Objects of Desire

Chapter 18 - I Don't Want To Get Over You

By Azrael Geffen

Draco rested his cheek on the bar top and studied his near empty glass. Unlike the bar top of The Leaky Cauldron, the bar of the Hogshead was somehow both sticky and gritty, and Draco’s cheek was now covered in whatever had caused this effect. It didn’t really matter; a dirty sticky cheek was preferable to trying to hold his head up.

It had been six days, eight hours and seventeen minutes since Harry had walked out of his room and thus out of his life. Well, not entirely out of his life. Draco still had to see him every day. Whether it was walking to class, eating his meals, sitting in the Common Room, or just living his life in general, Harry could be seen everywhere – without him. The bastard.

Draco hated endings. In his fifth year, he had read the same book seventeen times until he reached the last chapter, then he put it down and waited until he could start the book again. To this day he had never finished that book. He couldn’t stand to see it end. Just as he could not stand to see the end of Harry.

He had developed a process after his father was captured, after the war had ended, and then after he was tortured. It was a process of numbing himself, and he could produce its effects as systematically as he could produce a potion. It was a simple matter of drinking enough to make him forget. Make him not care. But it was a delicate balance. Like all difficult potions, the mixture had to be just right. Too much and it made him care too much, too little and he could only remember that it was over and Harry was gone. Ended. Finished. Done. The distillate of memory was a bitter vintage, and one he would rather not brew, but one he was all too familiar with.

Why was it, Draco wondered, that life could never be as comforting as a book? Characters in a book never saw his faults or judged him unworthy. If they deemed him an unfit companion, all he had to do was turn back the pages and there they were again, right where he’d left them. Why was it that people were not so easy to find? Why was Harry not so easy to hold on to?

Obviously, tonight he had not found the perfect balance in his drink, tonight he could only remember his loss. In moments like these, he found his thoughts would turn absurdly to Archibald Semeuse and the abuse the man inflicted on his father. Semeuse had in Lucius the perfect captive. A living doll. Beautiful, breathing and unable to go. It was a sickening realization that told him he understood the Curator.

Draco could take Harry and with a few simple tricks (a drill, some formaldehyde, perhaps a potion or two) create his own doll. A complex bundle of warm flesh and green eyes – but he wouldn’t ever really be Harry. He would be nothing more than a shell, and what good was that?

At least he wouldn’t leave.

Draco lifted his head. His thoughts were becoming sick, and so it was obviously well past the time to leave.

His head ached as he lifted it and he flinched, fighting off a wave of nausea. Somewhere from behind him he could hear a sneer and several voices started to grumble. He wasn’t entirely sure why he came to the Hogshead to drink himself into oblivion. He had considered that perhaps he was actually hoping to have some malcontent beat him to a bloodied pulp. He wanted pain, something physical to focus on so that his heart could ease. Of course, that was all useless theory. He was usually very good at avoiding pain if at all possible.

He slipped off his stool and swayed a little on his feet. He didn’t look so good and he knew it. His jeans were dirty, he was wearing a filthy pair of trainers and one of Harry’s old Weasley jumpers. Draco had stolen it from Harry’s room because he knew it would smell like Harry – and look like Harry, all crumpled and uncaring. Actually, he was beginning to look like Harry. He hadn’t done his hair in days and as he wiped sweaty hands down his jeans he realised that he hadn’t had a bath in two days. He really must smell.

He staggered out of the bar, waving a sloppy goodbye to Aberforth Dumbledore who had made a now rare appearance behind the bar, and hurled himself out into the night. It was raining. It was always bloody raining. It was like the sky hadn’t closed up since October. He didn’t bother casting a basic sheltering charm over his head, as that charm reminded him of Harry and he was determined not to think of Harry.

Harry the bastard. He started to laugh bitterly.

Somewhere a clock struck three. Three in the morning, he was leaving a little earlier than usual. He might even get some sleep tonight. He had taken to getting back to the castle, dozing for a short time and then staggering, still drunk, to classes. It was a habit that had not gone unnoticed. McGonagall had forced a tonic down his throat one morning in front of the entire class in an effort to sober him up. On another morning Snape had slapped him so hard upside of his head that the sound had reverberated throughout the dungeon class room, and his whole body had reeled from the sensation for hours afterwards.

If Harry had noticed, he had certainly said nothing. Harry hadn’t given Draco so much as a regretful glance. Harry had just marched on happily with his life and completely forgotten about the person he had promised he would love for ever and always.

Bastard.

Well, he was no doubt better off without the bastard. He had lost himself in Harry. He had lost his spark, lost the thing about him that had made Draco Malfoy the person he was. He had become Harry Potter’s bitch! Then again, he had also discovered how to make Harry Potter squeal like a girl, and wouldn’t the Dark Lord have loved to have known how to do that?

Selfish, unthinking, uncaring bastard!

Of course any fool could see that he was desperately unhappy and his time with Harry had unfortunately endeared him somehow to a few people. It was more cause for notice that no one had so much as attempted to torment him in any way since Harry had left him. This left him more than a little frustrated. He wanted nothing more than to hex the hell out of some twit, but even he had a hard time putting a Bat Bogey hex on someone who appeared genuinely concerned for his welfare. Well almost. When Colin Creevy had deigned to give him that revolting and ever so sympathetic, “you poor thing I know how you feel,” look, before asking if he needed anything at all with a cheery, “don’t hesitate to ask” and then patted him on the wrist – Draco had truly felt the need to leave him with a case of festering Beluga Pox he wouldn’t get over in a long while.

Gods if this was love, they; whoever they were, could take it and shove it up the arse-end of the world.

He pushed on through the rain, back towards the castle and back towards the one place that held his passion and his pain. He hated walking into that Common Room, seeing ‘that’ door and knowing all the while that Harry was sleeping soundly inside that room. He had come to the conclusion that Harry was probably right. His morals were questionable. He was one of the only people that he could think of who would torture a woman so that he didn’t have to cheat on his lover. He also reasoned that if Harry had met Regina he would probably want to torture her too.

Well, probably not.

And yet Harry was perfectly capable of killing a person and as much as Draco hated everyone and everything, he questioned his abilities to perform Avada Kedavra if he ever needed too. He was filled with enough hate and malice to be sure, but he had never been taught the charm. His father had preferred not to teach him that little piece of dark magic reasoning; correctly, that if he was unable to do it, he would never be accused of performing it. Draco was also filled with an ingrained sense of self preservation. He had no desire to end up in prison, dead, or worse - kissed by a Dementor – thus he had no interest in killing anyone. Torture, hexing, being an all round arse hole was all perfectly fine, but he figured he should at least be able to stop short of killing anyone.

He would never be found lying in a pool of his own blood after slicing up his arms. Draco Malfoy wanted to live. Draco Malfoy would live. He was a survivor, that was that.

Then again, he was in the process of drinking himself into an early grave. But that could take forever, so all was well.

He shivered. The alcohol was wearing off, drenched out of him by the rain that never seemed to stop. He was soaked to the skin, his heavy cloak dragging along in the mud. He reached into the wet interior pocket and pulled out his favorite silver flask and downed a hearty swig.

And then he heard a noise.

It was a small noise, hardly distinguishable above the sound of the rain and Draco decided that he must have incredible hearing to have heard it at all. He turned drunkenly, saw nothing and swayed, straining his ears to find the noise again. It came, small and plaintive. A mewing noise. Something living in the forest perhaps. But it sounded small and lost.

If he wasn’t so drunk he would probably just keep going. But he was drunk. Incredibly drunk and more importantly, incredibly depressed and this noise was the perfect distraction. Some reasonable part of his brain told him that. He frowned and followed the noise, the little mewing noise, off the side of the path and into the forest. The reasonable part of his brain started sending out alarm bells. This was ‘the’ forest. Werewolves and Merlin only knew what lived in there and here he was, drunk out of his gourd looking for the source of some little noise, all the time thinking it a perfect distraction to his misery.

But the noise itself didn’t sound fearsome. It sounded small and frightened. It sounded like it probably shouldn’t be in the forest. Just as he shouldn’t be heading into the forest.

He didn’t have to go far. Just off the path, amongst the twigs and leaves and mud he found the source of the noise. Draco looked at it. Small and impossibly helpless, Draco reasoned that in such a place and in such weather it really should be dead. The edge of the forest was no place for such a tiny thing, and this weather was certainly no place for such a tiny thing. He wondered if someone had dumped it, or if it had wandered off from it’s mother and been lost entirely. It was far too young to be alone. Draco crouched in the mud and stared quizzically at the little animal and wondered if it was at all magical. Most of the animals in this place were, but this little thing looked incredibly ordinary. He picked it up by the scruff of the neck and inspected it.

An ordinary every day kitten. A common, garden variety kitten. The kind of thing that Draco would have chased out of his garden as a child. It struggled in it’s position dangling from between his fingers and finally mewed tragically.

“Stupid cat.”

It mewed again. It was tiny and helpless and he had to admit it was cute. But it was just a stupid Muggle of a cat. He should just leave it there to die. It had no merit. It was just ordinary.

But as he started back on his way to the castle, the Muggle of a cat was tucked safely in the interior pocket of his robes, a warming charm heating it admirably.

~ ~ ~

Harry had not slept well for more than a week, and when he did sleep, his dreams were haunted by images of creamy skin and pale grey eyes – and sometimes these things would change into something more, something frightening. At night Harry watched Draco die time and time again and when he woke up and found his bed empty he felt he’d died a little too.

But Draco was not dead. Draco was very much alive and depending on what time Harry had managed to sleep could either be out drinking himself into a stupor or stumbling back to the castle.

After six nights of this, Harry finally decided to do the one thing that he hoped could cheer him up. He went to see Ron. Hermione had shown absolutely no sympathy for him. After leaving Draco, he had gone to see her. Hermione had glared at him for a long time and then unceremoniously slapped him hard on the cheek. And so he was hoping that Ron would prove a good shoulder to cry on and the appropriate boost to his ego by telling him he was absolutely right.

Except that Harry should have gone to see Ron long before now. He should have gone to see him after he’d heard about Angelina, but as usual he’d been so preoccupied with his own problems that despite promising himself daily that he’d go, it was only now that he’d actually managed it. And now that he was here he’d listen for all of five minutes before launching into the tale of his own woe.

Harry was seriously beginning to think that he sucked.

“So you dumped him them?” Ron didn’t sound as happy about the news as Harry had expected. “Well I guess that explains the way you look.”

“I look bad?”

Ron shrugged. “Yeah, you look like shit.” He picked up a plate from beside the bed, “You want a cupcake?”

“Did your mum make them?”

“Yep, she thinks I’m too thin.”

Harry took one of the cakes and began licking at the buttery icing.

“You shouldn’t have dumped him.”

Harry stopped licking as this was not the reaction he had expected or needed. “What? I thought you’d be pleased! You always hated him!”

“Well so did you until last year.” Ron began picking at a cake of his own. “Then you started sleeping with him, and I seem to recall you here not so long ago telling me how much you loved him.”

“I do…” Harry sat him cake down on the edge of the bed. “I still do love him, he just…”

“So why’d you dump him?”

“I told you why! That girl, the Muggle…”

Ron grabbed Harry’s cup cake before it fell onto the floor, “Look mate, I see your point, I really do, but I’ve gotta tell you, I’ve spent the last month or so in here thinking about everything that happened and all the shit I did and to be honest, I’ve come to the conclusion that we all do crap that we shouldn’t, and if we were abandoned every time we did, we would all be very fucking lonely people.” Ron frowned and wondered if he’d just made any sense at all because Harry was still looking belligerent. “You said he did it because she knew something about his father?”

“Yeah, some crap like that.”

“You said something was happening to his father?”

“Draco thinks that the Curator of the Museum is doing something to his father’s body.”

“Like what?”

Harry hesitated, not really wanting to voice Draco’s fears lest they sound insane. “Sexual things,” he said reluctantly.

Ron cringed. “That’s sick! Is he sure? How would he know that?”

“I have no idea,” Harry said, thinking back to it he knew that Draco was certain it was happening, but he’d never elaborated on just how he knew these things. “He always got really vague when it came to his father. We usually avoided the subject, because he has a habit of looking at Lucius Malfoy as though the man was a saint.”

Ron didn’t comment on that particular point. He was not going to make any criticism of Draco Malfoy to Harry, even if they had split up, because realistically, who knew if they’d get back together – and Harry would probably pounce on him if he said anything bad? The allegation of abuse alarmed him more so than Draco’s love of his father. Ron’s own father had been on for almost a year about mistakes made during the Death Eater trials, and his dad had been horrified at the prospect of the exhibition (even though Ron himself had gone gleefully to gloat over Malfoy’s body) and to hear this news made Ron stop and think. Perhaps his father was right. He had no love for Lucius Malfoy, but this really was sick. “Has he told anyone?” Ron asked, “I mean aside from you, has he said anything to someone at the Ministry?”

“Fudge wouldn’t care,” Harry muttered, then continued, “he thinks this exhibition is the best thing to happen to our world since Voldemort died. He knows that he’d be more popular if Lucius Malfoy was suffering than he would be if he did something about it.” Harry stopped for a moment as a thought came to him. “Can he suffer? Can he even feel anything?”

“Well since I haven’t been kissed by a Dementor I wouldn’t know.” Ron stifled a yawn, he wasn’t bored, it was just really getting late.

Harry didn’t notice the yawn. “He hasn’t told anyone – except me and Snape.”

“Okay, so what does this woman have to do with the Museum?”

“I don’t know. I thought she was a friend of Lucius Malfoy’s”

“So what information could she have about Malfoy that could help him? Does she have proof of what’s happening?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said again, deciding that he really didn’t know much.

Ron drew a deep breath and rubbed his eyes. “Okay, so this woman, this Muggle, gives Draco an ultimatum, and he decides to practice Cruciatus on her rather than cheat on you?”

“Yep, that’s his twisted logic.”

Ron stared at Harry.

“Don’t tell me you think he was right?”

Ron almost huffed impatiently. “No of course not, but put yourself in the same situation. What if it was your dad and you’d been given the same option, what would you do?”

“I’d find another way.”

Ron rolled his eyes and changed tactics. “Alright then, what would you have done if you’d walked in when Angelina was on me, if it had been you instead of Pansy?”

Harry squirmed a little uncomfortably, “I would probably have killed her,” he admitted, “but it’s completely different. Angelina is a powerful witch, she can defend herself!”

“Well that’s some pretty twisted logic there, Harry.”

“I wouldn’t have had any choice, she was killing you!”

“Yeah, she was. But Pansy just knocked her out and then the Aurors came and took her away – you would have killed her. Everyone makes choices that could be wrong Harry.”

“The situation is completely different,” Harry insisted, folding his arms across his body, “whose side are you on anyway?”

“Yours,” Ron replied firmly, “but Harry, every one fucks up, even you.”

“I know!” Harry took a deep breath and calmed himself. He had not expected Ron to be so rational; it was so unlike him. Ron was supposed to just nod and agree with him. Instead, he had this new perspective, possibly a by-product of screwing his own life up so very much. Whatever had caused it, Harry didn’t want to hear it. “I know everyone fucks up, but she’s a Muggle, and she was helpless. I can’t just ignore that.”

Ron stifled another yawn and lay back into his pillows.

“Are you okay?” Harry panicked a little, “are you tired?”

“A little,” Ron murmured, “I’m fine though. I can’t think of anything else to say. Isn’t the fact that you were happy, enough to justify you staying?”

“Not if he’s capable of that,” Harry replied stubbornly.

“We are all capable of it.”

“But we don’t all act on it.”

Ron shook his head. “You’re just being stubborn because you hate admitting you’re wrong.”

“I’m not wrong about this!”

Ron closed his eyes. “Fine, you’re not wrong about it. I’m not going to argue with you about it.”

Harry didn’t want to fight with Ron either, but he was waging war with himself to try and save his own ethics in the face of Ron’s new found rational. “Maybe I should go,” he suggested, “you look like you want to sleep.”

“No, stay. They’ve stopped giving me the sleeping brew so I’m not going to nod off anytime soon.”

Harry didn’t quite believe that, Ron was yawning openly now.

“George will be here soon, stay until he gets here would you?”

Harry nodded. He could hardly blame Ron for not wanting to be alone, as he’d never been entirely safe in this place. He nudged Ron over a little so he could sit more comfortably on the bed. “Well, if I’m staying, you’d better pass me over that plate.”

~ ~ ~

Non was late. Then again, Non was always late. The knowledge that the Elf was inevitably late did nothing to make Snape’s mood any better. He knew full well that the Elf was at the relative mercy of the Curator’s comings and goings, but it didn’t matter, Snape hated waiting. He’d always hated waiting. He was good at waiting – but it didn’t mean he liked it.

He was also hungry and wanted his breakfast, and his stomach grumbled uncomfortably. He didn’t want to be sitting in his chambers waiting for a late House Elf. For once in his life he actually wanted to be in the Great Hall eating something. Strange how that worked, when he didn’t want to be there he could never escape.

It did enter his mind to just go. Non’s reports had begun to sound monotonous in their similarities. Lucius was despondent, Lucius didn’t want help, Lucius was in pain, and always with the warning, ‘don’t tell Draco anything.’ Snape was lost in the conflicting messages, knowing full well that anything that painted Lucius in less than a well picture was probably the truth of the matter and any observations that came directly from Non, meant that Lucius himself had produced other messages he didn’t know about. One thing was clear; Lucius did not want Draco to do anything that could possibly put himself anywhere near the Museum. To tell Draco that Lucius was entirely conscious and able to communicate would only cause him to go off and try to help his father.

So he couldn’t tell Draco anything at all – and that was harder said than done. Draco Malfoy was not the kind of person who took to being shut out when his interests were at stake. So far he had pleaded, fought and outright threatened blackmail, and still Snape had kept Lucius’ confidence, telling Draco that he knew nothing other than his father was safe. Draco was no fool however, and without Potter to distract him he was fast becoming suspicious. To make matters worse, Snape was watching his Godson fast becoming an inveterate drunk. It was a shame, helping his father would at least take his mind off Potter.

Snape closed his eyes and sighed. It wasn’t even the food he wanted. He felt like cake, something sweet. That was odd because he wasn’t much of a sweet tooth – except Fizzing Wizzbees which he had a weakness for – but he really did feel like cake. Something very chocolaty.

Yeah, eat cake, keep your mind off the fact that you are dealing with far too many emotions right at this moment.

He had never felt so old as he did at that moment. He was still reasonably young, especially for a Wizard, but he felt older than Dumbledore. The war had been hard, but he was supposed to be resting now. He had done the hard slog of his life, he’d paid for his sins, and he was supposed to be enjoying peace and quiet. Instead he had been thrown into this emotional maelstrom. On one side he had Hermione and everything she represented to him and on the other was Draco and Lucius and the pain that they both seemed to exude. Both sides converged together over him like twin storms becoming something fierce and uncontrollable. For a man who had spent much of his life cut off from such feelings it was not a pleasant experience.

To take his mind off his stomach he reached for a book. He had surrounded himself with a new array of volumes that focused on Muggle religious icons, and he once again began to fervently read through the journal into which Lucius had poured so much of himself. Now that Snape understood the process – it was easy enough, anoint and open the gates and then release the Angel that inhabited Lucius’ body – the instructions in the journal made far more sense. The incantation to anoint the gates was reasonably straightforward and he was fairly certain he could muddle his way through the sketchy potion recipe, but as yet he had found nothing to indicate exactly how to release the Angel, and there were ingredients that he had still to find. He didn’t know where on earth he was supposed to find Angel oils, feathers and blood, and he could hardly wander into any Apothecary and ask. He had no real desire to go and see Regina again, but she was the only real source of the Angel artifacts.

Lucius could have hidden things at the Manor, but Aurors had spent months going over the estate, and Snape doubted he would find anything more than they would have. No doubt Lucius had hiding places aplenty, secret places that no one would ever find – which was absolutely no use to Snape.

He could just do as Lucius wished. Do nothing at all and leave him to his fate. The Angel would die and Lucius along with it. Draco could mourn and life would go on. And that would be the end of it.

And Snape could mourn too. It would have been better if Lucius had died in the war. It would have been better if they both had. It would be better if Snape could just hate him as he wanted to; he was loving too many people at the moment, too many people who could hurt him.

And where the fuck was Non?

A knock at the door broke his thoughts and he frowned. It had been a long time since anyone had come to see him in the evening. Minerva McGonagall could hold a grudge like an elephant keeps a memory and he had well and truly pissed her off with the whole Regina thing. He had no doubt that she would come back eventually. He’d pissed her off before; he’d done a whole lot worse before, and she’d forgiven him – it just took a while. So he doubted the person at the door was Minerva, well, not Minerva on a social call anyway.

He barely had time to call enter before the door opened and Dumbledore ushered a reluctant Minerva into the chamber. She had her arms folded defensively across her chest and a look so stern on her face that he suddenly felt like a student again and she was about to give him detention. Dumbledore didn’t look much better, there was no light in his eyes and the frown on his face creased his brow into a deep furrow.

Oh dear Gods they’re going to fire me.

“Albus.” He nodded stiffly. “Minerva.”

Minerva pointedly ignored him, but Dumbledore nodded amicably by way of reply. Snape noticed that still no light reached the old mans eyes; there was no gentle humor on his features.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked silkily. He figured if they were going to fire him, he could at least retain some of his dignity.

“We just have to wait a few minutes, Severus,” Dumbledore replied, patting him on the shoulder as he passed him, “I’ve sent for Harry.”

Potter? Snape relaxed a little, as he highly doubted they’d invite Potter to his sacking. Still, he didn’t relish the idea of having Potter in his private chambers and the look on his face must have belied this fact because Dumbledore looked slightly amused despite himself, and told him it was for a good reason.

Dumbledore moved to the fireplace and looked at the two hard leather wingbacks on offer as seating. Shaking his head he conjured himself a squishy armchair and took a seat. It was something that was so incredibly Dumbledore, and yet Snape still could find no real smile on his lips. As the Headmaster stared into the flames of the fire, Snape could not help but notice that he looked more troubled than he had for a very long time.

So maybe Dumbledore felt cheated too, the end of war hadn’t ended the worries at all. Minerva hovered behind Dumbledore for a moment, before finally coming forward and gently squeezing her lover’s shoulder. Her face didn’t soften in the slightest, so whatever was on Dumbledore’s mind was also plaguing her.

Snape scowled and turned away from her. If he was going to be made to wait he would at least sit in his favorite chair, Minerva knew she could sit if she wanted to, and he wouldn’t have to concern himself with her mood. In the meantime he would endure this uncomfortable silence until Potter chose to grace them all with his presence.

Potter came eventually, barging into the room without knocking and looking out of breath. He made his apologies, and said he’d been playing early morning Quidditch with the Gryffindors and lost track of time. He didn’t look good. He looked as though he hadn’t slept for a week, and he even had a little stubble on his chin. He looked drawn and tired and Snape felt a cruel smile tug the corner of his mouth. He threw a thought Potter’s way, ensuring he caught it.

See, it isn’t easy being the one who leaves.

Potter looked him in the eye and shook his head with a small movement. He didn’t want to do this; he was hurting, and Snape could feel it.

Too fucking bad. Snape turned back to the fire, aware that Potter was now taking his mind off Snape’s comments by sizing up Snape’s chambers. Harry decided that it was exactly the kind of place he thought his Potions Master would inhabit. Imposing, dark, rudimentary and full of books. More books than Harry would read in a life time. His eye lingered on the chair beside the bed and Snape realized that a silk nightgown had been thrown over it. Hermione’s. Snape had bought it for her, along with many other things and she had left it there – he had never moved it, it was the one thing he allowed himself of her. Right at that moment however he was wishing it wasn’t there for all to see. Harry dragged his eyes away from it, glared at Snape and then turned his attention to Dumbledore.

“Good, you’re here at last, Harry,” Dumbledore said a little crisply, something that threw both Harry and Snape. The Headmaster must really be worried; he usually never spoke to Harry with anything other than concern or regard.

”Sorry I’m late, Professor.”

“Why don’t you sit down?”

Snape sneered. Now Potter was going to sit in one of his chairs.

And Harry did, sinking into the hard leather wingback and wincing. There was nothing comfortable about it at all. He glanced around the room and saw a day bed in an alcove which looked a thousand times more comfortable than the wingback. Snape looked happy in his own chair and Harry decided that he either had no feeling in his body, or the other wingback was a lot more comfortable.

“So…um,” Harry smiled nervously, “so what are we all doing here?”

Snape relaxed a little further, glad to know that Potter was as in the dark as he was. Minerva was glaring at the both of them, her eyes flitting from one to the next and under her scrutiny they both began to squirm. Obviously they had both done something wrong; now they had only to work out exactly what that something was.

“I didn’t ask Miss Granger to come,” Dumbledore said, straightening himself in the chair and frowned a little further, “although I perhaps should have, as this does concern her.”

“Hermione?” Harry glanced at Snape and then turned back to Dumbledore, “what…what has Hermione done?”

“I’m afraid it’s more a case of what she hasn’t done, Harry.” Dumbledore sighed and sank a little lower into his armchair, “I have just spent the day at the Ministry of Magic. There was a sitting of the Wizengamot today.” When he looked at the two men in the wingbacks and noticed their blank expressions he sighed again and continued, “Viktor Krum’s trial was supposed to be heard yesterday.”

Harry’s eyes widened and he looked straight to Snape who looked as though he had just swallowed a particularly vicious poison. The Potions Master’s mind was reeling. They were both thinking the same thing; Hermione had been in classes all day, and barring extensive use of a Time-Turner she had not left the school at all. Harry had seen her barely twenty minutes ago, as she was heading for the bathroom, and she’d said nothing at all about attending a trial the day before.

“There is an old clause in our laws, one that Hermione was well aware of, that if she did not come to witness the charges being presented, then Mr. Krum would be released and would be free to return to Bulgaria.”

“Well, what kind of stupid law is that?” Harry burst out suddenly and three sets of eyes fixed on him. “Well, it is a stupid bloody law.”

“It may not be the wisest of laws Harry, but it is one that exists in our world and until it is changed we have to abide by it. As I said, Hermione was well aware of the law.”

“So what does this have to do with us?” Snape asked, his voice was low and calm, a stark contrast to Harry.

Harry and Minerva stared at him in disbelief and Harry’s mouth open and closed a few times before he finally managed to speak. “What kind of an animal are you?” he demanded, his look of disgust boring into Snape, “don’t you give a shit about her at all? What was she to you, a quick fuck and then goodbye?”

“What I meant, Potter,” Snape growled, “is what exactly are we expected to do? Is it likely that he will come here looking for her?”

Harry bowed his head, he hadn’t even considered that.

“I don’t know what he’ll do, Severus.” Dumbledore sighed again and pressed his fingers against his eyes to relieve an oncoming headache. “He is still bitter and anything is possible. He knows that you care for her and I doubt that he’s forgotten what you did to him. So yes, it is very possible that he will come here.”

Snape scowled, convinced that he’d given the Bulgarian better than he’d deserved. “I should have killed him while I had the chance.”

“That was not an option, Severus.”

Snape snorted. It only hadn’t been an option because Dumbledore had turned up and stopped him.

“So…” Harry looked from Snape to Dumbledore, “what can we do? Can we find him first?”

“I can find him,” Snape replied, “I’ll find him and take care of it.”

“I don’t want you going after him, Severus,” Dumbledore said hastily, as he reached across and patted Snape’s arm soothingly. “As I said to you the last time you went after him, I don’t want you ending up in prison – or worse.”

Snape folded his arms and stared mutinously into the fire.

“Well there has to be something we can do!” Harry said plaintively, “There has to be a reason why she didn’t go…it’s probably this greasy bastard’s fault!” He gestured wildly at Snape. “She shouldn’t be punished just because he used her and dumped her!”

“What!?” Snape was out of his chair and towering over Harry who didn’t flinch at all.

“You were supposed to take her to that trial,” Harry shot back accusingly; “she was probably scared to go alone!”

“And what about you?” Snape hissed. “Her best friend? Why didn’t you step up and take her?”

“I…” Harry fumbled for an answer. It was a logical enough question and Harry was well and truly ashamed of the only answer he could offer – he had forgotten all about it. “I had…I’ve had other things on my mind…I…” It sounded lame and he knew it. “She hasn’t been the same since you left her, and Hermione would have gone to the trial if you hadn’t fucked her around!”

“I am not the only one to blame you arrogant little pissant. Oh, but of course it couldn’t have anything to do with you, not the glorious Harry Potter! You had other things on your mind, no one else is allowed to be even remotely preoccupied with the manifold complexities of their own lives, but you can because you’re the Famous Bloody Harry Potter!”

Harry opened his mouth to reply, his anger building, but before he could speak Dumbledore was on his feet and demanding silence from them both.

They continued to glare and then Harry opened his mouth.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake shut up the both of you!” Minerva stepped between them and pushed Snape back from Harry. “You bickered your way through the war and you bickered your way through the trials and I for one am sick to death of hearing it! Now is not the time to be squabbling and appropriating blame. It’s obvious that you both care for Hermione, so perhaps you should be concentrating on working out how to ensure her safety rather than fighting amongst yourselves.”

Harry bowed his head and flushed lightly, “I’m sorry Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall.”

Snape didn’t say anything; he just returned his gaze to the fire place and nodded abruptly.

“But Harry is right,” Dumbledore continued softly, “there must be a reason why Hermione did not attend the Wizengamot, and I believe that it would be best if you; both of you,” he looked between the two of them, “were able to find out just what that reason may be.”

******

By dinner time Draco found himself yawning uncontrollably and despite a hangover potion having disposed of his headache, nothing was going to keep him awake. He had decided that his school work was suffering earlier in the day and decided to forgo a nights drinking in favor of study. When the time came for him to head to the Library, he chose instead to make his way back to the tower, reasoning that if he could get two clear hours in which he could sleep he would be able to concentrate a hell of a lot better. It was more sleep than he’d had in a long time.

Once he had reached his room he found that the House Elves, having discovered a starving animal, had put down two bowls, one full of some kind of pureed meat and the other full of cream. There were also pages of old Daily Prophets scattered all over the floor – possibly the first time the paper had been used for anything good.

Draco wrinkled his nose in disgust and scanned the floor for the kitten. He found its little tail sticking out from under the bead spread and he wrenched it out, causing it to give a little cry of fright.

“Well Mr. Kitty, you are making a mess.” As an after thought he lifted it by the tail and checked, “Oh, sorry, Miss Kitty.” He dumped the kitten on the bed and quickly picked up the newspapers. Balling them up he dumped them unceremoniously over the balcony and then he collapsed on the bed, almost crushing his new pet. He moved the small tabby bundle.

