed, his glasses on and wrapped in the blankets. He sat himself down beside Draco and took the bottle from his hands. He sipped the whiskey and grimaced at the taste.

“Gods, that’s disgusting, how do you drink that?”

“You get used to it.”

“You shouldn’t be drinking that rubbish. It’s bad for you.”

Draco rolled his eyes, “Like you, I am allowed to have bad habits.”

Harry nodded silently and handed the whiskey back to Draco. Tendrils of a glorious high had begun to wind their way into his head and he leaned back against the wall. “Where have you been all night?” There was no accusation in his tone, just curiosity and unmistakable concern, but he felt Draco tense beside him anyway.

“With Snape,” Draco replied shortly. He didn’t want to get into a conversation about his night and he turned his head slightly away from Harry, not wanting to share anything.

Harry sighed and bowed his head and knew full well that they wouldn’t get anywhere without a fight. Harry could only come to the conclusion that it had something to do with Draco’s father, something that was a taboo subject and always would be. It would be best to leave it alone, and yet Harry felt his mouth open and seemingly without any control he heard his voice come from his mouth saying, “is it about your Dad?”

Draco took five large gulps of Fire Whiskey and Harry gagged for him. Then Draco shivered, but he was no longer cold, it was more the anticipation that he may be about to have a conversation that could well ruin everything, and he didn’t want to be having it. He wanted to go to bed, make love, and pretend that Harry had never asked about Lucius.

“Have you been?”

“Been?” Harry frowned, confused, “Been where?”

“To that exhibition. That Death Eater thing.”

“No .” Harry looked at Draco’s pale features and tried to see what Draco was thinking, Draco seemed tired, but he knew what he was thinking; that Harry thought Lucius Malfoy had got everything he deserved. “I never agreed with the Kiss as a punishment,” Harry said, trying to put that fear to rest, “I always thought it was vicious.”

“Then what would you have them do? Kill him? Put him in prison with the Dementors?”

Harry sighed, “I don’t know, I’ve never really thought about the alternatives.”

“I’ve been,” Draco slurred bitterly, heading back to his original thought. “I’ve been to see it.”

“I know,” Harry said quietly. “I sent Snape to get you.”

Draco smiled sadly, “I should have known it was you who sent him.”

“You shouldn’t have gone,” Harry took the joint from Draco and lit it again, “you didn’t need to see that.”

“Yes I did.” Draco looked Harry in the eye and continued, “I had to see what they did to him. The last time I saw my father he was screaming into a Dementor’s throat and when he was still they picked him up out of the chair and carried him out of the room like he was a pile of rags. Outside the Ministry people had gathered to gloat. Hundreds of Wizards all calling out…baying for blood. The Muggles thought it was some kind of weird rally. Snape was trying to get me out and into a car without anyone noticing me. He’d pulled my hood over my head. Someone came out of the Ministry and this huge cheer went up. I looked and I saw that this person, this…Auror, had cut my father’s ponytail off and they were holding it up like a trophy and everyone was cheering, dancing in the street, sending up fireworks.”

Harry swallowed, and he knew what was going to come next.

“ I saw you there with Hermione and the Weasel. You looked so happy, and you were laughing so hard that you were crying. You hated him that much . Everyone hated him that much.”

“I…” Harry took the whiskey and swallowed a mouthful, and then another. “Your…Lucius Malfoy was the last of them. Bellatrix Lestrage died in battle, but Lucius was the last of the Death Eaters that were close to Voldemort. No one saw Voldemort die, no one had the satisfaction of that moment…Lucius getting the Kiss was like a substitute, they saw him as representing Voldemort…that’s why they were elated.”

“But you saw class=SpellE>Voldemort die. You killed him. What was your excuse?”

“I…I don’t know.” Harry bowed his head, feeling a shame rush through him, “I was…caught up with the crowd.”

“No,” Draco stared straight ahead, wishing he was drunker than he was . “No Harry, you just hated him, that’s all.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. It was true, Harry did hate Lucius Malfoy. He hated him with a passion. But Draco loved the man and nothing was going to change that. Harry had never known his own father. He’d never had the pleasure of such a strong bond. He only knew what others said of him, the fleeting memories that had been revealed to him over the years. James Potter was dead and gone before Harry was old enough to understand that loss, but it wasn’t the same for Draco. He had been raised by his parents; both of his parents, and he had thousands of memories of them. Memories that didn’t involve Lucius trying to kill him. His memories of his father were of a loving, caring man who would do anything for him.

And Lucius was not dead. It would possibly have been better if he had died. Then Draco could bury him as Narcissa had been buried and Draco could mourn the loss and get on with his life. Instead Draco was left in a strange kind of limbo. Trying desperately to save the empty shell that was his father.

“Yes,” Harry said slowly, “yes, I hated him. He…we…”

“He tried to kill you,” Draco said with more understanding than Harry considered possible, “I can understand you hating him. At least you had that as a cause, it was more than most could claim.”

“You still should never have gone to that exhibition,” Harry said again, “Fudge won’t win this election, because everyone knows how incompetent he was during the war . Mr. Weasley will win and he’ll stop this exhibition , then he’ll send your father home to you. You’ll get him back.”

“That could take months.”

“But it will happen,” Harry said insistently. “Your father has waited this long, he can wait a few months more. He probably isn’t even aware of what is going on. The Kiss, you know…it renders them senseless, he…”

Draco was looking perplexed, and on the verge of tears.

“You can’t be unhappy forever, Draco, he wouldn’t want you to be. You said yourself that he wanted you to be happy.”

“I…” Draco’s voice cracked slightly, “I am happy,” he reached out and grasped Harry’s wrist, “I am happy, I just can’t help wanting him to be safe.”

“But he is safe, no one is going to hurt him in the museum.”

Draco shuffled awkwardly and he paled, looking as though he would be sick.

“What is going on Draco?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re not good at lying to me.”

Which was true all things considered. Draco decided that he must be out of practice. He was good at evasion however, but now that Harry was on to something he wasn’t going to let it go.

“Tell me what is going on. I’m sick of all these secret visits to Snape . What can you tell him that you can’t tell me?”

“It’s not that I can’t tell you things,” Draco realized his voice was sounding whining, “he just…he just understands some things that you can’t.”

“Like what? The fact that you love your father?”

“It’s not that…”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It obviously isn’t ‘nothing’>italic'>. Draco. Just tell me what is going on. Is it something at the museum? Why are you so worried about him? He can’t feel anything, and he doesn’t know what is going on. He’s not lying in some stinking cell in Azkaban ; he’s in the museum . Aside from being on display ; which I concede is fucking crap, what is there to be worried about?”

“How do you know he can’t feel? How do you know that he’s not aware? Have you ever been through the Kiss? Do you know what it’s like?”

“It’s a known fact Draco!”

“It is not! You don’t know what he’s going through! You don’t fucking care what he’s going through, and you don’t care that some fucking pervert is raping him . You couldn’t care less if he died tomorrow!”

Harry’s mouth had fallen open and he suddenly reached out and grabbed Draco’s arms. Draco was a mess, his face red, and his body shaking. Harry had never seen Draco reduced to sharp exposed pieces like this before. Harry had never seen Draco with tears of frustration and fear running down his face. How long had this been going on? How long had he known these things? “ Who’s raping your father?”

“N-n-no one…I…I was ranting, it’s nothing…”

“IT’S NOT FUCKING NOTHING DRACO!”

Draco jumped. “Please Harry, just let me deal with this in my own way. Uncle Severus is helping me, so we don’t have to talk about it.”

“Who is hurting him? How do you know?”

“The…the Curator, he…he’s a collector…he…Severus knows…he…Dad…” But in the end, Non had not yet returned from the museum, no one knew anything.

“If the Curator is hurting your father then we need to tell someone . The Ministry needs to know!”

Draco stared, incredulously. “Harry, no one gives a rats arse about what happens to my father. The Ministry gave him to the Curator . They gave him to that bastard like he was some kind of gift.”

“They can’t have known, Draco, you can’t tell me that the Ministry knows what he is doing.”

“They wouldn’t care if they did know. Fudge once said that if our entire bloodline were wiped out, then it would be a good thing for the Wizarding world. I highly doubt that the news would upset him terribly.”

Harry fell silent, unable to process anything past the thought that the story was unbelievable. The very idea sickened him. Who would find pleasure in a sexual act with someone who could not respond? But how did Draco know this? How did he know it was happening? It seemed an obvious question and Harry couldn’t help but ask it.

“We don’t know, not for certain, not yet anyway. Dumbledore told Severus that he had his suspicions. But before that, at Christmas…” Draco paled and his mouth snapped shut.

“What happened at Christmas?”

“The Curator tried to…” this was a bad idea and Draco knew it, but he’d gone too far now to stop, “ he used the class=SpellE> Imperius curse I think. I couldn’t control my body, I was just sort of standing there…”

Harry had paled considerably, a terrible seed of thought growing in his mind. “What did he do to you?”

“He, I don’t know, I was just standing…”

“What did he do to you?” Harry said slowly, as though he was talking to a child.

“He kissed me…he touched me…”

“HE KISSED YOU? HE TOUCHED YOU?”

“I couldn’t stop him, I couldn’t move. I tried to fight it…but I couldn’t…”

“What else did he do?” Harry was angry now, his voice was high pitched and strained.

“Nothing. The case suddenly shattered. It just exploded and he stopped.”

“Case? What case?”

“The one my father was in. Severus came in and got me and my Dad was on the floor and he spoke, he told me to run.”

“He spoke? He spoke to you?”

“He told me to run.” Draco closed his eyes and fresh tears began to spill down his cheeks.

Harry pulled him close, holding him tenderly; mortified that Draco hadn’t been able to tell him what had happened . “I’m going to kill him.”

“Don’t go to the museum, please don’t confront him.”

“I’m not going to confront him, I’m going to kill him!”

But Draco was crying hard now and Harry had to calm himself so that he could take the joint and put it out, close the door and put the lid on the Fire Whiskey. Draco needed to sleep and Harry needed to digest what he had learned tonight. There was more to it; of that Harry was certain, but he wouldn’t learn anything else tonight. Draco was too upset.

“Let’s just get some sleep, you’re tired.” Harry pushed himself up from the floor and reached down to help Draco to his feet. “You need to rest. You can’t get yourself worked up over this or you’ll make yourself sick.”

But Draco seemed inconsolable; his breath coming in harsh rasping gulps . “Don’t leave me…”

“I’m not going to leave you.”

“Promise me ! Promise me you won’t go.”

“I’m not going to leave, I’ll never leave.”

Draco kissed him, hard and aching. There was no passion in this kiss, only harsh desperation and Harry broke the kiss, pulling Draco’s face to his throat, hugging him tightly and guiding him to the bed. They didn’t make love, but instead they lay together, relishing the touch of skin against skin. Draco’s rasping breaths calmed in Harry’s arms and entwined they were able to sleep, both determined never to let go.

*******

“Hermione?”

Hermione lifted her head briefly from the pillow into which she had buried her face and, upon seeing it was still dark, she groaned and collapsed back into the bedding.

“Really Miss Granger,” came an irritated reply, “I would prefer it if you looked at me before you ignored me.”

Hermione opened her eyes into the pillow and strained her ears. It was not Lavender . Lavender would never sound that authoritarian, especially when it was still dark. Then again, was it even morning? It could well be midnight…except that she was still awake at midnight. And Lavender would never refer to her as ‘Miss Granger’.

“Miss Granger!”

Hermione lifted her head, disorientated and then finally she turned her head and jumped.

“It is time to wake up Miss Granger!”

Realization finally dawned on Hermione, and unaccustomed to disobeying a teacher, especially Professor McGonagall whom she had always felt a little intimidated by, she sat up, wide eyed and gaped at her Transfiguration Mistress.

Minerva rolled her eyes and pursed her lips, her arms folded hard across her chest. It was not her custom to wake students, and it was certainly not her custom to offer advice on their personal lives . However, now that she was standing here, in a room that reeked of self pity and unwashed hair, bodies and clothes, she wished that she had thought twice about coming here this morning.

She could not help but think of Hermione as something more than a student . She felt the same way about Harry and Ron. They had been through so much, and she could never remember three children so young who were just so brave. She had watched all three of them face down an enemy who had made Wizards three times their age flee in terror. They were far more than just her students; they always would be. And now Hermione was so much more than even that . She had melted a reserve that Minerva had always considered glacial in its coldness, and if Severus couldn’t see sense, she was determined that Hermione would.

Now all she had to do was get Hermione to wake up fully enough to talk to her.

“Miss Granger, I would appreciate it greatly if you would answer me and give me some indication that that you are awake.”

“Professor McGonagall!”

“Well, I’m glad that your powers of recognition have not been dulled.” Minerva meant it tongue in cheek, but she highly doubted that the girl could fathom wit in her current state. She heard the sound of blankets rustling and from the corner of her eye she saw Lavender Brown sit up in her own bed and sleepily scratch her mop of dark hair.

“Good morning Professor McGonagall,” Lavender mumbled sleepily and Minerva nodded curtly in reply.

“I, I’m sorry Professor,” Hermione stuttered, “I, I d-didn’t realize it was you.”

“Well I think that was fairly evident.”

Hermione blushed in the dark and when Minerva cast a Lumos charm she flushed a deeper red as she realized the state of the room. It was truly a mess.

Minerva swept a critical eye over the floor and was disgusted to see Hermione’s ginger cat eating what looked like the remains of week old ice cream from a discarded container on the floor.

“Um,” Hermione attempted to smile, and tried to avert her Professor’s attention from the discarded food containers on the floor . “Um, Professor, why are you here?”

Minerva pulled her gaze away from the mess with a look of disgust and though she tried to soften her expression a little, it was harder than she thought. “I have been sending you messages all week Miss Granger, but as it seems you have stopped opening your post, I thought it would be best if I came myself.”

“You…you’ve been sending me letters?”

“More an invitation than letters Miss Granger, I would like you to come and have breakfast with me this morning.”

“Breakfast? With you Professor?”

Minerva looked around and wondered just what had happened to her prize student’s brilliant mind. “Yes, Miss Granger,” she said as though speaking to an infant . “Breakfast this morning, with me.”

Hermione’s mouth worked open and closed and she couldn’t help but shake her head to try and clear it. “W-When?”

“This morning Miss Granger. I expect you in my chambers within the hour, showered, groomed and hopefully with your mind in more of a state to converse than it currently appears to be.”

Hermione could do little more than nod, and then she cast a look at Lavender who was staring bewildered at the woman in the centre of the room.

Minerva turned to go and stepped into a half finished plate of shepherd’s pie, which Minerva knew hadn’t been served since Wednesday. She looked back at the two girls and shook her head with disgust. “For Gods sake, if you have any respect for yourselves clean this pigsty up.”

And with that she was gone.

Lavender and Hermione exchanged another look and both sniffed the rather close air in the room.

“I didn’t think it was that bad,” Lavender said, trying to be helpful. They both looked around at the filthy state of the room.

It was bad.

**********

Non was asleep in the cupboard, well, as asleep as he seemed to be these days. He did not return to the tiny space he had been given when he had first arrived at the museum. Instead he secreted himself in the cupboard, close to his Master and his demented captor. Just why he stayed so close he did not know, as there was nothing that he could do to help Lucius . All he could do was watch and wait and try to give some kind of comfort when the Curator was gone.

He had promised to return to Hogwarts on Friday, but it was now Sunday morning and he was beginning to fear his new master’s wrath. He did not know how Severus Snape treated House Elves, but he knew full well that if he’d told Lucius Malfoy he would be somewhere on Friday and didn’t turn up until Sunday, there would be hell to pay. And so he knew that his day was not going to be brilliant. He knew he had to report back today.

“Lucius, wake up my Angel.”

Non’s eyes snapped open and he knew that his day was going to start as they had each day since he arrived. It sickened him to know what was coming next, what would come after the Curator was satisfied that his lover was awake. It was a mystery to Non as to why the Curator bothered to wake Lucius. Awake or asleep his body would react the same way.

He listened to the Curator take his pleasure and wished he could somehow close his ears to it. He could leave. He should leave. He must go back to Hogwarts and tell Master Severus what the Curator was doing. He should, but he couldn’t, because leaving Lucius at that moment was unthinkable.

It took an age, and the Curator spoke to his lover throughout, telling him how much he should be enjoying the attentions, telling him how beautiful he was, telling him how good he felt inside, and Lucius; if he spoke at all, could only be heard by the Curator. Lucius’ voice no doubt ringing inside the Curator’s head.

Then came the ringing sound of a slap and Non jumped, shocked.

The Curators voice came, “You ungrateful bastard!” and then another slap and a thud, as something landed on the floor.

“Remember our deal my Angel, because I can assure you I will have no hesitation in taking what I want if you don’t fulfill your part.”

Non ventured a look out from the cupboard in time to see Lucius on the floor and the Curator kick his Angel hard in the back and then the hip. Non hastily pulled back into the cupboard as the Curator spun on his heal, his wand out and he screamed out “NON!” and waved the wand in summoning.

Non Apparated in front of the Curator and tried desperately to hide his concern over the body curled on the floor. He looked at Semeuse and noticed him favoring his left wrist, there was a nasty red welt there, and further up his arm blood was seeping through the sleeve of his white nightshirt. Non guessed that somehow Lucius had lashed out and Non wondered just how he had managed it. It certainly hadn’t helped him. Lucius was now lying in a heap on the floor. But then perhaps he preferred to be on the floor than under the Curator?

“I have to get the Sais room ready for the exhibition to return tonight, and the new case for Lucius is arriving this morning. I do not have time to clean up this,” he looked at Lucius lying limply on the floor, “this mess.”

Non nodded vaguely, wishing Lucius could move so that Non knew he was alright.

“Get him off the floor, wash him and dress him and make sure he looks fine. If he gets a bruise you will inform me so that I can get someone here to fix him.”

“Yes Master Semeuse.”

“Don’t let him go outside. He gets no additional privileges today.”

“Yes Master Semeuse.”

Semeuse crouched beside Lucius and wrenched his face up in his hand, “I will not tolerate this attitude, Lucius . You should think yourself lucky that you are here and not rotting in some dungeon in Azkaban. I give you everything you could ever want and you repay me with...”

Lucius had obviously said something in return because the Curator had stopped mid sentence and slapped him again. Non flinched as the Curator hurled him back to the floor.

Non couldn’t help but be surprised. He had watched the Curator with Lucius and was so convinced of the Curator’s devotion that he had not considered the possibility that he could become enraged and hurt the man he referred to as his Angel. But it was obviously so and Non, who had considered the Curator insane before, was suddenly aware of just how dangerous the man truly was.

Semeuse rubbed his wrist and glanced, irritated, at the blood seeping through his sleeve. He sneered at Non and made for the door, heading for his dressing room. Non knew that he wouldn’t return to the room until he had done some of his days work. The Curator did not use the small bathroom attached to the bedchamber . There was another in the dressing room and from there the Curator always went to the Museum to do his work. It was possible that he would come back during the day, but Non guessed that he was angry enough to stay away.

Then again, he might be wracked with remorse and come back anyway.

Suddenly Non felt an irrational irritation, something that did not sit entirely well with the fact that he was a House Elf. Without the Curator to observe him, he placed his hands on his hips and shook his head . Just how had Lucius managed to get himself into this mess? How had such a mighty house fallen so far? Non had served the House of Malfoy for over eighty years and he was almost certain that he could hear the Malfoy ancestors turning in their graves at this humiliation.

He moved to Lucius and with some effort he rolled the unwilling body on to its back. Lucius did not look good. Non did not think it was possible to look so pale and yet not be dead. His eyes were rimmed red and yet under them appeared hollow and almost blue. Hair that had been cut only a week ago was already growing and now flirted around his chin . Despite it’s beautiful color it seemed lack luster, brittle and dull.

“I need to get you off the floor, Master Lucius.”

“Just leave me here, I might get lucky and die.”

Non shook his head again and was shocked to find the idea tempting. “You’re not going to die, Master Lucius.”

“Pity.”

Non snapped his fingers and Lucius rose from the floor and floated his toes a few millimeters off the rug. Non knew full well that he hated the sensation, but as Non had no real means of lifting him, he decided that it had to be this way. He had to get him into the bath, and clean him of the Curator’s filth. He began to maneuver the body to the bathroom and Lucius made a disgruntled sound that was clearly audible and not only in Non’s head. He stopped with a sigh.

“What is it Master Lucius?” Non’s voice sounded strained, and whilst he could hear it himself and had to fight the urge to hit himself over the head, Lucius appeared to notice nothing at all.

“I don’t want a bath; just let me sleep for a bit. I can have a bath later.”

“You smell, Master Lucius, and the Curator explicitly wanted you washed.”

“Why? So he can have a clean arse to fuck?”

Non actually stamped his foot impatiently. “I need to do as he says, Master Lucius, if I don’t he will punish me and as he is not my true Master I don’t see why I should be punished just because you don’t want a bath!”

“Don’t you dare speak to me like that , Elf!”

“ You are not my Master any more either! My Master is at Hogwarts and he expected me back on Friday . I’ve stayed because you wouldn’t let me leave, but I have disobeyed him long enough.”

Lucius fell silent and Non closed his eyes. He had never spoken this way to anyone, certainly not to Lucius Malfoy and he looked at the body hanging limp in the air, silent and still.

“ Non is sorry, Master Lucius, Non should never have spoken to his Master that way.”

Still no voice came. Lucius just hung there, silently.

“ Non will let Master Lucius sleep.”

“No, I’ll have a bath.”

Non cringed inwardly. Lucius sounded distinctly cowed as though he knew that there was nothing at all he could do, that he , Lucius Malfoy was completely dependent on whoever chose to show him some small kindness and at the mercy of those who chose not to. He didn’t speak again, but he allowed himself to be bathed without fuss . He was gently dried, his hair combed through and then he was dressed in fresh bedclothes. Non chattered throughout, trying to get some kind of response, but none came. It was as though whatever wall had kept Lucius from the world had once again descended.

His face had begun to bruise, revealing just how hard the Curator must have hit him. Lucius lay silent in the bed and Non watched as his eyes began to grow heavy as he fought off sleep. He didn’t look well and the bruise that was starting to come out would look stark against his chalky skin. Non sat beside him and stroked his silky hair. He would return to Hogwarts when Lucius was asleep and he would be sure to be quick, because he was determined to be back before he woke again.

**********

Hermione climbed the stairs of Gryffindor Tower with a strange wistfulness that she could only put down to a longing for a simpler time. She passed the Fat Lady, pausing for a brief moment and smiling faintly. Would it be the same, going in there now? Would she feel the same sense of comfort from the Common Room that she had once felt? She still had friends in Gryffindor and she had no doubt that she could mend her fences with Ginny. Like anything worthwhile, it would just take time.

But Gryffindor as a home seemed a lifetime ago and she was a different person now. Her life had changed the moment the war had begun, and by the time it was over there was no trace of the naive girl that she had once been so very long ago.

And so Gryffindor was in her past and she should be content to continue on up the stairs to Professor McGonagall’s chambers and towards the adulthood she had once been so eager to experience.

Outside McGonagall’s door Hermione smoothed her hair to the best of her ability. It was untamable at the best of times, but she had made an effort, smoothing a lot of serum through it and tying it back as tightly as she could. She had dressed with some care, deciding that perhaps a dress might be far more appropriate for breakfast with her Professor. It was a plain black wool number, with long sleeves and she had to scavenge through both Lavender and her own drawers to find stockings without runs. She looked thoroughly respectable, if not a little nunnish.

She practiced a few amiable smiles before finally knocking at the door. It swung open to admit her and she stepped into a beautiful room full of light and what she could only consider sunshine. It was dazzling and she wondered how the Professor had managed to conjure the effect so thoroughly.

McGonagall was seated at a small breakfast table beside one of the full length windows , and behind her a large grey owl was sleeping peacefully on its perch. In the distance she could hear the sound of rain, but there was no sign of it beating against this sanctuary. The room was thoroughly enchanted.

“Hermione dear, sit down and make yourself comfortable.”

Hermione did a double take. There was none of the formality from earlier; a formality that she was used to and she had only ever seen slip once, when the Professor was drunk at the New Years Eve party. Hermione smiled nervously and lowered herself into the chair opposite. On the table there appeared a veritable feast of fresh fruit and pastries, a far cry from the heavy breakfasts that she was used to in the Great Hall. Not that she had ever tried to get anything lighter, but as she thought back she seemed to recall Draco usually got yogurt and seemed to exist almost entirely on fruit.

“Breakfast looks lovely, Professor.”

“Please, Hermione, I think we have come far enough to dispense with formalities, I would appreciate it if you called me Minerva. I think I told you to on New Years Eve.”

“Y-yes Professor,” she blushed, “Sorry, Minerva, I just, well, you were…”

“Incredibly drunk at New Years?” Minerva smiled indulgently, “Hermione, I am able to drink and still have perfect recollection of what I said and did the next day. I told you then to call me Minerva, and I meant it.”

Hermione smiled and bowed her head. “Well, thank you, Minerva.” She looked the older woman in the eye and tried to sound confident as she continued, “so, w-why did you want to see me, Minerva?”

Minerva smiled pleasantly and offered Hermione coffee. “I wanted to talk to you about Severus.”

Hermione paled, but inside her belly hope blossomed. “Severus?

“Yes,” Minerva was still smiling in that strange indulgent way, “you do remember him don’t you?”

Hermione felt her face go from white back to pink, “yes, of course I remember him.”

“Good, well, I thought we should perhaps discuss just what we are going to do about him.”

“Do? About Severus?”

Minerva sighed, a mild irritation cutting through the pleasant exterior, “Yes, Hermione, about Severus.”

Hermione nodded, flushed again and looked away. She was perfectly aware that her face was a mask of confusion and she felt a rush of embarrassment at the fact that she couldn’t seem to actually get her mind around anything Minerva was actually saying. What exactly did Minerva think they could do about Severus? What business was it of theirs what Severus did? Did Minerva think they could influence him? Hermione seriously doubted the possibility, she had never considered Severus Snape to be the kind of man that could be influenced or manipulated in any way.

“I…” Hermione frowned and tried to look remotely intelligent, “I don’t think that there is anything that we can do about Severus. He’s made his decision…he doesn’t want to be with me, and there’s nothing I can do about that.”

Minerva rolled her eyes and shook her head, “Oh, for goodness sake, don’t be so ridiculous girl. Really Hermione, I always thought you were a smart girl, that you had some kind of instincts!” She snorted, her nostrils flaring, “Severus Snape is nowhere near as complex as you think he is . At the end of the day, he is a man and that is all. You have spent so long building him up to be the boogey man that you can’t quite grasp that there is nothing more to him than the same basic insecurities that plague all of us! Severus wants to be with you, and I dare say he loves you more than he has loved anyone for a very long time. The problem is that he doesn’t think he deserves you . He; poor stupid fool, thinks he is being noble, standing aside so that you can live some kind of life that he imagines is going to be wonderful for you without him in it. Of course, he’s being a bloody stupid twit, but then, that’s Severus. He can be absolutely infuriating when he wants to be.” She smiled affectionately. “Of course; he can be absolutely infuriating when he doesn’t want to be as well.”

Hermione would have smiled, had she not felt so dejected. “Even if that is true, I don’t see how I can do anything about it. He’s made up his mind.”

“Then you need to unmake it for him.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?”

Minerva sat back and positively beamed back at Hermione, “well, now there’s some of the spark I was hoping to find.”

Hermione couldn’t help but pinch the bridge of her nose, utterly confused . “He’s too stubborn, and I really don’t see what I can do to change his mind.”

“Well, you can try leaving your room for a start!”

Hermione’s jaw hardened visibly. Why the hell did everyone have an opinion on the way she grieved?

“How do you expect to convince him that you’re a grown up if you sit in that little room, unwashed, stinking and covered in junk food induced acne? He thinks you need to grow up and all you are doing is ensuring that he continues to think that. You should be thoroughly ashamed of yourself, and so should Miss Brown for that matter. What were you thinking, locking yourself away like that? How are you supposed to get yourself through school if you refuse to come to classes? You’re acting like a fifteen year old, when you need to act like the adult that you are!”

Hermione pushed herself away from the table and impulsively stood and started to pace. She felt sick, she didn’t need this, she didn’t need to be told how to act! “I’m eighteen years old!” she cried suddenly, “Why is everyone so eager for me to act like I’m thirty? Who knows, perhaps Severus is right, maybe I am too young for this! Maybe he needs someone older, more mature, someone who wouldn’t be so stupid as to write up a contract like that and who acts like everyone thinks I should!”

“Well, perhaps you’re right there,” Minerva raised an eyebrow and purposely sipped her tea, “after all, who but a child would have written that ridiculous contract? How immature are the three of you? Look at the trouble you caused yourself.” She sipped her tea again, purposely, deliberately, not looking at Hermione at all, with a tiny smile playing about her lips. “Of course you should be far more mature at eighteen. I’d expect you to be mature enough to marry the wrong man and have his children whilst never forgetting the true love of your life. I’d expect you to be mature enough to have the piece of mind to dupe Gringotts into giving you thousands of galleons and to then endure years at Azkaban as a result, and I expect you to be mature enough to run off and join a band of Death Eaters to spite the people who tormented you at school! For Gods sake Hermione, we have all been eighteen years old; we’ve all done stupid things that we regret later. I’m not asking you to act as though you are thirty years old , I’m just asking you to look a little further into the future than next week and to look a little more closely into the reasons why Severus has left you!”

“I know why he left me! He thinks I should grow up; he wants me to screw around and live a life. He wants me to live my life without him!”

“He loves you, you know and I think that counts for something.”

Hermione sank back into her chair and absently pushed some stray hairs back from her face, then slowly she bowed her head into her hands. “I wish the contract had never existed, I wish I had never been so stupid.”

“In the scheme of things, Hermione, it isn’t such a terrible thing. It was a silly piece of paper and you were drunk…”

“Severus said that being drunk was no excuse,” Hermione said quietly.

“Well Severus is a fool, and he has no right to act as though he’s never done a foolish thing…ask him about the Malfoy family car one day and the whole Contract fiasco will look like a minor blot on a scrap of old parchment.”

“The Malfoy family car?”

“Long story dear, and not for me to tell.” Minerva shook her head again, and then suddenly smiled at the memory. “What I don’t understand is why you felt the need for the contract.”

“We were drunk,” Hermione, blurted out lamely, “and it was like we realized that we were virgins and we didn’t want to be…it was like we had missed out on some crucial part of growing up, holed up waiting for the war to end.”

“Good grief, it wasn’t as though you were ancient! And again, why the contract? I can’t understand why you didn’t have some drunken sloppy threesome and get it over with then and there!”

Hermione’s mouth fell open and her eyes goggled. She was still getting used to calling her Professor by her first name, and she certainly didn’t expect to hear her suggest that she should have had a threesome with Harry and Ron…but now that it was mentioned, it wouldn’t have been such a bad idea. Minerva was looking at her expectantly and Hermione realized with some surprised that she was waiting for an answer. She blushed, “Well, I think we were probably too scared to do it with each other. There was so much we didn’t know…Harry being gay for one thing.”

Minerva couldn’t help but chuckle, “I’d say that was a shock for everyone.”

“Least of all Harry,” Hermione sounded slightly amused, but her face was sad and she was pinching the bridge of her nose again. “I thought Severus would understand . He understood every other stupid thing I’d done, and he was so good about everything when I never expected him to be…but he just couldn’t get past this.”

“Well, you insulted him rather badly I’m afraid and once he read that, he started thinking ; and with Severus, thinking is the worst possible thing he can do. He jumped from being compared to a Hag to not deserving happiness so fast it made his head spin.

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but could think of nothing to say and any questions seemed obvious.   Minerva took her cue and smiled gently before continuing.

“Severus found himself ominously close to being truly content and happy, and he couldn’t let that happen, so he ruined it. It really is as simple as that.” She said it so matter of factly that Hermione was certain that this character flaw must be common knowledge and that she alone was ignorant of it.

“But…but why would he do that?”

“Once again, a very long story and I don’t know if I even have it right. I guess I have my own theory but I at least have some knowledge of his background on which to base it.”

“Where as I have nothing.”

“Has he ever spoken to you about his childhood? About why he was a Death Eater?”

Hermione shrugged slightly, “Not really. He only mentioned his parents once or twice…I don’t think he liked them very much.”

“No, he didn’t.” Minerva pursed her lips, as though uncertain that she should say anything. She hadn’t planned on discussing her friends past, but when she thought about it, she really wasn’t sure what she had planned to do. In the end she wondered if the end (somehow reconciling the couple) justified that means (telling Hermione Severus’ past without his permission.). She had to make the decision quickly, because Hermione was certainly looking at her as though anticipating learning something new. Minerva had seen the look on the girl’s face a thousand times in class. She decided that she should just plough into it, and hoped that Severus would forgive her later – if he found out.

“He didn’t like his family very much at all,” Minerva continued, “not that he ever really talked about them. One of the few things that comes from being a Professor is that you learn a good many things about your students lives, even if they don’t know that you know. One of the reasons that Severus and Lucius Malfoy were good friends ; aside from the fact that they grew up together, was that their fathers came from the same mould.  I think Albus once described Snape Senior as being a…” She frowned, thinking back, “…as a ‘fucking mean piece of shit’,” She couldn’t help but laugh then, because Hermione’s face registered pure shock. “As far as I know, his parents actually loved each other, but they had horrific fights and when they couldn’t fight with each other any more they turned it onto their son who was too young to fight back. His mother had occasional fits of conscience, but even that she could not get quite right. She’d decide to get him away from the house and the arguing . I remember seeing them once in Diagon Alley. It was the middle of winter and she was rugged up in one of those god-awful furs she used to swathe herself in, whilst Severus was standing beside her without a coat looking a little like a stray dog. I didn’t know them back then, but I remember seeing them. It was Albus who told me who they were. It was another three years before Severus came to Hogwarts, but I recognized him the moment he walked through the doors.

I think when he started at Hogwarts he was relieved to be away from home. Having said that, he was a dark little boy . I never knew a child who could do so many hexes whilst so very young! Lucius was in his final year and treated Severus like his little pet, showing off his nasty abilities…and it was the fact that he was so skilled with the dark arts that drew the attention of James Potter and Sirius Black. James and Sirius were loveable rogues, and pranksters who made the Weasley twins look like perfect saints. They were good at everything they turned their minds to and I suppose you could say they had a charmed existence.”

“But you saw the house Sirius grew up in,” Hermione looked concerned . “I’d hardly say his existence was charmed.”

“True, but what you have to understand is that many purebloods have shitty family lives, and at least Sirius had the ability to make friends that truly liked him. Don’t get me wrong, Hermione. I had no love for Severus Snape. I thought he was a weird little oddball just like everyone else did, but James and Sirius took to tormenting him like you would never believe. At first it wasn’t so bad, because Lucius was still here and stood up for Severus when he felt like it, but of course Lucius could be a right shit to him when he wanted to be as well. I didn’t really care all that much about the Slytherins. As far as I was concerned my duty was to my own house, and what happened over at Slytherin had nothing to do with me. Of course, once Lucius was gone, Severus was fair game and suddenly it was my concern because I had to punish James and Sirius for doing what they did best, hexing people for the fun of it.”

Hermione remained silent. Harry had once hinted that his father had been less than perfect in his youth. She remembered that Harry was so proud that everyone thought him so like his father and then after fifth year he changed a lot, when he realized that whilst he might look like his father, he had his mother’s compassion and he was far more proud of that. Back then however, all three of them had hated their Potions Master so much that anything bad that had happened to him was a cause for celebration. It wasn’t funny now. Somewhere along the line she had forgotten that she had once been the odd one out. It had taken her so long to make friends with anyone . That awful sinking feeling when Ron had made the callous comment, “it’s no wonder she hasn’t got any friends,” haunted her still, as though her very personality was so intrinsically wrong that no one could possibly like her.

Minerva saw the troubled look on Hermione’s face and reached out to gently pat her hand. “Severus gave as good as he got, I can assure you of that. He hated James with a passion, and I still can’t understand what drove the hatred between the two of them, but it was strong.” She shook her head, “my god, I’d almost forgotten how bad it was between them. Still, Severus worked hard to be a good student . He would hand in these assignments that were so in depth that they would take an hour to read and you’d have to use a magnifying glass because he’d squeeze so many lines into a single roll of parchment that it looked like gibberish when you first picked it up . He was almost anal in his attention to detail. The point is that he worked hard at every turn. He worked hard at his spells, he worked hard on his homework, he worked hard on exams…and he had a particular gift for hexes.”

Hermione smiled when she heard that, and she wondered what she would have thought of him had she known him then. No doubt she would probably have hated him.

“In a way,” Minerva pressed on, “Draco reminds me of Severus. Severus was not spoiled by any means, but Draco had that same resentment towards Harry for so many years that Severus had towards James. Severus learned early on that he wasn’t going to beat James and Sirius, so he took to following them around, trying to catch them breaking the rules to get them into trouble, and he succeeded on countless occasions. I can’t tell you how many times I had those two in detention and of course they didn’t appreciate that at all. In the end Sirius got sick of it and decided to take a terrible revenge, something that would change everything.”

“He sent Severus into the Shrieking Shack, just before Remus Lupin changed into a werewolf.”

“You know about that?”

“Harry told me. Harry said that his father stopped Severus, saved him.”

“ Yes, he did, but there was far more to it than that. I don’t believe that Sirius honestly thought Remus would actually hurt Severus, and in truth neither did James. They were so convinced that Remus could connect with some human part of himself that he wouldn’t hurt anyone. What they hadn’t considered was that they were always in their Animagus forms when they were with the werewolf Lupin, and they had no clear idea what would actually happen if Remus were confronted with a person; someone of flesh and blood, that a werewolf would instinctively eat. James didn’t make the decision to rescue Severus, it was Lily who made him. How she’d learned about what was going on, I don’t know. Maybe she’d overheard Sirius and James talking about it… At the time she didn’t get along with James at all, she thought it was an arrogant prat, but she went to him anyway and begged him to step in . She made a bargain with him. I think she agreed to go out with James if he went and saved Severus. Lily was an incredibly caring person and for some reason ; no one ever knew why, she had a soft spot for Severus. They got off on the wrong foot, because he called her a Mudblood and she thought he was a horrible little snot, but after a while they seemed to grow on each other.

The problem came when he fell in love with her and she fell in love with James. Lily and James got married and Severus hated them both for it. Then she had Harry and he hated Harry for being their son. But of course he didn’t stop loving her, he just set himself on a course to forget about it. He did what he was expected to do and he became a Death Eater, it was probably the only moment his father ever felt proud of him, and I suppose that was the last we thought we’d see of him, until there was some kind of battle or he was put in Azkaban. Either way, I have to admit that I didn’t give it a second thought.

Then Voldemort heard about the Prophecy and decided that Harry had to die, and if Harry had to die then his parents had to die by necessity. The idea that Lily would die was enough to bring Severus back. He didn’t give a flying fuck about James or Harry, but he couldn’t let Lily die. He wanted to protect her, and of course the first thing that happened was that he and James fought like cat and dog over the best way to do that. James was determined to stay in Europe and Severus thought they should go further afield, then Severus wanted to be their Secret Keeper, but James didn’t trust him and wanted Sirius to be the Secret Keeper instead. They were like children the way they squabbled over every little detail. In the end James made Sirius Secret Keeper and then they thought they’d be very clever and swap Sirius for Peter without telling anyone, and of course we all know what came of that.”

“So perhaps Severus was right.”

“Yes, well, it’s all well and good to look at it in hindsight but it’s a little late to sit back and say , “I wish we’d done it differently ”. She sighed and continued, “Severus learned too late that Voldemort had found them, and by the time he got there James and Lily were dead and Harry was screaming in the rubble. He took Harry to a safe house and waited for Hagrid . Then after the trials Albus brought him here. They both knew that Voldemort wasn’t dead and they both knew that Harry would come to Hogwarts eventually. The plan was to make sure that Harry was prepared for the inevitable.”

“But he hated Harry, you said so yourself.”

Minerva was nodding, “He hated Harry, yes, but he wasn’t going to let Lily’s son die. He’d see Harry’s face and see James, but on the few occasions that he’d look at Harry’s eyes, he’d see Lily and I guess as much as it irked him, it made a difference. He couldn’t protect Lily, so he protected her son. And quite aside from that, he felt he owed Albus – and in truth I think he did too. Albus vouched for him at the trials and kept him out of Azkaban, Albus kept him safe and employed for all these years…”

“But when Voldemort came back Severus didn’t even hesitate . He wasn’t hiding here, he was waiting!”

Minerva patted Hermione’s hand again and laughed lightly, “I wasn’t suggesting that he was hiding dear.”

Hermione shifted in her chair, pulling her hand away with a disgruntled snort. “You make him sound pathetic; I know what it’s like to be that person, to be the one that everyone picks on and what it’s like to love someone who ignores you. Severus worked hard during the war, we hated him but we had to admit he did his bit, and you can’t just belittle him…”

“I’m not belittling him Hermione. You had the luxury of hating him during the war, but I’m his friend . I lived every day in terror that he wouldn’t come back from some mission or another. Lucius Malfoy was no idiot. He was perceptive, manipulative and cunning, and all it would take was one slip and Lucius wouldn’t have hesitated in killing him.”

“Lucius was his friend.”

“Yes, and Severus betrayed him. Lucius was far more ruthless than Severus ever was . Severus could have been the love of Lucius’ life and he still would have killed him without thinking twice.”

Hermione thought back to the journal that she had found in Severus’ room, Lucius Malfoy’s journal. She remembered feeling that something was going on, and that Severus had something to hide when it came to Lucius. Even now, after everything that happened, Severus was protecting Lucius Malfoy in some way. “Good grief, he’s pathetic.”

Minerva burst into laughter and Hermione shrank back, horrified that she had spoken out loud.

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

“Nonsense, of course you should have, because Severus can be very pathetic,” Minerva continued to chuckle . “Oh I’ll have to tell him that …he’ll be so indignant.”

“No!” Hermione panicked, “don’t tell him I said anything, he’ll hate me!”

“Don’t be so silly. Once he gets over it he’ll probably think it’s funny.”

Hermione frowned, “I really don’t think he’ll think that me calling him pathetic is funny.”

“Hermione, he’s hurt you and you still think of him as your Potions Master to an extent. He is human, he does laugh…”

“I know that.”

“He can also laugh at himself, believe it or not.”

Hermione sighed deeply and suddenly felt defeated. There was so much about him that she didn’t really know, and it was true ; despite that fact that she had made love to him, and that she had seen more of him than most, deep down she still thought of him as her Potions Master. She loved the man but she still feared him as the arrogant, gloating Slytherin teacher. But now he could hurt her in ways he couldn’t before, because she had given him her heart and he could break and mend it at will. The utter bastard !

“Do you love him?” Minerva asked, her humor suddenly gone.

“Yes,” Hermione didn’t hesitate, despite everything she knew that she did.

“Are you sure? It isn’t just infatuation?”

“This is Severus Snape we’re talking about,” Hermione replied wryly and Minerva was chuckling again.

“Well yes, I see the point.” Minerva couldn’t stop smiling at that . Anyone infatuated with Severus Snape probably required medication, and then she felt thoroughly ashamed of thinking something so very awful. “If you love him, you need to convince him to come back; it’s as simple as that.”

Hermione looked genuinely incredulous now, “Simple? You think it’s going to be simple?”

“Absolutely. Severus loves you, we both know that, and he can’t stand someone who is persistent. You just keep at him and he’ll capitulate, simple.”

“I can’t believe that. I argued with him about this, and he was adamant that he’s not coming back!”

“You didn’t argue long enough, and I have no doubt that all seemed lost and I don’t blame you for giving up, but had you known him a little better you would have known to just keep going and watched as he gave in. How do you think Albus and I convinced him to let Harry into Advanced Potions?”

“He wasn’t going to let Harry in?”