And then he needed the bathroom.

“Fucking hell.” He struggled up from the bed, patted his kitten roughly and staggered into the hall.

The small hallway that lead from the Common Room to his bedchamber came out close to Hermione and Lavender’s door and he heard their voices well before he could be seen in the Common Room. He groaned softly. He really didn’t want to see either of them. Hermione had appeared nothing short of tense and sick over the last week, and Lavender kept giving him sickeningly concerned looks every time she saw him. He didn’t want to be confronted by Hermione with that look on her face. The last time they had spoken they had fought and he was beginning to think that it was his fault she looked so bad. And he couldn’t stand the fact that Lavender kept giving him those sympathetic glances.

Those horrible, “Poor Draco, Harry dumped him and now he’s fucked because he doesn’t want anyone else ever again” looks. He flattened himself against the wall and held his breath, hoping they would pass by the hallway door quickly.

“Are you okay?” Lavender was asking Hermione with that same concerned voice she used with Draco.

“Yeah,” Hermione sounded a little out of breath, “I just can’t believe how revolting this feels.

“Well, I read somewhere that you should be eating more or else you’ll feel nauseous.”

“I’m eating what I normally eat!” Hermione snapped, “I can hardly eat more than that.”

“Well you’ll have to carry biscuits around with you or something.”

“Oh yeah, that would go down well, “I’m sorry Professor, I have to sit here eating in your class because if I don’t I am going to vomit.” They would pick it in a second.”

“Well,” Lavender sounded perplexed, “maybe you should tell Professor McGonagall. She seems to really like you and you said she was pretty pissed off at Professor Snape. Maybe she could…smooth it out with the other teachers.”

There was silence and Draco was fairly certain that Hermione was pulling her incredulous face.

“Well, it was just an idea!” Lavender had gone from perplexed to exasperated.

“If I tell Minerva she’ll tell Severus. It doesn’t matter how pissed off she is with him now; it’s only a matter of time before they are speaking again. She has a real soft spot for him, and with something like this she would be on his door step and he’d know I was pregnant by the end of lunch.”

Draco’s mouth fell open. Hermione was pregnant? Pregnant with Snape’s baby? A baby Snape? Oh Gods, a little Snape? That poor child!

“What about that potion?” Lavender was saying, the exasperation having faded and concern returning. Draco guessed that the Common Room must be empty because she was speaking at a normal level, and when Hermione replied she wasn’t whispering either.

“The Apothecary won’t sell it without a script from Madam Pomfrey or a Healer registered with St Mungo’s. There is no way I am going to Madam Pomfrey to ask for a script and a trip to St Mungo’s isn’t really plausible at the moment…” Hermione paused, as though she was thinking. She didn’t sound certain of what she was talking about at all.

“Maybe,” Lavender suggested hesitantly, “maybe you don’t want to get rid of it.”

“Nonsense,” Hermione scorned, but the uncertainty still resonated through her tone, Draco guessed that she would be chewing her lip right now, “I figure there has to be a recipe in the Restricted Section of the library. I’d say an abortion potion would be fairly rudimentary, and I’m sure I could make it.”

Lavender said something in reply, something uncertain, but Draco didn’t hear it. The girls were leaving the Common Room, and it sounded like they were heading to their bedroom. Draco himself was still recovering from the shock of his discovery. Hermione was pregnant. Pregnant with Snape’s baby – and she was going to abort it – and Snape knew nothing about it. A large part of Draco filled with indignance. He knew Snape well enough to know that his interest in parenthood was fairly limited – to nothing at all – but it was his child and he might well want to know about it.

At the very least he could probably make the potion she wanted.

Draco had forgotten his full bladder and had turned back to his room, but somehow he didn’t think he would get any sleep.

~ ~ ~

Snape had waited a while before deciding to speak with Hermione. He figured Potter would probably get to her first and he would simply go in to reiterate the point. Then he had found Potter in the Library and discovered that he’d had the same thought; in reverse, and that he had been waiting for Snape.

And so it was late when Snape swept imperiously through the eighth years’ Common Room, displaying the same sense of superiority that he exhibited when inspecting a first year’s spluttering cauldron. He had to admit that he didn’t particularly feel superior tonight, but he could at least look the part. He even took some satisfaction in noting that Longbottom, who had come into his own during the war, still looked as though he would rather shit himself than be confronted by the Potions Master. At least some things didn’t change.

He stopped outside her door and stared at it uncomfortably. He was going to have to knock fairly quickly, people were staring at him, but every instinct was telling him to turn and run.

Yep, you’d rather face Voldemort than the woman you left. Coward.

He knocked, hard enough to display his authority to the students sitting around the Common Room. He noticed Finnigan had a bottle of something that looked lethal and wished he could go over and take a draught. He heard a cheerful call of “hang on a tick” from inside and after a few moments and various rustlings, the door swung open and a scantily clad Lavender Brown looked up at him in horror.

“Professor Snape!” Lavender yelped and pulled her robe closed. It didn’t really help, he towered over her and as he looked down he couldn’t help but notice that he could see clear down the front of not only the robe but the negligee she wore under it.

“Do try and cover yourself a little more adequately, Miss Brown, I have no interest in your assets.”

Lavender blushed and gripped the top of her robe closed. “Sorry, Professor Snape.”

He purposely scowled and privately mourned the loss of what was quite a spectacular view. “I need to speak to Miss Granger.”

“Oh…” Lavender turned to cast a glance into the room and then looked back to him, “I don’t…she’s not…”

He pushed roughly past her, almost knocking her down and insinuated himself into the room. Lavender could do nothing back stand back and stare open mouthed and then slowly close the door behind him.

“I believe you should leave the room, Miss Brown.”

Lavender turned to go, hoping that Seamus Finnigan wasn’t drinking his home made grappa because she was barely dressed and he had decided she really wanted him.

“Don’t go anywhere Lavender.” Hermione was sitting on her bed with her Ancient Runes text book open, she didn’t seem pleased to see him there. “Professor Snape has nothing to say to me that you can’t hear.”

Lavender stopped, caught between obeying Snape (who could put her on detention in a flash) and standing by Hermione who desperately needed support. She decided to risk Snape’s displeasure and sat down at the dressing table.

Snape did not look happy at this turn of events; he flashed a warning look at Hermione who surprised him by smiling bitterly in return.

“Oh don’t worry, Severus, Lavender knows everything; she’s known from the beginning.”

“I know that,” he snapped and glared at Lavender who squirmed a little, but didn’t move. He couldn’t quite believe that the vacuous Miss Brown knew all about his love life. He wondered why Hermione had befriended her; he had never thought much of the girl, she was pretty, sexy even, but her mind was nothing special. She was an average Witch, apparently very good at Divination (something he considered a joke of a discipline) and, Hermione assured him, had an excellent nose for scents. He didn’t rightly care about any of these things. What he did care about was the fact that this girl knew all about his love life and he really didn’t want her to.

Instead of admitting his discomfort he looked around the room and sneered at the mess that had enveloped the floor. Clothes were strewn everywhere, while ribbons and other assorted trinkets littered every available surface. The air was heavily perfumed with the scent Snape recognized as the one Lavender Brown usually doused herself in. He found it cloying. Lavender Brown was sexy; he decided, but she needed to use something lighter, more playful.

What the hell are you doing thinking about Lavender Brown’s choice of perfume? He scowled again and brought his thoughts to the task at hand. He had been procrastinating long enough.

“You need to open a window in this room, or air it out, it stinks in here.”

“I can’t smell anything,” Hermione replied, her tone flat and emotionless.

“That’s because you lock yourself in here and refuse to leave.”

“Why are you here, Severus?”

He cleared his throat. “Professor Dumbledore came to see me earlier, because he was concerned about you. It seems he spent his day in London at the Ministry, as there was a special sitting of the Wizengamot yesterday.”

She stared blankly at him and he realized with no small amount of shock that she had no idea what he was talking about.

“It was Krum’s trial,” he prompted.

And Hermione suddenly paled, so white that her face resembled parchment, even her lips bleached out and for a moment he thought she would faint dead away – so much so that he moved towards her, anticipating catching her. Lavender was up out of her chair, thinking much the same as he was.

Hermione sank down onto her bed and tried to swallow. Her mouth was dry, so dry it hurt – and her stomach plummeted. “Oh, well…I…I see.”

“Professor Dumbledore assures me that you were well aware of our laws stating that if you chose not to attend the trial, that Krum would be released.”

“I…I did…I knew.” She spoke automatically, but she felt paralyzed, like she was glued to the spot, sitting on her bed in her stupid Pooh Bear pajamas. He would come for her. She knew it. She blinked, but didn’t dare stand lest she fall down.

“Why didn’t you go?” he asked stiffly. “Didn’t you want to see Krum go to prison for what he did to you?”

She thought fast, not willing to admit the truth to him. She could see Lavender standing behind him, looking at her with a confused expression, thinking the same thing that he was. Why hadn’t she gone? What had possessed her? And the truth, as shameful as it was, was simple – she had forgotten all about it.

But she doubted Severus was going to accept that as a reason.

“I didn’t want to see him,” she said with false calm, “I’m happy for him to just go home, and I just want to put this behind me.”

Snape stared at her with undisguised horror, shaking his head without even realizing that he was doing it, with all semblance of his composed Professor’s role suddenly gone. “Hermione, that fucking shit almost killed you! What the hell are you talking about?”

“I don’t want to talk about this.” She forced herself up from the bed, fuelling herself on a need not to appear weak in front of him.

“You have to talk about this, Hermione! Do you have any idea what I did to Krum? He is not going to forget, and he is most certainly not going to crawl back to Bulgaria and let you live out your life!”

“I don’t fucking care about what you did to him,” She cried shrilly, “what about what he did to me?”

“That’s exactly the point, Hermione!” He grabbed her shoulders and had to resist the urge to shake her until her teeth rattled. “When you arrived at the Manor you were naked, you were covered in blood and we thought you were going to die, so believe me, I know exactly what he did to you. How can you just let him go? Knowing what he is capable of, how can you just think he will leave you alone?”

“I don’t!” She blinked; she didn’t want to cry, not now, not in front of him. “I don’t know what he is going to do, but I can’t do this now…I can’t go through this now!”

“Why not? You can’t just ignore this.”

“Just get out! Leave me alone!”

“No!”

She sagged a little under his grip and finally began to shake. “Please Severus,” her voice caught in her throat, “please, I can’t do this.”

Behind him, Lavender lowered her gaze, she knew that she shouldn’t be here to witness this and she was suddenly sure that he loved Hermione as much as she loved him. Lavender felt like shaking him, deciding that it was stupid for them to be apart.

Snape closed his eyes and loosened his fingers a little from around her shoulders. She looked up at him, her heart shaped face with its stubborn chin was solemn beneath the wild array of bushy curls. Her eyes were wide, the darkest chocolate brown and he saw in their depths an imploring fear that beckoned to something unidentified in him. Had he known himself a little better he would have known that he was the kind of man who would die for someone he loved. He wanted to hold her, comfort her, discover what was plaguing her. But his reasoning told him that to do so would be taking advantage of their attraction. To do so would be taking the foolish, weak willed, soft hearted option that he so longed to take.

“What happened?” He asked softly, “did you forget?”

She blushed and shook her head, but she bowed her head and once again blinked back tears. She couldn’t look at him and lie; he was too good at that game.

“Then why? I would have taken you, you only had to ask.” He frowned; she shouldn’t have needed to ask him, he should have just taken her. He stroked her hair back, allowing his fingers to linger in her curls.

“You made it clear,” she said and her body stiffened, “the last time we spoke. You made it clear that you wanted nothing to do with me. I couldn’t ask you anything, because every time I went to you, you sent me away.”

He wondered if he had made her so hard, or had she always been hard and he’d only just noticed it. He touched his lips to her hair, allowing himself to be weak for a moment. Allowing himself to forget about Lavender Brown who was watching. Allowing himself to drown in Hermione, in her soft hair, in the scent of wild roses that surrounded her and seemed part of her skin. The scent was the same as the roses that climbed the walls of the Fenn in the spring and whose petals he had placed so lovingly in the perfume he had made for her at Christmas. Suddenly he wanted to be there with her, at the Fenn, in the sun. He wanted to show her the secret places that had made the darkness of his childhood bearable.

Her eyes were closed when she turned her face up to his; “kiss me,” she whispered, his touch relaxing her, making her ache, but she still couldn’t look at him.

He wanted to see her eyes, he lifted her chin. “Look at me.”

Her lids slowly lifted and those eyes, so expressive and full of uncertainty and longing were revealed to him.

Snape read the overlying vulnerability in her gaze and knew he had to contain his baser impulses. He wanted to take her home with him. He wanted to make the Fenn his home – their home. He wanted to give her everything and more.

But he couldn’t, not with Krum still a shadow over them, not with Krum still able to hurt her.

He pressed his finger tips against her midriff and gently propelled her backwards, ignoring her murmured sound of despair.

“Don’t worry about Krum,” he said abruptly, coming back to himself, “I’ll take care of it.”

“Severus…”

He turned on his heel, catching Lavender’s eye for a moment he nodded curttly before sweeping out of the room.

He always seemed to be doing that, leaving her. His frustration was acute. He might have battered down her door to get back in to her if he hadn’t been so accustomed to suppressing his feelings. He walked away instead, tight and controlled, but painfully aware that he could not hold this attraction inside forever.

*******

“I already know why you’re here,” Hermione said as she opened the door to Harry, “Severus has already been to tell me how stupid I am.”

“He didn’t say you were stupid,” Lavender interjected rationally, “actually he was really nice to you and if you ask me my opinion he was worried about you.”

Hermione glared at her. “Well since no one is asking for your opinion you may as well keep it to yourself.”

Lavender shrugged, unoffended at Hermione’s tone. She figured she’d had worse this week. Since finding out she was pregnant Hermione’s mood swings had become something Lavender realized she would be living with until they managed to abort the foetus.

Harry closed the door behind him and smiled grimly. “Well, I guess you’re going to hate me because I’ll probably ask all the same questions that he did.”

Hermione sat on her bed insolently. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“The truth might be a good start. What were you thinking? Why didn’t you go to that trial?”

“You really want the truth?” Hermione sounded as though she was accusing him of something rather than defending her actions, “well the truth is simple, Harry, I forgot. There, happy now? I forgot about the fucking trial. I fucked up. Does that make you feel better?”

Harry stared at her incredulously. “You forgot?”

“YES, I FORGOT. I’M NOT PERFECT! I HAVE OTHER THINGS TO WORRY ABOUT AND I FORGOT!”

Harry stepped back swiftly. “What are you yelling at me for?”

“I’m sick of it! I’m sick of everyone thinking that I can’t have any bloody flaws, like I can’t make a mistake…”

“It’s one hell of a mistake to make Hermione, I mean, you forgot?”

“Yes Harry, I forgot, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shatter any illusions you may have had about me.”

Harry looked to Lavender who shook her head as though to tell him that she’d tried to reason but had no luck. “If you would just calm down and listen to me you’d know that I’m not angry at you and I’m not accusing you of anything. I never had any illusions – or if I did they were shattered long ago. I just don’t understand, I need you to help me understand how you forgot about it. What else could be more important than that?”

“Things have changed Harry. Things get put into a different perspective when there is so much more to contemplate.”

“But Krum tried to rape you, and then he tried to kill you, Hermione!”

“And now he’s gone! Viktor isn’t a fool, Harry. He won’t come back looking for me.”

“And you’re a fool if you think that’s true!”

Hermione knew Harry was right but she didn’t want to think about it, she couldn’t or she would end up a screaming, dribbling nutter. “I don’t know what to say Harry, I can’t explain it to you any more than I can’t explain to myself.”

“Is it this thing with Snape? Has he got you so all consumed that you can’t think straight?” Harry could scarce believe that. Could Snape be such brilliant company, could he be such a fantastic lover that losing him had blinded her to all else?

“This has nothing to do with Severus,” Hermione snapped. It wasn’t entirely true; the baby was his. And now that she had seen him again the idea of ridding herself of the child seemed absurd, bringing the nagging doubts that plagued her to the surface.

“Then tell me why. Were you afraid to go alone? I would have gone with you, Lavender would have gone, hell if you’d asked him, Draco probably would have gone with you!”

“No Harry, it’s nothing like that. What I told you is true, I just forgot about it. Pathetic as it sounds.”

Harry finally fell silent. He too had forgotten, so all consumed in his own problems that he had not a thought for her. But what of her other friends? What about Lavender, she knew about the trial and she had said nothing, Snape had not remembered, neither had McGonagall or Draco – although he may have, Harry didn’t know where his loyalty was at the moment. How could all of them forgotten? The Wizarding world had been strangely silent on the subject. The Daily Prophet, who thrived on gossip, had reported nothing about the former Seeker’s fall from grace, and save for the initial letter, Hermione had received nothing that Harry knew of. No reminders, no reassurances, nothing.

Why had the Ministry not said more?

“They wanted to cover it up,” Harry muttered aloud.

“What?” Lavender looked at Harry. “Who wanted to cover it up?”

“The Ministry,” Harry replied, convinced he was right. “That’s the only way this could have happened. There must have been a charm on the letter…something…because one person forgetting I can understand, but all of us?”

“Why would the Ministry want to cover it up?” Hermione reasoned, coming to herself a little now that there was another theory – other than her own stupidity – being put forward. “What would the Ministry owe Krum? Why would they help him?”

“I don’t know…” Harry frowned, “but Fudge has always hated us, and maybe this was his last ditch effort at hurting us.”

“But he’s the Minister of Magic!”

“Not for much longer, and he knows it and he has always blamed me. He knows the best way to hurt me is through my friends.”

“That’s a pretty scandalous theory,” Lavender suggested.

“But it’s still a reasonable theory, Lavender.” Harry concluded, “I wouldn’t put anything past Fudge – or Krum.”

Hermione closed her eyes and lay back on the bed; “Do you remember what it was like when we first got here? I was so excited, because I was going to school to learn how to use magic. I thought I was so special. None of my friends from home would be doing that. They would all be going on to a normal Muggle school and I was going to a special place. Then I met you and you were so special…the most special of all the Wizards. It seemed that for so many people time had stood still while they waited for you to reach an age that you could be brought back into our world – and I was one of the privileged ones who got to be your friend. One of your best friends. I never felt good enough. I always thought I had to prove myself worthy.”

Harry looked at her as though she was mad. “But why, Hermione? I was nothing special. You only had to know me for two minutes to work that out…and I’m pretty thick when you think about it. If it wasn’t for you and Ron I would never had gotten through half the shit I got myself into.”

“That’s not true, Harry, you’re smarter than you think. I was always good with books. If it could be learned I could do it, but I have no instinct. I always thought I was so clever…I thought we were so clever. We spent the entire of our school lives trying to foil plot after plot, looking for adventures and getting into trouble. We planned to fight Voldemort. We did and we won. The world was going to love us and thank us and all would be well for the rest of our lives. But there was a huge flaw in that plan. We spent so long fighting and planning that we forgot to learn how to live for the rest of our lives…and lets face it, the three of us have made a huge mess of things so far.”

“No…” Harry faltered, “That’s not true…we…”

“Look at us Harry. Ron is in the hospital and it looks as though he is going to be taking some kind of drug for a very long time, he screwed his sister-in-law; who got him addicted to drugs, alienated all his friends and you found him in a pool of his own blood the day after Valentine’s Day. Then there’s you. You hide your sexuality even from yourself and then when it does surface you go for someone you had always considered your enemy and you get him, that’s the amazing thing, you actually get him and he falls for you, hard and then – just after you have managed to deconstruct him to the point where he is helpless without you – you dump him!”

“There is a reason for that, he…”

“I know what he did!” She sat up, frustrated with him, “You told me what he did, you told me a dozen times, but it doesn’t matter what he did!”

“Yes it does,” Harry insisted, “it matters!”

“But Harry that’s what you can’t see. The world isn’t black and white, you have never been able to see that. Yes, he did the wrong thing, but you refuse to look past what he did and ask why he did it.”

“He said she had information…” Harry stopped and snorted impatiently. Hermione and Ron seemed to be on the same rant, neither of them appreciated his position. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to talk about Draco right now.”

“Of course you don’t, because if you did you would be forced to admit that there were shades of grey in the world. The war didn’t end and leave us all in this wonderful world. The war ended and we had to learn the basics of living and we screwed it up - badly.”

“We’re eighteen Hermione, we are supposed to screw it up! We have time to screw it up!”

“I don’t!” she cried, “I don’t have time to continually screw my life up, I have to sort my life out now!”

“It’ll be alright Hermione, we’ll take care of Krum…”

“Oh screw Viktor, I’m not talking about Viktor!”

“Then what?” Harry stared at her, confused beyond belief now. “Why are you in such a rush to grow up?”

“Because I have to be a grown up so that my child has someone responsible in its life!”

“What?”

Hermione but down hard on her lip and looked away from him. She couldn’t believe she’d just blurted it out like that, without thinking. ‘She Who Thought Over Everything’ had just done the very same thing she always accused Harry of doing.

“Child? What child?” Harry looked to Lavender who was looking as though she wanted to slip out the door. “What child? Do you know anything about this, Lavender?”

“I…” Lavender desperately tried to communicate something unsaid to Hermione and gave Harry a helpless shrug.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m pregnant, Harry,” Hermione said quietly. “So as you can see, I have to get myself together now, and I really don’t have time to screw things up.”

Lavender was looking confused now, “but what about the potion? You said you wanted to get rid of it.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “You’re going to abort it?”

Hermione felt her cheeks burn, “I…” she smiled at Lavender in an attempt at reassurance, “you were right Lav, I don’t want to get rid of it, I just don’t think it’s in me to do it.”

For some reason both Harry and Lavender felt relieved, but with relief came a dozen more questions.

“Does he know?” Harry asked.

“No, he doesn’t need to,” Hermione answered, her voice hardening with her resolve.

“But why not?” Harry reasoned, “It’s his child after all, and he could help you.”

“Help me how? Demand that I get rid of it? Or do you think he’ll hear that I’m pregnant and come rushing back to me, to stay with me because of his sense of duty until he learned to hate us?”

“You don’t know that he’d do that. Actually, I was thinking that he could help you financially.”

Hermione nodded, Harry was right. She could hardly expect Harry to support her. “I guess I’ll have to move in with my parents.”

“Why? I thought you were going to live with Ron and I.”

“I didn’t think you’d want me to…not now…”

“I’d rather you live with us and be able to raise the child as a Wizard than be stuck in the Muggle world, and besides,” Harry gave a wry smile, “I’d get to be cool Uncle Harry.”

“So you and Ron and I, together again,” she smiled and chuckled softly. “I wonder if we’ll be happy, or will we all turn out to be morbid bastards.”

“I’m sure we’ll be happy.”

Hermione knew she shouldn’t ask it, but she couldn’t stop herself; “and what about Draco?”

Harry tensed, “Draco will go back to his Manor.”

“And then what? Do you think he’ll stay there and mourn for you?”

“No, he’ll get on with his life; that’s the way it should be.”

“And how will you feel? How will you feel when the Daily Prophet reports that he’s met a girl, that he’s getting married, or reports when his children are born? Will you be happy then?”

Harry blinked and turned towards the door. “It’s late,” he murmured, “I need to get some sleep.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“There is no answer,” Harry said quietly, “I’ll deal with it when it happens, that’s all I can say.” He made for the door to leave, and this time Hermione didn’t stop him.

*******

After seeing Hermione, the first impulse in Snape’s brain was to find Krum. Regardless of his promise to Dumbledore he wanted to seek Krum out and take care of him once and for all. Yet another part of him knew that he could not go back on his word, and his place was at school, where Hermione was safe. He could not leave her alone and unprotected, and he had no idea what kind of resources Krum had at his disposal, or just how cunning he could get. He had always considered the Bulgarian to be stupid, but in Snape’s experience, even the most stupid of people could be cunning when they wanted revenge.

And Snape had known men like Krum his entire life. He would want revenge.

So without the ability to go after the man, Snape’s only option was to protect the castle itself. Not that Hogwarts needed protecting as such. It’s wards just needed refining against a single person. And so at three-thirty in the morning, working in the pouring rain, Snape was finishing the casting of a protective circle that encompassed the entire castle grounds. He had been working on the circle for hours, not really noticing the rain as he continued in his progress, laying the sigils and burying a multitude of talisman until there was no part of the circle left unprotected.

If Krum so much as set foot on castle grounds Snape would know about it. Each of the talismans contained a variation of the Proteus Charm. If Krum passed over the circle the charm would trigger instantly. Snape’s first instinct was to attach the charm to a pendant around his neck, and allow him something that would heat and throb, alerting him no matter the time. But pendants failed and he may not notice it, so he took a leaf from the Dark Lord’s book and burned the charm into the flesh of his inner arm.

He finished burying the last Talisman and began the incantation to invoke the protective charm.

“Ninok, matesh vey nok ta velina to nok.” He sighed. He hated incantations. It struck him as ridiculous that the death curse, with sheer will and malice behind it should be two simple words and reasonably easy to perform, but a protection charm was a notoriously difficult incantation in a language he considered close to gibberish.

He touched the earth with the tip of his wand and muttered the Proteus charm and the flesh of his inner arm seared hot for a moment and faded. The burn was a miniature map, crude and rudimentary but a reasonable representation of the Hogwarts grounds. If Krum crossed the circle it would burn red in the area he crossed.

Snape touched the earth again, just to make sure it was working and the flesh burned hot again. He swayed for a moment, registering for the first time that it was raining hard, and that he was soaking wet and cold.

She had seemed so vulnerable tonight. After the temper and bravado had faded he had been able to see her for as fragile as she was. She had been scared. He was certain that she had forgotten the Wizengamot but he could not comprehend how that was possible. Krum had almost raped and killed her. How could she have forgotten something as monumental as that? But then, he had been so preoccupied himself that he had forgotten the trial as well – and that was unforgivable.

Somehow, he always seemed infinitely capable of failing those he loved.

And then tonight, when he had to be strong, when holding on to every shred of decorum he possessed would ensure that she knew she’d be safe, he’d almost folded completely. She had just washed her hair. It was frizzing and smelled like roses. He loved it that way.

The feeling returned. The one where he wanted to take her away, take her home to the Fenn and live happily ever after. For a moment he let the fantasy unfold. He didn’t have to live at the school. Many of the Professors’ had husbands or wives, they lived elsewhere and had lives of their own. He could do that. He could be something other than Snape, Potions Master and Head of Slytherin.

He shook his head and disposed of the fantasy residing there. She was young and had a lifetime ahead of her. No matter what her desire was now, there was no guarantee it would last. She would tire of him and his endless moods and she would leave; or she could be like his mother and stay. She’d learn to hate him after a while. It would be better to stay in the shadows of her existence and keep her safe so that she could enjoy her life.

He looked back at the castle wall and decided to do another circle, just for good measure.

*******

Harry sank down onto his bed and let his head fall into his hands. Hermione was right, they really had managed to screw up. He wondered if she would sleep or would she lie awake worrying about Krum or her unborn child?

Snape’s child, created from his seed. Harry wondered just what could be inherited. Would the child be unfortunate enough to be burdened with Snape’s looks, skin or hair? Could temperament be inherited, or could Harry Ron and Hermione create a happy enough home to banish Snape’s severity from the child altogether? Harry did not know what had made Snape the man he was. Had it been the result of cruel parents or relentless teasing at school (most it by James Potter and Sirius Black), or was his sourness and anger something deeper, some kind of flaw in the Snape family gene pool that caused him to be the way he was?

They were all ill prepared to raise a child, and they could scarcely cope with their own lives let alone take charge of another. And so many problems still hung over their heads; Viktor Krum for one. What would he do if he found out she had a child? Would he see in the child another way to hurt her?

Harry lifted his head. He had to deal with Krum before the baby came, before Hermione had time to really think about it and worry. He opened his bedside draw and rummaged through it until he found the folded tatty old Marauders Map. He hadn’t used it for a long time, not since October. It was more something of sentimental value now rather than something he used. He barely had a chance to look at it. Now that the war was over he had no reason to look for people or sneak here and there.

He could use it now however and he pulled it out of the draw and opened it up. He knew a charm he could use. Something to detect Krum.

As he opened it a picture fell into his lap. Harry smiled at it, knowing that it was Draco. Taken at Christmas, Draco was dressed in his silk pajamas and looking disheveled. Harry had taken it using the camera Draco had given him for Christmas. He remembered the moment well, as they’d just made love and Draco had pulled on the pajamas in a hurry because Harry was trying to get a picture of him naked. Harry could even recall the way he smelled that morning, a mix of clean sweat and sex.

Harry ran his fingers over the surface of the picture and smiled again as Draco smiled back.

Hermione’s words came back to haunt him. How would he feel when Draco moved on with his life? How would he handle the idea of Draco getting married or having children or something like that? Could he be happy knowing these things? Could he move on himself? Could he derive pleasure from a body that was not Draco’s? Something inside him didn’t want to know the answer to those questions. He knew that he had to learn to love someone else, someone more suitable, someone more like him.

But there wasn’t anyone else like him. Draco was like him, more than Harry liked to admit. Something deep inside Harry recognized it and told him that Draco was the only one.

Which was really very stupid when he thought about it. How could he be so convinced that it had been love? They’d had sex and decided that they loved each other. It was foolish.

But it was love…it was still love. Harry couldn’t explain how it had happened any more than he could explain Hermione’s attraction to Snape. It was just something that had happened, something inside them both. And now that something inside him was hurting him.

People broke up every day and they got over it – and thinking that gave Harry cold comfort. He sighed and placed the photograph on the table lovingly, turning his attention back to the map.

Fully opened, the map would almost cover the wall, but to see the entire boundary of the castle the map needed to be opened. The charm he could think of was a simple one, if Krum tried to cross the school boundaries his name would glow bright red. Harry wasn’t entirely sure what he could do about the daylight hours, and he could hardly carry the map around and look at it all day. Harry was almost certain that if Krum came near the castle, he would do so in the dead of night. During the day the school was crawling with Professors and students, and far too many of them would do anything they could to help Hermione. At night she was unprotected. While Harry had no doubt that Lavender was a competent Witch, he didn’t trust her to be able to defend Hermione if Krum got up there and attacked her – and such an event would probably put Lavender in danger as well.