“You know Harry’s abilities in Potions; do you really think he got in because he got such brilliant grades?”

Well that was certainly true; Hermione had often wondered how Harry had managed to scrape in.

“The thing is, you have one major advantage over Harry getting into Potions. Severus actually wants to be with you . He wants to give in, and you just need to get past his ‘I’m not worthy’ problem…and besides, Severus is hopeless with people he loves.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow and tried desperately to ignore the ball of jealousy roaming around in her belly. She wished that she was older, and that she’d spent the time with him that Minerva had spent. She wished she knew him that well. “So what do you think I should do?”

“Go and do your hair properly, put on something pretty and go and see him. Don’t avoid him. You should go out of your way to see him, remind him that you are here. He likes you, and that is rare because he doesn’t like many people. He is not going to snap at you or send you away. Even if you argue every time you see him, he won’t hate you, in fact,” Minerva smiled mischievously, “I think it will make him love you even more…and of course I will help as much as I can, I can nag like you would never believe.”

*********

Snape awoke from an uncomfortable sleep and a dream that he had found troubling but would never remember. He couldn’t really believe that he had managed to get any sleep at all considering where he had slept. He’d always loved that wingback chair, but hard upright leather was not something he had ever really considered a bed and he was fond of his bed, although he decided he might just get rid of it in favor of something new, perhaps a bed that did not have any memories in it. Not that he was sentimental in any way…well at least he never used to be. He was usually so incredibly adept at crushing any emotion down so deep that he didn’t feel at all. Now he was stuck with some adolescent feeling of love for a girl he was wholly unsuited for and there was a mad woman asleep in his bed.

He stretched his long legs and winced as his back twinged painfully. He should have slept on the day bed. Why hadn’t he slept on the day bed? The answers came to him almost immediately, he had thought that perhaps Draco would come back and he’d need somewhere to sleep, or, even more likely, if he was on the day bed there would be room for the wretch currently occupying his bed to crawl alongside him and the very idea of her touching him made him shudder.

He hated her with a hatred that was unreasonable and yet so familiar to him that it was like breathing. He had never really needed an excuse to hate. He glanced over at the bed and what he could see was at the same time beautiful and obscene. She had a way of turning her head as she slept so that she was in perfect profile, there were no scars and she looked like a sleeping princess. She was also naked and splayed across the covers. He was amazed that she wasn’t cold.

It crossed his mind that she may be dead and he waited until he could discern the rise and fall of her breasts and then he turned away.

She shouldn’t have been in his bed, filthy thing that she was. He should just burn it now that she had contaminated it. If anyone should be in his bed it should be Hermione and he should be in there too, warm beside her. He was not supposed to be sleeping awkwardly and uncomfortably in a hard leather chair.

And Draco was not supposed to remind Snape so much of Lucius that he became confused about just who he had been with. Draco had always had the fledgling ability for nastiness, and he had presented the persona of evil convincingly for years. An arrogant little shit who was like his father in so many ways, but he was not vicious in the same way Lucius was. Snape had no doubt that Draco wanted to be that vicious, but he wasn’t. Draco was, as Snape had learned early on, a classic case of all words and no action. He was only good if he had support. Alone he would sooner save his own arse than stand and fight. Lucius was the complete opposite. Lucius loved to fight, Lucius loved to torture people, and Lucius would risk everything because he was so convinced of his own invincibility.

For one brief moment last night it was as though Lucius had inhabited his son’s body. It was as if Draco had ceased to exist.

But it had been Draco; deranged as he had been, it was Draco. It was as though the viciousness had always been there, bubbling just beneath the surface, like a defect in his bloodline. They had always been that way. The Malfoy’s with their faces like angels and their predisposition to do terrible things.

Potter, of course, would not stand for it. Snape wondered if Draco would be fool enough to tell him. He seriously doubted it. Draco was in a bind either way. If Potter found out about it he’d accuse Draco of treachery and leave him, if Draco told him, he’d leave any way. At one time such a prospect would not have concerned him, as the faster Draco got over this ridiculous infatuation the better. But something tweaked, and Snape could only imagine that he was getting soft and emotional in his old age, caused him to look a little deeper. Draco was in love with Potter and Snape wanted Draco to be happy . It was almost a fatherly wish and made Snape cringe with the sappiness of it.

He stretched again and paced across the room, closer to Regina , wondering what to do with her. She was sleeping peacefully, seemingly unaware of the trouble that she had caused or would cause. Or perhaps that smile on her lips betrayed that she did know and that she was fully aware of what she could do. Still more bones clicked into place and he pushed his fists into the small of his back and massaged his aching muscles. He was too old, he decided, for all this shit. The war was over, and he was supposed to get some rest now, teach, fade quietly into old age, and then retire to the Fenn to die. He was not supposed to be mourning the loss of a girl half his age, worrying over the moral decline of his Godson nor contemplating a naked mad woman in his bed. He was certainly not supposed to be concerned about the fate of Malfoy Senior.

He was seriously missing the wonderful feeling of loneliness that had plagued him for most of his life.

Finally he went directly to the bed. Regina was splayed across it and now that he had a good view he could see just how obscene it was. She had no inhibitions, he body being perhaps the only thing that she could use to get what she wanted and he had to admit, it was an incredible body. She appeared soft and yet toned at the same time, pale as porcelain, but he could imagine that in the summer months she would tan. He felt a pity for her face, the same kind of pity that he felt when he saw a mistreated dog; it was almost detached, as though she was somehow less than human. But Lucius had caused this damage and he had probably caused it because she was a Muggle who could do nothing at all to stop him. Lucius had always liked that feeling . Lucius had always loved to torture defenseless Muggles.

Snape wondered if she would be so very mad if Lucius hadn’t come along. It was possible that she would be. From what Snape had read in Lucius’ journal, she had been in a mad house long before he came along. But there was Muggle madness and there was Lucius Malfoy, and the two were very different things.

He wrenched the blankets out from under her, hoping on one hand to disturb her so that she would wake and perhaps put on some clothes, yet on the other hand he was terrified that if she did wake up she would resume her ranting, and so if she stayed asleep he could dump the blankets on top of her and cover her nakedness – and then he could studiously avoid looking in her direction.

She didn’t wake, instead she rolled with the blankets and spread herself out over the clean sheets. Snape stood at the side of the bed holding the bundle of sheets and blankets and idly surveyed her. He had to admit, she had a beautiful body, and it was somewhat distracting to have it spread out before him like an offering. Still, he’d rather drink his own urine than fuck her. But yes, her nakedness was truly stunning.

He shook his head in disgust at the weakness of his own body and unceremoniously dumped the blankets on her, moving to hastily cover her entirely and get that body out of his sight.

Severus hadn’t counted on his door being accessible and he certainly hadn’t heard the door to his private chambers being opened. The harsh intake of breath from the stone archway of the door changed that, and it brought everything crashing down on him. He knew exactly who it was before he turned, he knew her presence well enough, and he felt the tug on his own aura that seemed to want to draw him to her.

He also knew he was in deep shit.

He straightened and steeled himself for the inevitable, fixed his face and hoped he didn’t look too rumpled, because Merlin knew he looked guilty as all hell. He turned stiffly and didn’t look directly at her . He didn’t want to see the look on her face. Then quietly and purposely, as though reading it from a script he said her name with forced questioning; “Hermione.”

**********

The light of dawn had only just managed to penetrate the dense cloud of smog that rendered London ’s sky a permanent grey. The light wound its way around the buildings, faintly seeking to pass through the grime covered windows of commission flats, and the multitude of tiny residences stacked impossibly close to one another. Onward then through the haze of the city, it eventually found the narrow windows of St Mungo’s, overshadowed by the wing that housed their hopeless suicidal children for whom the world had become too much of a burden to bear.

Pansy Parkinson sat quietly on her bed that sat under one of these windows and peered out over the dirty rooftops and grimy chimneystacks. Her dark hair had once been glossy and part of her wished that it was the fact that she had just woken up that had caused it to be in its current messy state, but the truth was that she simply hadn’t bothered to brush her hair since Draco’s last visit and she probably wouldn’t bother until he came again. It was so cold in the ward that she could see her breath and she traced a pale finger over the glass, making aimless patterns in the morning frost. Across the Highroad she could see Muggles in their flat’s making breakfast or stumbling about in a state of semi sleep and below them, proprietors readying their stores for the day’s business. A bakery on the corner that looked slightly grubby, an Off License and a dry cleaner, a little way up the Halal Butcher was arguing with the man who ran the African Hairdressers and across the road the Marks and Spencer’s looked incongruously clean and shiny between the ₤2 Bargain Store and a boarded up shop in front of which a man usually sold cheap dresses in violent colors. On the street a few Muggles were huddled over in their coats, hurrying towards the station and others were leaving, looking haggard and overly made up after a long night of clubbing.

Sunday morning in London , and Pansy knew it well. She had stared out at this view on more Sunday mornings than she cared to remember, the whole wing seemed to look out over the High Street, and although she had no inkling of the difference between a Halal Butcher and a regular Butcher, the signs over the stores seemed to proudly declare their services and she figured that Muggles thought them very important. The Muggles couldn’t see her, and even if they looked directly at her window no one would even notice her. St Mungo’s kept its façade well. It was just another disused store, its smog tinted windows revealing nothing of the enclosed residents.

Pansy hated London . She longed for the open air of the countryside where the smog didn’t inhibit the sunlight and the glow of lights didn’t render the night sky orange. She could not understand why anyone would choose to live in such a place and as much as she hated to admit it, she missed places like Hogwarts that were removed from the Muggle world and the only dirt came from some wonderful organic source.

She doubted that she would ever see the school again. In fact she doubted if she would ever see the countryside again. The closed ward was fast becoming a home she never wanted and she knew that she would probably spend the remainder of her life there. It was not a prospect that she relished, but like most who resided in the cramped little rooms, she had no choice and despite the fact that she had more freedom than some, she was considered a danger to herself and as long as her uncle was unable to look after her, here she would remain.

But it was not these thoughts that had roused her from sleep so early on a Sunday morning. She was sitting at the window listening intently to the faint sound of crying that was coming from somewhere within the wing. It was a quiet sobbing that only she could hear, well, if anyone else could hear it they were not rushing to his aid. She knew it was a he, and she knew exactly who it was. The sound had dragged her from her potion-induced sleep before and she had listened then too. Her first instincts were to go and find him and then calm him down, but so many people from the past always surrounded him. Pansy had no doubt that they surrounded him now.

But if that were the case, why did they let him cry like that?

There would be no harm in looking, and she could go quietly down the hall and peek around the doorway to his room. She had done that many times and had only been noticed once and even then they hadn’t come after her when she had run away. Of course, Draco had brought Harry to see her and he’d said nothing about it. He had scared her …he still scared her. Harry Potter, sitting there in her little room, staring at her as though he could see into her. And they were lovers now, Draco and Harry. Pansy couldn’t understand that. The very idea of anyone touching her in such a way made her cringe, but for it to a member of that Order, the idea was terrifying.

And yet the one crying down the hall was a member of that Order and she felt instinctively drawn to him.

Silently she lowered her pale legs from her bed and slipped her small feet into a pair of threadbare slippers on the floor. Beside her bed, in pride of place, was a new pink dressing gown, a gift from Draco who had looked at her slippers with some dismay and promised her new ones on his next visit. She didn’t understand why he felt guilty about her being here, but since Christmas she had been moved to this private room, and she knew her own family could not afford it, so it was Malfoy money keeping her now. She had felt the urge when she’d last seen him, to tell him not to bother, but it seemed to ease his conscience somehow and she could not deny that it was nice owning new things. At least the nurses didn’t look at her with that same condescending pity any more.

Wrapped warmly in her dressing gown, Pansy trod a silent and familiar path down the corridor, seemingly unnoticed by anyone who cared to stop her. The sound of tears was faint but clear to her and she wondered again why no one sought to console him. His room was not far from hers; the private rooms were always close together, and Draco paid for Pansy’s room, whilst his came by way of the Ministry. She’d kept herself abreast of the news that fluttered through the ward, and she knew his father would no doubt be Minister soon. A potential Minister couldn’t be seen to have his son mingling on a public ward. A cynical part of her suggested that Fudge had probably authorized payment for the room; it would be something to hold up to the Ministry, how very good he was in the face of his opponent’s family falling into disarray.

The room had been decorated and looked more like a home than a hospital. Pictures adorned the walls, whilst a knitted bedspread kept him warm on these frozen mornings. Pansy wondered what it would be like to still have a mother alive to fuss over her so much that her childhood room was transported to her hospital bed.

Of course, had her mother been alive she probably wouldn’t be here. And it didn’t really matter in the end, because his mother was here every day and he still cried in his sleep.

She rounded the doorway and paused, cautious lest someone be there with him. The room was empty except for him in his bed. Even his mother had stopped sleeping in the chair beside him, obviously thinking that he was well enough to get through the night alone. They had a big family Pansy seemed to recall, and perhaps his mother needed to look after them too.

His sleep, like her own was potion-induced. Standard practice on this wing. She had wished over and over that they would use a Dreamless Sleep brew, but they said it was addictive. Not that it mattered; they would get it every night anyway.

She silently approached the bed, hoping that he was still well enough asleep not to wake and catch her there. She wasn’t entirely sure of what she was going to do. How did she calm him? What good would she do? At school they had never liked each other. He had called her foul names; he had called her a cow, ‘that complete cow’, and there was another one, ‘Pug Faced Parkinson’. She in turn had belittled him for his poverty, his red hair, his enormous mother and anything else that Draco could think to throw at him. They had used whatever weapons lay at hand to belittle and torment each other.

But the world had changed, and Pansy Parkinson had changed. The war had ravaged her until her body had become frail and narrow. Her parents had died and she had inherited nothing, left to the good will of relatives who could barely keep her. She had become sullen, her pale face almost grey and gaunt, her eyes haunted by things she had seen and experienced. Before he had come here she would wake as each day repetitively dawned and she would exist until the end of it. After he came she had something to break up the days. The occasional trip down the corridor to spy on him and wonder what had happened that he had ended up here.

Draco knew, but wouldn’t tell her. Once upon a time she would have hated him for that.

His face looked wet with sweat and tears. What haunted his dreams?   Occasionally he would murmur a word, tell some one to run, although who it was and if they did she would never know. Tentatively she reached down and stroked pale fingers over his wet cheek as his breath caught, then he exhaled, long and deep and his body seemed to unknot itself and calm a little.

She smiled at this little success and stroked his cheek with a little more firmness. He frowned and whispered for who ever it was to run again.

“Shhh, Ron, it’s only a dream.”

And once again he exhaled and calmed.

She wondered if his dreams and fears were grounded in such solid reality that they were indistinguishable from conscious thought. Her own dreams were exactly like that. She would wake most mornings, freshly traumatized, having relived the most hideous events of her life during the night.

Ron turned his head, the sleeping draught holding him tightly in its spell, and his cheek nuzzled into her palm. She almost drew back, only at the last moment did she stop herself and stroke his hair back from his forehead with her other hand.

They bound his hands to the sides of the bed. He scratched at his arms in the night; she could see the marks there, scratching at the long wounds that marred his arms from his inner wrist to elbows. They had obviously bound him to stop him scratching, but she could not help thinking that it must be uncomfortable, stuck on his back, unable to curl on his side or indeed move from his back at all.

She traced one of the long wounds, nasty and thick. The evidence of just how he had found his way here. She could never have taken such an option. It must have hurt him; perhaps he had wanted to feel it. Pansy had endured pain enough; she had wanted her own death to be as painless as possible.  It was all for nothing, and they had both tried and had both failed. Pansy had tried twice more since coming here, and twice more she had failed. Ron had his family anxiously around him all day, so there would be no more attempts at dying for Ron Weasley.

“You’re lucky, Ron, you have so much.” And yet he still cried at night. He mumbled an unintelligible reply and nuzzled his cheek deeper into her palm.

“Who are you?! What are you doing here?!”

Pansy jumped and spun on her heel just as Molly Weasley seemed to swoop down on her. Her eyes widened as the older woman’s strong hands dug into her shoulders and she was physically pulled away from the bed.

“Who are you?” Mrs. Weasley was sounding more hysterical now and she shook Pansy hard, “What are you doing touching my son? How dare you touch my son!”

“He…he was…he was…” Pansy flushed and she tried to swallow back the panic in her throat. A sob welled painfully in her and the woman dragged her from the room and into the corridor, tearing the sleeve of her new pink robe, and screaming for someone to come and help with this intruder.

Molly Weasley’s shouts were rewarded when two nurses came running down the corridor towards them, both looking utterly panicked .

“This girl! This girl was in my son’s room! Who is she? What is she doing wandering around the hospital at this time of morning? Don’t you keep the doors locked on some of these people? What if she’d tried to hurt him?” Mrs. Weasley kept going, a catalogue of angry and anxious questions and with each one she gave Pansy a hard shake, rattling her bones as though she was little more than a rag doll.

“Mrs. Weasley,” one of the nurses was saying, falsely calm as she attempted to extract Pansy from the older woman’s grip. “She is harmless, she’s just a little girl. Pansy is a patient here, and she might have known Ron from school. I’m quite sure she didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

Molly did not appear convinced by this, but she released Pansy from her hands and the nurse pulled the girl forward to safety, dismayed to feel just how hard Pansy was shaking. Still, she also knew that she would have to deal with it here and now, if only to convince Molly Weasley that something was being done.

“Pansy, what were you doing in Mr. Weasley’s room?”

“He…he…he…” Pansy’s eyes shone bright with tears of her own, whilst her stomach ached, and her whole body was quaking under the scrutiny of the three women around her.

“Answer me Pansy, what were you doing? You know better than to wander the corridors at this time of the morning.”

“He…he was…c-c-crying…” And now so was Pansy, her voice coming out in rasping sobs.

“Well if you hear someone crying you should get a member of staff, you don’t go wandering off!”

The nurse sounded severe, more severe than she wanted to and Pansy seemed to crumple in on herself, hugging herself self-consciously , as one of her pale hands lifted the torn fabric of her robe so that the sleeve was held in place.

“I’ll take her back to her room Mrs. Weasley. I’m sure that she didn’t mean any harm.” The nurse wheeled Pansy away, supporting the girl as she walked her back to her room, but somehow satisfied that she had seen the look on Molly Weasley’s face go from one of belligerent anger to dismal shame.

**********

Hermione stood on the doorstep; door safely closed behind her and adjusted her eyes to the scene before her. She wondered if it would have made a difference if she had bothered knocking. She wondered if she should turn around and leave and then come back in all over again, because this had to be some dreadful trick, some quantum reality that she was not supposed to be a part of.

But then again, it looked pretty damned real to her and it took only an instant for her blood to rise up and feel as though it was boiling in her veins. She had fretted over this man, she had felt unworthy, and she had been up since the bloody crack of dawn being pep talked into fighting for him! And what was he doing? He was screwing some pale gorgeous woman who was now sleeping in his bed!

“Who the fuck is that?”

Severus blinked and Hermione didn’t really blame him. She did not know that she could sound as angry as she did, but she didn’t back down, she didn’t feel the need to, and she felt absolutely righteous. He didn’t answer her; instead he infuriated her by gaping at her like a fish.

“Well? Severus, who,” Hermione pointed at the girl in the bed, “is that?”

“She…” Severus looked frantically from Hermione to the bed and back again, all poise gone, his black eyes horribly wide and his normally sallow skin so pale that he looked truly sick. He swallowed and tried to regain some composure, tried desperately to pull on the mantle of his Potions Master guise or at least look indignant that she had just burst into his room. None of it really worked and he just looked as though he was about to throw up. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

“Really? It looks as though you were leaning over a naked woman who is sleeping in your bed.”

He gaped again, “well…well yes, it…it is that, but it looks worse than it is…I was just covering her up…she’s just sleeping…she just slept here,” he was looking around frantically again, “I slept there!” he pointed at the wingback beside the fire.

“I see.”  Hermione arched an eyebrow and folded her arms across her chest, “Why didn’t you sleep on the day bed? It would have been more convincing if you’d have slept on the day bed.”

Severus looked at the day bed as though it was an eyesore in the room, “but I…I slept in the chair.” He looked back to the chair and knew he was sounding particularly lame. At that moment he didn’t even believe himself.

“I have to hand it to you, Professor,” Hermione said briskly, “you certainly don’t waste any time.”

“I didn’tsleep with her!”

“Fair enough.” Hermione shook her head and turned back to the door.

“Hermione, don’t…I can explain this.”

Hermione turned back, her pointed chin set in place. He would give anything at that moment for her to start chewing her lip, something to betray nervousness. He wanted her to be nervous. He liked it when she was nervous. When she was nervous he wanted to kiss her and reassure her and essentially be all-powerful over her. Except that she wasn’t nervous, she was pissed off and he knew full well that when she was pissed off he wasn’t going to win. He almost smiled affectionately at the fact she could best him so well.

Her lower lip tightened and tensed and she looked almost as though she would snarl. “You don’t have to explain anything Severus,” she said through clenched teeth, “you left me remember?”

“Of course I remember, Hermione, but it wasn’t to do what you’re thinking!”

“It doesn’t matter now does it, Severus?”

But it did and he could hear it in the tightness of her voice. “Hermione…”

“Stop saying my name! I preferred it when you were my nasty piece of shit Potions Master who found fault in everything I did! I’d rather that than this lying insipid…”

“Fucking hell, Hermione!”

She glared at him for a moment before turning on her heel and storming out the door.

“Hermione!” He knew he should just let her go, logic told him to let her go. What was he going to tell her? It was true that he could explain, but not without revealing everything about Lucius and indeed Draco, and whilst part of him thought that she would be able to deal with the situation with more clarity than Potter, he really didn’t know that for certain.

But logic played no part in him at that moment and he went after her, not stopping to second-guess himself for possibly the first time in his life. He took off out the door, trying to catch her small frame before she rounded the corner into the corridor, but when he didn’t get to her in time he plunged into the corridor and to his horror found himself in the middle of a sea of students heading to breakfast.