Harry would watch the map all night if he had to. He could keep Hermione safe and she wouldn’t even know about it. During the day Harry could watch her during his classes. He would put aside his differences with Draco and ask him to look after her in those classes that they had together without Harry.

He cast a look to the photograph lying on the table and inextricably felt horny. He bit his lip. Don’t even think about it.

What? Just because I dumped him I’m not allowed to wank over him?

Harry couldn’t help it. He smiled and lay back, unzipping his trousers as he did so. He wondered if there was any oil in the drawer, because it was always so much better with oil.

*******

Lucius could well remember the moment that he had become aware of himself. He was in Azkaban, in darkness, and feeding on something. He could only think of it as feeding, because eating had a different connotation entirely. Eating was something one did by choice, feeding was a necessity. And he was feeding. Feeding on something that was possibly his cell mate. Feeding his body so that he didn’t starve to death. It was a primal urge, something so base that his body simply responded. And in the middle of this primeval feed he had thought; ‘so it didn’t work, the Dementor won.’

And then he realized that he had thought something independent of simple need. For a moment he mentally rejoiced.

Mentally rejoiced. But not physically. He had not expected that problem. When he had invoked the charm he had expected some ability to help himself. But his body; something he had always taken great pride in, was useless.

The Angel, used to shield his soul, had managed to protect his essence, but his body; it seemed, was out of the Angel’s power. The celestial being had fought hard to get out. So hard that Lucius had believed it would tear his fragile body apart, opening him up and leaving behind a shredded husk while it ascended back to its own realm.

But the charm worked well, and the Angel was trapped, destined to protect him and not destroy the fabric of his being. But it reeked merry havoc in its immovable host.

Lucius had come a long way since those early moments. His mind was now ever active and with nothing left to do but think, his mental abilities had become nothing short of amazing. Things that he had once thought impossible and best left to the realm of fantasy now seemed nothing to him. He could communicate mentally, whole conversations with a voice he could impose easily into the head of anyone receptive enough to listen. And he could travel. Travel any distance. The spirit he had worked so hard to protect was able to wander at will, transcending any distance and seeking out those he wished to see again.

But to his frustration he could only speak to those he visited in their dreams, and inevitably they would wake up and forget that he’d been.

Shock or terror seemed to force him to the surface of his bodily prison. He had; on occasion, become himself again, for the briefest of moments. He had learned this lesson the hard way. He had been removed from Azkaban, still confused as to his situation, placed in a box and taken to the Museum for Magical Arts and Antiquities. A man had then removed him from the box, stared at him as though he were made of pure gold, and called him ‘his Angel’. He had bathed him, brushed his hair and clothed him lovingly. The sensation had been almost pleasant.

And then the man had raped him so suddenly and so violently that Lucius had torn out a shank of his own hair.

Not that the Curator had noticed.

Now, all of the work he had done on his mind, everything he had learned, was going to end. The Angel was dying. He could feel it inside. Rolling and squirming and aching inside him, and once the Angel died so too would Lucius. He would pass onto whatever came next. He could not stop it. He could tell Non how to break the charm well enough and if it had been a mere trifle for Severus Snape to come and perform a simple ceremony or administer a potion, he would have done it in a second. But it wasn’t. He required Draco to be there, and anything that brought Draco to the Museum was out of the question.

He knew his son well. He knew that Draco would do anything to save him and he also knew just how headstrong the boy could be. He would ignore dangers that he really should heed. And so the only answer was to give him nothing; no information, in an attempt to make him believe that it was all for nothing. He stopped talking to Non unless he truly had to. He’d gotten his message to Snape; ‘don’t save me,’ and ‘keep Draco away’. Beyond that there was nothing else to say.

Death would come soon enough. Lucius could feel the Angel dying, and it was only a matter of weeks until it was all finished with. Months perhaps, if he was unlucky. It was a strange feeling, knowing he was going to die and not fearing it.

He had once been terrified of dying. As a child his stomach would tie itself into knots at the prospect of death. He had gone to the funeral of an uncle and he remembered his mother listing who she’d want at her funeral. He’d told her that he would want his mother at his – and she had laughed and said, “Silly boy, I’ll be dead long before that.” He hadn’t eaten for a week, so great was his distress. He could simply not fathom not existing, not breathing – not being. He had been taught as part of their religion that his soul would return to the Summer lands after death and prepare itself for its next incarnation. But he could not remember a previous existence and if he could not remember a previous existence, what guarantee did he have that he would remember this one? So, it stood to reason that if he could not remember this one then he would lose that undeniable sense of self, and without that sense of self, what use was reincarnation? And what if he came back as a ‘Muggle’?

But now he knew. There were worse fates than death, and at that moment he was living one of them.

Archibald Semeuse. If a more fitting punishment had been available Lucius could not think of it. Here, embodied in the form of this man, was a torture befitting Lord Voldemort himself – except that Voldemort was not that sick – and that was saying something. And the Ministry, who thought delivering him to the Dementors’ was the worst they could do, had unwittingly served him up to the most frightening man Lucius could ever conceive of.

Archibald Semeuse. Who would ever admit to having spawned such a man?

It was a measure of just how long he had been this mans puppet by the fact that his body no longer resisted Semeuse. The Angel lay dormant, not trying to push the old man away and displeasing him beyond measure. Semeuse liked the resistance, because he liked to know that he was causing pain. Lucius had trained himself to hold on, to move heavy limbs and make appropriate noises until Semeuse came to orgasm and pulled out of the passive body beneath him.

It was not as though Lucius was a stranger to this kind of lovemaking. He’d had male lovers in the past and he had chosen them with more affection that he had selected his mistresses. They would kiss, work each others’ body up until the sex was inevitable and then when it happened, it was always wonderful. He had no preference for top or bottom. He’d done both. Severus had a problem with being underneath him, which had surprised him at the time, but the greatest surprise with that evening was that Severus took control with remarkable ease – so much for the kid he’d picked on.

But fucking Severus was neither here or there. Archibald Semeuse was a different matter entirely. Semeuse had no interest in foreplay, either that or he’d never heard of it which was possibly more frightening. Semeuse seemed to enjoy tearing into an unwilling body, and he obviously enjoyed making him bleed. He liked to hear him cry. He liked to cause as much pain and terror as he possibly could.

Far more than the sex, Lucius hated what came after. He hated the way Semeuse touched him gently, kissed him and whispered loving words to him as though they were meant to be. He hated the way Semeuse refused to use magic to clean him, instead using his hands to wipe away the come and shit and whatever else deemed fit to run out of him. He hated how Semeuse would pull him close and sleep beside him – like a lover.

Lucius had never spent the entire night with anyone other than Narcissa. Occasionally – very occasionally – there would be a third in their bed, but he could only sleep beside her. With Semeuse there, Lucius found that he would dream that he was at home and that the person beside him was his wife. And the travesty was all the worse when he woke to find himself curled snuggly into the Curator’s arms.

It was no wonder that he no longer feared death. Even if nothing came after, anything was better than this.

But for as much as he did not fear the hereafter there was one thing that terrified him beyond measure. When he died (and it would be soon) would Semeuse seek to replace him? So far he had managed to keep Semeuse in his thrall and despite the occasional comment he had kept the Curator’s gaze from Draco. But if he was dead, would Semeuse automatically seek Draco out?

And now that Potter had abandoned his son, Lucius could feel his fear growing steadily stronger. Draco was his own worst enemy, leaving the castle night after night to drink himself into oblivion, thus leaving himself vulnerable.

“He needs something to keep him there,” Lucius had reasoned and so he’d had Non place a guarantee in Draco’s path. Lucius had found the kitten in a drainpipe not far from the Museum. He’d sent Non across the rooftops to retrieve the animal and then had him ‘borrow’ the Curator’s wand to place a charm Lucius taught him on the scruffy looking thing. Once charmed the kitten was positively irresistible.

And more importantly it would beg for care. Lucius doubted that Draco would leave the castle at night ever again.

“Are you still with me, Lucius?”

Lucius came back from his mental wanderings and focused on the Curator.

“Where did you go to my Angel?”

“Nowhere, I’m just a little tired.” It was a lie, but he forced the feeling of a smile into the Curator’s heart, and he was getting very good at it.

“You’re so beautiful my Angel, so beautiful. You’ll be able to sleep soon.”

Somewhere inside him, apart the Curator’s abuse, he felt a pain shoot through him. The Angel was not going to go quietly.

*******

Hermione burst into Harry’s room without knocking and ignored the resounding screech and scrambling for bedclothes from the room’s single occupant.

“Put your clothes on Harry,” she said briskly, sounding just like her old self and sitting on the edge of his bed, “I’ve been thinking.”

“How much did you see?” Harry cried, his voice unnaturally high as he tucked blankets around himself.

“See? Oh, everything. Nice cock. Now, I’ve been thinking about this whole thing with Draco.”

“You can’t just burst in without knocking!”

“Oh for Gods sake, Harry, it doesn’t matter what I saw, you’re gay!”

“So? You’re not! And I don’t want you to see me doing…”

“Having a wank? Harry, I don’t care what you do…now about Draco…”

“I don’t walk in on you when you’re masturbating!”

“Would you calm down and listen to me?”

Harry’s cheeks were blazing fiercely; “alright…what were you thinking about?”

“Draco,” Hermione paused for effect, “and the whole ‘torturing Muggles’ thing.”

Harry pursed his lips and said nothing. He didn’t stop her however, because he was interested. He just didn’t want her to think he was desperate to hear her.

“Now, you never met Regina but I did and I’m telling you, I wanted to beat her to death with her own limbs and I have way more patience than Draco - so I’m amazed he didn’t kill her…” she caught Harry’s look and rolled her eyes. ”Anyway, when I confronted Severus about her he wouldn’t tell me anything, but he did let slip that she had something to do with Lucius Malfoy. You said that Draco had tried to justify what he’d done by saying that she had information about his father. So, I got to thinking about the whole thing and I remembered that I was reading Lucius Malfoy’s journal on Valentine’s Day and …”

“Whoa, back up a bit, Lucius Malfoy’s journal?”

“Yes, well you see, that’s the thing, after everything with Ron I put it out of my mind, then after you left tonight I started to think about it.” For the briefest of moments a frown crossed her face, as she’d started to think about anything she could to take her mind off her own problems, and focusing on Harry made her feel better. It was almost as though she could get back some control over something. “What I read was an incantation, a protection spell against the Dementors Kiss.”

”But you can’t protect yourself from the Dementors Kiss, they suck your soul out, that’s how they feed. People saw it happen, Hermione.”

“I know…but I really think that he’s done something. I mean, Severus has his nose in that book all the time…”

“Must be a big book.”

She glared at him witheringly. “And why would Draco risk everything by doing what he did to Regina if there wasn’t a chance he could help his father?”

“Whatever you think Lucius Malfoy’s done Hermione, it can’t have worked. I haven’t been to the exhibition but I’ve spoken to plenty of people who have – and I saw the picture in the Daily Prophet. He’s not there, it’s just his body. Ron said he was like a big doll.”

“I know, but what if it did work?”

“But it can’t have.”

“But what if it did?”

“I’m not following you, Hermione. How can you think it worked?”

“Well, what if he’s stuck? What if he’s in there but his body isn’t working…like his body is a coffin and he’s alive inside it?”

Harry felt a little sick. Lucius Malfoy. It all came back to him in the end. “You think he’s aware of what’s going on around him?”

“Yes!” Hermione sounded excited, far more excited than Harry felt. “And I think Severus and Draco know it. I also think this woman; Regina, knows how he did it and how to set him free – or at least Severus and Draco think she does.”

“And she wouldn’t tell him unless he had sex with her,” Harry said quietly.

Hermione nodded, still excited. “And he didn’t want to cheat on you, so he used Crucio instead to try and make her talk.”

Harry grimaced, because it was kind of romantic in a twisted sort of way. But it was still wrong, still unforgivable. “He has no fucking idea of right from wrong,” Harry muttered viciously.

“He thought he was doing the right thing by you,” Hermione reasoned. “He loved you, he still does…” she caught Harry’s look. “But that’s beyond the point. So, I was thinking about Lucius Malfoy and about the possibility that I’m right and that lead me to think that maybe…well; more than maybe, I’m pretty sure that they are going to try and set him free.”

“What?”

“Severus and Draco are going to try and free Lucius Malfoy.”

The sick feeling in Harry’s stomach worsened a little. “They can’t do that! Hermione, we can’t let them do that.”

“Well, we’ll have to stop them then, won’t we?”

“We could go to Dumbledore,” Harry said, almost to himself. “He’ll know what to do…” Harry looked at Hermione, his features troubled. “But Draco would probably get into severe trouble.” And he’ll hate me for it.

“So will Severus,” Hermione replied.

“Yeah, him too. But we can’t let them free Malfoy, so we have no choice.”

“We could stop them ourselves.”

“How?” Harry asked plainly. “How are we going to stop them? I don’t want to be the one who confronts them with it…Draco would probably hex me if I tried to stop him. The one thing I did learn when I was with him was that no one can so much as criticize his father without him going off.”

Hermione smiled evilly, “I know, but I really think they’ll have problems doing it without this.” She reached into her robes and pulled a leather bound book from her pocket.

Harry almost laughed, and he couldn’t quite believe it. “You stole Lucius Malfoy’s journal?”

“I think stole is a little harsh, confiscated is a much better term.”

“How? How did you get it?”

Hermione waved her hand as though to brush off his amazement. “Severus hasn’t changed the password to his door for years I’d say. I just waited for him to leave his room and in I went.” She handed the book to Harry, “I thought it might make good bedtime reading.”

Harry stared at the journal in his hands. If there was one person he really didn’t want to uncover it was Lucius Malfoy. Harry would have happily gone to his grave not thinking that there was any other side to the man than that of an evil prick, but the more Harry learned, the more he realized that Lucius Malfoy was not entirely the monster he had been made out to be. And now here was the man’s life, laid out in a book for Harry to read.

He didn’t want to read it. He didn’t know what Lucius Malfoy would have to write about. Memoirs of a Death Eater?

“What the hell would he have in here that I’d be interested in?” Harry scowled, trying to convince himself that there was nothing in that book for him.

The journal seemed to jump from his hands and landed on the bedclothes, its pages flying open. Before Harry could pick it up again the pages began to turn, going faster and faster until Harry couldn’t make them out any more. Occasionally they would stop for a split second giving Harry a tantalizing glimpse of words before starting up again.

And then it began spitting photographs out at him, hitting him in the face, stinging his skin as each picture fell into his lap, causing the pile to quickly grow. All Draco, every one of them. Draco at birth, Draco at one, Draco in the bath, Draco’s first solids, Draco’s first steps, Draco playing in the garden, Draco bawling into his father’s shoulder. They kept coming and Harry was shaking his head, accepting that the book had well proved its point and he pushed the pictures away, crying out for it to stop.

And it did stop. The book fell still, open to a passage that begged to be read. Harry ran his fingers down the pages, over the ornate handwriting and the words that could possibly tell Harry something that might foil his resolve to stay away from Draco.

“Are you going to read it?” Hermione asked.

“No…” Harry drew and unsteady breath, “I don’t know if I want to read anything that Lucius Malfoy wrote.”

Hermione looked surprised, and she personally thought Harry was mad, because she would have loved to start reading that book. If he had found an incantation to protect himself from the Dementors Kiss then he was nothing short of genius, and she could only imagine what other gems the book held. She also knew that Severus was close to Lucius, and so she was sure there was something about Severus in there, some hidden tidbit that might thrill her to read.

She looked at Harry and they both looked back down to the book.

”Well,” Harry said reluctantly, “maybe it will be good bedtime reading.”

Hermione grinned triumphantly. “Move over, I’m staying the night.”

Harry hesitated and then shuffled over in the bed. Hermione took off her robes to reveal her pajamas underneath and she went to lift the blankets.

“Um, ‘Mione?”

“Yeah?”

“Could you pass me my boxers before you get in?”

Hermione laughed. It felt good to stop worrying, if only for the night.

*******

Morning came too fast and Hermione opened her eyes and immediately frowned. The room was still dark, but she could see a faint light filtering through the window. It was morning and she wasn’t alone. A heavy arm draped over her waist and curled around her back was a warm body, breathing evenly, moving her own body by the steady rise and fall of a hard chest.

For a moment she was disorientated. The arm over her was solid and muscular. Younger than Severus. It took her almost a minute to realize that it was Harry.

And then suddenly her stomach rolled and she sat up, a hot sweat racing up the back of her neck.

“Oh God,” she sat up, pushing Harry’s arm away and dry heaving.

Harry stirred, dislodging the journal that had been resting on his hip. The bed was covered in pictures and photographs, slips of paper and snippets of writing and poetry. Lucius Malfoy apparently kept everything that crossed his line of vision, including sweets wrappers and Draco’s umbilical cord.

“Are you alright?” Harry sat up and ran his hand painfully through his tangled hair. He gently reached out to rub her back.

“I’m okay…I’m just a little sick. Apparently it’s normal. I’ve been lucky until now. I haven’t had much morning sickness…the last few days have been pretty awful though…and it’s not just the mornings.”

“Can I give you anything? I have some headache potion…but that won’t stop you puking.”

“No, I’m fine. Lavender says I should eat more. When her mother was pregnant she swore by eating.”

Harry had nothing to eat in his room, which was pretty rare considering he made a weekly trip to Honeydukes to replenish his sweets supply.

“I’ll be okay,” Hermione repeated taking a few deep breaths, “It’ll pass…I’m sure it will.”

Harry began scooping up the contents of the journal. Despite his determination not to read it, he had given in to temptation and in the end, he’d been as fascinated by it as Hermione was. Lucius Malfoy had been given the journal on his fourteenth birthday and had been writing in it ever since. Everything from a detailed description of losing his virginity the same day he’d received the journal, through to a complaint about skinning his knees during Quidditch practice. It seemed as though nothing escaped his notice. Harry and Hermione had reached as far as Draco’s birth and they had been reading most of the night. There was no way they would ever finish it.

They hadn’t even come close to finding out what he had done to escape the Dementors Kiss and although Harry knew that they could ask the book and it may well show them the answer, he didn’t think he wanted to know. He couldn’t allow Draco and Snape to set Lucius Malfoy free, and reading this journal only made the man seem more human and more worthy of being saved. Harry couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand for him to be so human, or so ordinary. Lucius Malfoy was a convicted murderer of innocents. He was dangerous and he didn’t deserve any mercy. While Harry couldn’t agree with what the Curator was doing, he couldn’t allow him to be released to do Merlin only knew what.

It would be best for the journal to be hidden away, out of reach of those who could do damage with it. It was best, for everyone’s good.

*******

Draco had stopped going out. He had no idea why. At least when he was going out he could take his mind off the fact that he was here, alone, with nothing and no one for company. Well, not entirely alone, he had Miss Kitty. The little kitten left a comforting pool of warmth right in the centre of his bed, but she was not that pleasurable tangle of limbs, that warm breath, that perfect rise and fall of a chest and she did not smell like him.

He really should just leave. He would leave. He was Draco Malfoy for Merlin’s sake, and he didn’t need to finish school! He had only bothered coming back to Hogwarts because his house had been crawling with Aurors; they were long gone now, and the house was now empty. He knew that place well, and he was as safe there as he was at Hogwarts. He wanted to go home - he could go home. He had enough money to live a thousand extravagant lifetimes. He certainly didn’t have to do anything as remotely mundane as work. He could just pack his bags, tuck Miss Kitty under his arm and leave.

Except he didn’t leave. Despite Harry and Snape doing nothing to help him of late; despite everything, he stayed at Hogwarts. He knew why he was staying. It was all for Harry and he could feel just how pathetic he had become. Staying for Harry, someone who had not spoken to him in a month. Staying; pathetically, for someone who had been avoiding him at all costs.

He had contemplated going to Harry and trying to explain what had happened. Explain everything from the very beginning, omitting nothing and hoping that perhaps; if he knew the whole sordid story, Harry could possibly come to some kind of understanding about why Draco had treated Regina as he had.

Regina was gone and Snape wasn’t saying anything about her. Snape had closed himself off from Draco as far as Lucius was concerned. It seemed that everyone that mattered in Draco’s life had put up some kind of wall and he was on the cold side of it. He was long past wishing he was back at the point when he didn’t care about anyone at all. He was fast reaching a point where he felt he was about to go insane from caring. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t want this emotion, he didn’t want to constantly feel as though his world was caving in around him. Dear Gods he was beginning to understand how Weasley felt!

And so he had stopped going out and he stayed in his room smoking pot, drinking gin and stroking Miss Kitty absently. Oh, and he studied…and masturbated when he just couldn’t stand not having Harry any longer.

“What should I do Miss Kitty?”

Miss Kitty lifted her fluffy head and looked at him through emerald eyes. She had amazing eyes, like Harry’s eyes. He had begun to consider that perhaps she was not such a Muggle of a cat after all. She licked her back paw clumsily and fell onto her side.

“Stupid cat.”

Miss Kitty looked up at him offended and then worked her way onto his lap.

“I should go home,” he stroked her soft fur gently, “you’d like it there Miss Kitty. There’s lots of rooms for you to run around in, and in the summer you can play in the garden. We get ducks on the pond and you could chase them. I used to love those ducks. When I was very little I used to chase them all over the lawn. My mother was constantly thinking that I’d fall in the pond and drown so she’d make my father run around after me. He used to pretend he couldn’t catch me – and I never once fell in the pond.”

Oh good grief, he was becoming sentimental. A sentimental drunk, was there anything worse?

“They wanted to have another child, so I’d have someone to play with, but they didn’t…they couldn’t…some stupid infection that St Mungo’s couldn’t fix. They didn’t talk about it.” He looked blankly at the wall and realised that he was incredibly stoned and more than a little drunk – he felt like crying. “I’m kind of glad they didn’t have anyone else, I liked being the only one. I liked the attention.” He paused, smoked a little more and took another drink. “They did love each other really. No one ever understood that. They had so many lovers and even the lovers never understood. The lovers were so far down the chain that the term lover was overrated, someone to fuck was probably more accurate, and they never lasted long. My parents always came home at night and despite having separate chambers, more often than not slept in the same bed. Sometimes I used to sit outside my father’s door and listen to them. Sometimes they’d talk, sometimes they’d fight, sometimes they’d laugh and sometimes they’d make love.”

He stopped. The urge to cry was suddenly overwhelming. He wished that he was ‘that’ child again, that he was his old self assured bastard self, with Crabbe and Goyle at his beck and call, and a powerful father whom everyone feared.

He wished it was Christmas and he was rushing down the hallway for presents. He wished it was Christmas and he was talking to them and the war hadn’t happened. He wished it was Christmas and he was making love to Harry and Harry was coming and coming and coming.

“Harry isn’t coming back is he?” Draco looked down at his cat sadly. “I really fucked that one up didn’t I? I never told him anything. I never showed him any of the things he wanted to see. I kept everything of me from him, and now he hates me.” He scratched the cat behind the ears and drank from his bottle. “I never keep anything from you, do I Miss Kitty?”

Miss Kitty managed a sleepy meow.

Draco knew he should go out. He just knew he should not be sitting alone in his room smoking pot, drinking gin and talking to a cat.

But for all the things he could have said and done, simply loving someone wasn’t enough. He was supposed to share things too, share everything in his life, not just the bits he thought his lover should know. He wouldn’t even give Harry the damn Pensieve when he’d asked for it. How hard would that have been? He could have purchased a Pensieve bowl easily enough; one could find them in Hogsmeade, if you knew where to look. But of course he hadn’t. He hadn’t given so much as an inch – and what should he care if Harry saw what had happened with Moody? Had it been so traumatic that he hadn’t gotten through it? Of course not, he was here now wasn’t he?

It was too late now. It was not as though he could just give Harry the stupid thing now. Even if he did, Harry probably wouldn’t look at it anyway, and even if he did look inside it, none of it would make any difference at all. There was no point in giving it to him, none at all.

Except that Harry had really wanted it and there was no harm in giving him something he had really wanted, even if he didn’t want it any more. Perhaps he should just give Harry the Pensieve, give it to him with no hope or agenda, just to give it to him because he’d wanted it. Even though he probably didn’t want it now.

He put the gin down and stubbed out the joint. He’d sleep on it now, and then think about it tomorrow.

*******

Snape frantically emptied the last of the drawers from the side table onto the floor and scrambled through the mess of contents. This one was a long shot and he knew it. This was his junk drawer, the one thing in his life that did not have to be well organized and contained perhaps a dozen old keys, a couple of broken dishes, old bottles of dried ink, something that could be a lethal poison, and a few battered looking photographs of the sullen teenager he had once been and – ugh – his parents wedding picture.

But no journal.

Where the hell was the damned journal? He needed it, quite aside from the fact that he still hadn’t found out all of its secrets, all of his notes were tucked inside the book. Every scrap of information that he had managed to gather was tucked safely in the one place he thought was safe. He had almost worked it out, only one or two things needed to be deciphered and then he’d have the answer he was looking for. He knew what to do and he almost knew how to do it.

He really hadn’t expected the journal to disappear. It wasn’t here, not in this room. Which meant that someone had taken it.

Draco had sworn black and blue that he had not touched it and Snape believed him. Draco was good with potions but he certainly wasn’t brilliant. Transfiguration was Draco’s forte, and he wouldn’t risk his father by attempting to concoct the potion himself. He also knew very little about what to look for, and he hadn’t shared a great deal with Draco of late. Severus felt he needed to keep trying to hold true to Lucius’ wishes.

But the loss of the journal had hit Draco hard. He was not in a good state as it was; the loss of his father’s journal meant the loss of some kind of hope. Snape had silently cursed Potter for leaving Draco at such a time. Draco had always been strong – if not a little spiteful. At first it had been the result of his inbuilt conviction that he was perfectly superior to everyone else, but like his father his strength came out for all to see when he was at his lowest point. Snape had watched the child become a man seemingly overnight. From the moment Alistair Moody had poured acid over that healthy body to the point when Draco watched a Dementor swoop down on his father, Draco had held his head up and had overcome it. He had picked himself up and rebuilt his life.

So what did Potter have that the removal of it could cause such a state of depression? Was it simply that the failure of the first romantic relationship that actually meant something to him was the last straw and he could take no more? Or was it possible that Potter truly was the love of Draco’s life and he honestly couldn’t go on without him?

That idea was ridiculous and Snape refused to entertain it for more than a moment. Draco and Potter, it still seemed an abomination. It was surely nothing more than a foolish infatuation and Draco would get over it in time. He was just vulnerable at the moment that was all.

Snape stood up and kicked the mess on the floor ineffectually. Where was the bloody journal? Why would someone take it? What would anyone have to gain by taking it? Who could possibly be interested in the trivialities of Lucius Malfoy’s life? That was all the journal was. Aside from the potion there was very little in there that could interest anyone who didn’t know him. There were no great revelations about Voldemort or any Death Eaters that may have escaped the trials. Most of the journal was nothing more than the accumulation of random thoughts about anything that popped into Lucius’ head. Everything from a rant about Florean Fortescue deciding to stop making Lucius’ favorite flavor of ice cream, through to a rather interesting account of just what the Cruciatus curse felt like the first time the Dark Lord had performed it on him. But nothing that was going to be of use to anyone.

Perhaps, Snape thought blankly, he had just misplaced it and it would turn up somewhere.

There was a first time for everything.

*******

“You’ll be going home soon.”

Ron looked at Pansy as she contemplated the chessboard. He’d finally found an opponent who could well and truly kick his arse. “Yes,” he said quietly, “next week.”

“Your mum will be really happy huh?”

Ron nodded. “Yeah, she’s been going on for ages about me going home…I haven’t told her that I’m moving in with the others when school finishes though.”

“Others?”

“Harry and Hermione.”

“Oh.” She fell silent, intent again on her chess pieces.

“Are you alright?”

She looked at him and blinked, “Me? Yes, I’m fine.” She smiled and tried to be a little more cheerful. “Draco came by earlier,” she said, “and he’s not looking so good.”

“Really?” Ron laughed, “when Harry came he wasn’t looking so hot either. That was a few weeks ago though.”

“People have a habit of avoiding this place,” Pansy said, “can’t really blame them I guess.”

“No, can’t blame them at all.” Ron flinched as she took his knight. “Hermione came on the weekend though…beats my sister, she’s been – once – I think.”

Pansy looked more interested at this. “Draco told me something really weird about Hermione.”

Ron’s eyes narrowed, “What? What did he tell you?”

“That she’s pregnant.”

Hermione had told him that herself and he wondered who else knew about it. Hermione had also told him who the father was. He didn’t want to believe it, because the very idea horrified him. Once upon a time he’d considered that the worst she could do was Draco – then Harry had ended up with Draco and Hermione…Hermione had been with that…thing. She had only come to tell Ron because she wanted to warn him that they would be living at Grimmauld Place and she wanted Ron to know it.

By his silence Pansy thought she had perhaps stepped over the line. She looked away and withdrew a little into herself.

“Yeah,” Ron smiled and tried to catch her eye, “she’s having a baby.”

“Draco says that the father is…”

“Snape.” Ron grimaced, and it almost physically hurt to say it.

Pansy’s eyes widened. Unlike Ron she didn’t consider Professor Snape such a bad catch. Then again, she had been raised to find a powerful Pureblood to marry and she did not consider the age gap such a terrible thing. She had also been a Slytherin and a good one, and he had never been particularly cruel to her. But still, Hermione Granger was a Muggleborn and a Gryffindor; she hadn’t thought Snape would be attracted to such a girl.

“Can’t believe it either eh?”

“I don’t know,” Pansy shrugged, “Professor Snape wasn’t so bad. He was always nice to me.”

“That’s because you’re a Slytherin – the rest of us saw what he was really like.”

“You just didn’t know his soft spots.”

Ron laughed bitterly, “he has no soft spots!”

“Of course he does,” Pansy reasoned, “everyone does.”

“Alright then, name one.”

Pansy thought about it for a moment. “Fizzing Wizzbees.”

“Snape likes Fizzing Wizzbees?”

“Oh yeah, anyone who brought them back from Hogsmeade for him got House Points.”

“What?” Ron almost screeched with indignance. “Is that why you lot always had so many House Points? Do you know how hard everyone had to work to try and get those points?”

Pansy giggled and then almost rolled on the floor with laughter; “well I never said it was fair!”

Ron shook his head but he couldn’t help but grin. She lit up when she laughed and such occurrences were few and far between. Something washed through his belly like the first pleasant waves of a drunk, the waves that made you grin like fool for no reason at all.

Under his scrutiny a blush came to her cheek and she looked down at the board. “Will you come and visit?”