Hermione stopped and turned to face him, raising her eyebrow again, daring him to say something. He stood still and silent, forcing his face into a perfect look of disdain.

“Yes, Professor?”

She sounded smug, triumphant and he felt his own anger rise. Around him, students were skirting around him, most not looking at him, keeping their heads down and hopefully out of trouble. Some though, the older ones, saw that he wasn’t focused on them at all and that the one in trouble was the eighth year ex-Gryffindor and they stared openly between the two, perhaps hoping to see the girl in trouble, or perhaps witness a display of their House Masters icy temper.

“Miss Granger, I believe you are supposed to be reporting for detention. I don’t care how old you are, but whilst you are a student of this school I expect you to abide by its rules.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open. “You have got to be kidding me!”

“Miss Granger,” he growled menacingly. He really didn’t need her to drag this into the main body of the school.

“Miss Granger?”

They both turned and Severus snorted angrily. He didn’t need Minerva on top of all of this. Minerva looked between them both and wondered why Hermione hadn’t changed her clothes as had been suggested. And why they were standing in the middle of a corridor full of people glaring at each other, if looks could kill they would both be dead on the floor.

“Is there a problem?” Minerva asked needlessly.

Snape smiled almost imperceptibly and looked down his nose at both of them. “Nothing I can’t handle, Professor McGonagall.”

“Professor Snape thinks that now is a good time for me to serve detention, Professor McGonagall.”

“I see,” Minerva looked from Hermione to Severus questioningly, there was very obviously something wrong, “and were you scheduled to serve detention now, Miss Granger ?”

“I was hoping that Professor Snape would see his way clear to give me a reprieve.” Hermione’s voice was growing tighter, if that was at all possible.

Minerva looked frustrated for a moment and realizing that they weren’t going to get anywhere standing there she suggested the only thing she could think of. “This is ridiculous, and I’d suggest that perhaps we should take this somewhere a little more private.”

“My office is not far,” Snape said a touch too quickly.

“Oh but Professor,” Hermione smiled sweetly, “your chambers are just down there, and so much closer don’t you think?”

“I really don’t think that is appropriate, do you Professor McGonagall?”

“On the contrary,” Hermione continued, “I think Professor McGonagall would find it very enlightening.”

Of course after that nothing was going to keep Minerva out of those chambers. Hermione pushed past Severus and headed back down the corridor towards his private chambers. Minerva exchanged an arched look with Snape, and she looked somewhat accusing, having already determined that he was at fault . Turning on her heel she followed Hermione down the hall.

Severus would have given anything at that moment to have been able to Apparate out of Hogwarts and go to some remote place and never come back. He wondered how populated Antarctica was at this time of year because he really didn’t want to hear Minerva when she…

“SEVERUS!!!!!”

Severus Snape winced, and to the amazement of the students left in the corridor he sighed deeply, hung his head and descended into the hallway back to his rooms.

*********

Harry woke early and wondered what was wrong with him and why he was seemingly unable to sleep in any more. He could remember that Draco had once quipped that waking him was like trying to wake the dead. Not so now. It was Sunday morning, it was still dark and Harry was wide awake.

He sat up, contemplated his morning erection and considered jerking off. There was also the other body in the bed to consider. He wondered if Draco would mind if he just rubbed himself against his arse for a little bit and decided that he probably would. He was also hungry and his stomach rumbled uncomfortably.

Harry nudged Draco’s bare shoulder and Draco squirmed away, so Harry reached a little further and nudged again. “Are you awake?”

“No.”

“Yes you are.”

Draco mumbled something that sounded remarkably like , “fuck off Potter” but which Harry decided must not be right, and hugged his pillows a little tighter.

Harry stared at the back of the messy blonde head for a moment before nudging his shoulder again. “We should go down and get some breakfast, before it’s over.” Now that was lame, and he should have just asked if he could rub himself against Draco’s arse . It would probably have met with a better reaction.

Draco rolled onto his back. “What is the fucking time?”

Harry reached for his watch and his glasses and squinted in the darkness, “Twenty past seven.”

“And it’s Sunday?”

“Yeah.”

“Then go back to fucking sleep you sick prick!”

“But…” Harry looked at him helplessly, “what about breakfast?”

Draco rolled his eyes up to eye the head board and made a strange impatient whining noise in his throat. “Why don’t you go and have some breakfast and you can bring me something back, in say…about four hours?”

Harry grunted, a little disconcerted while Draco rolled onto his side and once again began snuggling down into the pillows. Harry leaned over and lit the gaslight beside the bed, part of him hoping that the light would annoy Draco into waking and most of him knowing that it wouldn’t. Draco was doing a brilliant job of ignoring him completely and judging from his breathing, was safely returning to his sleep.

“If you come to breakfast I’ll suck your cock.” Harry did his best wheedling voice, knowing it was a long shot.

Draco’s eyes opened and he seemed to still in the pillows, as though considering the offer. Even without resorting to Legilimency Harry could see the thought process. Having his cock sucked would certainly be nice and a great way to start his Sunday, on the other hand the bed was warm and he was tired and wanted to sleep in. In the end sleep won out and he sneered before saying; “big deal, I can get you to suck my cock anytime.”

Harry’s eyes opened wide and a definite coldness swept over the bed, as though Harry had just opened the balcony door and let the winter in. Draco swore softly and screwed up his eyes, knowing full well he was about to wake up and stay awake for the rest of the day. “I didn’t mean that.” When Harry didn’t answer he rolled onto his back again and looked up at the green eyes glaring down at him. “You know I didn’t mean it.”

“Arsehole,” Harry muttered, his mouth in a twisted semi pout.

Draco grinned, ignoring the look, “I know, I am, I really am.” He rolled towards Harry, trailing a lazy finger up Harry’s naked belly and placing a kiss on one sharp hip bone, “but you love me anyway, right?”

Harry made a non committal noise and Draco kissed his hip again. Last night seemed an eon ago and the smell of Harry’s bare flesh was almost intoxicating enough to make him forget. Almost, but not quite. Guilt seemed to grab his intestines and give them a squeeze.

Betrayal. The word summed up so many different acts and Draco had not considered that he would feel so bad about what he had done. In some way he felt relieved that he wasn’t so like his father after all. He rested his cheek against Harry’s belly and stroked Harry’s hip. Last night he had begged Harry not to leave him and last night he had told Harry more than he’d ever told him. He wished he’d been able to tell him more, tell him everything. But at the end of the day, Harry was more than just his lover, Harry was Harry Potter and there was no way that Harry Potter was going to help Draco Malfoy free his father.

He shifted his cheek a little, loving the feel of Harry’s hot flesh beneath it. Harry’s cock was hard and outlined beneath the sheets, he could see the way the blankets fell over Harry’s thighs and he knew that if he looked up he would be able to run his eyes over every inch of Harry’s naked torso. Harry was his, all his, and no one else’s.

“What are you thinking?” Harry asked, his bad mood having faded under the tenderness of Draco’s touch.

“I’m thinking about how much I love you.”

Harry laughed softly, “You’re getting sappy in your old age, Malfoy.”

Draco smiled and lifted his head . “Maybe I am. Do you like it?”

“What? You being sappy?”

Draco began to laugh, “Sappy…nah, I don’t think I like that! I think I’ll just start calling you Potty all the time and I’ll hex your arse every time I see you.”

“Not so different to now then?”

“You love it when I hex your arse.”

“Well, I love it when you do something to my arse,” Harry grinned.

“You’re a horny bastard, you know that?”

Harry was nodding, “yep, I can’t deny it.”

Draco sat up, resting his back beside Harry and Harry was forced to look up at him. For possibly the first time Draco considered the fact that the love of his life had turned out to be a man. He had never been adverse to the idea, and it had in fact excited him. But he’d never expected to fall in love with a man. Draco had always liked his women soft, with creamy flesh, rounded hips and full breasts. Harry was slender and hard and angular, and yet Draco did not miss sex with women. He’d never considered that possible.

“Answer me something,” Draco asked, suddenly serious.

“What?” Harry replied, snuggling down against Draco, resting his head into the hollow between Draco’s chest and shoulder.

“Have you ever been attracted to a woman.”

Harry frowned. Draco felt his face move and he could hear hesitation in Harry’s voice when he answered. “Yeah,” Harry said reluctantly, “Crushes…sort of.”

“Cho Chang?”

Harry blushed, “yeah, her.”

“Too thin,” Draco said cattily, “ and no tits.”

“She’s really pretty though,” Harry said defensively.

“So why didn’t you fuck her?”

“I was only fifteen!”

“Ok,” Draco was smiling now, “What about Ginny Weasley?”

“I kind of fucked up there.”

“Mmm, well, I’m glad you did.”

“You made love to her though,” Harry sounded a little sullen at that.

“It wasn’t love baby. It was just sex.”

“I think I ruined her life.”

“No, she likes to blame you for it, but she made her own choices.”

Harry shrugged, “I shouldn’t have tried to be with her, I knew it wasn’t right.” He paused, toyed with one of Draco’s pink nipples, “I knew I wanted you.”

“You did?” Draco couldn’t quite believe that.

“You fell off your broom playing Quidditch, you were lying on the ground and your clothes were all runched up and down and I could just see this beautiful stomach and I just wanted you. That’s when I knew that I had no business being with Ginny.”

“Ahh, the glorious Malfoy body working its charms on the famous Harry Potter.” Draco was laughing, but there was a certain bitterness to it, and he knew full well that his body was nothing like it used to be. And what if Harry had stayed with Ginny Weasley? Or even if he had been with her. The idea of Harry naked with anyone else caused his stomach to ache, the suggestion that Harry could have lain with anyone else and the jealousy surged through Draco. He stroked Harry’s hair and kissed the top of Harry’s head, “I couldn’t stand it,” he murmured, not sure that he was saying it out loud, “I couldn’t stand it if you’d been with her.”

Harry looked up, green eyes glowing, “But you had lovers ; lots of them, before I came along.”

“I know.” Draco fell silent for a moment, looking down into those eyes, wanting to take the glasses off but wanting Harry to see him properly. “I wish I had something more pure to give you.”

“I don’t need anything more than you.” Harry frowned, “do you miss girls? Are you ever tempted.”

“No, never,” Draco sighed. “I’d never do that to you.” And then Draco smiled, “I think we’ve missed breakfast.”

Harry grinned, “Well, it looks like we’ll be getting some sleep.”

Draco was instantly moving ; sliding down between the sheets, and to Harry’s amazement was resuming the same position he had been sleeping in for most of the night. He certainly didn’t need to be told twice, as Draco’s eyes were already closed. Harry found himself in the same position he’d started in, sitting quietly beside Draco and wishing he were awake.

Harry nudged Draco’s bare shoulder and chuckled at the annoyed “What?” that ensued.

“Draco?”

“Mmm?”

“Can I rub my cock against your arse?”

Draco’s eyes opened again and he sighed begrudgingly, “Yes, if you have to.”

Harry snuggled down behind him; he decided he really had to.

*********

Severus Snape edged into his own chambers and with the look of a man heading to the guillotine. He knew full well what to expect, and he knew that between them, Minerva and Hermione could possibly reduce him to a quivering mess. As he hadn’t been reduced to a quivering mess since he was a child, he wasn’t relishing the prospect of a return journey.

Minerva’s lips were so thinned and bloodless that her mouth looked like a thin white scar on her face. She looked utterly disgusted, more so than he had ever seen her, and considering that she’d stood in the presence of the Dark Lord that was saying something.

“Who is this…” Minerva glared disgusted at the bed, “woman!”

Snape was fairly certain that Regina was wide awake by now, and that Minerva’s shriek had probably woken half the castle. He really didn’t know what would be better, having Regina awake, or remaining as she was.

“SEVERUS!!”

He jumped and blinked as Minerva moved closer to him. As though she was going to hit him…hell, she probably was. “Who is she Severus?”

“She’s a friend…of Lucius’.”

“Lucius? Lucius Malfoy? What the hell are you doing with some whore of Lucius Malfoy’s?”

Snape frowned, and it was obvious what they were thinking. “She…” how did he explain this? He considered that it might be somehow better just to agree with what they were they accusing him of. Perhaps say he was desperate, distraught, in need of something. Then they would leave him alone, Minerva would probably never speak to him again, but at least Hermione would realize that it was over and she would get on with having the life she was supposed to have, instead of tying herself emotionally to him – when she could really do so much better.

Except of course that he didn’t want Hermione to think ill of him and as pathetic as he felt about it, losing Minerva would probably send him over the edge entirely. But he could hardly blurt everything out like a naughty boy confessing his sins.

“How did you get her into the castle?” Minerva continued, not registering that he’d said a word, that she was coming closer still and he was steeling himself for the inevitable slap. “What did you think you were doing? A week ago you were moaning about your love for Hermione and now you’ve brought some filthy whore into the castle! What kind of example are you setting, you stupid fucking twit ?”

“She is not a whore,” he said calmly. His voice was low, barely above a whisper and very much the one he used in class. He was not going to allow himself to be backed further into any corners. “I did not sleep with her.”

“I’m not suggesting that you slept with her!” Minerva spat, “I’m sure you were far too busy to do any sleeping!”

“I didn’t do anything with her, Minerva.”

"Oh, I see, she’s naked in your bed for no apparent reason?”

“Just because she is naked does not mean that I had sex with her.”

“Then why is she naked?” Minerva demanded and they all knew that the question was reasonable.

Hermione’s triumph had faded quickly as the argument between the two teachers progressed, and she found herself silently praying that he was telling the truth and that somehow there was a reasonable explanation for all this…if only Severus would tell them what it was. She looked at him, willing him not to have been with this woman, who looked so incredibly beautiful even in sleep. More so than Hermione thought possible in herself.

Tears stung her eyes and she looked away, she didn’t need to start crying, he hated women who cried.

Snape was saved from answering by Regina finally deciding to wake up and join in the conversation. Snape groaned audibly and Hermione took it as a sign of his guilt. She felt a tear escape and was horrified when he noticed. She turned away, not seeing him step towards her and stop when she turned.

Regina stretched languously, knocking blankets to the floor and reveling creamy flesh for all to see. Then she turned her face to the two women that she had never met and smiled her ironic smile.

Minerva took a step back, for the first time lost for words. She reached her hand up to her own face, feeling to make sure that it was still as it always was, and she stared at the woman sitting in the bed who appeared to be enjoying the moment immensely. Obviously she was not only used to the reaction her face caused, but she relished it.

“Have you brought new playmates for me?”

The woman’s voice was sing song, like a little girl. Minerva blanched as she climbed from the bed and walked fully naked towards her.

“Leave them alone Regina, they aren’t here for you.”

Regina pouted and stamped a bare foot on the cold stone floor, “You’re no fun!” she whined at Snape, “You want everything from me, you want me to answer all your questions and you never want to play with me!”

“Put some clothes on Regina.”

“No!” She whirled in circles around the bed and Snape rolled his eyes, wondering if he could stun her without offending anyone.

“Oh dear God, she’s mad.” Minerva’s eyes followed the girl as she stopped whirling and staggered slightly, dizzy from the effort. “Severus, she’s insane!”

“I am aware of that, Minerva.”

“You had sex with a mad woman!”

“Oh for fucks sake Minerva, I didn’t fuck her!”

Hermione winced and edged a little closer to the bed, fascinated by just what had happened to the woman’s face. It seemed as though the beauty of one side slowly melted into the other. It looked almost liquid. Could it have been a fire? Or was it something more sinister? Behind her she could hear Minerva and Severus bickering, Minerva leveling blame at Severus and Severus refusing to have a bar of it. They faded into the background in the face of this woman.

Regina stopped staggering about and gathered herself with remarkable speed. She looked at Hermione with the same curiosity that Hermione was showing in her and then slowly she smiled in an unfriendly way. “Who are you?” Regina demanded in a voice that had alarmingly lost its’ sing song quality and now sounded heavy and full of gravel.

“I’m Hermione,” Hermione replied evenly, not wanting to let her façade slip at all.

Regina scrutinized Hermione’s features with a critical eye, “you’re not very pretty are you?”

Hermione blinked and was momentarily lost for words. Snape raced forward, placing himself between the two and barked harshly for Regina to shut up. Regina reacted by snarling at him and throwing herself onto the bed.

“Where is the Little Dragon?” She screeched suddenly, “I want the Dragon back!”

“He’s not here,” Snape hissed, “and I would shut up now if I were you.”

Regina’s face brightened, “But you’re not me!” she giggled mischievously, “and I want my Dragon back. I liked the Dragon, he was much more fun than you. He was just like his Daddy.” She shivered with excitement, “so brutal! He got his wand out. You wouldn’t get your wand out, you wouldn’t do anything fun at all.”

Snape looked as though he would hit her and Hermione found herself wishing that he would. Instead he hissed for her to be quiet again, but she took no heed of his words. She wriggled to sit cross legged on the bed.

“I miss the Dragon.”

“Does she mean Draco?” Hermione asked, as her voice seemed full of air.

“Don’t listen to her, Hermione.”

“Did Draco do something with her?”

“No, don’t listen to her.”

Regina looked between the two of them and giggled again. “Are you a virgin?”

Hermione and Snape stared at her, unsure of just who she was addressing. It was Snape who answered her with an irritated “What?”

“You won’t play with me, so you must be a virgin.”

“I won’t play with you because you are foul and insane!” He shook his head, annoyed at the fact that she had goaded him into this particular game.

“Are you in love with her?” Regina pointed at Hermione and laughed merrily, “Is that why you won’t play with me?”

“Oh for Gods sake, someone stupefy her ,” Minerva said, exasperated by the sound of the woman’s voice.

“I miss my Lucius,” Regina was saying sadly, “he liked to play…”

She didn’t get to continue in this vein, because Snape had taken Minerva’s advice and within seconds Regina was had been stupefied and was lying face first into the bed.

“What is going on, Severus?” Minerva asked wearily, “why do you have this woman here?”

Well, at least she had stopped accusing him of sleeping with her.

“Why was Draco here?” Hermione asked, “Why did she want Draco? What did Draco do?”

Snape returned to the chair he’d spent the night in and sank his head into his hands. “Draco did not sleep with her,” he said quietly, “this woman is a friend of his father’s, and she needed a place to stay, that’s all.”

“And since when have you been Mr. Charity?” Minerva snapped out.

“Just leave it Minerva.”

“I don’t think so!”

“Stop it,” Hermione whispered, “both of you, just stop it.” She went to Snape and tentatively stroked his hair, just wanting to touch him, if only for a moment. Instinctively he leaned into her touch and pleasure infused her sore heart.

“Don’t defend him, Hermione!”

“Please, Minerva, I can handle this…I’ll find out what is going on.”

Minerva pursed her lips and glared at Severus, she then turned back to Regina, still lying face down on the bed. “Get rid of her,” she snapped, “by tonight or I will have you out of here so fast your head will spin.”

Snape’s mouth fell open, “What?”

“You heard me. Get rid of her.” Minerva turned on her heel and stormed from the room, slamming the door behind her so that it echoed through the chamber.

Snape closed his eyes and sank his head back down into his hands. Minerva wasn’t going to speak to him again, he was fairly certain of that – although he couldn’t quite believe that she had just threatened to have him fired. Hermione was stroking the back of his neck, and he wasn’t sure if she even realized that she was doing it. It felt good just having her touch him, and he lifted his head to look up at her.

“I didn’t have sex with her,” he murmured.

“I know,” she sounded resigned, “but Draco?”

“Draco didn’t have sex with her either.”

“But he did something.”

Snape sighed and he could feel his face looking strained. “Draco is old enough to make his own decisions.”

“Harry is my best friend, so if Draco is cheating on him…”

“Draco hasn’t cheated on Potter.” He jerked his body away from her touch, “I’ve told you that. For some fool reason Draco loves Potter, and so he is hardly going to screw that woman! I’d be amazed if Draco could actually get it up for the mad bitch!”

Hermione’s lip trembled and she didn’t know whether she should feel relief or to feel cowed by him. He was evidently angry, but he didn’t get up, he didn’t walk away from her and she remembered what Minerva had said to her earlier. He wouldn’t send her away.

“Does she have anything to do with the spell in Mr. Malfoy’s Diary?”

His expression changed, and he looked a little amazed. In truth he had forgotten that she had read part of the journal. “Yes, it has something to do with that,” he said reluctantly.

“Can I help you with it? Is there anything I can do?”

His mind suddenly reeled and he was bemused by the fact that he was suddenly unconcerned with the idea of Draco or Lucius or Regina. There was plenty she could do, she could get on her knees and suck his cock for a start. A smile tugged at his mouth from the sheer inappropriateness of the thought.

“I can help you,” Hermione said eagerly, “whatever the spell is…”

“No you can’t, Hermione. It’s best if you just stay out of it.”

“But what does the spell do? What does this woman have to do with it?”

“Stop it, Hermione.”

“What did Draco do with her; she kept talking about him like they were intimate?”

“He asked her questions, that’s all.”

“You’re lying!”

He did stand up then, and pulled away from her. “Don’t tell me that I’m lying, Hermione, I am not accountable to you. Perhaps you should consider that you don’t need to know every little nuance of what goes on in this castle! If I’m not telling you something, perhaps you don’t need to know it. This is not a classroom and you are not learning a lesson, you don’t need to be an insufferable little know-it-all in this situation!”

Hermione’s face infused with blood, “Perhaps,” she choked out, “you should consider that I might be worried about you!”

He snorted impatiently. “Then don’t! My mother died a very long time ago and I don’t need another one.”

“What, so last week I was too young and now I’m acting like your mother?”

Snape smiled bitterly, “my mother would have made Regina look sane.”

“Severus…”

“Why are you here?” he asked suddenly.

“Pardon?”

“Why did you come down here?”

“I…” She bit her lip and almost sent him over the edge. The reasoning that Minerva told her to go down was probably not the best and so she knew it was going to sound pathetic when she said, “I missed you, I wanted to see you.”

“And now you’ve seen me, so perhaps you should go.”

And so he would send her away after all, perhaps he didn’t love her.

“I want to be with you Severus, don’t…”

“Hermione stop. I can’t do this right now. There is too much happening now to talk our way around in circles, you have to accept this, just go, get on with your life and leave me to do what I have to do.”

“I can’t accept it.”

Snape snorted again and glared at her, “Hermione, just go. I have to wake Regina and I don’t want to have to deal with you as well.”

“Deal with me? That’s how you see it?”

“Fuck Hermione, just go!”

Hermione’s face began to crumple and she knew that there was no way that she was going to stop the tears. But she was angry too, and her mouth twisted as she tried to speak, “I don’t know why I bothered to come down here!”

“Good, now go!”

“I hate you!” she shrieked.

He said nothing to that , just turned away and waited for the sounds of her going. They came, the sound of her rushed footsteps heading to the door and then the door opening and closing softly. He turned and she was gone. He took a deep breath, calmed himself and returned to his chair by the fire. After a time he fetched a bottle of Rotgut that Aberforth Dumbledore had given him for Christmas and poured himself a glass.

This would be forgotten in time. It was as it should be, and she was better off this way.

********

Non knew that he would be in trouble when he arrived at Hogwarts. Wizards, no matter how good, had little tolerance for House Elves, and he knew that Severus Snape was not the most tolerant of Wizards. He may have been against Voldemort, but he was not a nice person. Not that it bothered Non overly ; he’d worked at Malfoy Manor since he was born, and he was more than used to abuse.

The quiet voice from the corner took him by surprise however. Lucius Malfoy was pompous and cruel when he punished his servants, but Severus Snape was something else entirely. His voice was barely above a whisper and when Non turned to look at him, he was sitting by the fire holding a glass of something that looked remarkably like whiskey and was unnaturally still and calm.

“And where have you been?”

Non hung his head a little, he should have come back on time and his fingers itched to hurt himself. “Master Severus,” he tried to smile, and he wrung his hands in an effort to stop his fingers from reaching for something to hit himself with, “Non couldn’t leave Master Lucius…there. Non is sorry, Master Severus.”

“Well, I suppose I should commend you on being so dedicated to your task.”

Non looked up hopefully, but there was no gentleness on his new Master’s face. Snape was staring down at him, looking as though he would happily send the elf into oblivion. He felt a quick rush of fear, a small thrill of terror that was familiar to him, so like that which flowed through him when Master Lucius was at home and whole, that he almost found it nostalgic. A sound behind him alerted him to the fact that they were not alone in the room. His small head snapped around and he looked in horror at the woman beside the bed.

“Regina!” Non yelped before he could stop himself. So he had the mad woman here, no wonder Master Severus was in a bad mood. Regina Valmoral was enough to send anyone into a black rage. She looked as though she would come to him. She opened her mouth with unnatural slowness and just as she took a step, Snape reach out a lazy hand and murmured a curse , that caused her to freeze in her tracks, completely immobilized.

“I see you know our friend,” Snape said, returning his attention to Non and fixing him with his unnerving stare.

“She is…she is Master Lucius’…”

“Whore?” Snape managed a smile that barely touched his lips.

“Master Lucius had different…” Non bowed his head and wondered if he had perhaps gone too far, “appetites,” he finished lamely.

“Lucius had a beautiful wife and a total inability to keep his cock in his pants.”  It was a statement that both Non and Snape knew to be unfair, as Narcissa was not the most faithful of spouses either ; they both had their foibles.  

“What I don’t understand,” Snape whispered venomously, “is why he couldn’t just accept it. Why couldn’t he just accept that he lost and take the punishment? It appears that everyone is running around trying to decipher what he did, everyone’s lives can be ruined, just so long as we all run to help Lucius.”

It occurred to Non that Master Severus could very well be drunk, which seemed unlikely because it was very early in the morning and he had always seemed reasonably stable for as long as Non had known him.

Then again, Regina Vermoral would drive anyone to drink.

“Master Lucius,” Non shook his head, “he was scared, and he didn’t know…he couldn’t predict what was going to happen.”

“Yes he did, he knew exactly what was going to happen, that’s why he set about trying to find a way out of it. As it is, we don’t know what he managed or even if it was successful.”

Non brightened somewhat , and he knew he could at least be of help with that particular detail. “It worked, Master Severus, it did work. Non saw for himself, Master Lucius is aware, and he fully understands what is happening now.”

Snape sat forward and frowned at the small elf, so much so that Non began to fidget uncomfortably. “Perhaps you should tell me what happened at the Museum.”

“Non did well Master Severus, Non was made a valet for the Curator, Sir, and the Curator is very important in the Museum.”

“I’m aware of that. What did you learn about Lucius?”

“The Curator said that Non had to look after his Angel and at first Non was confused, but then Non saw the Curator’s Angel and the Angel was Master Lucius!”

“His Angel?”

“Yes Master Severus, he keeps Master Lucius in his rooms, and he sleeps with him. He talks to Master Lucius and Master Lucius talks back to him. Master Lucius talks to Non too…but not when the Curator is there.”

“Lucius,” Snape placed his drink down, “Lucius can speak?”

“Not with his mouth, Master Severus, his voice is in Non’s head, but it is him, Sir.”

“What does he say? Did you ask him what he did? Did you ask him about the counter to it?”

Non frowned and trembled a little, “Master Lucius asks about Master Draco mostly. He says that you have to make sure that Master Draco stays with Harry Potter.”

Snape’s lip curled, that did not sound like Lucius Malfoy.

“He says that Harry Potter will protect Master Draco, and he says that Master Draco is in danger.”

Snape looked disconcerted then. He sat back and sent a troubled look to the fire. “Why is Draco in danger?”

“Master Lucius says that the Curator wants Master Draco to be like Master Lucius, he said they were something called a ‘Matched Set’. Master Lucius made a deal with the Curator, but he says that he doesn’t trust him. Non doesn’t trust the Curator either, he says he loves Master Lucius, but he hurts him.”

“How? How does he hurt him?”

Non looked reluctantly at his new Master and hoped that Severus Snape could be of some help. “He forces himself on Master Lucius. Master Lucius can’t defend himself and he can’t say no and the Curator is on him, he goes inside him and makes Master Lucius cry and he hits Master Lucius, hits and kicks him.”

“Wait,” Snape was sitting forward again, but it was urgent now. He grabbed Non and pulled him to him, “you said he goes inside him, what does that mean? Is the Curator raping Lucius?”

“The Curator says that Master Lucius is his lover.” Non bowed his head, “Non has seen it Master Severus ; the Curator has made Master Lucius sick.”

Snape looked as though he too felt decidedly sick. He slumped in his chair, releasing Non and gulping down a glass of Fire Whiskey. So Lucius was trapped in his body, aware of everything going on around him and unable to defend himself. He’d finally managed to fuck himself. “Has he told you how to free him?”

Non shook his head sadly, “Master Lucius won’t tell Non anything, Master Severus. He says that Master Draco is more important and he says that you must promise to keep Master Draco safe.”

“He doesn’t want us to help him?”

“No, Master Severus.”

Snape felt unreasonable anger surge through him. They were risking everything for Lucius and Lucius wanted none of it. Snape’s life was falling down around him because of Lucius Malfoy, and Lucius didn’t want any help. And as for Lucius sacrificing all for his son, that trite sentiment seemed almost unbelievable.

“Master Lucius isn’t himself,” Non ventured timidly.

“What, he has developed concern for someone other than himself?” Again, the statement wasn’t fair and Snape knew it. Lucius had always loved his son above all else, but once anger had rendered him unreasonable, Snape had to work his way through it, and it was going to take time.

“He is sick, Master Severus; he has dreams, about dying.”

“I’m sure he’ll get over it.”

“He is sad.”

Snape almost snarled. Lucius wasn’t the only one in pain. But could he simply leave Lucius there? Knowing that Lucius was aware, and that their worst fears for him had been realised, could he leave him in that place and do nothing at all? Snape had developed his own theory of how he would work things out when it came to freeing Lucius. Draco had some kind of romantic notion of simply whisking his father’s body away and living in some kind of exile, though how he planned to reconcile that to his relationship with Potter was anyone’s guess. Snape was older and, he liked to think it but was beginning to doubt it, wiser. Taking Lucius Malfoy from his prison was not going to be something that was taken lightly in the Wizarding world and the Aurors would never rest until they found him…and there was always going to be Potter to contend with.

Snape’s idea was logical, if not as romantic as Draco’s. He had full confidence that Arthur Weasley would be made Minister by the end of April ; indeed there was little doubt in their world. Fudge had only held on to power throughout the war because of a need for stability, but now that the war was over very few Wizards had tolerance for the man. With Arthur Weasley also came a new kind of tolerance. Arthur Weasley was very much against the Kiss as a form of punishment for anyone, and he was also adamant that the Dementors would be removed from Azkaban permanently and be replaced by Aurors. Snape was certain that once the facts were fully understood and Lucius freed, Weasley would agree to a prison term. He knew that the next concern would be that Lucius would escape without the Dementors to hold him in check. Snape had a counter to that argument as well, but it was something that he had to consider further before ever suggesting it.

And now Lucius was sad, and it was possibly the first time he’d ever felt such an emotion. “Go back to the Museum,” Snape murmured with little emotion at all, “ and if he gets any sicker let me know. Tell him that I won’t let Draco near the Museum, but that I have an idea on how to get him out. I need to know how to release him, so ask him to tell you.”

“But Master Lucius wouldn’t tell Non…”

“Then ask him again!”

“Yes Master Severus,” Non silently hung his head.

Snape stared at him a while longer, wondering why the little being was so very attached to the man who had made his life a misery, and then he decided that contemplating the intricacies of a House Elf’s mind was not entirely constructive. He looked away, to the bottle of Whiskey and wanted nothing more than to drown in it. “Well,” he said with forceful irritation, “don’t you think you should be going?”

And Non blushed, bowed and scraped before finally making his exit.

*********

Hermione found the climb up the stairs to the South West tower more laborious than usual. She had never really noticed the climb up Hogwarts many staircases, not physically at least, but today her legs ached and her head ached and she felt the inclination more than once to stop and sit and cry. Gods she hated him for making her feel like an inconsequential nuisance.

And he’d thrown her out, and Minerva had been so sure that he wouldn’t. He didn’t love her after all.

She didn’t want to think about him any more, she just wished she could wipe her memory and take every part of him away. Perhaps Harry had been right, that it had been nothing at all, just a foolish inclination. She had always loved her books and learning and everything that these things had to offer, just as she had always loved the stone corridors of the school and the dark pokey corners of the library. Falling in love with a teacher seemed a natural progression. Perhaps she had chosen him through lack of options.

But who would ever have considered Severus Snape an option? By rights she should be cringing at the very idea of him. The hair, nose, skin and those teeth! Instead she had fallen head over heels in love with him. In love with Severus Snape, so what kind of a fool was she?

For the first time in years she longed for her mother’s company. Her mother who had always been ready with hot chocolate and cake in any crisis , or perhaps something stogy and comforting from the oven. It had been so long since she had sat down and talked with her mother about anything of real importance. At the tender age of ten she had been removed from her parents’ world as effectively as if they had died. She was different from them; a Witch, and as such her life was always going to be different from theirs. They accepted her, but they could never truly understand it. Talking about things like spells and charms and Magical wars would serve only to confuse or scare them, so she had kept everything to herself. They rejoiced in her good grades but had no idea what they were for; it was part of the complication of being a Muggleborn. The fact was that she was an incredible Witch, but she had no concept of things that her family understood, things such as algebra or fractions, she had never used a computer. She had simply never learned such things.

But a failed relationship? Her mother could understand that surely, and she knew how to comfort; she knew how to be a shoulder to cry on. Climbing the stairs to the South West Tower, Hermione desperately wanted her mummy.

She was lost in her thoughts and so she didn’t notice Draco coming down the staircase. Had she seen him she would have noticed that his own expression was as vague as hers and that his thoughts were not entirely on getting down the stairs. But she didn’t see him, not until she ran into him, and when she did she yelped more with surprise than pain.

And then she saw that it was Draco and her mind instantly whirled back to Severus and the woman in his bed – and all the things that she had said about Draco.

“Sorry,” Draco was saying, coming to himself and steadying her by grasping her shoulders gently, “are you alright?”

He sounded a little tired and she guessed that he was probably still trying to recover from whatever he had done with the whore. She wondered if he had at least had the decency to wash himself before returning to Harry.

“I’m fine,” she snapped, pursing her lips in a perfect rendition of Minerva and staring at him as though he were something feral. He was tall and slim and beautifully good-looking. It was little wonder that Harry was in love with him, and he could be as charming as anyone . It was such a shame that he was a lying cheating bastard. Her eyes narrowed and she scrutinized his pale face.

“Is there something wrong?” He drawled and he knew instantly when someone was looking at him in a way that was less than friendly.

“Yeah, you are what’s wrong!”

“Got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning Granger?”

“No, I’ve just paid a little visit to my ex.”

Draco paled. Hermione didn’t think he could get any paler than he already was, but she was proved wrong in a spectacular way. Even his lips drained of blood. His drawl however, was as steady as ever. “So, how is our illustrious Potions Master?”

“Preoccupied. His rooms are a little crowded at the moment.”

“I see.” He was sounding a little strained now, but he sneered a little and added defensively, “moved on already has he?”

“According to his friend, you were the one having all the fun.”

He didn’t speak; he just stared at her, his face taking on the spiteful look that she remembered so well from their years of hating each other.

“She’s a very interesting woman and she talked about you …a lot.” Her eyes flicked over him searching for some clue, or a chink in his armor. “So what happened Draco, Harry not enough for you?”

“Harry is plenty for me,” Draco spat, “ so don’t go sticking your nose into things you don’t understand.”

“Don’t you speak to me like I’m an idiot!”

“Then stop acting like one! You know nothing about what happened with that woman.”

“I know it has something to do with your father!”

A muscle worked in Draco’s cheek and he folded his arms tight across his chest. “My father is a side show attraction and he may as well be dead.”

Hermione contemplated continuing her interrogation, but decided pursuing an argument with Draco about his father would probably end in disaster.

“Did you sleep with that woman?”

“Granger, I did not sleep with that woman,” Draco was still defensive, almost hugging himself, “not that it’s any of your business if I did.”

“Harry’s my friend, so it’s my business if you’re cheating on him!”

“Well relax Mudblood, I’m not cheating on anyone.”

Hermione almost hit him, hating that he could just revert to his old habits so quickly, “then what did you do?”

“Nothing that you’d understand.”

“Explain it to me and I might just surprise you.”

“I doubt you could.”

She made to push past him ; she’d had enough, and she was sick of them all. “I’m going to tell Harry right now. Maybe that might help you decide whether to explain it to him.”

“Don’t!” Draco grabbed her arm, pulled her back and she saw that she had at last hit on something that was going to hurt him . “Please, don’t tell Harry.”

“I thought you hadn’t done anything wrong.”

“I haven’t! I said I wasn’t cheating on him and I meant it. Regina , that woman, she has some information that I need, and all I did was ask her what she knew, that’s all. She’s difficult…she’s a little…”

“Mad? Yeah I guessed that.”

“Look, I’ll tell Harry, I’ll explain everything to him, just don’t go running to him when you don’t understand everything.”

“When?”

“When what?”

“When are you going to tell him?”

Draco shuffled nervously. “Soon. I’ll tell him soon. Please, just give me some time.”

Once again the desire to hit him was almost overwhelming . “I’m not going to hide things from Harry, particularly given the consequences that came from keeping things from Ron.”

“I’m not asking you to! I just don’t want you to go running to him with some story that probably isn’t true!”

Hermione glared at him. All of the anger she felt, all of the hate and disappointment, seemed to be embodied in front of her. She wanted to knock him over the staircase and let him fall, let him plummet down until he landed so many floors below, and let every bone in his body break so he could feel the same way she did. Then she and Harry could go and get Ron and it would be the three of them, together again, safe and secure and not needing any one else.

“Make sure you tell him,” she hissed as she pulled her arm from his grasp and continued up the stairs . “Because if you don’t, then I will.”

She didn’t wait for him to answer, anger was making the stairs easier and she ran the rest of the way, wanting nothing more than to be away from him and wishing that every Slytherin could be swallowed into the earth.

*********

Considering the trials of his morning, Snape’s day was surprisingly quiet. It helped that he had no qualms about pacifying Regina through any magical means. Unlike many of his kind, he didn’t think that stupefying Muggles was any kind of crime. As the day progressed however, he knew that he’d have to get rid of her, and he was reluctant to do so without gleaning some kind of information from the woman.   Draco had tried, but despite his best efforts he had done little more than feed her madness and get her off.

Snape had spent the day drinking and scanning earmarked pages of a never-ending journal. The answer could be anywhere within its pages. Lucius seemed to just open the thing, find a blank page and start writing , so that there was no logical order to it. But he was sure that he could do this without Regina, just because he had rushed off to find her without thinking of the consequences. Lucius had to know what she was; he would never have put Draco in that situation willingly. So the answers were in the journal, and now he just had to find them.

The journal was clear about how Lucius had met her. The Dark Lord had sent him to look for her and he had found her on the last day of Voldemort’s first reign of terror. He had gone to a mad house and taken her away. He had, most importantly, believed her.

She must have told him something important, something that he would have kept secret, or at least something that would make him think that he could attempt to defeat a Dementor’s Kiss – and he had, in a manner of speaking.

Snape turned to look at the woman. She was definitely a woman, but he had the distinct impression that she was little more than a girl. She was thankfully dressed now, in that extravagant gown that Lucius had so obviously paid for. She was also immobilized; as still as a statue, and he really didn’t want to release her. He wondered how Lucius had coped with her.

One thing he knew, Lucius talked to her. Perhaps that was the answer. Instead of asking her questions about Lucius, perhaps he should ask her about other things, things that were sacred to her. Perhaps he should ask her about Angels.

He released the charm and hoped that she would be lucid. She fell forward, not expecting release, and landed in an ungraceful pile on the floor.

“You are not very nice,” Regina complained, dusting herself off as she pushed herself up from the floor. She inspected the gown for holes, surprising him with her concern for the garment.

“I thought you liked your men mean,” Snape said with his usual quietness. He was still sitting beside the fire, he had scarce moved all day.

Regina giggled her response, but she made no move to come closer, tired of being paralyzed every time she did.

“You can come to the fire,” he murmured and indicated the chair opposite himself. She came towards him hesitantly but did not take the chair, just swayed a little before settling herself on the hearth, with her gown fanned around her. She stared into the flames, glowing a little orange in their light.

“When can I go home?” She asked.

“Soon,” his tone was a little icy and she shivered and warmed her hands near the fire. “I’ll take you back tonight.”

He figured that he should probably arrange for dinner. He hadn’t eaten since he’d gone to get her the previous day, and he’d not offered her anything, so she hadn’t eaten either. She could well be starving. He found himself frowning as he wondered where her food came from . She could not possibly work ; she was completely insane. He had also seen her cottage . It was small and remote, removed from anyone’s path. It was also well warded to keep out any unwelcome visitors. She was slim to be sure, but she seemed well fed. Lucius had kept her safe and the cottage was ancient but in good repair. It was not draughty or rundown. The gown she wore now was the one she had been wearing when he had found her the previous day , and she had not changed to go on the journey, so she most likely had a closet full of beautiful things.

“Where does your food come from?” He couldn’t help but ask, and it could well prompt her into conversation.

“Lucius,” she said dreamily . “A woman from the village brings it. She’s a squib and Lucius pays her lots of money,” she turned to smile at him . “Lucius takes care of me.”

Snape looked doubtful. Last night she hated Lucius Malfoy, tonight he took care of her, and Snape wasn’t sure what she honestly thought of him. Snape also doubted that Lucius had paid a squib so much as a sickle; threats seemed a more likely option.

Regina was happily playing with some of the ash that had strayed from the fire. The coals and flames seemed to fascinate her. She giggled again and turned back to him, “you look older than Lucius, but I don’t think you are.”

“No,” he looked down at her, not moving his head at all; he just peered down his nose, “I’m younger.”

“How much?”

“Seven years.”

She giggled again, “He is very beautiful…not like you.”

“That’s true.” He poured himself a drink but didn’t bothered to ask her if she wanted one.

“I used to think he was the Devil,” she giggled at that, “my Mother used to say that the Devil could make himself look beautiful so that he could fool the weak minded. They thought I was weak minded, but I wasn’t, I knew what he was.”

“You knew what he was? The Devil?”

“He’s not the Devil silly! I just thought he was. He’s an Angel now…” She frowned, confused for a moment, “but he always has been…that’s what makes it funny. I didn’t think it would work, but he knew it would, he knew what he was too.” The frown on her face faded and she switched from bemused child to a woman in an instant. “Is that man really hurting him?”

Snape continued to scrutinize her and after a while decided that it was fine to continue, she seemed calm, and he hoped it would last. “I thought you hated him?”

“He saved me. He loved me.”

“He hurt you.”

She grinned and the unmarked side of her face lit up, whilst her eyes glittered with an almost unearthly brilliance. “ There’s a fine line between pleasure and pain.”

How very Lucius, to take an innocent to this masochistic thing by his fire. Lucius had created his own little pleasure doll, full of perversions for when he felt like indulging his own.

“The little Dragon is like him.”

“He never used to be,” Snape replied stiffly.

“He asks lots of questions.”

“He wants his father back.”

She looked into the fire and picked up a poker to jab absently at it. “Why does he want him back? Isn’t he old enough now? The Dragons are supposed to fly, fly, fly away from the nest and never come back! He couldn’t help Lucius, not like I could. I knew lots of things…lots of things that you don’t know, and lots of things that Lucius didn’t know.”

“And what could you know that he didn’t know?” He scoffed a little, knowing that he sounded just like Lucius, not wanting to betray his own interest.

“He didn’t know about the Angels, not like I know. I told him all about them. I knew them and he didn’t.”

“But you told him, so now he knows.”

“He knows and he was so happy,” she laughed, brightening again. “He said I was a good girl and he gave me a gift.”

“That was nice of him,” Snape said dismissively, “what did you tell him?”

Regina sighed as though it was perfectly obvious, “About the Angels of course!”