It threw him, her tone suddenly being so serious. “Of course, of course I’ll come and visit you.”

She murmured to one of her pieces, moving it so that Ron was in check. She didn’t look convinced. She’d meant it when she’d said that people had a habit of avoiding the ward. Her uncle; who was her legal guardian, had dropped her here after Christmas. It was April now and she hadn’t seen him since. Draco tried to come fortnightly, but he was forgetting more often than not and used school as his excuse. She had no other visitors. Ron had a steady stream of family, but for his friends the novelty had fast worn off. Like Draco, they blamed school pressures, but Pansy knew that the truth was closer to the fact that the ward was depressing.

“I will come,” Ron said, reading her face, “I promise.”

“You don’t have to...I don’t expect you to.”

“But I’ll come.” He wanted to touch her then but he knew she’d flinch away from him. Ron also wanted to reassure her somehow, let her know that things would change. He wanted to change them. “When I move to London I’ll ask them to let you come and live with me…I mean us. The house is huge, you’d like it…”

“Draco tried that once before and they wouldn’t let me go and live at his house. They said he wasn’t stable enough, so I can’t see them thinking any better of you.”

”But it’s different now,” Ron said helplessly, even though he knew how it looked. He’d tried to kill himself, he’d become addicted to drugs and it was more than likely that he would be fighting depression for the remainder of his life – he was hardly the kind of person anyone would send a suicidal depressive to go and live with.

His parents were another story entirely.

“I’ll think of something, Pansy,” he promised, knowing that he shouldn’t. “I’ll get you out of here.”

*******

It was a Thursday night and Snape was considering the fact that all of his nights were fast becoming carbon copies of each other. It had been this way before the war and before Potter had come to Hogwarts; when he had spent years waiting for the boy to arrive. He’d slowly dissolved into boredom until he became a shadow of himself. In a way he was enjoying it now. This was essentially what it was supposed to be like; this was what he considered peace time to be.

But this wasn’t peace time. There were things he was supposed to be doing. Finding a way to free Lucius. Protecting Hermione. Two things he should be doing. Instead he had fallen into some sense of routine that had once given his life meaning, and now was all simply making him feel guilty.

After the day’s lessons he marked papers and potions, all the while marveling at the idea that most of his students might actually be unable to wipe their own arses, let alone put ingredients in the right order. He attended dinner in the Great Hall and ate mechanically, savoring very little of the food and focusing on nothing in particular. Every so often he’d look at Minerva and wonder when she would bother to forgive him. When he could, he would glance at Hermione and worry a little more. She wasn’t looking well and he attributed this to the stress of knowing the Krum was out there somewhere. After dinner he would resist the admittedly resistible charms of the teachers’ lounge in favor of prowling the corridors looking for troublemakers or any sign of wrong doing that would give him the opportunity to take his temper out on someone. Occasionally he would go to the Slytherin Common Room and give the Quidditch team a pep talk; he was fairly determined to win the Quidditch Cup that year.

Then finally he would go to his chambers and read until the early hours, masturbate, and then try to sleep.

So now it was Thursday night; late, and he was doing one last sweep of the long dungeon corridor before he went to bed. He didn’t really notice when his arm started to itch at first. He just absently scratched at it and kept walking. Then the itch began to burn, hot enough to take his breath away and he sucked air in harshly between his teeth. Wrenching his sleeve up angrily, Severus half expected to see the Dark mark burned black against the soft white flesh of his inner arm.

There was no hideous skull confronting him though, instead he found a miniature map of Hogwarts and one point was glowing bright red and throbbing painfully.

Krum had crossed the protective circle from the back of the castle grounds. He’d come in from the forest and would no doubt come around the lake and across the lawns. Snape mentally calculated how long it would take Krum to reach the South East Tower. Whilst coming in from the back had given him the cover of the forest, it was going to take him a while to reach the lawns, and the tower was the other side of the castle. If Krum had only just crossed the circle he had a way to go before he even reached the lawns. Snape was closer to the lawns than Krum was, and so he could get there first – if he ran.

And suddenly, as though the realization had just hit him, he began to run.

*******

“There is no way I am going to pass Potions…or Transfigurations.” Harry was talking to himself, or rather he was talking to Draco’s photograph that was propped up beside his bed. Since Krum’s release Harry had spent most of his evenings in his room, trying to study and keeping one eye on the Marauders Map that now took up much of the wall beside his bed. He pulled his books out of his bag and scattered them over the bedspread.

“Why did I take the bloody classes anyway?”

Draco sat in his picture and remained infuriatingly silent. Harry’s stomach churned. His future relied on these classes, he had to pass because becoming an Auror depended on getting all of his NEWTS. But Draco had once accused him of choosing such a career because he thought himself incapable of doing anything else. Harry wondered if that was true. That perhaps if he put his mind to it he could find another occupation that he would be able to do just as well. Something that he would enjoy just as much.

And he wouldn’t have to pass Potions or Transfigurations.

It had been a bad day. One of those days when he felt stupid – or as Snape would put it, a Dunderhead. One of those days when he was convinced that he was going to end up in the retired hero’s home talking about his glory days, or driving people mad with the story of how he killed the Dark Lord and saved their world.

“My life is shit.” He picked up his wand and activated the wards on the room. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to study and lament his future in quiet.

He also wanted to masturbate. He was doing a lot of that lately. He wondered if Draco had been as incredibly horny and frustrated as he had been. He almost felt like a deviant, because he couldn’t keep his hands off himself. There were times when wanking was the only thing that stopped him from hurling himself into Draco’s room and ravishing Draco on the spot.

Draco would let him, Draco would always let him.

Harry lay back and covered his face with his arms. Draco would welcome him. Draco would put his mouth around him, would take Harry’s cock into that hot wet tunnel, and he would find himself nestled against Draco’s tongue. It would feel so incredibly good.

Harry moaned softly and uncovered his face. Opening his eyes he almost expected to see Draco’s grey eyes staring back at him.

Instead a flash of red caught the corner of his eye and he turned to the map on his wall.

Oh Gods, not now.

There he was, Viktor Krum pacing his way steadily up from the forest towards the castle. He’d come at last, at an inconvenient time, but he’d come and it would be over soon. Harry gave Draco’s picture one last loving look and pulled the Map from the wall. Krum was on the other side of the grounds and if Harry was going to catch him before he reached the castle he was going to have to run.

But from the Dungeons he noticed the tiny figure of Severus Snape start running towards the stairs.

*******

It wasn’t raining, that in itself was a rarity, he could count the days that it hadn’t rained during the last three months on his fingers. Summer must really be on its way. The air was heavy with damp and it was still cold, but the days had begun to lengthen and now the rain had begun to break at regular intervals. All too soon it would start to warm up.

But not tonight. The grass was wet and Snape’s boots were soaked within minutes of running across the lawns, freezing his feet inside. His robes trailed behind him, dragging heavily through the wet grass.

It was tempting to cast a powerful Lumos charm to illuminate the entire lawn, from the stone courtyard down to the lake, but such a charm would alert the entire school to something happening outside. It would also alert Krum, and if Krum had not yet reached the lawn, he could turn and retreat back into the forest.

And Snape didn’t want that. He didn’t want any attention, and he certainly didn’t want Krum to retreat. He was in no mood to play cat and mouse with Krum tonight. What he wanted was to finish what he had started so many months ago. He wanted Krum removed as a constant threat in Hermione’s life.

He moved back to the edge of the stone courtyard where he could get a better view of the lawns, the lake and the dilapidated shadow of Hagrid’s old hut. He narrowed his eyes and scanned the grounds, silent, and still as a statue. Just beyond Hagrid’s hut he could see a fire burning. Dumbledore had mentioned that the new groundskeeper had planned to burn off excess leaves and clippings if there was a break in the weather. Snape walked in the direction of the fire a little way, just to ensure that it was indeed the groundskeeper that was tending the flames.

Although it seemed ridiculous to think that Krum would come all the way here and then start a fire.

It was indeed the groundskeeper. The man was unmistakable. Dumbledore had again scoured the Wizarding World and found an utter misfit. Unlike Hagrid however, Norgan Vale had nothing friendly in his countenance. In fact he seemed to share more in common with Filch than Hagrid, and while Snape had uses for Filch; and thus got along with the squib, he had no interest at all in this new addition to the castle staff.

Still, he may have seen Krum pass and he was sufficiently terrified of Snape to be helpful.

He headed down the lawn towards the fire and stopped in his tracks, squinting in the darkness. There was a distortion in the flames, like a ripple in the fabric of the air itself. Snape frowned and the ripple passed, then moved on leaving the fire intact. Snape’s eye flicked quickly and found it again, this strange moving ripple, changing the landscape as it advanced. Something solid and yet unseen, all the while moving at the pace of a fast walk.

Snape smiled, thin lipped and grim, but it was a smile none the less.

Not an Invisibility Cloak - an invisibility charm. It was the sort of thing that could be easily missed if you weren’t looking, but now that he had found it, easy to enough follow. It was coming closer, so single minded in his determination to reach the castle that Krum obviously did not notice Snape standing there in the dark. As he drew closer, Snape could finally feel his malevolent presence. Bitter and full of hate, loathing and malice. The footsteps that crushed the grass were heavy and seemed rather…duck footed.

Krum.

Snape’s smile broadened.

*******

Harry was running but one look at the map confirmed that Snape was going to reach Krum first, no matter how fast Harry ran. Despite his lungs feeling as though they would burst and his legs threatening to give way beneath him he didn’t slow down, and he couldn’t help but feel disappointed. If he reached Krum first it would all be over and done with. Snape would take Krum to Dumbledore and the whole thing would start over again.

He chanced a glance at the map. Snape had stopped, but Krum kept coming. Harry grinned and kept running, it was possible, a slim chance at best, but if Snape stayed still, Harry might make it.

But no, Snape started again and this time he was making a beeline for Krum and when they reached the edge of the courtyard, they both stopped and Harry realized that they would be standing directly in front of each other. Harry cursed his luck and wondered if he would risk just rounding the hedge and killing Krum in full view of Snape. What would happen to him, what would Snape do?

And then Harry rounded the hedge at a run, saw Snape and Krum and skidded to a halt.

*******

Snape drew his wand and pointed it at the on coming ripple; “Revelatio.”

The invisibility charm fell away, melting back from the black clad form of Viktor Krum. The Bulgarian stopped his march across the lawn and stared at the figure of Snape before him.

Snape returned his stare, taking in his form. There was something in him, in the heaviness of his brow and the arch of his beak-like nose that reminded Snape uncomfortably of himself.

Krum smiled genially at Snape and nodded. “Professor Snape, I knew zat I vould run into you at some time…I vas hoping it vould be later.”

Snape didn’t speak, but Krum obviously thought he was safe enough. He was at Hogwarts castle, and he doubted Snape would try to do anything like flay him alive here. Not so close to the other Professors, not so close to Dumbledore.

“Are you standing guard over her?” He asked, sounding amused.

Still Snape didn’t speak. He just stood there, hands folded calmly in front of him, his wand held loosely in one hand. Somewhere he could hear people moving, footsteps coming closer. Someone was on their way.

“Vot are you going to do, Professor? Stare at me until I leave?”

Snape shook his head. With someone coming he didn’t have time to waste. He lifted his wand hand; a small movement, barely noticed by Krum who made to say something else or perhaps even wanted to laugh. Snape never found out, and he really didn’t care either way.

“Avada Kedavra.”

And Krum was dead. It was a simple matter altogether. A simple utterance and he fell silently to the grass, no life left in the body at all.

The footsteps behind him skidded to a halt. Two sets, from two separate directions. A gasped out “fuck” from behind him told him that Potter was one of the two.

And then from his right came Minerva’s voice.

“Oh dear God Severus, what have you done?”

*******

Draco had not expected a visit from Arthur Weasley. If he had, he reasoned, he might have tried not to sit in his room and drink so much that night, he may have even bothered to dress up a little – a very little. It was not so much that he was impressed by the man; he certainly wasn’t, it was just that he didn’t relish the idea of seeing his father’s childhood enemy seeing him looking like a dirty drunk. The call to the Headmaster’s office had been unexpected however, and it was late. He could imagine that most students in the castle were well and truly asleep, and only those unfortunate enough to have OWLS or NEWTS approaching were burning the midnight oil in an attempt to learn just that little bit more before exams.

Draco had been studying, but he had also been drinking – and he was covered in cat hair. Not the best impression to make.

“Mr. Weasley,” he nodded, deciding that it was probably a good thing to be as respectful as possible. He didn’t know what he was here for and it wouldn’t do to start insulting him...yet.

“Draco,” Arthur nodded in return, “please, sit down.”

Draco scowled a little at the abruptness, but Weasley had on his political voice and curiosity flared inside Draco. He sat himself in the proffered chair and gave the older man a questioning look.

“I have something to talk to you about.” Arthur changed his tone a little, made it more fatherly, as though he was talking to one of his own children. It was a sign that he saw Draco as being reasonable, an impression he’d gotten after talking to Molly about him. “Actually, it is a few things,” he smiled at Draco’s quizzical look and explained further, “I think we can help each other.”

Draco straightened himself up in his chair and wished he had not had so much to drink. His mouth felt dry and he was suddenly tired, as though he could just nod off to sleep. He blinked a few times to wake himself up. “Alright, how can we help each other?”

Arthur leaned against the Headmaster’s desk and Draco wondered just where Dumbledore was. “Well,” Arthur started in a friendly way, “firstly I’d like to discuss Pansy Parkinson with you.”

“Pansy?” Draco asked confused, “What about Pansy? Is something wrong?”

“No, no she’s fine. My son Ron has asked my wife and I to take her in so that she can leave St Mungo’s.”

Draco couldn’t help but look impressed. “Are you going to do it?”

Arthur nodded and seemed reluctant to reveal anything more, but he knew he had to, and so he continued, “Molly and I have spoken to the healers at St Mungo’s and they are quite willing to release her into our care, however, the Ministry is concerned about our…” Arthur shuffled uncomfortably, “financial ability to care for her.”

“Your financial ability?” Draco scoffed, “you’ve raised what, a thousand children? They think you can’t look after this one? And what does the Ministry have to do with this anyway?”

Arthur cleared his throat. “It wasn’t quite a thousand,” he said indulgently, “and while I believe that we raised our own children well enough, the Ministry feel that if they are to let us take Pansy home with us, we have to prove we can afford to keep her. Fudge is bent on making our lives difficult at the moment. When he heard that we were trying to do this he threw the financial obstacle in our path. If you read tomorrow’s Daily Prophet you’ll find an article suggesting that I am trying to adopt a Death Eater’s child.”

Draco knew just how difficult Fudge could be towards those he saw as a threat, and he shook his head in disgust. “So what do you want from me?” He scowled harshly. “Money?” Then it was as though a light came on in his head, of course that was what Weasley wanted, money. “How much do you want?”

“Actually we don’t want anything, what we need is a surety from you. Ron suggested that you are close to Pansy and that you might be willing to help. We need a surety, something to reassure the Ministry that gold is available to support her. I think we’ll have a problem because it comes from you, but if the finances are available they can hardly deny us what we ask.”

“Do you want anything up front?”

“You don’t understand Draco, I don’t want any gold from you at all. Molly and I are perfectly capable of caring for her, we just need the façade of readily available gold.”

Draco shrugged, “whatever you need.” He pursed his lips, “Does she know that you’re trying to do this? Because she’s been disappointed in the past. Her uncle gave up on her and sent her back, and she doesn’t deserve all the shit that’s happened to her.”

“I know,” Arthur said gently. “I haven’t told her anything yet, because I want to ensure that everything goes ahead before we get her hopes up.”

“Good.” Draco frowned and folded his arms across his chest. For some reason he felt angry; although he knew it wasn’t directed at Weasley, and he was pissed off at Fudge’s Ministry. He was also incredibly thirsty, and he scanned the room for a jug of water. “You said that there were other things you wanted to talk about…is there any water or juice or something here?”

“Arthur retrieved a jug of Pumpkin juice from the desk, “I’m afraid the rest is not so pleasant.”

Oh great. Draco accepted the juice and leaned back in his chair.

“I have to admit that I didn’t think you’d be quite so…inebriated…when I spoke to you about it.”

Draco nodded in agreement. “Well, let me assure you, I’ve been drunker.”

Arthur stared at the young blond in front of him. Ron had described him as ‘a pain in the arse’, and he could see why Ron would think so. Draco Malfoy was, despite his inebriation, full of self assured bravado. Arthur wasn’t entirely sure how much was real and how much was forced. For some reason he had been nervous about meeting him, and yet now he felt quite at ease. Dealing with Draco Malfoy was really no different to dealing with Ron or Harry. Draco had a similar way about him, questioning and a little angry. Arthur was sure Draco would hear him out, he just wasn’t sure if Draco would be happy to hear what he was about to say.

Arthur took a deep breath and ploughed into the speech he had prepared, knowing that he probably wouldn’t get to finish it before Draco started questioning him. “As you may know, I have made it known that I plan to challenge Cornelius Fudge for the Minister’s chair.”

Draco shrugged and nodded.

“The council will vote in June and I several agenda’s that I plan to follow up,” he suddenly found himself fidgeting under the young man’s gaze. Merlin he looks just like his father. “One of the things I would like to look into is this Death Eater exhibition at the Museum.”

Draco drew breath so quickly that he coughed.

“Ron tells me,” Arthur continued unabated, “that you believe Archibald Semeuse to be abusing your father.”

Draco wheezed a little; “Archibald Semeuse?”

“The Curator of the Museum.”

“I know who he is,” Draco said darkly. “Ron told you this?”

“Harry told Ron.”

“Harry has been talking about my father with Ron?”

Arthur could see that Draco was becoming agitated, but he pressed on, deciding that Malfoy Jnr. had to hear him out. “Harry and Ron have been telling each other things for a long time Draco. The point is that if this abuse is happening, I can do something about it. If I become Minister I’ll be able to stop it.”

“You’d stop it?”

“Yes.”

“That would probably make you pretty unpopular.”

“I don’t want to be the Minister of Magic just to be popular.”

“Would he be able to come home?”

That threw Arthur, because he wasn’t sure exactly what to do with the remaining Death Eaters once the exhibition had been disbanded. He had planned to return them to Azkaban to be cared for, but then he had also planned to have the Dementors removed from Azkaban. He wondered if there could be a harm in sending Lucius Malfoy home. The man had been Kissed, so it was not as though he was going to be able to do anything to hurt anyone. “I guess that could be arranged.”

“Alright.” Draco sounded suspicious. “So what do you want me to do? I figure you wouldn’t be here to tell me that you can help my father unless you wanted something from me in return.”

Arthur knew that he should have been offended, but in this case the boy was right. “Yes, there is something you can do to help me.”

“And?”

“The other main agenda I have for when I get into office is the prosecution of Fudge’s Inquisitors.”

Once again Draco almost coughed up a lung. “You want to prosecute the Inquisitors? But they were on your side.”

“I know, I know that they were supposed to be on our side, but there are a good many of us who are more than a little ashamed of how they went about questioning Voldemort’s followers. In the end the Inquisitors were more interested in destroying old blood lines than they were answers…you know that yourself.”

“So…” Draco rasped again, “what do you want from me?”

“If I can get this prosecution to trial I want you to testify against Alastor Moody.”

Draco had gone pale. He looked away, not entirely sure of what to say. “I…I don’t think…why do you want to drag all this crap up again?”

“Because they deserve to be punished, Draco. The Inquisitors killed children, they killed your friends, they almost killed you.”

“Sometimes it’s better to leave these things in the past.” Draco looked as though he was going to be sick. “If I don’t help you, what happens to my father?”

And now was the time to be a politician. Arthur cleared his throat again and steeled himself to do this. “If you help me I will help you. If you agree to testify, I’ll make sure your father comes home.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then Lucius will be returned to Azkaban.”

Draco smiled grimly, it seemed there was a politician in Weasley after all.

*******

Minerva was staring at the body on the ground, and the body stared back at her, or rather it stared vacantly at the sky, a semi-amused smile still on its lips. “Severus?” She swallowed hard, trying to wet her throat, “what have you done?”

Snape too was staring at the body. It had been so easy; it had taken no effort at all. Just a point of the wand and a murmured curse, no hissing emphasis, no well of emotion. He had forgotten just how easy it was. It struck him that he was too efficient with that particular curse.

“Answer me Severus!”

He frowned down at the body and finally looked to Minerva who was deathly pale and looked ready to faint. What had he done? “I’ve taken care of a problem; that’s all, a pest if you will.” He was surprised by the sound of his own voice, he sounded shell shocked. Perhaps he wasn’t so efficient after all.

“You…” Minerva approached him, her gaze returning to the body, “you killed him!”

“I know.” He sounded hollow now, but he didn’t feel it. All he felt was relief. Potter had also approached him and Snape realized dumbly that the boy was standing beside him, looking down at Krum with a solemn expression on his face.

“But…” Minerva was still disbelieving, “you could go to Azkaban…you’ve killed him!”

Snape shrugged, “it doesn’t matter, she’s safe now. Isn’t that the point?”

Minerva fell silent.

“I was coming to do the same thing,” Harry said. Snape and Minerva turned to look at him, but Harry was still staring down at Krum as though he were some kind of disgusting mess, “It was the only way in the end. He wouldn’t have stopped until he found her,” he finished.

“Better then that I did it, Potter,” Snape said blandly.

Still Minerva didn’t speak, afraid that if she did she would agree with them.

“What are we going to do with it?” Harry asked, he crouched beside the body and looked into the still face.

“We’ll go to Dumbledore,” Snape said quietly, “he can contact the Ministry and they can come and take it away.”

Harry stared up at Snape, utterly incredulous and for the first time realized that the man had feelings that ran deeper than Harry could have ever predicted. He was willing to go to Azkaban to keep Hermione safe? Harry was quite prepared to kill Krum, but by God he would have covered it up as best he could…or at least concocted some kind of story to go with the murder. Perhaps if they had not come across the scene and he had been left alone he would have disposed of the body in his own way. Harry had no doubt that Snape had his ways, the man had been a Death Eater and a spy, and he knew how to hide a body.

But he’d been caught in the act and now he seemed to accept his fate with stoic certainty. He made no move to defend his actions. He had no defense, and Harry could tell that he honestly believed that Krum was a problem that had to be eliminated, the same way he would eliminate a potion that had failed, or a stain on his dress robes.

“We can’t tell the Ministry,” Minerva said, voicing what Harry was thinking. Her eyes darted from the body to the two men and then to the castle. She began to pace, thinking quickly, “If the Ministry become involved you will go to Azkaban for murder. Fudge has hated you for years - he’ll have you kissed and gone so fast…” she stopped pacing and her hand flew to her mouth in shock. The very idea was too terrible to contemplate. She could visualize so clearly those Death Eaters in their museum cases, and she could not stand for that to be his fate. She loved him, not romantically but deeply, and she could not stand to be here without him. She couldn’t and wouldn’t stand for him to lose himself to a Dementor, not for this crime, not for protecting a love. “You can’t go to prison, not for the likes of Viktor Krum.”

“Minerva…” Snape began, but Harry cut him off.

“Professor McGonagall is right. He was coming here to hurt Hermione and no matter what we did he wasn’t going to stop until he found a way to her. It’s better this way, its better that he’s dead.”

“Be that as it may, Potter,” Snape seemed to recover himself a little, “I’m almost certain that Dumbledore already knows something has happened…”

“He won’t contact the Ministry.” Minerva said, “He’ll cover it up.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Snape replied, “I can accept it, and I dare say I probably deserve it.”

“Don’t be so fucking ridiculous,” Harry snapped and then begrudgingly he added, “Hermione needs you, she needs you to still be around.”

“Hermione doesn’t need me, Potter. Hermione needs to be left to her own devices so that she can have a life. I didn’t get rid of this useless piece of shit so that she could need me.”

It was on the tip of Harry’s tongue to spill out, “she’s pregnant, she does needs you,” but he stopped himself. It was Hermione’s place to pass on that piece of information. Instead he stared evenly at the man he’d hated since the moment they’d met and said; “have you ever considered that she might want to have a life that included you in it? Who, for fuck’s sake, are you to judge what is the best way for her to live her life?” Harry shrugged and shook his head. “She loves you. I have no fucking idea why but she does – and I thought you just didn’t love her back, but you obviously do, so why are you making both your lives miserable?” His eye suddenly shifted past Snape, down the lawns. “Mr. Vode is burning leaves.”

Minerva too turned to see what Harry was watching. Snape had already seen it. Vode’s bonfire was irrelevant.

“We could burn it,” Harry said urgently, “we could burn the body.”

“I think Vode would notice if we threw a body on his fire,” Snape said and then stopped, catching Harry’s thought.

“Not if he’s not a body,” Harry looked to Minerva, “he could be something more…”

“Combustible,” Minerva finished for him. She looked down at Krum with a little more interest, gauging his size and shape. “Vernis Foliage.”

The body rocked and shivered and then seemed to shake off its human form until it shuddered itself into a long slender shape and finally settled into a grey branch with crisp brown leaves. A single dry and very dead grey branch.

Harry picked up the branch. It was strangely weighted, not heavy but it seemed full somehow, not branch-like. At least it didn’t look like Krum any more.

“It won’t change back will it?” Harry asked, “Or bleed?”

Minerva looked entirely miffed at the implied doubt. “It will behave just like a dead branch, Mr. Potter.”

Harry smiled uneasily, trying to convince himself that it was nothing more than a branch he was holding and not the body of Viktor Krum. He looked between his two Professors’. Snape looked a little paler than usual and McGonagall looked slightly ill. He turned to watch the fire blazing beyond Hagrid’s hut.

“Goodnight Professors’, I’ll see you in class.”

Minerva looked away, but Snape nodded abruptly. “Don’t tell Hermione.”

Harry nodded his agreement, knowing full well that it wouldn’t be such a good idea. Then he set off at a run towards Mr. Vode and his bonfire.

*******

Hermione stood staring absently out the Common Room window. In the darkness all she could see was the dazzling whiteness of the snow still capped on the highest mountain tops. Any snow that had managed to reach the castle had long since melted. It was still cold, but winter was leaving them.

She stroked her belly, trying to feel the presence of a baby in there. She found only the flatness of her normal stomach; there was no little mound, and so there was nothing to reveal her condition – yet.

She dug into the bowl of ice cream that Dobby had brought her from the kitchens. She should feel worried. She had spent other nights staring out of this window, knowing that somewhere out there, Viktor Krum was no doubt hating her and that maybe (probably) he would come to get her and seek his revenge.

She should have been worried, but tonight, for the first time in a long time, she felt perfectly safe.

*******

Harry watched the branch slowly crackle in the fire and marveled at McGonagall’s skills. He had feared that the branch would change as it burned and he would be confronted with a charred body to explain to the unfriendly Mr. Vode. Instead the branch burned as a branch should burn and he watched it snap and crackle and glow, mesmerized by the flames. Through those flames he could see Snape and McGonagall sitting on the low wall that enclosed the courtyard, watching him.

They looked friendly. Hermione had said that they were close, but that recently McGonagall had not been speaking to him due to the “Regina incident”. Harry hid a secret smile at Hermione’s term for what had gone on in Snape’s chambers. Now they were sitting side by side on the low wall, McGonagall murmuring something every so often to Snape, who seemed to be saying little but his body seemed to lean towards her, as though he was drawing comfort from her.

Not that Snape would ever admit to such a thing.

They had both surprised him. Snape because of the lengths he was willing to go to in order to protect Hermione, and McGonagall because Harry had always considered her straight laced and law abiding. He could never have imagined that she would help to cover up what was essentially a murder – although Harry preferred to think that Snape had put Krum down in much the same way one would put down a sick dog.

McGonagall loved Snape. Not in the same way Hermione did, but then there were many kinds of love. It made Harry begrudgingly think that perhaps there was a lot more to Snape than he’d thought. Hermione loving him he could put down to raging hormones and poor taste, McGonagall loving him? Well, there had to be something there.

And of course there was the fact that Snape had killed Krum so easily. Harry had seen little of the encounter, but they hadn’t been there long, a matter of seconds and from what Harry had seen, Snape had just killed him, without issue. He had planned to kill Krum all along, just as Harry had planned to kill Krum all along. Snape had been more than willing to go to Azkaban to protect Hermione. If Harry had ever questioned Snape’s feelings for her, he now had ample proof of them. He had laid everything bare for both Harry and McGonagall to see.

Not that he’d meant anyone to see, but he’d not shied away from the deed once he had been caught.

Harry returned to watching the branch burn. It glowed red in places, whilst the remainder was black as pitch and slowly starting to crumble away with each snap and hiss of the fire. In a matter of hours it would be little more than ash and Harry would stay all night and watch it burn. When it was all reduced to mere ashes, Harry knew he would take the pile and scatter them into the wind. Mr. Vode would no doubt watch him, knowing that Harry was the hero of their world – and that his sanity had often been questioned. He would think nothing of a mad hero running about throwing ashes into the rosebushes.

Snape stood up and turned to go. He stooped. Harry had never really noticed it before. But when Snape turned his face back to take one last look at Harry and the fire, Harry found his face a little less repulsive.

*******

One of the few joys of Snape’s job as Potions Master at Hogwarts came in the form of his Advanced Potions class. On the whole his advanced students actually managed to please him no end. The class was notoriously difficult to gain entry to; only the very best got in, and in the past he had been known not to have an advanced class at all if he felt no student sufficient enough for the work. Surprisingly, this class was quite large, well, large by Snape’s standards. There were eight people, none of whom where Neville Longbottom and none of whom would ever melt a cauldron.

It also meant that he could mark papers while the class worked unaided. Except of course that Potter was in this class. Potter who didn’t belong here and whom he wouldn’t have allowed in except that the Headmaster had specially requested it. Snape had been hoping that Potter would be failing so badly that he could be thrown out, but they now had a shared secret and there was no way that Snape was throwing him out of something as trifling as a classroom.

It had been more than a month since Krum’s body had gone to earth and no one who had witnessed it had mentioned it once. There were looks though and Potter knew that he was not going to be thrown out of any class of Snape’s. It didn’t stop the little shit from irritating the hell out of him. Snape was amazed that any of Potter’s potions actually worked considering the quality of his base planetary tinctures.

Today they were making complex inner eye potions. Made correctly the potion was a powerful tool which would allow the Witch or Wizard who imbibed it to see between the subtle fabric that separated the magical dimensions. Incorrectly made and the ingredients would make a powerful hallucinogenic drug that would send the Witch or Wizard who imbibed it on the biggest trip of their life – one from which they would never return. The closed ward of St Mungo’s was full of gibbering idiots who had failed to put their potions together properly.

It was this reason that had led Snape to the decision that not a single drop of Potter’s potion would actually reach anyone’s lips. He cast a quick glance to the bench Potter shared with Hermione. Hermione was showing him what to do, something that would normally infuriate him but today he let it slide. Aside from the fact that without her help, Potter’s Potion was no doubt going to be incredibly dangerous (face it, it was going to be dangerous with her help), Hermione was looking ill again; all pale and drawn. She did not look as though her concentration was good, and she looked very tired. Snape made a mental note not to test her potion either.

A few rows back Draco was making his potion with the violent intentions of an angry housewife. Snape rolled his eyes and wondered if there was going to be an explosion in class today.

Hermione had spilled Belladonna concentrate on her hand, Snape saw the bottle tip over without being able to stop her, and he automatically reached for something to neutralize it. Hermione swayed and Snape stepped down from his desk quickly, too late he realized that she was going to wipe her eyes, completely unaware that she had spilled anything on her hands at all.

Snape moved fast, but Draco, who was closer and had been watching Harry, moved faster. He grabbed Hermione by the wrist and wrenched her hand away from her face. Hermione yelped in surprise and pain, slipping backwards against Draco who automatically slipped an arm around her waist to steady them both.

Harry had stepped back, confused and then glaring angrily at Draco. Then Snape stepped in and poured the neutralizing agent over Hermione’s fingers.

“What happened?” Harry asked, shoving Draco roughly away from Hermione.

“She had Belladonna on her hands,” Snape said, not bothering to hide his annoyance with Potter for sitting right next to her and not noticing. “Draco just stopped her from destroying her eyesight.”

“Oh…” Harry looked regretfully at Draco who looked a little hurt. “I’m really sorry.”

Draco didn’t get to reply because Hermione, who was still swaying, chose that moment to faint and Harry was forced to suddenly focus all his attention on lowering her gently to the floor.

This is a fucking circus. Snape crouched down beside her and frowned. By now the whole class was crowded around, staring down at the girl on the floor.

“Go and tell Madam Pomfrey that I’m bringing her directly to the Infirmary,” Snape hissed at Harry. He gently scooped Hermione up from the floor.

“She doesn’t need to go and see Madam Pomfrey,” Harry said a little too quickly, “She’s just tired…she hasn’t been eating well lately.”

Snape glared at Harry and tried to ignore the class watching; “If she is going to faint in my class then she needs to go to the Infirmary.”

“She just needs to rest,” Harry insisted, noting that Hermione was coming to, “she’ll be fine.”

Draco smiled spitefully and leaned forward, placing his hand on his Godfather’s shoulder and whispered in his ear; “she’s pregnant, Severus – up the duff.” Then he straightened, turned with a large smirk on his face, and returned to his desk and his bubbling cauldron.

Snape’s dark eyes widened and the savage pain and jealousy that lanced through his middle seemed for a moment to be utterly unbearable. His heart seemed to stop and hurt simultaneously, and his mind reeled in pure horror at the now irrefutable certainty that he had lost her.

He swore bluntly and heard the class murmur at his language.

“Miss Granger’s ridiculous fainting fit has nothing to do with the class,” Snape said silkily, glancing at the interested onlookers with a glare fierce enough to quell anyone foolish enough to argue with him. “I would suggest that you return to your cauldrons before I fail you all.”

The class shuffled silently back to their places, and though the desire to gossip about why Hermione had passed out was almost palpable, they said nothing. Hermione herself groaned and tried to sit up. Snape lifted her however, and with an expression so severe that her classmates pitied her fate, he carried her out of the classroom.

He did not take her to the Hospital Wing however. Instead, he carried her across the hall to his office and kicked the door savagely shut behind him. He then dumped her unceremoniously into a chair.

Hermione blinked a few times and wondered just how she had allowed this to happen. Fainting in class was bad enough, but fainting in Potions! She dragged her tongue dryly across her bottom lip and shifted uncomfortably in the chair, trying to sit up a little straighter so that she could face him. She had no idea of how to explain what had just happened and with no inkling that Draco had already told him anything, so she settled with a simple, “thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he drawled sarcastically, “I have been led to understand that changing hormones tend to make pregnant women faint quite easily.”

If she thought that he mouth was dry before, she was positively parched now. With dawning horror she looked everywhere about the room but at him. How had he found out? Who could have told him? She swallowed and wondered just what to say to him and found that she could think of nothing at all.

Her silence did little to quash the jealousy that tore at him.

Yet, despite the painful tearing inside him, he wanted to touch her so badly that his fingers tingled. But evidently she wasn’t his to touch any longer. No, judging by her present condition she belonged to someone else entirely.

That thought brought a bitter taste to his mouth and he spoke out of spite; “I see you don’t waste any time. Who is the lucky father?” A worse thought crossed his mind. “Is it Potter?”

She looked at him with shock. A flash of hurt entered her eyes and then she quickly looked away again. “It doesn’t matter, Severus,” she said softly.

“Oh, of course it doesn’t bloody matter,” he bit out harshly, “what does it matter that we’ve been apart what, two, three months? And now you’ve managed to get yourself pregnant, how clever of you.”

Hermione hissed in response; “you told me to go and fuck other men, Severus!”

His jaw tightened. Silently he admitted that it galled him the most, the pure unadulterated regret he lived with every day. He had let her go. He had wanted her to get on with her life. But there was a selfish aching part of him that didn’t want her to move on. She was his and his alone. “So what happened?” He asked nastily, that selfish part of him lashing out and wanting to hurt her as much as he was hurting, “off you went and fell in love with someone else? Or have you just been a petty little slut, opening her legs for anyone who came along? Taking a leaf out of Ginny Weasley’s book?”

Her face flushed and she suddenly looked every bit as furious as he did, but looking deeper he could see the hurt in her eyes and he was disgusted to find that he felt satisfied by that. At least he wasn’t the only one hurting in all of this.

“I didn’t fall in love with anyone else.” Her voice was low and modulated as she kept her temper in check.

He laughed, mocking her bitterly, “well then, I guess the slut theory rings true.”

“I haven’t slept with anyone else!” She snapped finally and then clamped her mouth shut and looked away.

It was Snape’s turn to blink and her words seeped through the haze of anger like a cold dose of reality. His anger was the only thing blinding him to the obvious signs. His eyes narrowed and he looked closer at her, trying to perceive any changes in her young body. He knew precious little about pregnant women, only the odd things he had overheard whilst listening to conversations in the staff room – and such conversations were few and far between, but gut instinct gnawed at him. Apprehension and emotion began to mingle with the anger, along with another emotion, one he could not put a name to.

She placed a possessive hand over her still flat belly, her expression reflecting her panic. “I have to go,” she said quickly and pushed herself up from the chair, determined to get herself out of there without any further confrontation.

Without thought he grabbed her arm, his fingers digging hard into the soft flesh, his heart beating so hard that he could hear it drumming in his ears.

She tugged at her arm but his grasp was painfully strong.

“Whose baby is it?” he asked, his voice as horribly tight as the pressure in his chest.

“Mine!” she spat fiercely.

He ground his teeth, knowing the answer to his question but asking it again anyway; “who is the father, Hermione?”

“It’s none of your business, Professor.”

He leaned in close, so close that she could feel the heat of his breath on her cheek, “I’m making it my business.”

Tears filled her eyes and her bottom lip trembled. With great effort he resisted the urge to pull her into his arms and apologize for hurting her. But he would never apologize, because he wasn’t sorry and he wanted answers. He never questioned why the need was so strong. All he told himself was that he just wanted to know the truth.

“Hermione,” he said, his voice scarcely above a whisper and vibrating with warning, “I want to know who the father is, I want you to tell me – I can make you tell me.”

She wanted to cry. What would he do if she told him? Force her to get rid of the child? “Why do you care?” she cried.

Because I love you. That was the only explanation his heart and mind would allow and he didn’t want to fight it, but she was being stubborn, and he was stubborn in return. “Answer me,” he said harshly.

She closed her eyes and when they opened again he saw, as well as felt, her defeat. “Who did you think it would be, Severus?” She asked, her voice choked, “it’s yours, Severus, it would always have been yours.”

Stunned he let go of her arm and felt himself sway backwards. It was the answer he had expected, but to hear it...

He tried to drag air into his lungs, but it seemed that oxygen was in such short supply that a simple breath was too much to ask.

It’s yours, Severus, it would always have been yours. Her words reached him on some distant plain. He was going to be a father. He gave his head a shake and attempted to push aside the terror that was crashing down on him. Oh dear Merlin, he couldn’t be a father. He didn’t know how to be a father and he was fairly certain that he would be a thoroughly shitty father. Look at what his own father had been, what if he was as rotten and foul? He was already rotten and foul! The prospect; once so distant, was so frighteningly overwhelming that he felt the need to vomit.

Hermione took one look at his face and pushed past him, heading to the door and snapping him out of his brief stupor. He went after her, catching her on the threshold.

“Hermione!” He moved in front of her, forcing her to stop. “I’m not finished with you.”

She lifted her stubborn chin and despite how pale she appeared she shocked him with the fire in her eyes; “there is nothing to talk about.”

He begged to differ on that score. “Why didn’t you tell me about this child when you found out you were pregnant?” he demanded with far more calm than he felt.

“Because you were better off not knowing. Besides, I didn’t think you’d care either way,” she replied bluntly.

He flinched as though she had physically slapped him. What kind of a monster did she think he was – to think that he didn’t care about her at all? He controlled his voice, ensuring that it did not waver. “Since I am the child’s father I have a responsibility to it – and to you.”

“A responsibility you have made more than clear you don’t want,” she argued heatedly, “so I release you from all obligation. Now, leave me alone.”

His jaw clenched tighter. “It is my responsibility none the less.”

“I don’t want or expect anything from you. I am fully prepared to raise this child by myself.” Again she had her hand over her stomach, as though protecting the foetus inside from him. “I don’t want this baby to be some great noble sacrifice for you or some obligation. I deserve better than that, and so does my child.”

Each word was like a blow. She was right of course, so right it hurt. She did deserve better and so did her child. Their child. The thought made his heart twist painfully and he knew that the irrefutable truth was that the child she carried inside her would be far better off without him as a father. He knew nothing but the worst about raising a child. He knew how to instill fear, how to dominate and intimidate. That was all.

A strange sense of despair wrapped around him; fear and regret meshed together, and then added to the whole befuddled mess was an instant memory of the strange confused and mistreated child he had once been.

But he was a grown man now, shaped by a lifetime of disappointment and educated by a cruel, bitter man who had taught his son little more than humiliation and degradation and how to carry on that tradition. But regardless of all of that, he had a responsibility to Hermione and he would not fail her. He would do anything for her; he had proved that to himself if not to her, and now he would do anything to protect the life inside her.

He calmed himself, realizing that fighting her was not getting them anywhere, and he decided it would be best to change tactics. He breathed out, straightened himself up and asked; “how far along are you?”

She didn’t look at him, but she too calmed, sensing that he was going to try and be civil and so she should make the same effort. “The last time we were together was Valentine’s Day, so then, or sometime before.”

He frowned and mentally calculated. Two and a half, three months, far enough along for it to be well established. How long had she known about it? How long had she hid it? “Have you been to see someone? A mediwitch, or a…” what were they called? “A midwife?”

“No…not yet.” She hesitated, chewing her lip and belying her discomfort, “I don’t want to go to Madam Pomfrey…or anyone in the village. I don’t want the gossip and they’d tell the Headmaster if a student went in there. Lavender thinks I should go to St Mungo’s.”

So Miss Brown knew this too. “She’s probably right. You should go to St Mungo’s.”

“I don’t want to,” she said quickly and realized that she sounded immature. “I was going to wait, until after exams.” She didn’t want to admit it but she didn’t want to go alone. Harry was a wreck (no matter what he said) and both he and Lavender were caught up with studying for exams, and she didn’t want to distract from that.

But Snape was looking at her as though she was mad. “Hermione, exams are two months away, you need to see someone now.” He began to pace, “I will make an appointment for you.”

“But…”

“And I’ll make you something for this fainting. Do you get sick too?” He didn’t wait for a reply, of course she got sick, he’d seen her looking ill and now it simply made sense. “I’ll make you something for that too.”

“But I…”

“You can’t Apparate,” he added, remembering some staff room conversation where someone was discussing babies being splinced in utero when some fool Witch Apparated without thinking. “We’ll have to catch the Knight Bus to London.”

We? Was he coming too? She watched him pace and was a little shamed to feel relief flood over her. He was taking charge, and at that moment; although it was weak, she desperately wanted someone to take charge. She bowed her head slowly. He may not be her future, no matter how much she wanted him to be, but he would get her through this day.

*******

“Master Severus is becoming insistent,” Non wrung his hands, “he won’t accept excuses anymore. He says that he will keep Master Draco away, but he wants to know how to help you.”

“He can’t,” Lucius sounded tired, he always sounded tired these days. “Draco needs to be there,” he explained, “it’s part of the spell…” He stopped and in that instant knew he’d said too much. “Don’t tell him that, just tell him I’m fine.”

“Master Severus knows that you’re dying.”

”I told you not to tell him.”

“You must not blame Non, Master Lucius, but Master Severus insisted.”

Lucius stayed silent. Time had slipped away from him and he was well and truly dying. The air around him felt warmer and it was not through a charm. Summer must be coming. The days were longer. The Angel had lasted far longer than Lucius had expected.

“Just make sure he looks out for Draco, because after I’m gone, Semeuse will want him. I don’t know what to do once school finishes - Severus will have to look after him then.”

Non watched Lucius for a while and felt his eyes start to water. He could not stand this, he could not stand to watch him die. “You must rest Master Lucius. Non will tell Master Severus to look after Master Draco…”

Lucius chuckled, “you have too many Masters.”

Non swallowed hard, “Non will make sure Master Draco stays safe.”

“Good,” Lucius sighed, “go and tell Severus now. Just go and tell him.”

*******

“You should eat something more than that.” Lavender was berating Hermione whilst devouring toast and bacon. Hermione had just managed to force a piece of toast down, but felt too sick to eat anything else.

“I can’t, I feel terrible.”

“Have you taken the potion that Professor Snape gave you?”

“No,” Hermione replied irritably, “I don’t want to take anything. It can’t be good taking all these potions to cure anything and everything.”

Harry, seated the other side of her, stared at Hermione as though she was insane. “You used to take anything just to see what it would do! You drank Polyjuice Potion that you brewed in a toilet!!”

“Now she won’t even take a potion for contraception,” Lavender added sagely.

“Hence the current predicament,” Harry concluded.

“Would you two just shut up?” Hermione winced and felt her stomach churn.

“He wouldn’t give you anything that would hurt you,” Harry said quietly, “or the baby either.”

“Since when did you join the Severus Snape Fan Club?” Hermione snapped.

“I haven’t, but I know he wouldn’t hurt you.”

“Yeah, well, he hasn’t said two words to me since he found out about the baby.”

“That’s not true,” Lavender countered, “he came and gave you the potion. He was really nice to you then.”

“You think he’s just lovely don’t you? Why don’t you marry him if you think he’s so great?”

Harry and Lavender stared at her. “Wow.” Harry managed, “That was the most childish thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth.”

Harry was distracted when McGonagall placed a hand on Hermione’s shoulder and owls began to descend from the rafters with the morning mail. Hedwig dumped two letters onto Harry’s plate and then settled on the table to pick at what was left of Harry’s breakfast.

“Hermione?” McGonagall leaned down to speak quietly into Hermione’s ear, “I’ve booked an appointment for you at St Mungo’s, for next Saturday morning. We thought it might be best if you and Severus go to London on Friday evening so you have plenty of time to get there.”

”Friday?” Hermione frowned at her, “Why can’t we just Apparate on Saturday morning?”

Minerva pursed her lips disapprovingly. “You can’t dear, and Apparating is very bad for the foetus. Now it might be an idea to ask Mr. Potter if you can both stay at Grimmauld Place. Severus has said that he’ll get rooms at the Leaky Cauldron but it depends on what you would prefer.”

“I have keys to Grimmauld Place,” Hermione murmured, “we can stay there.”

“Good,” Minerva smiled tightly, “Good. I know that Severus is trying to get a coach to take you to London, but Albus isn’t overly pleased with this turn of events and is saying that he can’t have it, so you’ll probably have to take the Knight Bus…I’m sure Severus will come up with something else.”

“Tell him the bus will be fine.”

“Alright.” Minerva looked at Hermione, attempting to decipher her mood. “Are you feeling well?”

“I…I’m…I feel a little…sick.”

“Oh yes…” Minerva smiled, remembering a piece of information she was supposed to be passing on, “Severus says to drink your potion.”

Hermione said nothing, but as Minerva straightened up and turned to go Hermione grabbed her arm. “How is he?” She asked quickly; ” How is he about…about everything?”

Minerva bent back down to Hermione’s ear. “He’s better than I thought he’d be,” she admitted. “I thought he’d have run screaming into the distance if someone gave him this piece of news. But he is very…calm.”

Hermione absently stroked her small belly through her robes. Calm was better than terrified, and it was certainly better than angry or depressed. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the bottle of potion that he had given her. Harry was right, Severus wouldn’t hurt her, not physically anyway.

“Take the potion,” Minerva said in a motherly fashion as she finally began to walk away. She patted Hermione’s shoulder, “It’ll make you feel much better.” Minerva then looked to Lavender and in a firmer voice said, “Make sure she takes it.”

Lavender grinned and began berating Hermione with renewed vigor.

“Who did you get letters from? “ Hermione asked Harry, ignoring Lavender who was pouring a measure of the potion into a spoon.

“One from Moody…” Harry scowled at the letter and crumpled it into a ball, “congratulating me on getting rid of Draco. The other one is from Fred,” Harry picked up the letter, reading from it, “he wants me to go out to a club with him.”

“Maybe you should go,” Hermione suggested, taking the spoon from Lavender and downing the potion, “Ooh, Strawberry flavored.”

“He must’ve made it nice for you,” Lavender teased, “I think he lurves you.”

Hermione rolled her eyes theatrically. If only it were true. “Maybe you should go,” she repeated to Harry.

“With Fred?” Harry sounded dubious, “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

“Why not? You might have fun.”

“Yeah, and I might spend all night working out how to get Fred’s hands off my arse.”

Hermione shook her head and smiled, feeling better as the potion quickly went to work. She only wanted to see Harry happy, and while she did not believe that Harry and Fred would make an even halfway decent couple, she thought that perhaps Harry might enjoy a night out and away from his troubles – and away from Draco. Draco, who hadn’t said much at all to anyone, but who was slowly killing himself with drink and Harry was blaming himself for that too.

For Lavender though, the thought of Draco was a little more troubling and she couldn’t help but ask the obvious question; “what about Draco?”

“I’m suggesting Harry go out for a night,” Hermione replied, “I’m not suggesting he and Fred go and elope.”

“Yeah, but it’s still a date,” Lavender reasoned, “and unlike you guys I’ve actually talked to Draco recently and I’ve seen what he’s doing to himself. He’s not going to take it well.”

Harry was silent at this. It was true, he couldn’t imagine Draco taking it well. School would be over soon, exams were in a matter of weeks and after that Harry would leave Hogwarts and probably wouldn’t see Draco again. There would be plenty of time to go out with Fred then.

But that prospect terrified him too. He didn’t not want to see Draco everyday, and in all honesty he didn’t want to go out with Fred, even for a couple of drinks.

The bench moved and someone sat down heavily beside him. Harry glanced sideways and felt his mouth dry up when he realized that Draco had just sat himself down next to him and was reaching for coffee.

“What are you doing?”

Draco looked back at him and scowled, “having breakfast, what does it look like I’m doing?”

Harry stared at him, unshaven, reeking of stale alcohol and sweat and Harry still wanted him – badly.

Draco’s mouth twisted into a sneer as he misinterpreted the look on Harry’s face; “if you look around the table you’ll notice that there’s no other place to sit,” he growled it out and when Harry said nothing he pushed the coffee away, swore violently and made to leave the table.

Harry grabbed him and pulled him back. “Sit down,” he said, his confusion over what to say easily being mistaken for irritation, “and eat your bloody breakfast.”

Draco, who really needed the coffee, slumped back down insolently.

“Draco.” Lavender leaned across Hermione and Harry and before they could think to stop her she asked; “Fred Weasley asked Harry to go and have a couple of drinks with him. Would you have a problem with that?”

Harry glared at Lavender as his stomach flip flopped and Hermione automatically began massaging the headache from her temples.

Draco stared at Harry. “You want to go out with Fred Weasley?”

“It’s just a drink,” Harry said stiffly.

“Why?” Draco asked in a clipped tone.

“Because he asked me.” The irritation in Harry’s voice was very real now.

“Are you planning to fuck him?” Draco asked accusingly.

Harry’s mouth fell open. Why was it that Draco’s first thought always had to go straight to fucking? And why, Harry reasoned, should he have to justify who he was going out with?

“Well?” Draco demanded, “are you?”

“If I fucking want to!”

“Fine, “Draco spat getting up from the table, “have fun… and I hope you catch some hideous fucking disease from his putrid fucking cock!”

And with that he stalked away.

Lavender shrugged in the face of the furious stare Harry was giving her. “Well, at least now you know he minds.”

“Yeah, thanks Lav,” Harry sneered, “thanks a lot.”

*******

Lucius sat in his ornate wheelchair and stared out the French doors onto the balcony. He had not been outside for three days, despite the fact that the sun was shining and summer had almost arrived. It seemed he was perpetually stuck indoors.

He knew why. Non had gone to Hogwarts and not come back. Semeuse had been silent on the House Elf’s absence and had made no moves to replace him. The Curator’s mood had been foul, and he’d not spoken to Lucius since Non had disappeared. Instead Semeuse had hit him occasionally, and grunted something before magically hurling him to the bed and buggering him hard.

Lucius had come to the conclusion that Non was dead. Semeuse must have caught him – and Semeuse must have killed him.

He’d surprised himself by crying when he’d realized the little Elf’s fate. Not for himself, but because he had; beyond all expectations, liked Non. He had grown up with the Elf in the house, and he had placed Draco in his care. Non had started in the kitchen and worked his way up to running the whole Manor. He did not belong in the museum. He did not deserve to die because the Curator of the museum was a madman, or because Lucius had gotten himself into this kind of trouble. He deserved to be back at the Manor, living his life and dying a very old contented Elf indeed.

He didn’t deserve to have a sick pervert kill him.

Lucius wondered what had happened. Had Non been caught going to Hogwarts or coming back? Or had he just displeased the Curator as so many of the Elves had?

The irony was not lost on Lucius. He’d killed plenty of what he’d termed lower creatures just because they had irritated him.

But Non was not a lesser creature. Non was Non and Lucius felt the loss of him more than he thought possible.

It was as though a net was closing around him. He was going to die alone here and for the first time he felt scared.

*******

Hermione stood nervously outside the castle gates trying not to let her feet sink into the mud that lined the edge of the road. Not that the road itself was much better, but since the rain had finally stopped for more than a week, everything was beginning to dry out. The chill of winter was also beginning to diminish although it was still cold. She had always remembered May to be warmer than this, but then again, she could be wrong. She wasn’t sure of much any more.

She had dressed for the trip to London with deliberate casualness. Basic jeans and jumper and her heavy traveling cloak wrapped tightly around her to ward off the chill. Lavender had suggested something more sexual, something seductive that would perhaps lure her companion into her bed, or drive him insane. Hermione doubted that making such an effort would be worth any rewards. Severus Snape was not the type to be seduced by an outfit and whilst their last few meetings had certainly been civil, they had not been particularly friendly. It was obvious to her that the prospect of fatherhood terrified him and that his way of coping was to retreat into civility. He had approached the task of appointment making and arrangements with the same military precision that a general would use when planning a battle. It was something he had to do, not something he wanted to do.

Hermione looked at her watch – he was late. Very late. Which went against everything she ever knew of him. The sun was setting and she looked nervously back to the castle. She didn’t like the idea of standing outside the castle alone. No matter how many times Harry had told her not to worry about Krum, she couldn’t help herself. How did Harry know that Krum wouldn’t come looking for her? He had promised her that he’d not killed Krum and she was uncomfortably aware that she wished he had. At least that way she could stop looking over her shoulder every five minutes.

She shivered under the cloak and clutched her bag a little tighter. Had she known Severus was going to be late she would have taken the time to re-pack her bag. She knew full well that Lavender had exchanged her pajamas for some scrap of silk and all of her comfortable underwear for little lacy things. Hermione had been supremely annoyed. Aside from the obvious implications, she liked her cotton underwear and she liked her Pooh Bear pajamas, why couldn’t Lavender just accept it?

Besides, she was pregnant and wasn’t comfort more of a priority than sexual allure when you were pregnant? Not that she looked pregnant. She had developed the smallest of belly’s, but it didn’t look out of place or unbecoming. She had also developed a fabulous cleavage seemingly overnight – not that anyone had noticed, as she’d kept her shirts securely buttoned up and her robes clasped – Lavender thought it all a terrible waste.

“I’m sorry,” Severus came running down the path from the castle towards her, “I got held up at Staff Meeting. That stupid Sprout woman was carrying on saying that someone had killed all of her Snapping Lilliums and it just had to be a Slytherin student. Of course she doesn’t know exactly who it was, but it had to be a Slytherin…” he stopped, realizing that she probably had no interest what so ever in his gripe with the Herbology Professor.

He was of course wrong in that assumption. Hermione would have sat down and listened to him complain about his day for hours on end. Especially if they were settled in front of a fire and she could perhaps give him a neck rub and they were living happily ever after.

She shook her head and dispensed with the fantasy. She smiled nervously.

“How do you feel?” He eyed the area of her cloak that concealed her belly.

“I’m okay…a little cold.”

“It’ll be warmer in London.” He really was not good at small talk, and so he looked away, suddenly finding the castle wall incredibly interesting.

Hermione looked at him openly, taking in the whole of the man he was. He too was wearing a travel cloak, and he appeared to have worn Muggle clothing under it, something she knew would have pained him. She could see a glimpse of wool and what looked suspiciously like corduroy. He was holding a battered black carry on bag and he changed hands so that he could pull out his wand to hail the bus.

“I’m really not looking forward to this,” she laughed nervously.

“It’ll be fine, I’m sure that St Mungo’s will be very professional.”

“I was talking about the bus ride.”

“Oh.” The ivy on the castle wall was looking particularly green this evening.

Hermione rocked back and forward on her feet, wondering what else she could say. Something to take her mind off the fact that she was about to go to London with her Potions Master; ex-lover, to check the progress of her accidental pregnancy. Oh yeah, her life was going along fabulously.

She was saved from having to speak by the violent purple bus seeming to burst out of nowhere and screech to a halt in from of them, spraying both their cloaks with mud and causing them both to swear bluntly. Severus reached for Hermione’s bag and she released it willingly as Stan Shunpike leaned lazily against the door frame and began his usual spiel, reciting it as though he had learned it by rote and had no real interest in his new passengers at all.

Severus ignored him, protectively ushering Hermione up the step and on to the bus itself. Stan didn’t even notice that his passengers were on board until Severus roughly shoved the bags at him. And then he couldn’t help but gape in a combination of horror and shock. He could have happily lived his entire life without seeing Professor Severus Snape ever again, and now here the old buzzard was, on the bus…his bus. Why was he catching the bus? Without thinking he squeaked out, “Professor Snape!” and then instantly regretted it when Snape turned a critical eye on the acne faced conductor.

In all honesty Snape could not remember who Stan Shunpike was, which was a fairly good indicator that; at school at least, Shunpike had been a reasonable student who neither excelled at anything nor caused him any trouble. Snape looked into Stan’s eyes, plucked his name from his mind and grunted, “Shunpike.”

Stan could not seem to draw his gaze from his old Potions Master, the last person he ever expected to climb aboard the Knight Bus. He didn’t even notice that he had two passengers and not one.

“Two tickets, London, Grimmauld Place,” Snape muttered sharply.

Stan snapped out of his stupor and his eyes instantly flicked from Snape to Hermione and his eyes widened. Hermione he did recognize. She had caught the bus a few times; a friend of Harry Potter’s, about 18 years old and getting on the bus with professor Snape – and they both had Muggle clothes on under their robes. Stan’s mind made a leap of faith and came up with something that he would have been shocked to find was rather accurate. “Going away for the weekend then, Professor?”

“How much does it usually cost to make this journey without the questions?” Snape growled.

Stan’s eyebrows shot up into his fringe and he began to suspect that his thought (that the pair were off for a dirty weekend) might actually be correct. “There are sleepers on the upper decks Professor, but it’s still seating down here. Where would you like to sit, Sir?”

Severus knew the bus well enough to know that they wouldn’t wait for them to reach the upper decks before taking off and he didn’t want to risk Hermione falling over – and it was still early, so they wouldn’t want to sleep anyway. “Down here is fine.”

Stan tried a lopsided grin, but the idea of having Snape on the bus had caused his day to become just that little bit worse, though having said that, his love of fresh gossip was working overtime, and all of it was focused on why Snape was on the bus with this girl. He allowed the strange pair to shuffle down the isle and find two armchairs near the front, then he ambled to the front himself and banged on the partition window and saying loudly “London Ern, Grimmauld Place”. He then turned and grinned as the bus shot off into the oncoming night.

Hermione’s stomach gave a lurch and both chairs slid forward a little.

Stan leaned easily against the window and picked his teeth; “Hot Chocolate? Cup of tea?”

Severus tried to be formal, but his own stomach had started to churn and he looked at Hermione and managed to get out, “do you want anything?”

Hermione really didn’t think that her stomach was going to stand up to actually drinking anything on the bus. She dug her fingers into the arm of her chair and gulped, “no thank you,” as she felt the blood draining from her face.

“Just the tickets,” Snape said, directing this to Stan and worrying a little over the knowledge that Hermione was not going to take this ride well.

Stan gave one last look before issuing the tickets and pushing himself off the window and turning to at least pretend that he was focusing his attention on Ern and the road ahead.

Severus turned his attention to Hermione, “are you alright?”

She tried to smile reassuringly. “I…” she swallowed thickly as the bus rounded a corner and stopped suddenly, sending the chairs skidding forward violently. Snape grabbed the arm of Hermione’s chair, ensuring that she didn’t end up at the other side of the bus. He hadn’t ridden the Knight Bus since he was a child – and it appeared that Ern’s driving had not improved.

Several people climbed aboard and mounted the stairs to the upper deck as the bus took off at full pace once again.