He fought his own impatience and the urge to hex her and send her back to her cottage. She moved from the hearth, crawled across the floor to him and rested her chin on his knee, her long fingers stroking his black clad calf. He flinched, but didn’t push her away; resisting her seemed to set her off. “I don’t know anything about Angels,” he said carefully . “I don’t suppose you remember what you told Lucius.”

“Will you give me a gift?”

“If you wish.”

“Can I suck you?”

He rolled his eyes and maintained his steely gaze, “No,” he replied, “You can’t suck me.”

“Why not?” She looked up at him, her large eye imploring. She must have been stunning before Lucius had melted her face.

“Because I’m not in the mood right now.”

“What about later?”

“Maybe,” he sounded dubious but she seemed to settle at this, as though he had promised.

“The little girl this morning, is she your lover?” Her finger trailed up his thigh and he shifted uncomfortably.

“That is none of your business.”

“She sounded like she loved you this morning,” as her fingers inched closer to his crotch. “She sounded heartbroken.” Regina sighed dramatically and giggled as the tips of her fingers reached their target. Snape shifted, crossed his legs and dislodged her effectively, and she pouted, disappointed.

“Tell me about Angels,” Snape said, ignoring the look on her face.

Regina sighed again and curled herself around his lower legs like a cat. “Do you believe in Angels?”

“I believe in many things.”

“The Angels came after the Gods but before all other things. They came before our world and after that came the abomination and after the abomination came your world.”

Snape went over the statement in his head and deciphered it , “and what was the abomination?”

She rubbed her cheek against the outside of his thigh and when he relented and stroked her thick hair, she purred heavily. For all her madness, it was perhaps affection that she craved. He wondered if Lucius had ever given her any and thinking back to his own experiences, so long ago now that he had to search for them, he decided that he must have. It was probably how he got her to talk.

And she seemed ready to talk now, nestled comfortably against his legs she seemed to go into a dream, but she was happy to talk to him. “In the beginning,” she said, almost trancelike, “came the Watchers, sent by God to watch over mortal man. First came the Day Star, son of Morning and he saw that the daughters of men were fair. He took a wife from amongst the daughters of man, and God cast him out into the abyss for his sin. The Watchers soon followed the Day Star’s descent; they saw and lusted after the daughters of men. Enoch wrote that Semyaz said unto the Watchers; ‘I fear that perhaps you will not consent and that this deed shall be done and that I alone will become responsible for this great sin.’ And so the Watchers swore an oath not to abandon their mission and that they were for all time bound together by their sin. They took the most beautiful of the mortal wives and taught them the magical medicines, incantations, charms and the cutting of roots, and then the mortal wives begat the immortals children.

Enoch wrote that the children who are born from the union of the spirit and the flesh shall be called evil spirits upon the earth, because from the day they were created from the holy ones they became the Nephilim; their first origin is the spiritual foundation.”

“Nephilim?” Snape frowned as he sank his fingers into the satin smoothness of her hair, “it means…abortion, doesn’t it?”

“The word is old and its meaning has become corrupted. They were the abomination, the powers of the ancients in a mortal body. They were the first of the magical kind.”

“The first Wizards?”

“The first of your kind.”

Snape could not help but feel the weight of her words . If it was true then she had just given Lucius Malfoy a holy birthright and more than justified the man’s overriding sense of self-righteousness. No wonder he’d found it interesting. News like that would have made Lucius Malfoy dance the Brigadoon.

“The Nephilim numbered two hundred in the world, and some were as beautiful as the stars, whilst others were as crude as the beasts that crawled on the ground. Man feared all of them. The Nephilim stayed within their kind, where they multiplied and grew and slowly they spread into the world of man…and their numbers grew still more. As they multiplied they grew more powerful and the fear of men turned to hatred . Only then did the Nephilim seek the secrecy of magical places and the worlds became separate.

Those that kept to their own kind became known over the millennia as pure bloods. Their line was untainted by the blood of man . They kept their birthright sacred and their fallen ancestors would always keep their oath ; they would always come to the purest of them when called, and their protection would be eternal only so long as the line was pure.”

Snape had stopped stroking her hair, his fingers were still and he couldn’t even discern the texture of it any more. For a moment he ceased to breathe and he stared into the growing darkness of the room. The answer was there, staring him in the face. But how could Lucius have been so sure? Even those who prided themselves on the purity of their line ; how could they truly know? It had been thousands of years , and Enoch’s texts were ancient, from the beginning of time. How could Lucius be so sure that his line was untainted?

How many times had he thought it himself? Faces of Angels and the ability to do terrible things. Did Lucius simply look in the mirror and see proof?

“Could Lucius call his ancestor?”

“He had to call him by name. Enoch was taken to the heavens and granted immortality; he became the Metatron, the link between God and man ; the keeper of earthly wisdom. Lucius knew that the Metatron would know the name of the fallen one who began his line. Lucius summoned the Metatron and bound him with the darkness of the demon realm and sought the name. He took the blood, oil and the feathers of the dying ones, he anointed and opened the seven gates in turn, then he summoned Azazel, who begat his line.”

And so that was how it was done . One had to summon an ancient ancestor to protect him. “But why did the Kiss trap him?” Snape didn’t realize that he had spoken aloud, and he couldn’t understand why the Kiss had worked on any level. Perhaps the Angel could not protect him after all?

“Azazel could only shield Lucius’ soul with his own, and so he could not protect him from those things that the Kiss would bring. The body is a coffin, but they had it planned. Lucius would tell the little Dragon how to free him and they would be released from the coffin.” She smiled up at Snape, her face almost gleeful, “but the Dragon doesn’t know and the Dragon cannot help.” She couldn’t contain her giggle, “and if the Dragon doesn’t help him, then the Angel will die.”

“I thought the Angels’ were immortal.”

“Not in the coffin of the mortal body. The mortal body is weak; the Wizard is stronger than the Muggle, but he is still mortal and the Angel’s life is finite in the coffin.”

Snape was almost afraid to ask, “and what happens if the Angel dies?”

Regina ’s eyes glittered in the firelight and she looked up at him as though drinking him in; “if the Angel dies, the bringer of light grows dark and dim.”

“Lucius dies?” Snape sat forward suddenly, dislodging her again. “Does he know that?”

“He knows all. Lucius said it would be better than the alternative if he couldn’t be freed.”

Non’s words were ringing in Snape’s ears ; Lucius was sick , and Non thought that the Curator had caused it, but it had been a while now . Lucius had been trapped for a long time. “How do we free him?”

Regina sat back and smiled happily, “ It’s easy silly! You have to release the Angel!”

“How?”

She shook her head as though he was stupid, “Anoint and open the gates and then set him free . You’re not very smart are you?”

Snape suppressed the sneer that was aching to get out . “I need things,” he said in carefully measured tones, “blood, oil and feathers you said , but how did Lucius get them?”

“I gave them to him; they were special.”

“Then can you give some to me?”

She pouted playfully, knowing that at last she had the upper hand, “not until you give me my gift.”

He glanced around the room , and it was now so dark that he could not see its corners . He wondered what he could give her and then the realization of what she was going to ask for dawned on him. “I’m not having sex with you.”

She shrugged and looked a little disappointed. “Remember, Wizard, you promised me a gift.”

“I’ll give you something pretty.”

“I want you.”

“I can’t give you that.”

“Then I won’t help you any more.” She folded her arms and turned back to the fire, resolute.

Snape pushed himself out of his chair and walked away from her. She had given him far more than he had anticipated, especially after their failures last night. She had resisted Draco and yet she had just sat there and told him things with little prompting at all.

And of course now she had demanded payment. The relics of the Angels were only a small part of the work, and he still had to open the gates and release the Angel. There was little doubt the incantation to do that was in the journal. He needed to get the Angel relics to make the potion to anoint the gates and as he had no ability to walk between worlds he needed to get those things from her. Without them, Lucius would die.

It would be easy enough. Lock the door, change the wards and let her do as she pleased. It certainly wouldn’t be the worst thing he had ever done.

But who was Lucius to dictate this? Why was he, Snape, the one to fix all this? So many people had died during the war; many by Lucius’ hand, that Snape was under no real obligation to save him. He could leave him as he was and let him die. Lucius had certainly considered it a valid escape.

“I’ll take you home now,” Snape muttered.

“You’ll let his light go out?”

“I’ll try something else.”

“There is nothing else,” she came up behind him and tickled the back of his neck, “I can make it nice, you’ll like it.”

“I have no doubt of that.” He tried to be gentle as he shrugged her off, but he wanted her gone.

Regina picked up her skirts and danced along the floor as though on a tightrope. “I’m ready to go home now,” she sing songed.

Snape nodded abruptly and went to find his traveling cloak. 

*********

Four weeks after Valentine’s Day, Ron found himself still sitting in St Mungo’s, bored and desperate to be anywhere but there. February had passed into March without his having set foot outside the hospital walls. The time had passed in such a blur that he’d counted his weeks by Harry’s dutiful Saturday visits. His days were spent surrounded by anxious relatives who often spoke to him as though he would shatter at any moment. His mother could not stop touching him, protectively fussing, checking his temperature and his comfort, and worrying constantly over his state of mind. Ron could not help but feel ashamed of himself when he saw his father. Arthur Weasley had always been able to relate to his son’s, treating them more like friends than his offspring. But he didn’t know how to be with his youngest son any more. He had lost two sons in the war, and then his youngest had almost taken himself from them. He came to the hospital daily, but he stood by the window and gazed out silently, only commenting occasionally on the activities of the oblivious Muggles below.

Fred and Bill came and went regularly, and whilst Fleur brought the baby in occasionally, she spoke to Ron as though he was mentally defective, all of which made him want to yell that he was fine and that he understood English a damned sight better than she did. George came late, usually just before Ron was induced into sleep, and sat quietly, sometimes reading, sometimes just watching. He spoke rarely and he always kissed Ron on the forehead before he left.

Ginny, Molly informed him, was to stay at school. With her NEWTS getting closer she was bogged down with study. Ron found it hard to believe that his sister was stuck at school studying when Harry and Hermione found time to come and visit. He knew that Harry always brought Draco to the hospital with him, but Draco stopped to visit a friend in another room.

This friend, Ron realized fairly quickly, was Pansy Parkinson. He was aware that she had scared Molly half to death a couple of weeks before by being in his room at the crack of dawn. He had asked his father about her and his father had reluctantly told him what had happened to her. Ron had felt sick to think about it.

Arthur Weasley had decided on a seemingly reckless course of action. Once he was made Minister he was planning to prosecute allies who had committed what he considered war crimes against the families of Death Eaters. He was still working out a way to approach Draco Malfoy to testify, and the young girl down the hall was another on his list, except the healers had warned him not to mention anything about her ordeal lest she have another breakdown. Most of the Weasley family thought that his determination to go ahead with the trials would cost him the election, but Arthur decided that no matter what, it would be worth it. He also trusted in the decency of the Wizarding Council; the body who would elect him.

Ron wondered if his father had immersed himself in this project from his sense of outrage or because it gave him an excuse to leave the hospital quickly.

Ron had known for a week now that he would not be returning to Hogwarts. It had not been his decision but he had not felt the need to fight his parents. He didn’t want to go back, and he certainly didn’t think he could face all those people knowing why he’d been absent. After considering his options he realized that not everyone from his year at school had finished. Then again Fred and George had dropped out before the exams, and all of them appeared to be living well enough.

Staying in the hospital however was not something he considered an option and he had spent his morning begging his mother to speak to the healers about allowing him to go home. When she had tearfully told him that it would be better for him to stay a little while longer, his reaction had been to become despondent and dull, something the healers seemed to think proved that he was not yet well. In a way he found himself agreeing with them. The depression came and went and apparently would never entirely leave him.

Dusk was the time he hated the most and as he watched the light change outside his window he could not help but feel a sense of dread. It was St Mungo’s habit to sedate their more difficult patients and he knew the procedure well. A nurse would come soon with a small cup of sleeping draught. She would stand beside the bed while Ron drank the draught, then she would help him down into the bed and bind his hands so that he couldn’t claw at his wounds during the night. Then he would lie there until he fell asleep, drifting off slowly while the nightmares began before he was truly sedated.

For some reason the draught made him dream with such clarity that he could not shake the reality of them. He did not know what was purely dream and what was memory any more. It was not something he had expected. Unlike Harry, dreams of the war had not plagued Ron. Once it was over he had continued to sleep soundly in his bed, wrapped safe in the knowledge that Voldemort was finally dead and gone. He had considered himself lucky, for whilst Harry was wracked with guilt because he had killed people, Ron had never killed anyone and he’d never had cause to worry about it. But since coming to hospital he had become aware of just how much he had seen.

The dreams were horrific; he was finally able to comprehend what Harry had endured for years and Ron was amazed that Harry wasn’t mad.

A nurse came through the door, smiling briskly and carrying his sleeping draught. He frowned and looked to the window, the sun hanging low and the room gradually darkening. He hadn’t realized that it was so late.

“How are you feeling today, Mr. Weasley?”

Ron looked anxiously to the doorway, “Have you seen my brother?”

“Your brother? George? No, not this evening. Maybe he’s been held up.”

“Maybe,” Ron didn’t feel convinced, but George wasn’t there. Maybe he’d given up coming. Ron felt his stomach sink, he’d become used to the silence of his brother watching over him as he fell sleep.

The nurse smiled a little more gently this time and brought the potion over to the bed, “I’m sure he’ll come, now drink this down and relax.”

“It’s not the most relaxing stuff,” Ron said stiffly.

“I know,” she laughed sympathetically, “but it’s better for you than Dreamless Sleep.”

“How about just letting me get some normal sleep for a change?”

“I can’t do Ron,” she smiled again, dropping the formality, “it’s more than my job is worth.” She held the draught out to him. “Come on Ron, drink the potion.”

He took the goblet reluctantly and stared in at the sticky pink contents. It was sweet too, awful and cloying. He lifted the goblet to his lips and gulped it down quickly, grimacing as it slid down his throat in a thick trail that reminded him unpleasantly of bile, or thinking back to his second year, maybe even slugs.

“You’re a good boy,” the nurse said soothingly as she patted his cheek lightly and Ron almost smiled back at her. She wasn’t a hell of a lot older than him, and it seemed utterly ridiculous for her to be calling him a ‘good boy’.

He shuffled down in the bed without bothering to argue with her, when it came to the next step of his bedtime ritual . He knew only too well the consequences if it didn’t happen. He’d woken up with deep rivulets of skin under his fingernails and his arms freshly bloodied, as though he’d been trying to finish the job in his sleep. She bound his hands gently, but he still felt like a victim ready for torture.

“Now you relax,” she patted his cheek again, “and have a good sleep.”

“Oh yeah, brilliant sleep.”

“Sarcasm suits you Ron.”

“Great.”

She smiled a little regretfully, “Good night, Ron.”

He wiggled his fingers from under his bonds in a parody of a wave he then watched her go. Staring up at the ceiling, he wondered idly where George was and why he wasn’t here with him. He wasn’t tired yet, and he knew he wouldn’t be tired for a while. Hermione had charmed a few luminous stars to shine on the ceiling as it grew dark. At first they had soothed him, but after a month of looking at them, they bored him.

Where was George?

“Lonely Ronnie?”

Ron jumped. He didn’t need to crane his neck to know who it was. Her voice was so imprinted in his brain that he would remember it even if he hadn’t seen her for a lifetime. Coarse with cigarettes and hate. His entire body tensed, as he willed his muscles to fight the relaxing effect of the sleeping draught.

“I should have guessed that you’d botch it,” Angelina peered down at Ron and sneered. “You can’t even be trusted to kill yourself properly.”

“What do you want?” Ron heard his voice slur a little . “Why are you here?”

“Oh I don’t know,” Angelina was smiling, “sisterly concern?”

“You’re not my sister.”

“No, I’m not.” She was positively grinning now and she ran a finger down the multi colored blankets, “I’m much more than that aren’t I?”

Ron struggled to focus and felt his muscles melt into the bed. “Go away…please go away.”

“No…no I don’t think so.” She sat herself on the edge on the bed. “I’ve missed you Ronnie, did you miss me?”

“No,” he mumbled thickly . “Please, please…just leave me alone.”

Angelina laughed softly and rocked gleefully. Ron tried to remember something he liked about her, or at least what he was thinking when he’d slept with her, when he’d wanted her. Did he ever really want her? He tried to remember something from school, from playing Quidditch, when she’d never let him quit despite the fact that he was so very bad. How had she changed , and why had she become so very bitter?

“Charlie always said that too,” Angelina, replied, her voice no longer full of false pleasantness. “’Leave me alone.’” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. She placed one in her mouth and lit it. “You Weasley boys are all the fucking same.”

“George is coming soon!” Ron frowned; what had she said before? Something about Charlie?

“George is in the cafeteria.” She took on that bitter smile again, “he saw an old friend in the foyer, just ‘had’ to go and have a cup of coffee…you know how it is.”

“George?” The potion was taking effect and Ron heard his voice as though from far away.

“So it’s just us, Ronnie, you and me. Exciting isn’t it?”

“No, I need to sleep now, the Healers will check on me…they…”

“They’ve strapped you down, Ron; they won’t be coming back till morning.” She drew hard on her cigarette, in such away that would probably give her hideous lines around her mouth as she grew older. “Why are you so keen to get rid of me? You really don’t want this visit to end, Ronnie . I can assure you…you won’t like what happens when it’s over.” She scanned her eye over the raw scar down his arm and grinned, “then again, perhaps you might.”

“Why did you come?”

“Because, you stuffed it up, you silly thing!” She finished her cigarette leisurely. “I thought it would have been obvious.”

“Stuffed what up?”

“Well everything of course, you couldn’t just go and die like you were supposed to now could you? You had to do such a piss poor job of it. Cutting yourself up, what are you? A fucking Muggle? What about poison for Merlin’s sake! Snape has a whole store cupboard full of the stuff and you decide to hack yourself up? You’re pathetic you know, a really pathetic fuck up.” She was shaking her head and stubbing out her cigarette against the side of his bed. “Do you have any idea how much time and effort went into that drug I created? It had to be perfect every time ; there was absolutely no room for error. You had to get high and aroused and then the after effect had to be so subtle that you wouldn’t even notice it at first. Just the right amount of malice and despair; the right edge, to bring out what is already deep inside you.”

“But why?” She wasn’t making any sense, and what did this have to do with Charlie? His brain was becoming cloudy, and he hoped she’d make her point soon, before he could no longer comprehend it. “What did you mean about Charlie?”

“Ahh, Charlie, good old Charlie.” She stroked Ron’s pale arm, “in the end, I suppose it all comes back to good old Charlie.”

“But you hardly knew him, and Charlie died…”

“Yes he died,” she waved her hand impatiently, “and what a terrible pity eh? Head blasted clean off his shoulders. It was a terrible mess.”

Ron’s mouth opened and closed silently ; she hadn’t been there, how could she know this?

“And you have to know…and this is really very amusing, when his head got blown apart his face actually hit Harry’s,” she chuckled nastily. “When you think about it, it was probably Harry’s first guy on on guy kiss.” She laughed heartily and Ron felt his stomach churn.

“But how do you know this? How could you know?”

“Because I was there silly, right there, right in the middle of it,” She sighed at the memory, “and it was spectacular.”

“You saw Malfoy kill Charlie?”

“Malfoy?” Angelina laughed again, a hard laugh that was harsh to his ears. “Lucius Malfoy didn’t kill your brother. Why on earth would Lucius Malfoy kill your pathetic brother when Harry Potter was standing not two feet away from him? What do you think Malfoy was, an idiot? No no no, I killed Charlie.”

For the first time since she entered the room, Ron felt entirely alert. Without thinking he made to sit up, forgetting the bonds holding him to the bed. “You? You…how? No, that’s not possible. Malfoy, he killed Charlie! You couldn’t have killed…”

“Why not?” She looked a little perturbed by his lack of faith. “Don’t think I have it in me?”

He knew he looked confused and panicked, and so he just stared at her. Yes, she had it in her; that much was horribly obvious. The question was why, and for that matter, how had she managed it without anyone seeing her? He felt his mouth open and heard his voice asking those very questions.

“The how was easy. I was there, he was there and Lucius Malfoy was in just the right spot.” She shrugged, “and so I killed him. I knew it was just a matter of time, and there was enough death around us so that it was merely a matter of waiting for the opportunity to present itself. Of course, Malfoy was convicted for killing Charlie, but who really cared about that? Right? He’d killed plenty of other people, and it wasn’t as though he was going anywhere.”

Ron could hardly believe what he was hearing; the casualness of which she spoke of killing his brother, as though it had been nothing at all. He stared at her horrified. “But why?”

“Because he left me,” she said matter of factly, pulling out another cigarette and lighting it with her wand. She dropped the wand carelessly onto the bed by his feet and turned to him impatiently, “He used me, and then he dumped me. Isn’t that reason enough?”

“But you didn’t know him well enough, there’s no way, he wouldn’t, not with you!”

“Why not with me? Not attractive enough? You didn’t seem to have a problem with me?”

“No…he wouldn’t betray George…he was better than me, he was…”

“He was as fucking pathetic as the rest of you ! Do you know, when I was sixteen I was supposed to be seeing Fred, but Fred seemed to have a thing about hanging out in the showers a little too long after Quidditch; if you catch my drift, and then he broke down in tears when he finally told me that he found Lee Thomas’ arse more attractive than mine. That was my first Weasley experience. George provided a nice little shoulder to cry on, but I was a bit concerned that he might share Fred’s…’problem’. Then the Tri-Wizard tournament came along and Harry was our champion; as usual,” she yawned falsely, “Charlie brought all those Dragons and I met him then. No one knew, but Fred told me that Charlie was bringing them for the tournament, so I snuck out of the tower to go and see. Charlie caught me, we spoke, got along and I lost my virginity against a Dragon packing case.” She grinned at the memory. “He was so exciting then.”

Ron frowned.