“Oh God, does he have to drive like that?” Hermione groaned.

“He always has,” Snape replied.

“Doesn’t make it right,” she gasped, suppressing a burp, “every time I ride this thing I get sick.”

As they rounded another bend the countryside became little more than a dark blur and Snape’s churning stomach was beginning to instigate itself more forcefully. He felt sick but he wasn’t sure what was causing it, Ern’s driving or the fact that he was getting closer to London and thus confirmation of his role as father to be.

He decided it was probably Ern’s driving, and he should have tried to find something more suitable to travel in. After all, Hogwarts had carriages, and he should have been able to borrow one. Dumbledore had not been entirely happy about Hermione’s…condition. Still, by punishing Severus he was also punishing Hermione. Snape decided he would hire something in Diagon Alley to get them back to the castle.

There were several stops to make before they reached the outskirts of London and any conversation they might have had was stilted in the face of their motion sickness and Stan Shunpike watching them with unguarded interest. When the bus finally stopped outside the Leaky Cauldron they both breathed out with relief. They were much closer to escaping, with only a few more stops before they could get off the bus and let their stomachs settle.

Irrationally Snape felt hungry, which seemed to fly in the face of his current predicament. He wondered what she wanted for dinner.

“What time is it?” Hermione asked as the bus took off again. Hermione felt as though she had been sitting there for hours and was surprised when Severus told her it was a little after eight o’clock in the evening. They’d only been on the bus for a little over forty-five minutes, not the multiple hours that it felt like.

When the bus came to a halt at the end of Grimmauld place they both climbed gratefully from the bus and took a few deep breaths. Stan Shunpike took one last suspicious look and the bus sped off out of sight.

Hermione stepped cautiously across the uneven cobblestones that lined the sides of the road, rummaging through her cloak for her keys to the house while Severus picked up the bags from where they had been dumped. As always, the rubbish bins seemed to be overflowing at every house on the street and the smell assaulted her nostrils, obliterating any relief from the incessant nausea that she may have felt when she got off the bus. She pulled the keys out of her pocket and stared at the row of houses until they shuddered and then slowly separated, revealing number twelve, Grimmauld Place for the pair of them to see.

She stared at the house for a long time, for some reason dreading the climb up the stairs. She absently turned the keys over in her fingers and stared at the door.

“Do you have the right keys?”

She jumped, his presence enveloping her. “Huh? Oh, yes…sorry, I was off in my own world.” She stepped up to the house and unlocked the door, slipping inside as quietly as a thief as a matter of habit more than anything else. She didn’t have to be so stealthy. Harry had told her that Draco had managed to coax old Mrs. Black off the wall, along with the family tree and they both now hung in some remote part of the Malfoy Manor where Mrs. Black was well and truly happy, surrounded by hundreds of portraits of Malfoy family ancestors.

But they were still quiet as they walked down the hall, passing the living room which had been redecorated for comforts sake and was hardly ever used, and heading to the kitchen. Despite the kitchen being dark and gloomy most people still gathered there. Harry had tried desperately to make the living room a place that visitors felt they could relax in, but they had all returned to the kitchen in the end.

Severus set the bags down by the hearth and pulled out his wand to light the fire. He didn’t mind the kitchen; he’d been in worse. “Is this where you plan to live?” he asked, “I was led to believe that Potter had asked both you and Weasley to live here...does he still want that?”

Hermione nodded and warmed her fingers over the newly lit flames. “Yes, he’s happy to have people here, and I don’t think he wanted to be prowling around this place by himself.”

Snape, who had always been alone, snorted with derogatory humor.

“Well you can’t talk,” she said crisply. “You’ve spent your entire adult life at Hogwarts, and you won’t even live in your own house – and the Fenn is beautiful!”

He shut up at that, not wanting to admit that she was right – but he felt a well of hope opened in his stomach, she thought the Fenn was beautiful. The Fenn. Possibly the most unbeautiful place he could imagine. But then he was possibly biased on that score. “What do you want for dinner?” he asked irritably.

Hermione had not thought about dinner at all. She had considered eating before they left, but considering the bus ride she was very glad she didn’t. “I don’t know.” She shrugged. She knew there was nothing in the house and she couldn’t cook anyway. “We could go out.”

“I was more thinking of the chip shop down the road,” he admitted, “but we can go somewhere if you want to.”

“Chips are fine.”

“No, we’ll go out, there has to be something around here.”

Hermione seemed to recall that there was an Indian within walking distance, but now that he had mentioned chips she was warming to the idea. “Actually.” She smiled. “Chips sound really good.”

He felt a warm pleasure flow into the well in his stomach, he’d managed to make her smile. “Chips it is then.” He tried a tentative smile of his own and slipped his cloak off, hanging it over the back of a chair.

She smiled again. He looked so sweet in Muggle clothes, like her odd uncle who routinely got dressed in the dark. She wasn’t going to tell him that though. She watched as he rummaged through his pockets, looking for his wallet and when he found it she watched as he checked the money in it. She was surprised that he knew anything about Muggle money, as most Pureblood Wizards didn’t have any idea of Muggle money’s worth. The idea that paper could be traded for anything at all was ludicrous to a society that placed their trust in gold, silver and bronze.

“Do you want anything other than chips?”

She made a soft humming noise as she considered the question and then looked at him with large wheedling eyes; “Umm, a piece of battered hake…and some mushy peas.”

“Oh Gods, how can you eat mushy peas?”

“I have no idea, I just want them tonight.”

He looked slightly disgusted, this must be the notorious cravings he had heard so much about. It had to be, because it would be a cold day in the nether regions of hell before he ate mushy peas. He shoved the wallet into his back pocket, absently ran his hand through his greasy hair and told her to find plates and the like while he went to get food.

He took longer than either of them expected. He’d found the chip shop with no problems, but had also found a Europa store open across the road and decided that purchasing food for the next day was a good idea. He did not like to entertain the idea of starting his day without his morning coffee, and he knew that she needed to eat, so by the time he arrived back at the house he was laden down with simple basics such as bread butter and milk as well as fruit and juice and; to Hermione’s delight, chocolate, biscuits and ice-cream.

They ate, keeping up a friendly banter. She had almost forgotten how easy he could be to speak to and as long as she avoided the topic of the child he seemed to relax no end. They discussed the upcoming exams. He thought she would do well, Lavender’s idea for opening a perfume store (he thought the idea was ridiculous, and who would pay good money for a scent they could make themselves?), and Harry and Draco’s break up. He was; quietly, unashamedly happy about it, but he did admit that Draco was not handling it well, and when pushed, he reluctantly agreed that perhaps they would be better off together.

Once dinner was finished and the dishes washed and cleared away (neither of them were particularly good at household charms so they did it the Muggle way), thoughts automatically turned to what they were going to do for the remainder of the night. It seemed too early to go to bed and although Hermione was a little tired, she was reluctant to go to sleep. It had been a long time since she’d been able to just sit and talk to him, and it felt good. Good to just sit there with him and talk about something other than school work. Good to feel close to him, as though he was still the lover he had once been.

Also, the topic of sleeping arrangements had not yet been discussed and he had no idea where any of the guest rooms were. She should really tell him, or show him, but once again, she was reluctant to do so.

He was planning to just follow her upstairs and wing it from there, and he figured there had to be some room he could sleep in, even if it was Potter’s or Weasley’s.

“What about a game?” Hermione asked at last. She could have suggested television, as they’d had one installed over the summer, but the reception was impossibly bad because of all the wards on the house – and when they could get a decent picture they all agreed that there was nothing decent to watch anyway. Harry had gone out and purchased a video and they were amassing a decent collection, but she seriously doubted that Severus would be interested in watching any Muggle melodrama.

“What kind of game?” Severus raised a skeptical eyebrow, as his experience of games as a youth had been limited and had almost universally ended in him being the butt of some joke or other.

“A board game,” she explained, “Harry went crazy over them in the summer and bought heaps. How about Scrabble?”

“Scrabble?” he scowled, “never heard of it.”

Hermione was momentarily dumbstruck, the same way she had been when Harry had confessed that he had never played the game - the fact that Ron hadn’t played either seemed inconsequential, but for some reason she equated playing board games with a good home life. “What do you mean you’ve never heard of it? Scrabble is one of those universal games, everyone has played it, like Monopoly!”

He actually laughed at that, “I’ve never heard of Monopoly either Hermione. Board games don’t usually grace Wizarding homes.”

“Why not?” she asked indignantly, “what kind of games did you play as a child?”

He looked uncomfortable. “My family weren’t particularly fond of games,” he said stiffly, “not the kind that children play anyway.”

“Did you play any games?”

“Not really. I could play that game that Muggles play with cards…solitaire.”

Hermione felt a pang.

“And on the rare occasions that my father had guests over, and if those guests had children, I would play with them…but I can’t remember what we played,” ‘wouldn’t remember more like,’ “oh, and Lucius let me join in with him some times, but he was a lot older than I was so I didn’t get most of it.’ He smiled at one memory, “I remember when I was seven and he was fourteen, he would get these Muggle girls from the village and we would play hide and seek. He would send me off to hide and I always thought I was doing so well because he would never find me. Then one day I found out he was shagging the girls and he just wanted to get rid of me for an extended period of time.” He stopped suddenly as it was not such a happy memory after all. By the Gods, I’m a walking disaster zone. “You said you wanted to play Scrabble?”

Hermione tried to dismiss the swell of compassion that was building in her, knowing full well that he wouldn’t want it. She couldn’t help but ask the question however; “but what about your parents, they must have played some games with you?”

“My mother was too busy trying to please my father to play games with a child,” he said blandly, staring at the coffee that he’d made and deciding that he no longer wanted it. “And my father was not the bonding type.”

Hermione sipped her own coffee and thought about her own happy childhood. Her parents had always been there to support and encourage her despite her various oddities and her strange ability to make things happen. When her Hogwarts letter came they had taken the news in their stride, accepting that their daughter was never going to be what was considered normal. Her memories of her childhood were fond ones, interrupted by the war, but fond none the less.

“Didn’t you do anything as a family,” she asked, seemingly unable to keep her mouth shut. “Camping? Barbeques? Going to the beach?”

He stared at her, wondering of she had actually looked at him lately. Did he honestly look like someone who had ever been to the beach? “Um…no, I was lucky if my father slapped me on the back of the head when he saw me.” His mouth slashed into a sardonic smile and he sat himself down on the hearth. “My parents’ marriage was not the usual Pureblood affair.”

Hermione sat beside him, tucked her legs up and settled a little closer to him; “your mother wasn’t a Pureblood?”

“Oh, no, she was,” he replied hastily and then relaxed a little, closed his eyes and leant his head back against the warm bricks of the fireplace. She was going to make him exhume old memories and he wasn’t sure that it was such a good idea to let her. Then again, she wasn’t forcing him to speak, so perhaps he wanted to tell her things…but these things? These memories were ones he had never told anyone, and with good reason. He released a tight breath and ploughed on regardless. “My parents got married because they had an affair and my mother got pregnant. My father’s marriage had already been arranged but he was forced to marry my mother because of me.”

“But if your mother was a Pureblood, why was it so bad?”

“Because, Hermione, she was from a family quite similar to the Weasley’s, no money and one of ten siblings, and her father was a bit of a nuttter. The woman my father was supposed to marry was from a wealthy family and was supposed to lift the Snape family fortune. When I was born he saw me at best as an inconvenience and at worst as the thing that ruined his life. Every time he looked at me he’d see the consequence of the mistake he had made, and the price he had to pay.”

Hermione was looking horrified, “but…I’m sure he loved you.”

Harsh laughter escaped him, “Hermione, you can’t get me to say he was a good man without lying. No, he didn’t love me, he never said ‘I love you’ or anything like it. In fact, he spent a lot of his time telling me just how much I disappointed him and when he screamed at my mother he generally used me as an example of just how crap his life had ended up being. My father was exceptionally good at degradation and insults; where do you think I learned my skills?”

“But…”

“Hermione, shut up!” He rolled his eyes exasperated. “My father makes Potter’s uncle look like jolly old St Nick! If you want proof I can recount story after story after story, but there is no real point. And why do you care anyway?”

“Because I want to understand. How could your own parents hate you?”

“Very easily. I’m very hateable.”

“That’s not funny!” Hermione scowled and turned to stare into the flames. “You must have some happy memory from your childhood.”

“Alright then,” he looked thoughtful and more than a little sarcastic, “every year the Malfoys’; who as you know lived next door, had this big garden party and invited all the best families from the Wizarding world. Merlin knows why they bothered inviting us, but they did, every year. Anyway, one year I had taught myself some stupid charm and I wanted to show Lucius and of course I bungled it in front of the entire party. My father, salt of the earth that he was, started ranting about what an idiot I was, and it escalated from there. After about five minutes he was yelling and shaking me like I was a rag doll and my mother watched from the drinks table while she had a fresh drink made and some canapés brought up. When someone tried to intervene, I think they said something like, “he’s only a boy, and it was a very complicated charm,” my father grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and took me home. When my mother came home they spent the rest of the night arguing over whose fault it was that I was such a failure. That was my childhood, that one story sums the whole thing up.” He stood up, picked up the poker and jabbed viciously at the fire. “The only time I can remember my father having a good word to say to me was when he discovered that I had an uncanny knack for hexes. I was a student at Hogwarts when he died, and when the news came I read my letter, finished my breakfast and wondered how I was going to get to Arithmancy without running into Potter or Black. That was how much I cared.”

“What about your mother?” Hermione was almost afraid to ask, but for some reason she needed to know.

“She died four years ago. Dumbledore organized a funeral and I attended at the last minute. I wanted to make sure they put her in the ground – and covered her up.”

He heard her sigh regretfully from the hearth stone, “Severus…”

“Don’t! I’ve already heard every sympathetic noise a person can make when it comes to the topic of my family.” His grip on the poker tightened and he began to grind his teeth. He had come to terms with the harsh reality of his upbringing a long time ago, and he never usually thought about it. But now, now that he was going to be a father himself, he couldn’t help but dwell on it. He was so much like his father, an ironic twist of fate to be sure, but a reality none the less. His childhood had made him strong and adaptable as well as spiteful, it had given him his calm exterior as well as well as his cruelty. In short, had it not been for his upbringing he probably would have been useless as a spy.

“I guess it wasn’t ideal,” Hermione said with an ache in her voice. It was an ache that matched the one in his chest.

“Not a good training ground for parenthood is it?” He looked at her squarely then, and allowed his gaze to fall to her stomach. “I don’t like children,” he said quietly, “they annoy me and they fear me and I like it that way…actually I don’t like people in general.”

Hermione bowed her head and instinctively rubbed her small belly. She didn’t understand the cycle of it. She didn’t understand how it was possible that his father had shamed and humiliated him because he thought his son weak, and now Severus did exactly the same thing to the likes of Neville Longbottom – or anyone else unfortunate enough to cross his path. Where would the cycle end? Would it end? Perhaps it was best that he should have nothing to do with her child.

But another part of her trusted him and truly believed that; given the chance, he would be a good father. She didn’t know why, she knew no real good of him in that respect, but it was just a feeling that coursed through her as strong as a rip tide.

She cleared her throat. “It will be different with your own child.”

“You think?”

“Yes, I do.”

He laughed and shook his head. “The idea of raising a child scares me half to death,” he admitted.

“It scares me too, Severus. All I can do is try…and so can you.”

Once again he jabbed the fire, sending sparks flying up the chimney. He could try, but what a thing to experiment on! A child, his child. What if he fucked up and turned out to be every bit as horrific as his own father had been?

She stepped up behind him and pressed herself against his back, wrapping her arms around his waist. It was a warmth more comforting than the fire in the grate. She rested her cheek against his back and slowly began to stroke his chest and belly through his jumper. The gentle movements seemed to soothe the upheaval in his gut.

“I know you can do it because I know you,” she whispered.

He twined his fingers with hers and he lifted her hand, pressed a kiss into her palm and then moved himself around in her arms until he could hold her in his own. He considered that perhaps she was the one who was truly mad, perhaps madder than Regina. She cared about him more than he thought anyone could possibly care. Suddenly, it seemed stupid to be apart from someone who could love him that much.

But what Hermione thought or felt was vastly different to the reality. “Hermione, I’m not capable of loving someone the way you want me to. I’m not gentle. I’m not a good man.”

“I’ve seen you be gentle, and I’ve seen you be a good man.”

He laughed, actually smiling at her innocence, the way she believed what she was saying; “I’m gentle with you…”

“And Minerva, and Draco…”

“People I care about,” he finished, “but that is all. I’m good at watching over people, I watch, I spy…and lately I try to protect.”

“You can protect me,” she murmured, “you can watch over me.”

He smiled at her. “You don’t need anyone to watch over you, you’re fearless.”

“No I’m not, the baby scares me. I don’t know what I’m going to do with the rest of my life and I spend every day terrified that Viktor is going to come after me.”

“You don’t have to worry about Mr. Krum, as he is no longer a problem.”

Hermione frowned. “What have you done?”

“Nothing for you to concern yourself with.” He pulled away from her.

“But Harry knows?” she asked, not letting him go. “He said not to worry either, what have both of you done?”

“Nothing that Mr. Krum didn’t deserve, and I believe it is a secret best kept between Potter and myself.”

“So you and Harry are suddenly sharing secrets?”

“Only ones of necessity.”

“Did you kill Viktor?” She was afraid of the answer, but she wanted to know.

He smiled again, a self assured smile, as though he was back on his own territory, dealing with facts not emotions. “Would it matter if I had?”

She considered the question and then shocked herself with her answer; “no, it wouldn’t matter.”

“Then feel free to think the worst.”

She swallowed; “and what about Harry? What part did Harry play?”

“Potter surprised me.” He pushed a shank of hair back from her face, “you see, that’s how I protect people, I eliminate the problem.”

“I don’t care, I still love you.”

“Silly girl.”

“No, I’m a lucky girl.”

He kissed her gently on the forehead. “Go to bed Hermione, it’s been a long day.”

She sighed regretfully and let him go, turning away from him. “What about you?”

“I’ll find somewhere to sleep later.”

“I’m the next level up, I have Pooh Bear on my door.”

He couldn’t help but roll his eyes, heaven preserve him from her obsession with that infernal bear. “Go to bed.”

She walked away saying softly; “goodnight Severus.”

*******

Draco slammed the door of his bed chamber with such force that several books fell from the shelf and Miss Kitty leapt into the air with a shriek.

“There is something seriously wrong with me,” he declared to the small cat, “I am fucked in the fucking head!”

Miss Kitty tilted her own head and mewed, she then stretched lazily and yawned before padding across to him and rubbing herself against his leg. Draco bent down and picked her up, lifting her so that he could look her in the eye.

“Why can’t I get over that son of a bitch?”

Miss Kitty swatted playfully at his face and he dumped her on the duvet. He then crouched down and pulled a bottle out from under his bed. He had never been a fan of Firewhiskey, until he discovered that they delivered it. A large muscular looking owl arrived most mornings with his daily supply and he considered it a close friend.

Not that he had a particular problem with going out and buying his alcohol in person, but he had to study, and Miss Kitty was far too young to be left alone at night.

He fished a glass out of the nightstand and poured himself a generous draught. He refused to drink it straight from the bottle, as to do so would be like admitting to alcoholism and he wasn’t that far gone yet.

Fucking Harry. The bastard had a way of looking at Draco with a foul look of pity and Draco had a habit of wanting to throw himself at his feet and beg forgiveness. Which was pathetic in the extreme and it wouldn’t work anyway – which just wasn’t fair!

And he just couldn’t seem to get over Harry and he just couldn’t understand why. Why couldn’t he walk away? What he should do is go out and screw someone new. A nice woman with soft hips and big tits. No hard angles like Harry. A big soft woman!

Maybe he could proposition Lavender, she was always up for fun. Or maybe Ginny Weasley. She’d do it to get back at Harry. They could fuck each other and get back at Harry at the same time.

He downed his whiskey and poured another larger one. Then he took the bottle to bed with him.

He should study. Exams were in a matter of weeks and he had to study. But he had been studying. He’d studying every night. If studying counted for anything he was on the fast track to being to greatest Wizard of all time. But studying was not getting Harry back…and neither was drinking himself to death.

”My life sucks.” He’d been saying that a lot lately.

He’d had an idea a while back; it seemed like months ago, and could well have been that long. Give Harry the Pensieve he’d wanted. Give him the Pensieve and hope he understood. Above everything he wanted Harry to understand that he was not some cold blooded prick who did not comprehend pain and suffering. Then again, he could just forget the Pensieve and go and screw a woman with great big tits.

The rational part of his brain was winning at the moment. Give the Pensieve to Harry and not expect anything to come from it, except the blind hope that Harry would understand. He could find a bowl easily enough. Hogsmeade sold anything and everything that a Wizard could possibly require. He could find one there, do whatever he needed to do to get the memory into the bowl and give it to Harry. He could leave it in Harry’s room and let natural curiosity do the rest.

“What do you think of that idea?” Draco just assumed Miss Kitty could hear his thoughts. What kind of a pet would she be if she couldn’t? She yawned and settled into Draco’s lap.

He could give Harry the Pensieve just because Harry had wanted it. It could be a parting gift. They would be leaving school soon and Draco would never have to see Harry ever again. It would be like a final goodbye.

And maybe; if he was very lucky, Harry might just forgive him.

*******

It was one thing being told to go to bed, it was another thing entirely to be able to get to sleep. Hermione had opened her bag to discover that Lavender had done far more than switch her comfortable underwear. Hermione’s pajamas were no where to be seen. In their place Hermione found a deep red negligee with a plunging neck line that seemed to force her newly enlarged breasts up and out. She felt like one of the prostitutes that went in and out of Madam Louisa’s in Hogsmeade.

That was a pretty far fetched leap of logic, as the negligee was pure silk and actually very beautiful, Hermione just really loved her old, comfortable and warm pajamas – and the negligee was completely inappropriate for this London visit. It was not a pleasure trip, they were here to deal with her pregnancy.

She was dreading the next day. Going to St Mungo’s would confirm that the baby was going to be part of her future. At the moment she knew it was there, but it didn’t seem official yet – and while it wasn’t official she figured that she could ignore it. Not that the sickness, sore breasts and constant tiredness was something she could easily ignore, but it was easier to ignore it than admit that her life was about to be changed forever.

And now she found herself lying in her bed at Grimmauld Place in a sexy negligee with the man she wanted downstairs and a baby in her belly – and she was expected to sleep. She was tired, but she could not close her eyes without feeling the intense fear of the child and her uncertain future. She could not turn over without thinking about Severus and wanting to go back down to him.

She had tried counting. It usually worked; she had never once reached one hundred, but tonight she had, and she’d even gone beyond two hundred. With a huff of frustration, she’d finally given it away because it wasn’t making an ounce of difference. She curled on her side and stared into the darkness, wanting to do something other than coping with this.

The door squeaked as it opened and she jumped involuntarily and then lay still, tense and expectant as a familiar silhouette slipped into the room.

“Severus?”

“I thought you’d be asleep.”

“I can’t seem to get there.”

He walked around the bed until he was behind her and she heard the sound of his bag being dropped to the floor. She held her breath, wondering if he was planning to sleep here. She half expected him to bunk down on the floor.

“Can you open the window a little,” she asked, hoping to get the answer she desperately wanted, “before you come to bed?”

He didn’t say a word, but she heard the curtains being opened and the window being opened. She still didn’t move; her ears strained, listening for any sound that might give her hope. His bag was opened and there was a rustling of fabric – and then silently he slipped into the bed behind her.

She shivered, waiting, but he didn’t touch her, and she lay there, as though she was waiting for an eternity before she finally rolled onto her back and tried to focus on him in the darkness. She could make him out, when he had opened the curtains he had allowed the street light from outside to light the room a little, and she could see him – just. He was on his side, head propped up on his hand, staring at her in silence. She could see his eyes shining black in the dark.

“You smell good,” she whispered and then cringed at the stupidity of the statement.

“So do you,” he replied and she was horrified to note a tone of amusement in his voice.

She blinked and contemplated throwing him out. But she had ached for him to be in bed beside her for so long, and now that he was she could feel the warmth of his body spreading through her. She moved a little until she could feel him against her, snuggling up cozily to him so that her side was pressed against his front. He was wearing a nightshirt, some kind of scratchy cotton that irritated the flesh of her arm.

He sighed softly and pulled her closer, his hand slipping down the satin nightgown, skimming across her stomach and gently caressing her hip. “This feels nice.” His hand slid down her thigh, “Did I buy this?”

“Yes…” she was shaking, gooseflesh spreading over her body, “just after New Year.” She flushed in the dark. She had never worn it for him because he had bought her so many nightgowns, flimsy things that made her look so much more sensual than she honestly felt. He hated her pajamas and she knew it, and given half a chance he would have banished them away for ever. “Lavender stole all my underpants, she swapped them all for these little tiny ones that…” her breath hitched as she felt a finger run up her thigh.

She felt his chest vibrate with a chuckle as he crooned, “remind me to thank Miss Brown then.”

“I thought you said we couldn’t…” Hermione caught herself a moment too late, wondering why exactly she was protesting, and when he pulled his hand away with a sigh she thought she’d lost him again.

“Things change,” he said carefully, not particularly wanting to recant everything that he had said in the past, knowing that to do so would be tantamount to admitting that he was wrong – and he didn’t think he was.

“I don’t want to wake up in the morning to find you beating yourself up and having the whole situation worse than it already is.” Hermione drew a breath and pushed on, “if you’re only going to leave me then I don’t want this to happen at all.”

“I’m not going anywhere, I’m yours for as long as you want me.” And there it was, surprisingly easy considering that he had spent a life time avoiding being close to anyone. Things had changed, and he had only ever wanted to make her happy. Now it seemed he had worked out what everyone else already knew – that being with her would make Hermione happy. The fact that it would also make him happy seemed like some impossibly wonderful side effect that he’d never thought could happen.

Then again, it could all fall apart – but not today.

He kissed her lightly, instinctively finding her mouth with his own and feeling her shudder under his touch.

Hermione sighed, arching herself up to him as his tongue ran traced the line of her throat. Her murmured something to her that she couldn’t understand and then his lips kissed the tops of her breasts through the flimsy negligee. She was instantly awash with the most compelling of needs, swimming with molten desire. When he momentarily lifted his mouth she whimpered with despair until he squeezed one of her breasts lustfully, using his thumb to rub the luxurious fabric across the acutely sensitive peak.

“You like that?”

Hermione couldn’t respond with anything other than an incoherent “Oh God…” and a thick lock of hair slipped across her face as she arched up further into his grasp. Again his hand closed over her breast. She felt as though a bolt of lightening had slashed through her, searing and hot and leaving in its wake an incredible awareness of her body. Even the soles of her feet tingled. She had missed this. The build of excitement, and the way his touch could take her breath away.

He stroked the length of her, throwing the blankets off the bed and pushing her nightgown up roughly so that it bunched around her waist. Then he growled something, sounding frustrated and for a moment he stopped touching her and sat up. She frowned, wondering what he was doing as he fumbled around the bedside table.

“Lumos”

A dim light filled the room and she began to laugh as he returned the wand, hers not his, to the table. He smiled devilishly and returned to his task, reasoning that it was so much better when he could see what he was doing. His eyes widened and narrowed, fueled with intent. Gently he ran his finger tips down her thighs, causing her flesh to shiver and she gazed down the length of herself, anticipating what he was going to do next.

“These are the tiniest pair of knickers that I’ve ever seen,” his voice was hoarse and he was silently praising Lavender Brown, ascribing her with a wondrous Godlike status or perhaps adorning her with jewels for her foresight.

Hermione couldn’t contain her want any longer, instinctively she pushed her hips towards him, aching for him. “Touch me,” she urged, “please, just touch me.”

He moved so that he had almost mounted her, skimming his fingers over her smooth belly until he could slip them deftly under the triangle of dark red lace and tangle them in the silky hair that lay within. His hand cupped her mound intimately and firmly, but for the moment he resisted the urge to move his fingers. He let himself enjoy the heat of her and the way she breathed so heavily and moaned so softly, lifting her hips up to him as though to urge him deeper.

Hermione clawed at his shoulders, straining upward in her need for him, her desire pooling in her until the months of yearning and frustration were brought into sharp focus and centered on the touch of that hand between her thighs. His eyes were boring into her, fathomless black and filled with the same desire that filled her. She whimpered at his look, and then lost any reservations she may still have harbored and begged him shamelessly to take her.

His face, so hard and lean was held so close to hers that she could not look away. Severus did not change his expression even as two of his long fingers slipped inside her, sliding over her clitoris and seeking the wet heat of her depths. She drew breath sharply, her fingers digging harder into his shoulders, her gaze never leaving his.

He made a soothing noise but continued to work his fingers in and out of her and by way of reward her thighs parted wantonly. Hermione was spreading herself out for him as she thrust her hips up to his hand and instinctively wanted more of him inside her.

But she knew he would tease her and she couldn’t stand such exquisite torture. She would die of pleasure, she knew it. She remained unblinking, her eyes never leaving his as the first convulsive waves of her orgasm approached too rapidly for doubt or question. The ecstasy of it broke full force inside her and she had no choice but to succumb, her entire body quaking under his touch as she looked into the liquid black pools of his eyes.

Finally the tremors subsided and she was able to look away, part of her hating him for the ease in which he brought her to climax – and for making her go through it alone. Where had his own passion been? The thought was a fleeting one, she turned her face so that her cheek could brush against the soft cotton of the pillow slip, so that she could catch her breath for a moment. Then finally she came to her senses and looked back to him, wanting to watch him now, wanting to see him lose control as she had.

He had moved his attention from her face and was looking down the length of her body with some pleasure. She wished he was naked so that she could more plainly see his arousal. She knew that he was aroused, she could feel him pressed against her leg and his cheek was infused with rare color, but otherwise he seemed to be in complete control of himself and she wanted nothing more than to hear him cry out in orgasm.

“Let’s get rid of these,” he said, his gaze lingering on her groin and the tiny pair of panties she was wearing. His hand slid down, taking the panties with it, but at her knees he stopped, unable to go further without moving.

A renewed desire surged through Hermione and she found that her impatience to have him inside her became an overwhelming wave. “Rip them,” she urged, her impatience suddenly manifesting itself in her hands as she began to claw at the ugly nightshirt he was wearing.