“The problem with Charlie was that he was such a mummy’s boy.” She shook her head in disgust, “and though he wanted to screw me; he loved to screw me, he couldn’t tell anyone. I was too young, he knew he was doing a bad thing, and he knew that his mother would kill him. My god, you should have heard the litany of excuses. He would just whine and whine and whine. We’d fuck and then he’d spend the next four hours going on and on and on about how wrong it was. Fuck! It was painful to listen to.” She sat herself back down and smoked silently for a while, and then finally she sighed out a deep lungful of smoke. “After my final year of school I suggested to him that we should maybe get married. I was stupid you see, I thought that marrying me might appease his guilt and he’d get over it.” She seemed to fade a little then . “Merlin I don’t believe how stupid I was. He was horrified; we couldn’t tell his mother! Molly fucking Weasley wasn’t going to accept anything remotely like her son fucking someone so much younger than himself! Oh no, no one could find out that Charlie had been screwing an immature little schoolgirl. So you know what he did?”

Ron shook his head dumbly.

“He came up with this…his ‘brilliant’ idea. I should marry George. George had a crush on me, George was easily manipulated, and I could convince him that I loved him. Charlie was so sure that I could be such a wonderful actress that I could pull it off, and I was a fucking fool . I loved him so much that I went along with it. Once I was in the family I was there at his beck and call. He could see me whenever he wanted to and George was as he always was; so completely engrossed with what he was doing, that he was far more interested in having a good time than worrying about what his wife was up to. It was easy and it worked…for a while.”

“Stop!” Ron closed his eyes, not wanting to hear anything more . “Just stop it.”

“Oh good grief Ronnie, you should be happy, Mummy’s little “Saint Charlie” wasn’t so perfect after all.” She laughed, “ and I heard she that said you should have died instead of him. Oh Ronnie, what a lovely thing to say…silly cunt.”

“How do you know what she said?” Ron felt a sting of tears. “She wasn’t thinking when she wrote that letter.”

“She was thinking,” Angelina said darkly . “ The problem is that she thinks the worst things first and recants at leisure. Charlie was the same. He had me ; his dirty little secret, all packaged up respectfully as his brother’s wife, and then he realized that George actually loved me, and he couldn’t stand it. The fact that I had screw two different men meant nothing to him. All he cared about was his own guilt…and his own pleasure. Your whole fucking family is the same. He decided that it had to end, not me. He decided that I would be a proper wife to George and that would be that. Happy fucking families. What I wanted didn’t enter into it, and I was never important in any of his decisions. Charlie figured that I should be on my knees thanking the heavens that I should be privileged enough to be married into your stinking family. It didn’t matter who I was married to, I should have been pleased no matter what!”

She reached forward and grasped Ron’s chin hard. “But I wasn’t pleased, Ronnie, and I certainly didn’t feel privileged, Ronnie. I hated him. I hated the way he ignored me during those family dinners that I was forced to endure. I hated having to look at Molly, sitting there, forcing everyone to act the part of the perfect child, while she happily ignoring the fact that the her whole family had gone to shit. She sat there and knew how miserable I was and she just kept pushing it.

“When are you going to get pregnant, Angelina? Why do you fight with George so much , Angelina? You don’t treat my son well enough, Angelina . You don’t know how to treat a man, Angelina. You should be proud of being in our family Angelina; don’t you know that Arthur is going to be the next Minister of Magic?” Big fucking deal! Ginny’s a slut, Fred’s a fag who’s fucked most of the rent boys’ in Knockturn Alley and look at you, fucking your sister-in-law and then deciding to top yourself…except you fucked that up, didn’t you?”

“I tried my best,” Ron murmured bitterly.

“But it wasn’t good enough. I worked so hard to get you to that state. I gave you enough Dormus to ensure you stayed depressed for the next hundred years, and I made damned sure it would never leave your system. I made sure your whole family despised you and you only had one little job to do; one stupid little job, and that would have made it complete. George would have pined away, and Molly would have blamed herself, possibly into an early grave. All her horrors would have come true . Three of her precious sons dead, and one whose blood was on her hands. Oh it would have been so sweet.” She glared at him, “ except you couldn’t play your part could you? You go and cut yourself up like a fucking Muggle. You know, I still can’t believe you did that !“ She sighed and looked at her cigarette, now burned out down to the butt. Annoyed, she flicked it across the room. “It just proves my theory, if you want something done properly; you have to do it yourself.”

Angelina pulled the pillow out from under Ron’s head and Ron’s breath caught in his throat. His eyes were heavy now, and although his head felt cloudy, but he was no fool . He knew something was wrong. “What are you doing?”

“Oh calm down, Ronnie, it won’t hurt! It’ll be like going to sleep…permanently.” She smiled at him and when he went to speak she shushed him, “I thought you’d be happy , Ron. This is what you wanted, and I’m just making it easy for you.”

“Please…”

“Close your eyes Ronnie.” She pressed the pillow down over his face and pushed down hard. Ron struggled, stronger than Angelina had anticipated he would be and she silently berated the healers for not giving him a stronger draught, or for not binding his feet as well as his hands because he had started to kick, thumping his feet hard down onto the bed. He was screaming, but the screams were muffled into the pillow, and no one would hear them.

“I don’t know why you are making such a fuss,” Angelina laughed, “you faced it down once before. All I’m doing is just helping you to finish the job.”

But Ron still struggled and she was forced to push a little harder, hearing an unmistakable howl of pain from under there and she wondered if she had possible broken his nose. He was faltering; tired, and his resistance was fading. The feeling of power was good and the feeling of him falling away beneath her, of his life ebbing away at her command, was exhilarating. “Not long now, Ronnie, not long, not…”

Angelina never finished her sentence , and she only became aware of another presence in the room a moment too late. It was only after the sound of a voice crying out a curse came that she even thought to look behind her, but by that time she had been knocked off her feet and was flying across the room, slamming hard into the opposite wall, the pillow still clutched in her hand. She landed on the floor and gasped for breath, her ribs aching. She could feel something wet running down the side of her face and her head seemed to be screaming out in pain. She groped in her robes for her wand and realized that she had left it at the end of Ron’s bed, and that Ron had no doubt kicked it on to the floor.

Had it been George? He wasn’t supposed to be finished so soon and once he got talking she knew full well that he would take his time, but perhaps he had come up. Angelina struggled to her feet, her face set, ready to confront her husband.

But it wasn’t George. She looked across the bed, where Ron was panting hard to regain his breath and struggling to stay conscious, and saw a young girl. She looked tiny, so thin and frail and although she looked familiar, Angelina couldn’t place her face. Angelina scowled and made to advance and then the girl raised Angelina’s own wand; obviously retrieved from the floor, and pointed it at her.

“Stupify.”

Angelina dropped like a stone.

Ron turned his head and tried to focus on the girl who had saved him. She looked defiant, but now that Angelina was down her face had become frightened. He knew her, he knew her presence, and he felt the draw of her. So fragile that he wanted to sit up and hold her. He wanted to keep her safe and the feeling was overwhelming.

“Pansy?” Ron tried to smile, but he was fading, the sleeping draught finally claiming him. Behind her, George had just come through the door and Pansy was dropping Angelina’s wand, as Ron sank into sleep.

*********

Hermione hadn’t noticed February become March, she was counting her weeks down by just how close NEWTS were and how much study she could possibly cram into that time. Months and dates made little sense , as she buried herself in what she knew and understood best, study. She would, if nothing else, ensure that she got all of her NEWTS.

She would then leave Hogwarts and never have to set eyes on Severus Snape ever again.

Although what she was going to do once she left wasn’t entirely certain and no definite decisions regarding her career had been made. She had gone to Minerva for careers counseling recently. Her only previous ideas had been to teach, but now she was thinking that perhaps she could become a healer or something of that ilk. Either way, more schooling would be necessary. Minerva had advised her of various Wizarding colleges dotted around England, some small specialist places, and nothing like the huge Muggle Universities. She had to decide what she wanted well before she applied to go.

St Mungo’s had their own training facilities, and the teaching college was in Wiltshire. She had decided that it would be best to apply to both, but both required a high standard, and she had to get Outstanding in all of her subjects.

And to do that she had to study.

Every so often Lavender would try to convince her friend to go out, leave the school grounds and perhaps have some fun. Lavender’s reasoning was simple. If Hermione didn’t take a break soon, she would snap. On these occasions Hermione had gone from polite refusal to being outright mean. Why didn’t Lavender go out with her other friends? Wasn’t Padma Patil more interested in dressing up and going out flirting than Hermione was? Why didn’t Lavender stick with people more like herself?

For Lavender’s part, she took the abuse with a pinch of salt. There had been a time that she would have pouted , whined and bitched up a storm, but now she could only think that she was growing up when she let it wash over her. She knew that it was merely a symptom of Hermione’s unhappiness.

Hermione found herself going to her Potions classes and operating through them as though in a trance. She brewed her potions, listened to Snape’s voice out of necessity, but never once raised her face to look at him. She watched Harry’s progress out of the corner of her eye and automatically corrected his mistakes before he made them. She focused on Harry’s frustration during these classes and not her own. She did not raise a hand in class, nor did any question pass her lips and aside from copying down her work from the blackboard, she didn’t look at the front of the room at all.

For Snape’s part, he left her well alone, avoiding the table, sure that she was coping with the work well enough and not wanting to put himself into a situation where either of them might end up in a public confrontation over who was right and who was wrong. Harry had to consider these classes the best Potions lesson’s he’d ever had.   He had never been so Snape free, and it was almost enjoyable working out how to put the Potions together, always ensuring that they worked and marveling at just what they could do. Without Snape hassling him, Harry could actually see why people enjoyed the subject.

To others in the school however, Snape had become even more of a tyrant. Harry had passed him recently in the corridors, with a small first year quaking under his very presence.

Hermione ignored Snape’s increased cruelty to the school’s populous. If she thought about it rationally she knew that she would worry, and he didn’t deserve her worry. She put up a brilliant façade, laughing at jokes that didn’t interest her in the slightest, then diligently going to meals and smiling with false happiness at anyone and anything. She continued to be brilliant in all of her classes, dazzling her teachers with her usual performance. Only those closest to her knew that anything was wrong. Only those who watched her closely knew that she went straight to her room after classes and studied alone.

But in the middle of March, Hermione realized that the façade was not going to continue, at least not with the precision she wanted.

It was Lavender who ended the façade, and she didn’t even realize that she was doing it . She simply asked a question. An innocent question that changed everything that Hermione had ever considered her life to be worth.

It was a Saturday night and Dumbledore had finally decided that Harry and Draco could go back into Hogsmeade , as some of the furor regarding their relationship had died down – that and the fact that the pair were going stir crazy cooped up in the school when everyone they knew could come and go as they pleased. Somehow a weekly trip to the hospital was not enough to keep them entertained. Harry had begged Hermione to go with them, to make a night out of it, and help him drag Draco back to the castle when he was too drunk to walk.

Hermione had refused of course, and aside from her own moodiness, she still wasn’t sure of Draco. She’d said nothing to Harry about the mad woman as she had promised, but her trust had been shattered and she didn’t want to have to add to her already troubled sense of outrage.

Lavender was going with them; without Hermione to keep her company, and she kept up a steady stream of chatter all day, hoping that perhaps Hermione might change her mind.

And then it came. Lavender was looking through her bedside table with some dismay before turning to Hermione with a little frustration . “Do you have a tampon, Sweetie?”

Hermione looked up from her Magical Runes essay and frowned, “pardon? What?”

“A tampon?” Lavender smiled hopefully. “Do you use them, or a pad will do if that’s all you’ve got? I’m out. Oh Gods, please don’t tell me you’re out too because I’ll have to go and ask Susan and she is always on me about running out, but then of course, she’s like a…”

Hermione wasn’t listening. Her mind, which seconds ago had been entrenched in the secrets of the Runic Square, was now busy doing some elemental mathematics.

“So, tampons? ‘Mione?”

“Huh?” Hermione looked at Lavender, startled.

“Tampons?”

“Oh…yeah, I’ve got some.” She abandoned her book, feeling a little giddy as she wrenched open her dresser drawer, revealing several unopened boxes of tampons and sanitary napkins.

“Fuck Hermione, have you been stockpiling?”

“No! I…um,” she began to chew her lip and her expression changed and became worried, “I just…I like to be prepared.”

Lavender scoffed, but missed the horrified look on Hermione’s face. Lavender continued on blissfully unaware of the panic forming. “There is being prepared, ‘Mione and then there is preparing to go underground.” She laughed at her little joke, and then noticed that Hermione had paled and she also seemed to be staring trance-like into the distance. “Are you ok honey? You look a little sick.”

“I…yep…I’m fine.” Hermione smiled falsely and her voice squeaked out, unnaturally high.

Lavender raised her eyebrows and took a step back, placing her hands firmly on her hips. “You know, for someone that has been wandering around pretending to be fine for weeks on end, you would think that you’d be better at lying by now.”

Hermione tried to laugh, forcing her voice to sound light, but it failed miserably in the face of sheer panic. “I’m not lying…I am…I’m fine, really.”

“’Mione, you can tell me if something is wrong. Is it something other than Professor Snape?”

“No, no of course not.” She gnawed at her lip, chewing so hard that she tasted something coppery flowing into her mouth and realized that she had drawn her own blood. “Everything’s fine,” she said absently, licking at the small cut in her lip . “It’s nothing…”

Lavender shook her head, not believing Hermione for a moment. Something was wrong because Hermione was looking more than just miserable. She was pale and the look on her face seemed a combination of shock and worry. Lavender turned the box of tampons over in her hand, trying to work out what to say or what questions to ask that would possibly make Hermione open up to her. She looked around the room and her gaze finally settled on the draw full of sanitary products and an idea came to Lavender’s mind.

A stupid idea. It had to be a stupid idea because there was no way it could be right.

“Um, ‘Mione…how long exactly has it been since you had a period?”

Hermione frowned again and chewed a little harder, drawing fresh blood. “Not…not long.”

“How long?”

“Not long ago?”

“Like how not long ago?”

“Um…” Hermione paled further and looked positively chalky, for a moment Lavender feared that she would faint. “Well, maybe a little while.”

“How long?”

Hermione took a deep breath, “the twenty-fourth of January,” she said precisely.

Lavender’s mouth fell open, “Are you sure? Are you usually on time? Didn’t you notice anything?”

“Well, no…” Hermione looked up at Lavender helplessly. “I haven’t been noticing much lately. I’ve had a lot on my mind.” She pursed her lips a little and continued, “but it could be anything…I mean, I’ve been really stressed and I haven’t been eating very well. There could be loads of reasons why I missed a period.”

“Yeah,” Lavender was nodding aggressively, “like you could be pregnant.”

Hermione returned to silently gnawing her lip.

“Did you use protection?” Lavender’s voice had reached a frightening pitch, and she was forcibly resisting shaking Hermione like a rag doll. When Hermione didn’t answer Lavender turned away and then snapped her attention back to the girl sitting on the bed surrounded by textbooks. “Oh my god! You didn’t use protection, did you?”

“Yes…” Hermione suddenly brightened, her eye’s shining with hope, “yes we did. We did use protection.”

“What potion did you use?”

“Um, none…condoms.”

“Condoms!” Lavender smacked her own thigh, irritated . “He’s a bloody Potions Master for Merlin’s sake! What are you using condoms for?”

“I…” Hermione blushed, “I don’t like the idea of taking potions as contraceptives.”

“ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE?”

“No!” Hermione glared at Lavender indignantly, “and what’s wrong with condoms anyway?”

“What’s wrong with condoms? Hermione, they are fiddly, they break, and they are only ninety-six percent effective!”

Hermione looked flabbergasted as Lavender ticked the list off on her fingers. “Ninety-six percent? How do you know that?”

“It says so on the box!!”

Hermione snatched a battered old box of condoms out from the back of the drawer, determined to prove Lavender wrong. She scrutinized the box, scanning the fine print until the basic warning seemed to glow in front of her eyes. Her face fell. “Oh.”

“Exactly, ‘oh’.”

“Well…” Hermione searched desperately for some piece of hope, “ninety-six percent is not too bad, and they work for Muggles all the time.”

“No,” Lavender replied impatiently, “they work for Muggles ninety-six percent of the time.”

“But that still means that my chances of being pregnant are low,” Hermione concluded logically. “Like I said, there are plenty of reasons why I could have missed a period.”

“Hermione, you’ve almost missed two! It’s heading towards the end of March now!”

“I’m sure it will come this month, so there is nothing to worry about. It’s stress, that’s all, just stress.”

Lavender could not believe what she was hearing. She couldn’t believe that Hermione was being so blinkered, and that she was doing it on purpose. “Hermione, look at it objectively. You are sexually active…”

“Was,” Hermione interjected.

“Alright, you were sexually active, but it’s been almost two months since your last period.” Suddenly her eyes widened as she remembered something and she almost jumped with excitement, “and you said your boobs hurt the other day!”

“Oh and that just settles it,” Hermione grumbled sarcastically.

“Well, I think it just adds to the possibility!”

Hermione turned away looking helpless, her lip bleeding mercilessly into her mouth. “It’s not possible,” she muttered, more to herself than Lavender, “ and it wasn’t as though I was screwing half as much as Harry and Draco.”

“News flash Hermione! Until Harry grows himself a womb they really don’t have to worry about this problem.”

Hermione blanched and then oddly found herself wondering what made Lavender so sure that Harry bottomed.

Lavender tried to calm herself a little, taking a deep breath and sinking onto the bed beside Hermione. “Look, honey, we need to do a test or something. You know, rule out the glaringly obvious and then relax…that sort of thing.” She tried a gentle smile. “I mean, your period suddenly stopping can’t be a good thing anyway, so you should find out what it is…right?”

Hermione gazed longingly at her books, wanting only to lose herself in their pages. The world her textbooks described seemed so much safer than the one she now inhabited. She longed for the dry rhetoric, the straightforwardness of their pages. This life seemed so visceral, with so many things that could not be ignored. NEWTS were in three months, and if she could only hold out a little while longer, it would all be over. But Lavender was right and Hermione hated that Lavender was right and that she was trying to bury her head in the sand.

“Look,” Lavender was saying, pushing herself up from the bed and beginning to pace, “I’ll tell Harry and Draco that I can’t go to the Three Broomsticks with them, it’ll probably be a good thing anyway – I get turned on when they start snogging…anyway, I’ll tell them I can’t go, then I’ll go in to the Apothecary and get a test for you. I’ll be back within say…” she looked at her watch, “an hour, or maybe just over, and then we can do the test. Okay?”

Hermione gaped at her, and she could barely speak. She had always been so good at these things. She had been the understanding one, she understood emotions, she understood how relationships worked, and she thought she understood herself and her body. She was academically adept and she was good at taking charge. She didn’t need Lavender to take charge of this . She should be able to do it herself. Except that she couldn’t and she needed Lavender to help her because she was just about to fall to pieces.

“So I’ll go?” Lavender asked, already collecting her purse.

Hermione swallowed and then smiled gratefully at her friend . “That would be really great,” she said quietly.

Lavender smiled, kissed Hermione quickly on the cheek and hurried from the room, still clutching the forgotten box of tampons in her hand.

********

“So, did you follow her?” Draco was safely secured in a dark corner of the Three Broomsticks, nursing his drink and waiting for Harry to return from following Lavender Brown all over Hogsmeade. Harry’s beer had been dangerously close to going flat and so in his thoughtfulness, Draco had drunk it for him. He was well pleased when Harry returned because now Harry could go to the bar and get a fresh round, and Draco could stop sipping at his drink in a way that reminded him uncomfortably of Neville Longbottom sipping at a lollywater. He downed his gin in one quick gulp and fished his money bag from his robes.

As far as pubs went, Draco far preferred the Leaky Cauldron. There he could sit at a stool by the bar and Tom the bartender would pour him drinks and arrange for someone to carry him to a room when he got too inebriated to walk. No one noticed him there; he was just another drunk Wizard in a pub whose clientele was many and varied. The Three Broomsticks, on the other hand, had a different feel altogether. Madam Rosmerta had narrowed her eyes the moment he had walked through the door and he doubted that her eyes had left him the entire time he had been sitting there; and Jed behind the bar was staring with such distrust that Draco was sure that they expected him to start swiping the glassware.

There was nothing like corrupting everyones favorite little hero to win friends and influence people, he felt like getting up and taking a bow, telling everyone, “yes, I give it to Harry Potter up the arse and you should hear the noises he makes,” but somehow he figured that might be pushing his luck.

Harry had suggested that they go to the Hogshead, but somehow Draco figured that could end up a lot worse; at the Three Broomsticks people stared, at the Hogshead they could well get their wands out and all hell could break loose.

Now that Harry was back, Draco relaxed a little. Just why Harry had decided that he simply had to follow Lavender was beyond him.

“She went to the Apothecary,” Harry said in answer to Draco’s question. He slid into the booth and picked up his surprisingly empty glass. “I think she’s up to something,” he concluded.

Draco shrugged and pushed some Galleons towards Harry, Lavender Brown deciding to go to the Apothecary rather than drink with them was not really any of his concern. “Maybe she’s sick,” he offered without interest.

“If she is sick why doesn’t she go to Madam Pomfrey?”

Draco shrugged again and nudged the money a little closer to Harry, “are you going to get the drinks then?”

“Fuck you’re lazy.”

Draco grinned and sat back in the booth, “yeah, maybe, a little bit,” he drawled and then poked the tip of his tongue out at Harry, “I always pay though.”

“Like I care who pays,” Harry laughed and was tempted to reach out and touch that pink tip of tongue, then he frowned and said thoughtfully, “I still think she’s up to something.”

Draco rolled his eyes, he was going to be drawn into this conversation whether he liked it or not. “Lavender probably has some embarrassing infection that girls get,” he almost laughed at the way Harry screwed his face up, “she probably wanted some privacy to get her medicine and you followed her.”

“But it just didn’t sound right when she said she couldn’t stay for drinks.”

“So you think it’s more important to drink with us than it is to fix a sore itchy pussy?”

Harry visibly cringed; “Oh Gods, that’s disgusting!”

“Well you followed her when she went to get her pussy medicine.”

“You dirty bastard!”

Draco laughed and shoved him gently, “go and get the drinks.”