He struggled to remove the offending garment, his insistent throbbing erection reason enough for haste. At the same time he tugged hard at her panties, reasoning that they were a scrap of lace and should be easy enough to tear. They weren’t. For something so small they were surprisingly resilient. He tugged again and was suddenly lost in the worn cotton of his nightshirt as she succeeded in pulling it over his head.

And then he was stuck. He couldn’t help himself, unable to see or move and certainly unable to tug her panties any further, he began to laugh.

“It’s not funny!” Hermione protested, but she could suddenly see the funny side of it as she desperately tried to untwist the nightshirt so that she could free him. When she finally pulled the shirt away she could not help but be warmed by the smile on his face.

He pulled away momentarily to extricate himself fully from his nightclothes and then returned, still smiling and blissfully naked.

“You shouldn’t have had it on anyway,” she reasoned.

“I was trying to be subtle.”

“You should have just come in and ravaged me.”

“I thought that was what I was doing,” he replied with mock indignance.

She chuckled, “well hurry up and tear those panties!”

He rolled his eyes; she just had to insist, and it was most definitely a job for both hands. He grabbed the panties and pulled hard – and felt them give with a satisfying rip. He threw the scraps of blood red lace over his shoulder with careless extravagance and then spread her legs with a movement so swift that it bordered on impatience.

Hermione’s eyelids flew open wide and all humor was gone in a startled lust soaked gasp as he reached down to open her wider. With a smooth lunge; forced by his anticipation and desperation for her, Severus buried himself deep into her moist clinging flesh.

He hesitated then, panting raggedly, his hair falling about his face in disarray.

Hermione measured her breathing, trying to stay calm as he filled her, and then, supporting herself by grasping his shoulders, she lifted her legs higher, causing her inner muscles to tighten and her breath caught in her throat.

“Oh…oh S-Severus…” She couldn’t say anything more; she couldn’t think straight, all she could understand was the feeling of him between her legs and the knowledge that it was him. That was all that mattered.

A loud groan burst from his throat. It really had been too long. He’d been dreaming of her, but his dreams did no justice to the pleasure of touching her, being with her, and of connecting inside her. She was so soft, her body was lithe beneath him and warm and wet around him. He couldn’t hold himself back from her any more than he could staunch his growing ardor. He had been a fool to try and do without her. Surviving two wars, had that not been some kind of testament to some kind of worth on his part? Didn’t he deserve some kind of happiness? He loved her, as inappropriate as many would find it; and indeed, he thought it inappropriate himself, and he honestly loved every part of her. He could not believe that there had been a time in his life when he did not love her.

With gentle hands she drew him down to her. “Deeper,” she whispered and kissed him with soft lips, her tongue bold and eager to taste him, “I want to feel you…deep…in me.”

He braced one foot against the bedpost and dug his knee into the mattress and used all the power his legs could muster to thrust up hard into her. She cried out, her lashes fluttering, her eyes rolling back a little. The palm of her left hand skimmed down his lean back to the hollow side of his buttock and it felt as though his skin was burning under her touch. “Yes,” she panted, “Oh Gods Severus, like that…”

Severus felt desperate, frenzied. With his hands behind her knees he levered her higher so that he could push himself as deep into her as possible. He drove hungrily into her again and again and when he heard the tremulous cries of her climax he answered with his own explosive release, so strong that any fears he had that this was wrong were allayed.

He sank beside her, spent and satisfied. Lovingly he drew her to him, drawing blankets around her petite body. They were both confronted by a maelstrom of emotion that refused to be tamped back down. Rising above it all was a strange feeling of relief; they were here, together and they didn’t have to part. He had surrendered and she had won – he savored her victory. He closed his eyes and held her close, fighting off any feeling of uncertainty. They were together, linked now not only by their overwhelming need for each other but by the child growing inside her.

He allowed himself to relax, shifting so that they were entwined comfortably around each other, both needing to sleep. It was going to be a long day tomorrow.

*******

“I see you have finally stopped waiting for that pathetic Elf to return.”

Lucius jumped and his eyes flickered, hunting around for the Curator who had come through the door but was outside his field of vision. It was the first mention Semeuse had made of Non’s disappearance and when the Curator finally walked around the bed Lucius could see why. Semeuse was disheveled, his hair in all directions, his skin sallow and a little grey.

“He’s not coming back,” Semeuse spat viciously, “you should have known I would find out. Imagine, trying to keep your spy here? Who did he report to? Your son? That greasy bastard at Hogwarts or that Muggle lover from the Ministry?”

Lucius said nothing. Semeuse had been drinking, and Lucius could smell the stale stench of alcohol oozing from his pores. The Curator was staggering dangerously, as though threatening to fall onto the bed and beat his Angel to a bloodied pulp.

“I have told you time and time again!” The Curator began pacing around the bed, a little like a predator waiting to pounce. He did not seem to be talking to Lucius at all, instead he seemed to be addressing himself and Lucius could do little more than follow him with worried eyes. “I’ve told you,” he repeated, shaking his head, “why do you think you can beat me? Look at yourself Lucius, I give you everything, everything you could possibly want or need and still you push and push and push. You can’t win. You can’t escape me Lucius. You are my Angel, nobody else’s. You are mine!

How many of them are your spies? How many have you planted here? I will rid this place of every one of those disgusting little vermin. I’ll destroy them all and you’ll have nothing. Do you understand?”

Lucius couldn’t nod, and he couldn’t reply; he was lost for words. He wondered how long this rant would last and how fast the House Elves would abandon the museum once they realized what the Curator had in store for them.

Semeuse began to gnaw absently on a thumbnail. “You should be grateful,” he muttered, “you should be bloody grateful, you should be thanking me, you should love me! Look at what I have done for you! But no, not you. You are an ungrateful Angel. You bring in parasites that infect my home and spread lies about me. But NO MORE!”

Lucius watched, impassive as always but knowing that Semeuse must have been stewing on this for a good long while.

“And that man! That man! They are saying he’ll be Minister! That Muggle loving fool, MINISTER! Take you away will he? I’ll take you away. You are not his, YOU ARE MINE! ”

Or perhaps something else had happened, something that Lucius had no idea of.

“How dare that man think that he can take what is mine. That Elf. That disgusting Elf, running around and spreading lies about me. Your spy. Now that man wants you – but he can’t have you! He won’t have you. He won’t have either of you!”

Either of them? Lucius flinched, his hand fluttering on the coverlet and Semeuse noticed it and began to grin. He crawled up the bed towards Lucius, looking so much like a large demented...and drunken spider.

“That scares you, doesn’t it? Something finally scares you! But I’m taking you away from here, and we could hardly have it that you never saw him again now could we?” Spittle flew from his mouth and splattered across Lucius’ cheek. “No, no, no, I’ll have to take you both, take you both far away where no one can hurt you.”

“But you said you’d leave him alone.”

Semeuse laughed high and bitter, his eye gleaming with maniacal glee; “and so you finally speak my love, been holding back my Angel?”

“Leave Draco alone. We can be happy, just you and I.”

Semeuse’s grin twisted into a vicious sneer. “I won’t listen to you any more my Angel. You speak poison into my brain! You plant vermin in my house. Vermin who tell lies and send men to take you away. Oh no my Angel, I won’t hear another word, I will take you both, far far away.”

Lucius returned the Curator’s stare and hoped that the charm on Draco’s new pet held out.

*******

Morning came all too soon for Hermione, and with it came the familiar wave of nausea that she knew would last all day if she didn’t take the potion he had made for her. She sat up and dry retched. The room was still dark and one look out of the still open window revealed the strange orange sky that was considered dark for London. It must be early still, still early enough for the sun to not have come up. She reached to the bedside table to find the bottle she had left there the night before and take a draught of it. Then she settled back and relaxed with the feel of the potion settling her stomach.

She had no doubt that she could go back to sleep. This was not Hogwarts and she could sleep in if she wanted to. Then again, the appointment at St Mungo’s was reasonably early. She sighed and wriggled down into the warmth of the blankets. Beside her Severus mumbled something and rolled onto his back. It was such a natural thing to have him there that for a moment she thought nothing of it – and then she felt her face break into a wide grin. He was still there, sleeping beside her.

The memory of their love making last night came rushing back and she blinked and stared down at him. Gently she traced a single finger along his sharp collar bone and he shifted again and sighed and his eyes blinked open.

For a moment he seemed disorientated and then suddenly he yawned and stretched and collapsed into the pillows. “How long have you been awake?” he asked in a voice cracked from sleep.

“Not long, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s alright, I plan to be asleep again in about five minutes.” He yawned again. “How do you feel?”

“Okay…good.”

He rolled onto his side and thrilled her no end by pulling her to him and spooning around her back.

“What time is the appointment?” she asked. She should know the answer, but her brain was like a sieve of late and she was forgetting the simplest of things.

“Ten o’clock.” He felt her tense and lazily petted the slope of her hip, “Don’t worry, it’ll be alright.”

She turned to lie on her stomach and pushed herself up onto her elbows, “I’m not worried,” she lied, “well not about the appointment so much.”

He propped his head up on his own elbow and stared at her for a long time. She reached forward and brushed his hair back from his temple. “What are you worried about?” He asked at last, although he had a growing suspicion of what her answer would be.

“What happens next,” she answered, forcing herself to voice it at last, “I can imagine going through the pregnancy,” she hesitated before admitting, “I tried to get rid of it at first, but I just couldn’t do it…”

It didn’t shock or offend him, had the positions been reversed he could imagine that he would have done the same thing – he doubted he would have backed out though.

“I can’t help thinking about what happens after I have it?” She continued, “I don’t know what you want or if you want anything to do with it. At first I thought I would just deal with it, and it would be my child. I know that I can live here, and Harry will look after me; he’s said as much, but now I don’t know. I wanted so much more than this. I wanted you as part of my life and now I keep thinking that if you choose to stay then you would only do it as part of some obligation on your part. Then there are the things I had planned to do with my future…”

“And now you think you can’t do things?”

“I wanted to train to be a teacher or a healer, and I can’t see myself doing those things now.”

“Many Witches have children and careers, Hermione.”

“I know,” she faltered, “but they are usually…older…more settled…”

“Married?”

She flushed and fell silent. It was ridiculous, because she didn’t need to be married. They were all heading towards a brand new century and she shouldn’t be worried about that kind of security. She was resilient and resourceful, so why didn’t she feel it now?

“You still plan to live here?” he asked.

“Yes…” she shrugged and wished he would suggest otherwise, “It’s close to everything, Diagon Alley, that sort of thing.”

“Most Wizards don’t feel the need to inhabit the cities,” he pointed out, “most of our kind prefer remote areas, closer to nature and away from prying Muggle eyes.”

She knew this was true, but in reality her choices were limited. She did not have a vault full of gold at Gringotts. She was still a student, and she had nothing at all. As much as she loved her family she had no inclination to live with them, and at least here she would be with her friends, her own kind who understood her. “I have nowhere else to go,” she said plainly, “I know that nature is a central force to us but I have no means to be there. At least here I know what I am doing and I’ll be safe.”

“You could,” he paused, they had discussed this before but it was so long ago now, it seemed an age had passed since their last conversation about this, “you could still come to the Fenn.”

She looked at him sharply from the corner of her eye. “The Fenn? Alone?”

“I’d go there too. There is no hard and fast rule that suggests I have to live at the castle and situations change.”

“So you’d live with me…and the baby?”

“I can see logic in the arrangement.”

Hermione frowned. He saw logic in it? Logic? “And what else?” she asked, “aside from logic?”

“What else do you want?” He asked, moving to sit up a little, “It would be convenient, I could look after you, support the child…”

“But what else?” Hermione persisted, “I told you that I didn’t want this to be some sort of sacrifice for you. I certainly don’t want to be shifted into your house because it is convenient that way!”

“Then what do you want?” he asked exasperated, “A marriage certificate to prove that I’m serious? I can probably give you that too, but I can’t give you the whole world, Hermione.”

“Well what about love?” She countered, “what about wanting to live with me because you love me and you want to be with me? What about you wanting to have a life with me and our child?”

“Well I thought that was evident!”

“Well it wasn’t!”

He was sitting upright now, burying his face in his hands in frustration. “Alright,” he lifted his face and spoke as gently as he could at that moment, “will you come and live at the Fenn with me because I want to be with you and I love you?” He meant it, despite the fact that most of him was panicking. It would not be as though they were enjoying some blissful honeymoon period; they would be thrown into parenthood. They would have a family. More horrifying, he would have a family.

He breathed heavily and his eye followed the curve of her spine into the smooth dip that led up towards the rise of her buttocks. Somewhere behind there, beyond the bones of her spine and into her abdomen, was his child. Some poor scrap of a thing whose unlucky accident of birth would mean it was his offspring. Gods how he pitied it.

“Of course I want to come to the Fenn, that’s all I ever wanted, but only if you want me there for the right reasons.”

“I just told you that I loved you and I wanted to be with you! What more can I say?”

“What about the child?”

“I assumed it would be coming too,” he snapped. Then he stopped and drew another deep breath, as getting angry wasn’t going to get them anywhere. He softened his tone, it was too early to argue and he was beginning to know her well enough to know that she was as stubborn as he was, and any argument could well go on all day. “Come and live at the Fenn,” he said, giving in, his voice quiet and calm. “I don’t know what kind of father I will make and if I am a bad one I give you full permission to walk out the door and take me for everything I am worth – not that it’s much but you can have it – but I will do my best and that is all I can offer you.”

She kissed him then; gently, causing delicate threads of desire to float across her nerve endings. Her lips parted to the probing of his tongue and he deepened the kiss artfully until she was bound in the sweet sticky spider web of passion. Her entire body began to hum with wanton possibilities, but she pulled away from him for a moment to whisper; “that’s all I want, and that’s all you need to offer.” Then she kissed him again, feeling her heart begin to thump with the prospect of what was to come.

But he stopped the kiss and lay down again, drawing her down with him, his mind obviously more on the prospect of sleeping peacefully in her warmth than on any passionate lovemaking they could do. She forced him onto his back so that she could rest her head on his chest.

“That can’t be comfortable.”

“It is,” she insisted.

They settled into the bed, relaxing and both allowing the lure of sleep to wash over them. They had time, a couple of hours before they really had to be up and ready for this journey to St Mungo’s, and they had resolved so much, they had reached an understanding and she felt more stable, even if her future was not what she imagined it to be.

As she slept he took measure of her steady heartbeat beneath his palm and then suddenly his eyes snapped open. For the first time in his life he could honestly say he was looking forward to something good.

*******

Draco was fast learning to hate Hogsmeade, and he was fast learning to hate Scotland in general. It was cold, wet and dismal, and most of all every part of it seemed to sweat Harry. He hated Hogwarts. He hated walking down those corridors and remembering the good times that he had spent hexing Harry as a youth. He hated seeing students who kept looking at him as though they expected him to fall apart and most of all he hated Harry.

Except of course he didn’t hate Harry, he just wanted to hate Harry. He loved Harry and that was why he’d spent the morning wandering around the village looking for an elusive Pensieve bowl in his entirely pathetic last ditch effort to make Harry love him.

Understand him. To make Harry understand him.

Yeah right.

Harry had really wanted to see this, he had mentioned it so often that they had fought regularly over it and now; when all was hopeless Draco was willing to share it. He had no idea why Harry would want to see it. If anything it would make him ill, and the memory certainly caused Draco’s stomach to churn.

And as it turned out, Pensieve bowls were extremely rare. He’d been all over Hogsmeade and had been subjected to several nasty cat calls from people who could no doubt hated his father and could not see beyond physical similarities to the fact that he was not Lucius. He didn’t get this kind of treatment when he was with Harry, or at least he had never noticed it when he was with Harry.

He arrived at the shop that the last store had referred him to. ‘Antwon’s Antique Assortment.’

Oh fuck, I am really scraping the bottom of the barrel.

It was a remote part of the village and the cheerily named Antwon’s was in fact a rather dusty and depressing place, a little like all those stores his father had dragged him into when buying and selling various pieces that no one wanted to mention.

He pushed the door open and was greeted by a nose full of dust that made him want to sneeze. Behind the counter stood a very small Wizard obviously propped up on boxes who just had to be Antwon. The little man had a look on his face that Draco knew to be familiar enough. Lucius had to be a regular customer here. He just had to be, because Antwon was rubbing his hands together in anticipation of making some very good money. It was a fairly good indication of the kind of wares Antwon sold.

“Young Master Malfoy,” the smile on the Wizard’s face was genuine, as though he could almost smell the money. “What a pleasure to see you here. How may I help you?”

Draco sniffled at the dust and cleared his throat. “I’m looking for a pensieve bowl.”

Antwon’s smile grew broader by the second. “Antique bowls are very hard to come by, very few who own them are willing to give them up. If I come across one, it’s usually a job lot sent in from deceased estates.”

“Do you have one?”

“Oh yes, a lovely one, but alas, it is no antique.”

“Does it work?”

“But of course! But if you are anything like your dear father, you would much prefer the antiques, they are so much more beautiful. I could look for one for you, if you have the time I could get on in a matter of weeks.”

“I don’t have time to wait,” Draco said dismissively, “I don’t care if it’s an antique or not as long as it works. How much for the one you’ve got?”

Antwon seemed a little taken aback but was soon mentally calculating just how much he could demand from the young Malfoy. “1000 galleons,” he ventured with a smile.

“What? You said yourself it was no antique!”

“But Master Malfoy, as you may have realized, they are very hard to come by.”

“Yes, but I’m not paying 1000 galleons for a piece of modern crap!”

“I see Master is as shrewd as his father, I will take 150 galleons from the price.”

Fifteen minutes and five hundred galleons later, Draco left Antwons with his new Pensieve bowl tucked into his bag.

“Death Eater scum!”

Draco stopped and turned to see who had spoken. A burly looking Wizard with possibly more brawn than brains was coming towards Draco without hesitation. Before Draco could even speak the man had pulled back his fist and plunged it into Draco’s jaw, causing his lip to split wetly against his teeth and Draco fell back against the wall of the shop front and sank to the ground.

He sat there for a moment, dazed, yet incredulous that the fool was still standing there, congratulating himself at such a good punch. Draco frowned, feeling blood running down his chin, and pulled out his wand.

Harry would possibly not approve of this.

He transfigured the oaf into a squirrel.

He stood up painfully and dabbed out his lip and his fingers came away bloody.

“Thanks Dad” he muttered, knowing that it probably wasn’t his father’s fault that the man had been stupid, but then again who knew what Lucius had done to him. This was going to be part of his heritage, as much as his looks and his wealth. Centuries of playing the bad guys had ensured that he was here, being punched by a moron in Hogsmeade.

He knew that he should turn him back, but really, the squirrel was cuter. He stood up straight, dusted himself off and walked away.

*******

St Mungo’s had no maternity wards. Witches, Hermione was about to learn, gave birth at home usually, with a midwife in attendance, or a multitude of sisters or a mother or someone who would help the child into the world. It was considered the natural way of things and they had practiced it for centuries. Not for the magical world was this way of Muggles with their monitors and drugs and clinical indifference. A magical birth was different. And so, St Mungo’s had a small examination room, a waiting room and a receptionist who sat at a desk and called the prospective mothers through when it was their turn. This visit had certain goals, they would find out for certain that Hermione was indeed pregnant, that they were healthy and all was well, an approximate date of conception and the name of the closest midwife. Beyond that Hermione would be cared for at home.

By the time they had reached the hospital Severus had endured a ride on the tube during peak hour with countless Muggles crushed up against him and had amused Hermione no end by performing a scrougifying charm to get rid of what he described as ‘Muggle stench’ off him. The midwifery office was on the same level as the victims of accidental charms, something Hermione found a little offensive and she couldn’t help but complain about it. She found her complaints fell on deaf ears however, as Severus was looking around for the cafeteria level because he suddenly needed a coffee. If Hermione didn’t know him better she would think that he had finally become nervous.

“Severus?”

He turned from his position staring at the information board above the lift, “Huh?”

“Are you coming?”

“I’m sorry…what?”

“The appointment, it’s down here,” she indicated the corridor.

“Oh…yes, I just,” he looked back to the notice board helplessly, “I wanted a coffee.”

Hermione looked at her watch and then back to him, “well if you really want one you could go and get one and I’ll meet you at the office.”

She didn’t really expect him to take her up on the offer, she was still thinking of him as the ever efficient Professor Snape, but he nodded, said “right then,” and promptly got into the lift and disappeared, leaving her in the corridor staring in disbelief at the closed lift doors.

Well, she did tell him that he could go.

She turned and followed the signs to the Midwifery office, appalled at just how out of the way it was. When she finally rounded the corner and found the neat little waiting room she was surprised. She wasn’t sure what she had expected. Something more pleasant perhaps, more…childlike…with pictures of bears on the wall or something charming like that. Instead she found dull off white walls and wooden chairs lining the walls. A pile of out of date Witch Weeklies and a few copies of the Daily Prophet, also out of date, but less so than the magazines.

The receptionist seemed entirely absorbed in possibly the only current magazine in the hospital, a copy of Cosmopolitan – something Hermione had never read but she had seen the cover glaring out of various news agencies during her life time and it appeared to consist of sex quizzes and sealed sections that confirmed whether or not ones genitals were normal.

The receptionist appeared to be doing the sex quiz.

Hermione discreetly cleared her throat and the girl looked up – and Hermione startled, a frown instantly coming to her face. She knew this girl although she couldn’t quite place her name. She’d been in Hufflepuff, Hermione was certain of it, one of the many that had occasion to fawn all over Harry at some point. The girl was decidedly pudding faced and as she flicked through her copy of Cosmopolitan, she looked a little bored. Hermione could only hope that who ever she was didn’t remember her. And why should she? Hermione had kept to herself, she’d had few friends…except that the few she did have consisted of Harry and Ron and they had (all three of them) been rather prolific during their schooling life.

Hermione crossed her fingers and stepped up to the desk.

“Hermione!” The Hufflepuff girl smiled with genuine pleasure but Hermione could see that the pleasure was born purely from the opportunity to find out some decent gossip. Before she could berate herself for jumping to conclusions the girl continued; “so what are you doing here? Are you pregnant?”

Hermione blushed, “well…yes…actually, I have an appointment.” She silently willed Severus to stay upstairs in the cafeteria.

What was the damn girl’s name?

“Really?” Miss Hufflepuff inspected her appointment list and looked surprised, “So you do! Wow, I thought you were still at school!”

“I am,” Hermione muttered.

Daisy! Daisy bleeding Jiggers! Dopey cow whose father ran one of the most successful Apothecary supplies stores in the Wizard world.

“Wow!” Daisy Jiggers was looking at her in unadorned shock, “who’s the father?” she asked plainly, “Ron?”

“Ron? Ah, well, no…it’s not…it’s not Ron.”

“Well it can’t be Harry,” Daisy giggled, “not if what the papers are saying is true…is it true?”

“Pardon?”

“What the papers say about Harry?”

“What do the papers say about Harry?” Hermione found the irritation she was feeling had found its way into her voice.

“That he’s…” Daisy looked around and hissed in an indiscreet whisper, “gay. ”

Hermione rolled her eyes and decided that Harry wouldn’t care. “Yes, he’s gay, do you have a problem with that?”

“No, of course not!” Daisy smiled, “But I guess it explains a lot, I mean he was always a little…you know…”

“No, I don’t know.”

“A little odd, like he didn’t know what to do with a girl.”

Oh good grief, like pudding faced Daisy Jiggers would ever know. “Well, there you go.”

“But I guess he knows what to do with a guy…is it true about Draco Malfoy?”

“I really don’t know,” Hermione replied losing all patience, ”now can I book in with my appointment?”

“Oh yeah, sure, not a problem,” Daisy smiled again, “just take a seat. Will the father be joining you?”

I really hope not. “I…er…I…”

And then Severus rounded the corner, not really looking at where he was going and stopped, “I got you tea, apparently it’s better for you than coffee…”

“Professor Snape!”

Hermione winced at the look on Daisy’s face and Severus almost dropped the tea.

Daisy was still staring at Severus as she pushed a form across her desk. She was looking as white as a sheet, as though some particularly malevolent ghost had just popped up to haunt her and Hermione began to wonder exactly what she was like at Potions – and if she was Hufflepuffs answer to Neville in the class room.

“You have to fill out this form.” The girls’ voice was decidedly shaky, “you need to put down where you live and plan to have the baby, your name and occupation, father’s name and occupation. That sort of thing.” She smiled uneasily and looked at the Professor. She could only speculate on his role in all of this and she quickly decided that he had been sent as an escort, some sort of punishment for Hermione for getting herself knocked up whilst still at school.

Hermione decided to ignore the look on Daisy Jiggers face and took the form and clipboard. She borrowed a quill and they shuffled off to sit down and wait. Hermione took her tea and Severus took the form from her hands and began to look it. Then much to Hermione’s amazement he began filling it out for her.

She sipped her tea.

“It’s still full of caffeine you know.”

“Huh?”

He indicated the tea with the quill, “it’s still full of caffeine, and it’s almost as bad for you as coffee.”

“Then why did you buy it?”

He shrugged, “It seemed a good idea at the time, probably the same reason I now have a pocket full of Fizzing Wizzbees and chocolate.”

“Chocolate?”

He shuffled his hand in his pocket and pulled out a bag full of sweets.

“I think you’re nervous.”

“Me?” He looked at her with mock indignance, “You must be kidding.”

“You’re nervous?”

“Yep.”

“And you told me not to be nervous.”

“I lied.” He scanned down the form, checking off each part he had filled in, “What’s your mother’s maiden name?”

Hermione frowned and looked at the form, “Reardon.” She looked at what he’d already written. He’d put himself down as the father and for some reason she was surprised, although when she thought about it, it was only natural, he was the father after all.

Of course they had to give the form to Daisy Jiggers and she was no doubt going to read it. It was a big step for him. Then again, perhaps he had decided that they were going to have to get used to this. If they were going to be together they would have to stand up in the face of whatever people thought at some point.

“Love you,” she whispered and he glared at her.

Then he slid down in his chair in a way that reminded her of a bored student in Trelawney’s Divination class and began shoveling Fizzing Wizzbees into his mouth.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

They both fell silent as a worried looking Wizard and his partner (seemingly named Alice) walked past them with bemused glances and entered the midwives office.

“I’ll take the form over then,” Hermione suggested hopefully and when he responded by pushing more sweets into his mouth she shook her head and took the form to Daisy.

And of course Daisy scanned it and her mouth fell open when she reached the ‘father’s name’ part and she looked from Hermione to Severus and just couldn’t believe it. “Are you sure?” she asked stupidly, “I mean, how is it possible?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and lost all patience. “Well how do you think it is possible, we went to bed and fucked like monkeys and now I’m pregnant. Why don’t you use your common fucking sense?”

Daisy looked about to say something more but couldn’t think of the appropriate words. The truth was that her own recollections of school were haunted by memories of the greasy haired Potions Master who had given her a dismal grade in Potions and thus ensured that she had never been accepted to the Midwifery program that St Mungo’s ran. As a result she found herself stuck at the reception desk, something she considered a grave injustice (the fact that she was a dismal potions maker was neither here nor there). The idea of anyone going to bed with Severus Snape was horrifying to her, one look at him and she reasoned that anyone would run. But it was obvious that Hermione Granger had slept with him – not only slept but had produced the child now growing inside of her! The idea was completely unthinkable. Through her haze of disbelief she saw Hermione give her one last look and return to her seat.

“Fucked like monkeys?” Severus asked silkily.

“You know what I meant,” Hermione replied irritably.

“Have you ever seen a monkey fuck?”

“I saw a documentary on television once.”

“And there I was thinking television was pointless, If I’d known they showed displays of monkey fucking then I would have invested in one.”

“You are very unlike yourself today, Severus.”

“Well, it is very uncommon for me to be sitting in a midwives waiting room having my sexual technique compared to that of an ape.”

“I really wish she wasn’t the person sitting behind the desk. I was hoping it would be someone older.”

Severus glanced at the reception desk. “Who is she?”

”Daisy Jiggers, don’t you remember her?”

“Students all blur into one, only the troublemakers and know-it-alls stand out.”

“She was in Hufflepuff, she had a kind of thing for Harry…it didn’t last long.”

“What happened?”

“Well, Harry wasn’t interested and besides, I seem to recall she was completely mental – and thick as two bricks.”

“Well, Potter attracts them.”

“I wouldn’t say Draco is completely mental…or thick.”

“He has his moments.”

Hermione nodded, it was true.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, sharing the bag of sweets and waiting to be called. They both managed to ignore Daisy who was gaping at them. Hermione wondered if it would always be like this, people always looking at them in disbelief.

“Miss Granger, Mr. Snape?”

Hermione jumped as the Midwife smiled at them.

“Professor,” Severus said, it was an automatic reaction.

The elderly midwife looked confused, “Pardon?”

“Professor Snape.”

“I see…” she smiled and nodded, “would you like to come in?”

Hermione stood and for a moment she was convinced that Severus would flee. He didn’t. He followed her into the office, leaving Daisy Jiggers alone in shock…and wondering just who she could tell first.

******

Harry pushed his hand through his hair causing it to tangle and stick out even further than it usually did. Tangling his fingers through his hair was a habit he had picked up as he had grown older and more stressed. He hadn’t done it so much since the war ended – well, until recently. Not having Draco was not agreeing with him. Or at least being confronted with a daily reminder of what he had given up was not agreeing with him.

Draco had not been looking good. He looked tired and even a little grubby, something Harry hadn’t expected, but when he thought back to seeing Draco at the Leaky Cauldron over the summer, he had looked grubby then too. Perhaps grief did that to him. There was something about looking slightly dirty that made Draco Malfoy look a little more sexy, and Harry could scarce believe a by-product of not bathing regularly could be sexiness. Draco Malfoy led a charmed life.

Except of course he didn’t. Draco was not happy and Harry knew he was the cause of that. He also knew that eventually the sadness and hurt would turn to malice, and when it did, Harry was hoping school would be over and he wouldn’t have to be there to endure it. He’d seen Draco at his most malicious, and he knew what Draco was capable of. He didn’t want to be on the receiving end if it this time around.

He ran his hand through his hair again and pushed his way through the portrait hole to the Common Room. He was tired. He didn’t want to study tonight, and he just desperately wanted to sleep. Hermione would normally be on his case about it, but Hermione had gone to London and it made sense to take the afternoon off. He was supposed to go out with Fred tonight as well. He wondered how hard it would be to cancel.

At his bedroom door he stopped. He could hear something. Someone perhaps, inside. Harry frowned and strained his ears against the wood of the door. And then it opened, almost sending him sprawling forward through the doorway.

Draco was frozen in the doorway, his eyes wide.