Harry was grinning, but he was supremely glad to end that conversation. He scraped the Galleons off the table and made for the bar.

Draco watched him go with some regret. When he was with Harry he felt incredibly happy. He felt at ease, accepted, he felt supremely loved. And yet of late he had held back. When Harry asked about what was happening with his father he evaded the question, he had been purposely keeping their conversations superficial. Quidditch, sex, school, sex, exams, sex, it seemed to satisfy Harry, but every so often he could see a look in Harry’s eye, like he knew Draco was hiding something but did not want to say anything.

To make matters worse, Snape had become as evasive with him as Draco had become with Harry. He had taken Regina from the castle and told him that he had been able to get very little from her. Having been evading Harry’s questions for the last month he was aware enough of when someone was doing the same to him. Snape knew something and to keep Draco happy he had been teaching him to mask his thoughts from Harry, so as not to betray Regina to him.

The problem was that guilt was making it difficult. The more he masked her, the more he wanted to reveal all. And of course there was the possibility that Hermione would tell Harry something and all the effort would have been for nothing.

Draco began to gnaw at his thumbnail.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, placing drinks on the table and nudging Draco over with his hip.

Draco pulled his thumb from his mouth quickly and smiled brightly, “Nothing, jagged nail, that’s all.” He felt his face strain and relaxed the grin, “Maybe we shouldn’t have come,” he said looking around, “people keep staring at me.”

Harry looked around and had to concede that they were getting more than a few stares. “Fred says that there is a club somewhere around here, we could find that if you like.”

Draco looked dubious, “A club that Fred Weasley told you about?” He raised a cynical eyebrow when Harry nodded, “I think I can give some gay bar recommended by Fred Weasley a miss.”

“You’re never happy, you know that?”

“Yes I am,” Draco replied indignantly, “I’m happy!”

It was Harry’s turn to poke his tongue out. “Just drink your drink and you can get nice and drunk and you won’t notice people staring at you.”

Draco sneered and looked doubtful.

“Either that or you’ll start hexing people who are staring at you – and I’m willing to take that risk.”

Draco grinned a genuine grin at that and considered himself as having a Harry Potter approved license to hex people for the night He downed the contents of his glass and slammed it back to the table. Harry rolled his eyes and slid out of the booth, deciding it would be best to just go and buy a bottle.

On his way to the bar he noticed a group of eighth years trouping in the door, by the state of their cloaks he guessed that it had started raining again. Seamus Finnegan raised a hand and waved in Harry’s direction.

“Harry!” Seamus called, “Lav said you were here, where are you sitting?”

Harry pointed to the back booth and smiled as they all headed in that direction, he figured Draco would react better if they all turned up without warning – and that they would obscure his view of the crowd. Harry could only imagine what kind of hex Draco could think up when he was drunk.

********

Lavender did the trip to Hogsmeade and back in record speed, thoroughly aware that Hermione was no doubt sitting in their room gnawing her mouth into a bloodied mess.

Hermione was doing just that. She had not been able to return to her study, as her mind no longer able to focus on anything other than the impending test. She paced the length of the room, stopping every so often to move something. An ornament, a piece of clothing, a pillow from her bed to Lavender’s, anything that entered her field of vision. She sort out and petted Crookshanks and then, much to the bandy legged cat’s displeasure, she took out his brush and began to work at the knots in his ragged ginger coat.

She did not honestly believe that she could possibly be pregnant. An unreasonable part of her brain said that she just hadn’t had enough sex to get pregnant. A theory that was ridiculous because it was just simply wrong and she knew it. But still, the likelyhood was slim and there were many other reasons why she could possibly have missed a period. Her logic told her that that much was true . Hermione knew she had told the truth when she had blamed stress as a possible cause. She was certainly stressed, and no one could deny that.

So much had happened in such a short period of time. She had lost her virginity, invested her heart and then had it stamped all over by a man who was old enough to be her father and whom she had to see on a daily basis . One of her best friends was still in hospital after trying to take his own life, her other best friend was gay, and although that was not a problem for her, she was worried that Draco was about to break Harry’s heart . NEWTS were well and truly on their way and Hermione had no idea what she was going to do when she finished school. Yes, she had enough to stress about and it was most likely the reason behind her missing period…s.

She had just managed to convince herself of it and had finally released Crookshanks who had run madly for the cover of Lavender’s bed, when Lavender slipped back into the room looking flushed from her run to the village and back.

“You have no idea how hard it is to stop Harry from asking questions,” Lavender panted. “Fucking hell! When he gets it into his head that something is up he just doesn’t let it go!”

Hermione could well imagine, as she had known Harry for too long and too well to doubt it. “You didn’t tell him did you?”

“No, of course not, but I warn you, he’s suspicious that something is going on.” She opened her purse and pulled out a small bottle and a clean glass phial. “He saw me go into the Apothecary, and I swear he followed me there!”

“Well, it sounds like Harry,” Hermione smiled, “he’s very perceptive, and he’ll make a good Auror.”

Lavender shook her head, “annoying is what I call it. I had to pretend that I had some kind of venereal problem to get him off my back.” She held the phial out to Hermione, “here. Go and piss in that.”

Hermione looked at the phial for a long while, feeling so dry that she was certain no moisture would ever come from her body again. She swallowed painfully and tried to clear her throat. “Lav, I don’t think I could get anything out.”

“Oh come on,” Lavender shook the phial impatiently. “You can surely get a few drops out, anyone can get a few drops out. Now take the bloody phial and piss in it!”

Hermione took the phial reluctantly and slipped it into her pocket. She gave Lavender an uneasy smile and left the room, knowing that Lavender was watching her go and knowing that if she didn’t come back quickly, that Lavender would go looking for her and no doubt berate her for hours on end.

Urinating in a small glass container was surprisingly easy, if not a little messy and she returned to the room quickly, where Lavender appeared to be timing her.

“I thought you might do a runner,” Lavender said jovially.

“I considered it.”

Lavender rolled her eyes and decided not to call her a chicken. “Did you get some out?”

“Yeah, a little.” Hermione pulled the phial out from her pocket and screwed her nose up at its contents. Lavender was holding out her hand for it and Hermione handed it over, forgetting to be embarrassed at the fact that Lavender Brown was now holding a small bottle of her urine – a situation she would have never considered herself to ever be in.

Lavender placed the phial on the dresser carefully and then lit a small fire in a trinket box. Hermione watched with some interest, Lavender seemed to know what she was doing, and Hermione could only wonder if she had done this before. Then again, Lavender had no children of which to speak, so probably not. Perhaps she was just following instructions very well.

“Now, I have to heat the potion until it turns green,” Lavender began swirling the potion bottle over the flame, “then, we add three drops of your pee and if it turns pink your pregnant and if your not it will stay green. Easy eh?”

“Yeah,” Hermione scoffed humorlessly, “bloody easy.”

Lavender held the bottle up to inspect the color, it was green. She placed it down on the dresser and used an eyedropper to add three drops of urine. Hermione was cringing as the drops swirled into the potion, they seemed to ooze and separate, a little like a tiny version of the lava lamps that had been in the windows of dozens of Muggle stores over the past summer.

“Maybe we should stir it,” Hermione suggested.

“No,” Lavender watched it anxiously, “the Apothecary didn’t say to stir it.”

They both watched the tiny bottle, perplexed.

“It’s not changing color,” Hermione sounded a little triumphant…and certainly relieved.

“I think it has to mix properly first.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, feeling a little more confident, and returned to watching the potion. It seemed to take forever and they both were beginning to feel a little foolish watching pee ooze in and around a green potion, but slowly the drops began to dissolve and the liquid began to change.

It began to glow at first, as though a light had come on from inside the potion itself, and then the light moved and changed, before it finally began to glow strong and solid – and very pink.

The girls sat back from the bottle and stared in silent shock. Lavender turned to Hermione, trying desperately to think of something constructive to say, but unable to come out with anything at all. Hermione was now looking as though it was only shock holding her upright and Lavender thought that perhaps she should try and move behind her a little, in case she fainted dead away.

“Are…are you okay?” Lavender managed to say at last.

“It’s not possible,” Hermione whispered

Lavender looked uneasily to the startlingly pink potion and once again was lost for words.

“It can’t be possible.”

Lavender decided to ignore Hermione’s shock. “What are you going to do?” Lavender said, making sure that she sounded calm, or at least calmer than she felt.

Hermione sniffled and blinked and tried to match Lavender’s enforced calmness, “We have to get rid of it,” she rasped.

******** 

Draco closed the door to his bed chamber firmly behind his back and leaned against it. He felt exhausted. He also doubted that he had laughed so hard for a very long time. Perhaps hanging out with people he went to school with was not such a bad thing after all. He was still glad to be back however, such close proximity to his bed automatically caused every muscle in his body to relax

Well, all except one. Harry was already dragging his robes over his head and tugging at the Weasley jumper he wore beneath and watching him had caused a familiar sensation in his loins.

“That was more fun than I thought it would be,” Harry was saying as he struggled with his clothes, “Neville can be a funny bastard when he wants to be.”

“Oh yeah,” Draco drawled, watching smooth skin slowly being exposed, “fucking hilarious.”

“You didn’t have a good time?” Harry turned to Draco, naked from the waist up, his pants riding low without a belt to hold them up, and exposing the smattering of dark hair that covered Harry’s lower belly. Draco’s eyes lit up like it was Christmas.

“I had a great time,” Draco replied, his eyes wandering over Harry’s naked torso, “it’s just that I can think of a few other things that I’d rather be doing.”

“Ahh,” Harry nodded, a grin spreading across his features, he toed his shoes off in a lazy way. “Other things eh?”

Draco’s wriggled, attempting to make his erection more comfortable in his pants, the fine velvet robes he’d worn into the village suddenly itching to come off. “Yeah, a few things,” he whispered.

Harry lay on the bed, stretching deliberately, arching his back a little and displaying himself perfectly. “What kind of things?”

Draco was caught between jumping on Harry, or tearing his clothes off and jumping on Harry. Either way, jumping on Harry was definitely involved in his plan. He licked his lips in anticipation and wrenched his robes off, caring little that the silk knot buttons were torn off in the process. He mounted Harry still half dressed, pushing Harry’s legs apart, pushing his knees back and grinding his hips hard against Harry’s. He pinned Harry’s wrists to the pillow and gazed wide eyed down at his lover, “something like this,” he growled and bit down hard on Harry’s collar bone.

A thrill rushed through Harry. A thrill edged with pain and he gasped and hoped that there would never be a time when he tired of this. Pleasure laced with pain, addictive like a drug. The heady mounting arousal, leading to ecstasy. He began to laugh, throaty and seductive, “planning to take what you want, Malfoy?” He rasped it out, thick with desire.

“You should know by now, I always take what I want, Potter,” Draco drawled in reply, grinding his hips a little harder against Harry’s.

“Perhaps I should disappoint you,” Harry gasped.

“You wouldn’t,” Draco panted, moving as though they were making love, wishing that they were naked and that he was moving inside Harry, “you want it too much.”

Harry’s mouth found the sharpness of Draco’s jaw and he savored the texture of smooth skin and the traces of stubble that would become a dirty blonde beard if left to grow. His hands ran down the length of Draco’s back and came to rest at the top of Draco’s arse. He traced a finger along the waistband of Draco’s pants, idly speculating on what the fabric was and deciding that it must be wool. It seemed an odd thought at such a moment and he almost laughed out loud at himself.

He wanted out of what was left of their clothes, and he leaned in close and whispered into Draco’s ear; “I want you in me.”

“I know,” Draco gasped, “I will…I…” but Draco, aroused beyond what he’d expected, was already cresting, lost in sensations that were now overwhelming him.

And suddenly, unbidden and unwanted by either, the visions came. It seemed to Harry as though a window had opened in Draco’s head and without warning he was sucked into this private world without warning.

The images came fast, often so quick and fleeting that Harry had no time to comprehend just what they were, others moved at a slower pace and lingered, memories that must have been particularly sharp and for some reason outweighed the others. The child Draco, grinning an almost toothless grin and gazing up into some unseen face. Lucius Malfoy laughing as he ran through the rain, the wriggling bundle of his young son clasped safely beneath his cloak. Draco being fitted for his first school robes and Harry walking into his life. Draco sitting in an ornate chair looking disgruntled and indignant while his father gave a red hair woman a sack full of gold with the words “keep him safe.”  Draco staring into the familiar face of Moody. Harry and Draco were kissing, their first kiss, clumsy and innocent. They were making love and Harry was screaming I love you. A man came towards him, amorous and full of evil intent. A woman lay beneath him, naked, beautiful and yet somehow ugly at the same time. She gasped in what could be ecstasy or agony. She arched her back and screamed and he was on her. Draco was on her. Making her scream.

No past Draco was this, no, this memory was fresh and new. This was Harry’s Draco; Harry’s Draco and he was on this woman.

“Oh Gods, who is she?” Harry cried out and the vision was ended, and he was left with only the face of Draco staring down at him, bathed in sweat and a look of dawning horror written across his face.

“Oh…oh Harry…it’s not…she’s not what you think.”

Harry struggled out from under Draco, painfully disentangling his legs from around Draco’s waist. He stared at his lover, not wanting to accept what he had just seen, wanting to pull on a blind fold and pretend that nothing had happened. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t because Draco was looking at him, his face a mask of horrified guilt.

“Who is she?” Harry asked again as he found his feet and paced back across the floor, distancing himself from the bed, “Who…who is she?”

“She’s nothing,” Draco’s voice was labored, as though he was trying to speak faster than he could think, “she’s nothing Harry, I swear, she is nothing.”

“What…what were you doing?” Harry’s back met the opposite wall and he realized there was no further he could go. He could feel his head shaking, daring himself to deny everything, not wanting to accept that anything could possibly be wrong.

Because nothing could be wrong, not now, not now when everything was finally so right. He was happy. He was finally happy, and he was loved and nothing was wrong.

But it was wrong because there was this woman and Draco was on her and she was screaming and gasping and Harry didn’t know why!

“Harry, “Draco rasped, “oh God, Harry please…she’s nothing…”

“She…what?” Harry began to shake, “you were on her…w-why? Why were you on her?”

“I didn’t,” Draco shook his head desperately, “I swear I didn’t make love to her, I swear baby, I didn’t have sex with her at all, I promise.”

A tear slid hot and slick down Harry’s cheek. He wanted to believe, he wanted to understand. “But who is she?”

“She’s a Muggle,” Draco said urgently, “someone my father knew and he told her things…and I had to find out, you understand that don’t you, that I had to find out? Tell me that you understand, please…Harry please.”

“What…” Harry drew a shuddered breath, “what did you do?”

“I asked her questions,” Draco struggled from the bed, hope rising in his voice, at least Harry was listening, at least he wasn’t hysterical. “I asked her questions about what she knew.”

“But she was screaming.”

“Well, she wouldn’t tell me…” Draco stopped and he suddenly knew with certainty that this was not going to end well, because suspicion had crept into Harry’s features and the wall between them that had been broken down was suddenly being erected as effectively as though bricks and mortar were flying up between them. Harry’s face hardened, his jaw became set.

“What did you do to make her scream?” Harry asked, and his voice wasn’t shaking any more. There was a hardness there and Draco knew that it was time to tell the truth. If he didn’t Harry would simply pry open his brain and take it anyway.

“She wouldn’t tell me…” Draco said again and he took a step towards Harry – and stopped when Harry raised a hand to halt him.

“What did you do?” Harry repeated, and now there was a dangerous edge to his voice.

“I didn’t…I didn’t have sex with her…”

What did you do?”

Draco shivered and found his gaze scanning the floor. He swallowed tightly before forcing his eyes up to Harry’s; “I tortured her.”

And once again Harry couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing, he didn’t want to believe, it couldn’t be possible. She was a Muggle, and he was, Draco was…Draco was Harry’s lover! Harry trusted him, he wouldn’t…he couldn’t have done this.  “You did what?”

“I had no choice,” Draco looked at him, his eyes imploring Harry to understand, “I had to find out what she knew and she wouldn’t tell me. She said she wouldn’t unless…she gave me no choice. I couldn’t…I tried to persuade her but she kept laughing…so I did Crucio…and that’s what made her scream.”

“You used the Cruciatus curse on a Muggle?” Harry asked slowly, disbelief was fast giving way to disgust and he stared at his lover as though he were some stranger.

Draco shuddered and wished that there was some way of making this all right again, but the damage had well and truly been done. He could almost see the thought in Harry’s head; torturing a defenseless Muggle, how could he sink so low?

And hot on the heels of that thought would come another; that Draco was a Malfoy, so how could they expect any better?

Oh yes, Draco was true to his bloodline. As conniving and cruel as any of his ancestors, as depraved and indifferent as his father. Lucius had taught him well. He was little more than a cold blooded killer.

So why did he now find himself sinking to the floor, why was he shivering and crawling towards Harry, begging for understanding?

“Please, Harry, please…It’s not that bad…you didn’t meet her, she…you don’t understand.”

“THEN MAKE ME UNDERTSAND!” Harry yelled suddenly, sliding across the wall and away from Draco’s stretching hand, “tell me the truth and make me understand!”

“She knew things about my father, she wouldn’t tell me what they were and I had to find out, to help him…”

“So you tortured this woman to get information out of her? That makes you no better than a Death Eater!”

“You would have done the same thing!” Draco cried.

“NO I WOULDN’T!” Harry picked up his jumper from the floor and found his robes, “I would never do that, I wouldn’t do it because I know the fucking difference between right and wrong! She’s a fucking Muggle for Christ sake, what was she going to do?”

“But she liked it!” Draco’s voice was shaking and he seemed to be sinking into the floor, “Please, Harry…”

“She liked it?” Harry cut him off, he was dressed now, he’d pulled the jumper over his head so fast that he’d torn the neck, “you’re actually trying to tell me that she enjoyed the class=SpellE>Cruciatus Curse?” He sneered down at Draco with mounting disgust, “would you like it?” he drew his wand and pointed it at Draco, “would you like a taste so you can see just how pleasurable it is?”

Draco’s mouth fell open and all attention seemed suddenly fixed on the tip of the wand pointed at his face. “Harry?” he said the word, but his voice seemed horribly small, he seemed horribly small; because he was half naked and he was on his knees and Harry was pointing a wand at him.

“It seems to me,” Harry said venomously, “that if she found it so enjoyable, then you’d like it too. Isn’t that right?”

Draco’s mind was wheeling around, screaming out for him to say something, to say no, he didn’t want it, or to reveal something of worth about Regina that would make Harry see. But he couldn’t think, it was as though his brain had decided to shut itself down. “She wouldn’t tell me…” he was saying again, but he wasn’t really talking to Harry now, he was trying to rationalize his own mind, “I tried, but she just wouldn’t tell me…she wanted…”

“She wanted it?” Harry finished, “Because everyone would, right?”

“No…she wanted me to…she wanted to have sex, but I couldn’t,” he looked up into Harry’s green eyes and thought he saw something there, some flicker of emotion, “I couldn’t do that to you…I had no choice.”

But this was not what Harry wanted to hear, his mouth twisted with disbelief; “you’re blaming me? You actually think that you tortured her for me?”

“No! No, I just, she wanted…and I couldn’t…and I needed to know…” He stopped and rubbed at his chest, beneath his breast bone his heart had begun to thump painfully fast. He whirled his eyes to his medicine draw, full of Navitas, full of something that would prevent his heart beating so fast. Now was not the time to have an attack, he didn’t have time, he had to explain things – or at least try to.

And yet he’d never had a full attack before and the conditions were certainly right, fear, stress, trauma. A small part of him was wondering what would happen, almost welcoming it. Or perhaps that was the part that wanted Harry to see it and take pity on him and love him because he was pathetic and sick and crawling on the ground.

“She…” he stopped again and had to force himself to breathe. His throat was tightening, and his breathing was becoming increasingly labored. He could feel a heat rising in his back where the wounds had once been fresh and the heat was alarmingly familiar, this was how the Madragora felt at first, like a hot liquid that would soon become a burning writhing fire. Draco’s face contorted, he didn’t want this to go any further, he didn’t want this to happen now when Harry was watching him.   He struggled to the drawer and tried to pull it open, but the pain hit then and his eyes shot open, wider than he thought possible and he made to scream, but he had no breath to do it with.

Harry watched him, emotionless at first, as though his lover were some vaguely interesting insect, it took an age for him to realize what was happening, and when he did he didn’t respond at first. He just watched Draco, as though he too was wondering just what would happen.

Then he pulled the drawer open and pulled out a bottle. He didn’t bother to measure the dose, he simply opened it, grasped Draco’s jaw and poured the liquid into his mouth. The effect was instant, Draco fell forward, breathing hard, tears running down his face, but relieved that the pain was gone. Harry noticed hundreds of pinpricks of blood had appeared on his back and could only assume that if he had been left much longer then the scars would have ruptured completely.

He stood again, stepped back and stared down at Draco on the floor. When Draco looked up at him he knew what Draco would see. Soldier Harry, Dumbledore’s tool, the weapon of the light. His face devoid of any emotion that would bring him to fail. This was how he had come through the war, this was how he had managed to kill people, he had simply turned himself off, as effectively as a Muggle turning off a light switch.

And he had to do that now, because he couldn’t stay with a man who could torture a woman for nothing more than answers.

“I’ll come and get my things later,” Harry said to Draco who flinched at the words.

“Please don’t leave me, Harry, please…” Draco made to crawl to him and Harry stopped him quickly.

“Don’t, don’t come near me, I don’t know you.”

And Draco stopped, knowing that it had ended as he always knew it would, he’d lost him and there was nothing he could do. “Harry,” he pleaded, his voice keening, “please…please don’t go…”

“I’ll come about four, it might be best if you’re not here.”

“Harry…”

Harry turned and walked away, every ounce of control that he had ever learned keeping him upright and moving. Behind him Draco finally lost himself and he wailed Harry’s name over and again in a storm of tears. Harry almost faltered, almost turned back, but as the door closed behind him and the sounds from inside became muffled cries, he kept walking until he could hear nothing more than the echo of them in his mind.

Chapter 18 >>