Harry wasn’t sure wasn’t sure what to say, and he really wasn’t sure what to do. Something had happened to Draco, someone had hit him. Harry’s first instinct was to find the bastard who had touched him and perform innumerable acts of torture on their person, find a thousand ways to make them die. His eyes focused first on the cut lip and then traveled up the bruised cheek wanting nothing more than to stroke that beautiful place and whisper a charm to make it all better. He wanted to hold him, caress him, kiss him, and make love to him.

Instead he said savagely; “What are you doing in my room?”

“Nothing!” Draco tried to smile innocently, but only succeeded in splitting the fragile bond that had formed on his lip and a pearl of blood welled there. “I was…I left you something.”

“What?” Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously. It could well be that the malice he was so anticipating was finally about to make an appearance and his bedroom was now thoroughly booby trapped. “What did you leave in there?”

“Nothing bad!” Draco frowned, “Look, you don’t have to use it, not at all…I just thought…You don’t have to use it…it’s stupid anyway.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing.” Draco pushed past Harry, his arm connecting with Harry’s shoulder hard enough to be painful and Harry winced. It was harsh contact but there had been precious little of it since Harry had walked out on him almost two months before, and as much as it hurt his shoulder, Harry relished it.

He watched Draco go, admiring the way he walked, wanting to walk with him. But he was also nervous about just what Draco had left in his room. He knew, deep down, that Draco wouldn’t leave anything dangerous in there, but it was possible that the love he’d felt had finally become bitter and who knew what Draco could have left in there.

Harry opened the door carefully and waited, listening carefully and trying to sense something, but the air was still and the room quiet. He stepped inside and glanced around, taking in familiar corners and all his furniture, his pictures, his clothes piled on Ron’s bed, everything that was his. Draco had touched nothing, there was no perceivable change – save one. On the dresser there was a bowl, familiar in appearence, it looked like Dumbledore’s Pensieve bowl, but the markings were different and it did not have the look of age that Dumbledore’s possessed. This was new, made and purchased recently. Harry could see its silvery contents shimmering alluringly.

He knew instantly what it was. He knew and he could feel every nerve and fiber in his body start to tingle. He ran a finger along the edge of the bowl, looking into the cloudy surface of its contents, knowing that inside was everything Harry had wanted to see and Draco had hidden away. Given to him now that it was too late.

Harry felt an ache in himself grow. “Oh Gods, Draco.”

There was no question about going into it, of course he would. He had spent months, night after night, thinking about what Draco had gone through and wondering how bad it had been. Harry had often felt a sense of shame, he had accused Draco on any number of occasions of not understanding loss or pain, when in fact Draco knew both well enough. In the bowl lay the key to Draco’s knowledge of such things.

And yet some unreasonable part of Harry still thought that whatever had happened could not possibly be as bad as the Cruciatus curse. That curse was an unforgivable, one of the worst curses that anyone of their kind could possibly use, and there must be a reason for it to be called such. Draco had never said that Moody had used that curse on him, and so Harry could never reconcile what Draco had done to Regina – he’d never experienced anything that bad.

But he had certainly experienced something and Harry was desperate to find out just what that was. He placed his hands on either side of the bowl and drew a deep breath before plunging his face into the bowl.

The sensation was instantaneous. Harry was sucked into the bowl, feeling a little like a cork sliding effortlessly and then suddenly he was falling through darkness.

When he landed he found himself on a stone floor and he expected to look up and find himself in something similar to Snape’s dungeon. Instead the room was surprisingly modern. It was dull and grey and bare save for a table in the middle of the room and a heavy wooden chair not far from the table.

And seated in that chair was Lucius Malfoy.

Harry stood up and looked around him, trying to see where Draco was. This was Draco’s memory after all, he had to be in the room somewhere. Harry couldn’t see him, but knew he would be revealed eventually, and so he turned his attention to Lucius.

It couldn’t have been long after the final battle, a number of days perhaps. Lucius still had a nasty looking gash on his head that Harry seemed to remember him getting at some point during that final run up the stairs. There were other injuries however, new injuries that marred features that Harry now knew to be hauntingly familiar. He had never noticed just how much he looked like Draco – or how much Draco looked like him.

But Lucius did not look particularly well. His face was bruised, his upper lip had been split and he looked tired and sore, but surprisingly he also looked bored.

“And how do you feel today Lucius?”

Harry jumped and Moody seemed to appear from out of a darkened corner.

“Oh I don’t know,” Lucius replied philosophically, “breakfast was cold and the sleeping arrangements are shocking, but one can’t always expect four star accommodation now can one?”

Moody chuckled humorlessly. “Your sense of humor always was shit, Malfoy, so let’s see how long you can keep playing the funny man.”

Lucius shrugged and cocked an eyebrow.

“Are you ready to answer some questions?”

“But of course.” Lucius smirked easily. “Although what I can tell you I don’t know, we had such a thorough session yesterday, it was really rather exhausting.”

“I’ll show you exhausted, Malfoy. I’ll make so that after today you won’t know what hit you.”

Lucius smiled openly, clearly unfazed by Moody’s outburst; “worse than dislocating my wrists yesterday? Oh Alastor, I’m quaking in my boots.”

“Oh come now Lucius, ” Moody managed to mimic Malfoy’s voice rather well, “you know that we need to employ certain tactics to get the answers we need.”

Lucius shrugged again and seemed un-offended. Harry could almost read his thoughts. He’d lived a good deal of his life under the threat of Voldemort, so that Moody using him as a punching bag wasn’t going to faze him.

But it seemed Moody knew that too because he was smiling a crooked smile that suggested he had a secret. “I think we might go on to who you have killed, Malfoy.”

“Excellent, and how long will today’s session take?”

“Got some place to be?”

“Haven’t you heard? The Dementor’s throw a social every Friday night; it’s all very entertaining, and I’m due to bring the dip.”

Moody didn’t find it funny and for a moment Harry was certain that he was going to hit Lucius to wipe the smirk off his face. He didn’t however, and the crooked smile returned. “You might have to miss it Malfoy, because we might be a while here. Then again, I might be able to persuade you a little faster, it’s up to you.”

Lucius sighed and returned to looking bored.

“So, Malfoy, who have you killed.”

“I believe I’ve already answered that question on a number of occasions.”

“And you expect us to believe you? I’ve seen the list you admitted to, it’s a dozen or more short.”

“If you know who I killed, why don’t you just add the names yourself?” Lucius yawned and glanced around the room as though suddenly interested in the interior.

“I think you’ll tell me yourself,” Moody chuckled, “if you know what’s good for you.”

“Or else what?” Lucius demanded, his humor vanishing with alarming speed, “You’ll kill me? You need me alive Moody, everyone wants a nice public Kiss and who are you to disappoint them?”

“Oh yes, you’re right there.” Moody was beaming radiantly, “I can’t kill you, Fudge was pretty specific about that. He wants a nice public trial, nice public Kiss…but he wants names Malfoy. He wants names specifically from you, names to give all those who need to know who killed their loved ones.”

“Oh be still my bleeding heart. Why don’t you just write yes next to everyone and be done with it?”

Moody laughed outright. “Now I know you didn’t kill all of these people Malfoy, and there’d be no fun in saying you did. No Malfoy, I want the truth. Do you remember how to tell the truth?”

Lucius just looked tolerant.

“Well do you?”

“You might be horribly disappointed Moody, I might not have killed as many as you hoped.”

“I doubt that.” Moody limped around the chair, but Lucius made no move to follow his movements, “But we’ll soon see. I think you’ll start handing out names very shortly.”

“And why do you think that?”

Moody limped back towards the dark corner of the room from which he had emerged. “Because I can’t kill you, we both know that…” Moody reached into the corner and Harry realized that there must be some kind of Invisibility charm on the corner, “but there is one thing you don’t know that I do.” He pulled hard, dragging someone out from the corner. Pale and limping, Draco could barely stand. “I can’t kill you, but I can kill him.”

The effect on Lucius was immediate and Moody watched it with glee. Harry was fairly certain that his own expression matched Lucius’ perfectly. He went pale, even the bruises on his face seemed to turn a light shade of grey. His mouth opened and closed a few times, his grey eyes; a shade darker than his sons, were wide with horror.

“He’s…he’s…” Lucius faltered, there was no sign of self assurance now, no humor left, “He’s innocent, he hasn’t done anything wrong!”

“I don’t know, there are a lot of people out there who believe it’s only a matter of time. In fact, there are plenty of people out there who would be happy to see the end of the whole miserable bloodline.”

“He hasn’t done anything wrong,” Lucius echoed, “he’s just a…child.”

Moody laughed hard at this, as he forced Draco to stand up straight. “He’s hardly a child,” Moody yanked hard at the cloak around Draco’s shoulders, one that Harry now noticed as being made of a harsh fabric that Draco would never wear. As the cloak gave way Harry knew that the cloak was not Draco’s, just as sure as he knew Draco would be naked under it. “Take a good look,” Moody growled, “he’s a man, Malfoy, there’s no child there.”

Lucius fell silent, terrified perhaps of what would happen if he said anything. Harry stared in open wonder at Draco. He was more filled out than Harry knew him to be, his muscles more pronounced, and he was healthier. Harry circled him and almost wept. His back had been perfect. Smooth and sculpted and perfect. The flesh was creamy and pale without so much as a blemish to mar it. If only there had been a pimple or a mole or something that could herald the coming doom, but there was nothing, only the smooth perfection of flesh.

And soon it would be gone and there was nothing Harry could do to stop it.

Lucius was stammering out something to Moody, realizing too late that he had given away too much of himself and that Moody knew all to well that he had him where he wanted him. Finally he had worked out just how to hurt Lucius Malfoy.

“Don’t blame yourself Malfoy.” Moody grinned, smug now that he had the upper hand. “You hid him well. In fact I didn’t even think to look for him until your friend Nott mentioned him. You see, not everyone holds up as well as you. I was saying, “I wonder what we could do to persuade Lucius Malfoy to talk to us, and Nott, he was sweating a bit under pressure and he said, ‘threaten his brat,’ and I knew then. I knew that I couldn’t just threaten to hurt him because you’re a smart man and you knew that you’d hidden him away, so I had to find him and it took a while; a few days, but we found him. You did a good job…” Moody smiled, “but not good enough.”

Lucius closed his eyes and his mouth clamped shut tight. Then his face relaxed into a mask of calm. “I don’t know all of the names, I did what I was told, but I’ll give you the ones I can remember.”

“Oh, you’re all reasonable now aren’t you? You did what you were told did you? All obedient to your master then? He had to tell you names before letting you loose, so don’t give me the, ‘I don’t know them’ routine.”

Lucius didn’t answer. He was looking at Draco as thought after useless thought rushed through his brain. There was no escape from this. He tried to move and Harry realized that Lucius was bound to the chair. Harry felt frozen to the spot, unseen and as useless as Lucius was. This was just a memory, if Harry even tried to touch them his hand would go through them.

“So, who did you kill Malfoy?”

Lucius was still staring at Draco. “I…I don’t…”

“Did you kill Charlie Weasley?”

“I…no, I didn’t kill him…I…”

“You were seen Malfoy, you were seen killing him!”

Lucius looked confused, still staring at his son, who looked as though he would fall down. There was not a bruise on him, but they must have done something to make him so weak. “Alright then…I killed him.”

“Very good, now what about Rosaline Moreland?”

Lucius hesitated, once again looking at Draco who had begun to shake from either cold or fear or both. “Yes,” he said at last, but it wasn’t convincing.

“You wouldn’t be telling me what you think I want to hear now would you?”

Lucius fell silent again, his gaze flicking from Moody to Draco. “I didn’t kill Weasley or Moreland.”

Moody’s grin became malicious, “but you were seen Malfoy, how do you explain that?”

“I…” Lucius looked helpless and Harry could guess his thoughts because he was thinking them himself. It didn’t matter what he said, no answer was going to be right. “What do you want me to say?” he asked at last.

“The truth Malfoy, that’s all I want.”

“I’ve told you the truth!”

”So which is it?”

“I didn’t kill them.”

“But you were seen Malfoy, how do you explain that?”

“I can’t!”

“Then you must have done it!”

“Alright then, fine, I killed them.”

“But you just said that you didn’t!”

Lucius made an impatient sound in his throat and looked desperately to his son.

Draco lifted his head a little, as though realizing for the first time where he was. At this prompting Moody grabbed a hand full of hair and wrenched his head back; “might be a good time to wake him up eh?”

Lucius looked confused, “what did you give him?”

“Nothing that would hurt him.” Moody was fumbling through his pocket, by the sound of it he had a few bottles in there. “Just a little something to get him here without him kicking up a storm, quite a little hellion you raised yourself, he took out an Auror’s eye when we tried to catch him.”

Lucius actually smiled and Harry, who would have been shocked to learn this a year ago, smiled too.

Moody forced a few drops of a potion into Draco’s mouth and those familiar grey eyes shot open wide. “Say hello to your father, there’s a good boy.”

Draco said nothing at all, he still wasn’t standing straight and Harry guessed that despite the lack of bruises he had probably taken some kind of beating. He was looking at his father, probably never having seen him look quite so bad, and the resulting panic was evident on his features. He looked defeated.

Moody leaned in close to Draco’s face, still holding him by his hair; “I’ve known your family for a long time boy, none of you would know the truth if you fell over it.”

“You don’t want to know the truth,” Draco replied, his voice raw, “you’re close enough to ending the line now, you don’t care what is true and what isn’t.”

Moody looked impressed. “Perceptive boy you have here, Lucius. He might actually have a brain in that head – shame it’s a Malfoy brain, and no good can come of that now can it?”

“Leave him alone, he has nothing to do with this.”

Moody glared at Lucius and responded by dragging Draco by his hair to the table in the centre of the room. Draco gave an involuntary yelp and his hands flailed up, trying to dislodge the hand from his hair. Harry followed him, wanting nothing more than to help him and knowing full well that he could not.

“How do you think all those families felt Malfoy?” Moody asked, “How do you think they felt when you killed their loved ones? Loved ones that had nothing to do with you or your master? Do you think they care that he has nothing to do with this? Or do you think they’ll cheer when they find out that someone managed to get to you and yours? You have managed to worm your way out of anything with your threats and your bags of gold. I don’t know how much you paid the keepers of the Hollow Hills to hide your spawn, but it won’t work any more. Once he’s dead and you’re nothing more than a soulless shell, guess what will happen to your estate? The Ministry will take it all and the famous Malfoy coffers will finally be laid bare.”

Lucius sat back in the chair, perhaps finally realizing that there was nothing he could do to save his son and so he returned to his former calm self, even though his hands shook just a little. “I think you’ll find you’re wrong there, Moody. The Ministry won’t see so much as a sickle. You might end the Malfoy line, but it will just revert to the next in line. They’re French, they have nothing to do with this Ministry – or Voldemort for that matter. Nice simple country folk, you’d like them, poor as church mice and ever so good…but not your Ministry.”

Moody flinched visibly and responded by slamming Draco’s face into the table. Lucius jumped, it didn’t matter if he could save his son or not, he couldn’t watch this without feeling something.

“There has to be some way of coming to an agreement.” Lucius attempted a charming smile, “I will say whatever you want me to say and he will leave our world. Take his wand and he’ll go, then you’ll never have to see him again…”

“Why don’t you save your breath Malfoy? Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this day? From the moment your slut of a wife gave birth I’ve known he’d grow up to be just like you. The Ministry should never have risked it. He should have had a little accident years ago, but Fudge went soft. But no more. No one wants to spend a lifetime worrying about your offspring, and by happy chance I get to be the one who rids the world of this…blot.”

“But he hasn’t done anything wrong.” Lucius insisted, unable to fathom that the Auror who had his son by the hair was going to kill him despite his innocence. “You keep carrying on about what is good for our world, but by our own laws and ethics you can’t kill someone when they’ve done nothing wrong! The people won’t stand for it, it doesn’t matter what I’ve done, they won’t stand for this!”

“Ahh Malfoy, you don’t understand what is going on. I have jurisdiction now to do anything that will lead to information as to the fate of those who died or went missing during the war. Anything Malfoy, do you understand what that means? The public doesn’t need to know, and so the public won’t know. So many people went missing during the war and so many people died, who would notice this one victim? A victim I might add, that no one cares about – except you of course.”

“He’s just a child…”

“He is not a child!” Moody dragged Draco up the table, lying him out flat on his belly and slamming a fist down hard into the middle of his back. “Do you know what he was doing when we found him? You sent him to the Hollow Hills and we found him with his face between the Faerie Queen’s legs!”

Now Lucius really did smirk, and for a brief moment he actually looked proud. “So he has a healthy appetite,” he shrugged.

“I would have thought you’d have been disgusted. She isn’t even the same species as us, and isn’t that a problem for the disciples of the Dark Lord?”

“For some of them.”

“But not for you eh? You won’t fuck a half blood but you’d happily do a faerie?”

Lucius once again took on that self assured tone. “Quite the contrary, when it comes to fucking, I find half bloods and Muggle borns often have more enthusiasm that the purest of Purebloods.”

Harry couldn’t quite believe they were discussing fucking while Draco was sprawled across that table. If he were Lucius he would be busy begging for his son’s life to be spared, but perhaps Lucius knew as Harry did, that this was going to happen either way and that begging on the floor would be pointless.

“Well, perhaps you’re right there Malfoy, because your wife was a little like a dead fish when I fucked her.”

If Harry had expected an outburst at this revelation he was to be disappointed. While Draco made an indignant noise and struggled under Moody’s grip, Lucius simply arched an eyebrow and calmly replied; “you mustn’t have been doing it right Alistair. I usually find Narcissa quite a little firebrand, but then I did pass her in the hall yesterday and she said something about you being like an inadequately sized dildo.” His eyes narrowed and he said calmly, “don’t try to hurt me through my wife, as I think you’ll find her more resilient that I am.”

Moody seemed taken aback for a moment. He stared at Lucius with both his normal and magical eye in complete amazement. He regained his composure quickly however. Trying in his own brutal way to match Lucius’ demeanor, he did the one thing that he knew would hurt the man. He stroked one gnarled finger down the perfect length of Draco’s back.

Draco flinched and Lucius’ smile faded.

“So I suppose I should just hurt you through your son then eh?”

Moody didn’t give Lucius any chance to answer, and any conversation that they could have would only be a rehash of what had gone before. Moody had no real interest in anything Malfoy wanted to tell him. He was determined in his mission and nothing Lucius Malfoy could say or do was going to stop him. He considered this task a real pleasure. From inside his robe he pulled a large flask of a deep red liquid and held it up for Lucius to see.

“This is very hard to come by you know. In fact, this is most of the Ministry’s stock.” He shook the flask, “do you know what it is?”

Lucius hesitated and eyed the flask suspiciously, then after a moment he shook his head.

“It’s called Madragora,” Moody watched Lucius’ expression change, “I see you’ve heard of it.”

“It’s illegal…no one knows how to make it any more.”

“That’s true, but this has been sitting in the Auror vaults for years, and I’ve been saving it for just such an occasion. Nice tool of your old friend Grindelwald.”

“Grindelwald was before my time.”

“Really?” Moody looked surprised, “And there I was thinking I’d been chasing you forever. Must’ve been your father.”

“Must’ve been.”

“I get the lot of you mixed up, you’re all so similar.”

“In looks anyway.”

“Yes, in looks…and the fact that you’re all rotten to the core.”

Lucius didn’t answer, but he was looking nervously at the flask.

Moody noticed the direction of his gaze and shook the flask again. “Do you know what Madragora does?”

“I…” Lucius looked pained, knowing that Moody planned a full demonstration regardless of what he said, he looked at his son, crushed down onto the table, his face turned to look at his father. “Yes.”

“Then I won’t have to explain as I go…or maybe I should, for his sake.” He opened the flask and dipped an eyedropper into the bottle.

“DON’T!” Lucius finally cried out, giving in to the panic inside him, “please, please, don’t do this to him, please…do it to me, that would have to be more fun…”

“Oh I don’t think so, I think watching your face while I do this is all the fun I need. Now stop interrupting the demonstration Malfoy, you need to pay attention.” He squirted the contents of the eyedropper over Draco’s left shoulder blade and Draco screamed.

The sound seemed to pierce through Harry, sharper than any blade. It was so loud that his blood chilled in his veins and every part of his body seemed to hurt as though in sympathy for whatever could cause someone to scream like that. In the chair Lucius pulled forward, struggling against whatever charm held him there, his face distorted with dismay.

“Now, the acid burns for a bit,” Moody was saying above the sound, “Then it starts to burrow in. It seeks out the heart and lungs you know. So it’s burrowing through now, imagine what it’s hitting along the way. If I put it down here for example,” he splashed another eyedropper full across Draco thigh, “it will just keep on going until It finds what it’s looking for. Heart, lungs, intestines, spleen – It’s all a matter of time. Wonderful stuff eh?” He bent down to Draco, “hurts like a bugger doesn’t it?”

Draco didn’t answer, the pain was too intense and he couldn’t stop screaming.

“This little amount will probably kill him,” Moody shrugged, “but there wouldn’t be much fun in that now would there?”

Lucius shook his head quickly, all language having escaped him.

“So I use this,” Moody pulled the final bottle from his pocket, a small bottle of Navitas, “to stop it.” He pulled Draco’s head up and forced a small amount of the liquid into his mouth and then held Draco’s mouth closed until he swallowed. Harry waited, hoping that the serum would stop the pain, but it seemed to have no effect at all, Draco was still in obvious pain and Moody supplied the answer readily enough. “I don’t want to give him too much of this, I only want to keep him awake and alive long enough to really feel it.”

He released Draco’s head and it fell to the table with a thump.

“So Malfoy, are you ready to tell the truth yet?”

“Yes…I’ll tell you anything you want.”

“Good, good, I’m glad we’re finally understanding each other,” Moody slopped a large amount of acid over Draco’s back, straight from the flask and the screaming began with renewed vigor.

It was an hour before it ended. An hour before Harry found himself back in his room. He couldn’t hold back, he was sick and vomited into his cauldron. The memory had faded as Draco had finally lost consciousness, but not before Harry had seen much of Draco’s body eaten away and Lucius Malfoy finally break free from his bonds and throw himself over his son in an attempt to shield him from it.

Harry remembered the letter Moody had sent to him, congratulating him on finally coming to his senses and getting rid of Draco. Harry hadn’t come to his senses, Harry had been a fool. Draco had been right all along about the memories. He should never have wanted to see that, he should never have complained about it so long and so hard. Now that he had seen it he would never forget it.

Harry knew what happened next, they had dumped Draco’s body in a Muggle street, assuming that he would die. The Muggles took him to one of their hospitals. Dumbledore had found him, because Dumbledore had been looking for him, all the while trying to get to him before Moody did. He hadn’t succeeded in that, but he had saved his life.

Harry took a deep breath, trying to force back the bile that was rising in his throat. He needed to see Draco, he needed to reassure himself that what he had seen was indeed just a memory and that Draco was alive and well and maybe a little pissed in his room – or at the pub – or somewhere other than on that table in that grey room.

It could not be too late. If Draco had left Harry the Pensieve to see then it couldn’t be too late to speak to him. To reconcile, to hold him and kiss him and love him. And yet a nagging part kept reminding him about Regina and about why he had walked out in the first place.

He stopped thinking, forced it back. There was no need to think about it any more, and now Harry knew why Draco had treated Regina as he had. Harry had read the journal and gauged enough to know. They would talk about it, try and work something out. Together, they would try and make arrangements for Lucius, they would get him out of the Museum and if it was possible, they would free him from whatever prison he was trapped in.

Harry left his room and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face. He didn’t want to go to Draco sweating and stinking of puke. He smacked his elbow on the door frame as he left the bathroom, but ignored the flare of pain as he headed across the common room.

“Harry!”

He stopped dead in his tracks. “Fred!” He had forgotten Fred, he had forgotten all about going out. He couldn’t, not now!

“Is that what you’re wearing?”

Harry looked down at himself. His T-shirt was a little grubby and he was wearing his ever faithful cargo pants, not the best clothes he possessed, but certainly standard pub going attire. “Um…yeah, why, what’s wrong with it?”

“I thought you might dress up a bit,” Fred looked him up and down, the disappointment evident on his face, “something like what you wore on New Year’s Eve.”

“Oh…” Harry’s cheeks flushed, “well they weren’t actually my clothes – and besides, I thought you said this place was like a pub.”

“It’s a club Harry, you know, drinking, dancing, having a good time?”

Harry sighed heavily, “Do you want me to get changed?”

Fred looked at his watch, “No, I said we’d be there by nine. It’s free entry if you get there by nine.”

“I don’t mind paying,” Harry said, he shuffled from one foot to another, looking over Fred’s shoulder to the narrow corridor that lead to Draco’s room, “I really need to talk to Draco before I go anywhere.”

“What?” Fred looked irritated, “Harry, we need to go, I told people we’d be there!”

“Well,” Harry shuffled a little more, he didn’t want to go, but he had promised Fred. But he really wanted to stay at the school, why couldn’t he just say that? “Can you give me a minute? One minute, I need to tell him something and then we can go. Or maybe he could come with us?”

Fred huffed impatiently, “come with us? Are you back with him?”

“No…But he could come…he’s fun…really…”

Fred folded his arms, unhappy with this turn of events. He didn’t want Draco Malfoy cramping his evening, he had big plans for how the evening would progress and Draco would certainly mean that much of it would not happen. “I suppose so, if you have to invite him.”

Harry grinned and patted him on the arm as he pushed past him and rushed towards Draco’s room.

Draco was studying, drink in one hand and parchment in another, with a small cat sprawled across his textbook batting at the pages.

“Hi,” Harry breathed and his heart was beginning to thump in his chest as Draco turned and offered an uncertain smile.

“Hi,” Draco replied quietly.

“We really need to talk.”

“Okay, so talk.”

“I can’t…” Harry flushed, “I have to go into Hogsmeade with Fred.”

Draco turned away, his smile turning cold, “oh, your ‘date’. ”

“Why don’t you come?”

“No thanks.”

“Please…” Harry approached him, squeezed his shoulder with his hand, “please come. We’ll stay for a couple of drinks and then get out of there, I promise.”

“No,” he sounded less certain now, “I have to study…”

“I really want to talk to you…about the Pensieve.”

“We couldn’t talk at a club anyway.”

“I know, but if you came, we could leave early.”

Draco put down the parchment and rubbed his eyes, “and if I don’t go you’ll stay all night?”

“No...I…it would just be easier if you came too.”

“No thanks, I don’t want to go out with you and Fred Weasley.”

Harry looked around the room, trying to stem his growing impatience. “Alright, I’ll go down, have a couple of drinks and I’ll come back.”

“Alright.”

“I won’t be long.”

”Sure, not a problem.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

Draco shrugged.

“Thank you…” Harry wanted to hug him, “thank you for the Pensieve, and thank you for showing me”

“It’s fine, it wasn’t a problem.”

But it was a problem and Harry knew it was. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“Sure thing,” Draco forced a smile, “have a good time.”

Harry seriously doubted that he would. He didn’t want to go, he wanted to stay here with Draco. “If you change your mind, I’d love it if you’d come down.”

Draco shrugged, “I’d rather stay here.”

They both fell silent as a tap on the door alerted them to Fred’s presence. “Harry, we have to go.” He looked around the room with some interest and nodded to Draco who ignored him.

“Yeah, okay, in a minute.” Harry looked back to Draco imploringly, “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Well, I’ll see you when I get back then.”

Draco held up a hand in a dismissive wave.

Harry sighed and followed Fred, wondering just how he was going to get out of the club early.

********

The Curator’s bedchamber, hidden on the uppermost floor of the ever expanding Museum, was filled with trunks and suitcases of every shape and size. In the entire of his life Lucius had never seen a man who seemed to wear such an unvarying array of clothing have so much luggage. Lucius did not have much to take, a few nightshirts and a hair brush. But perhaps Semeuse had decided to take some of his favorite collections with him. Stuffed House Elves and some of those weird sacred bundles, that sort of thing.

Lucius spent his days sitting on the bed, wondering what was in the boxes.

Semeuse himself hadn’t stopped his frantic muttering and packing for days. From what Lucius could glean from the mad ravings, the council was voting on a new Minister and it appeared that Fudge would lose. The man pegged to be the new Minister was none other than Arthur Weasley, a man Lucius had never had time for (except to fight with, and they’d done plenty of that over the years). Weasley had threatened to stop the exhibition and remove Lucius from the Curator’s care. He was fairly certain that something personal had been said, which made Lucius think that someone must have said something to Weasley, but either way, Lucius was surprised. He would never have imagined that Weasley would lift a finger to help him at all.

“I have to go to Hogsmeade my Angel,” Semeuse was saying, attempting to brush his hair down, “a delegation is coming from the Ministry to check on the exhibition, so you have to go downstairs. I trust I can do that without you running off?”

“Oh yes, I’ll be on my feet and running out the door,” Lucius drawled sarcastically.

It earned him a slap, but only around the arm. If he was to go down to the exhibition Semeuse couldn’t afford to bruise his face, the Curator was hopeless at healing charms. If Lucius could smirk he would have. Instead he asked, as carefully as he could, why the Curator was going to Hogsmeade.

“I believe Mr. Antwon has a flying carpet, I need one to get you out of here safely.”

“But don’t you have a room full of flying carpets downstairs?”

Semeuse shook his head and clucked Lucius under the chin, “Oh my silly Angel, that collection is perfect, one would hate to break it up.”

“What about a Portkey?”

“My darling, you must think with a little more style. Bouncing about with a Portkey! My lord no. Once you have flown on the carpet my love you will not know luxury like it again.”

Lucius almost rolled his eyes, he’d flown by carpet plenty of times and he’d hated it. He watched Semeuse finish dressing. If the council was going to vote soon then Semeuse would want to leave before that happened. He felt his stomach settle for the first time in days, Draco just had to stay at the castle for a little while longer, just until after the council voted.

It was almost over.

********

Harry had never been much of a club person. He preferred the down to earth bustle of pubs and the ability to sit and talk with a group of people while drinking beer, and whilst he loved dancing, he hated being crushed on a dance floor. Clubs were loud throbbing places where one had to shout to be heard and he was always being sized up by some one or other. Over the last summer he had found himself in two clubs with Fred, George, Angelina, Ron and Hermione – he couldn’t say he had enjoyed them.

This was the first gay club that he’d been to and he couldn’t quite believe that it was in Hogsmeade. It seemed the kind of place one would find in London, but when Harry thought about it, when Wizards wanted to meet other Wizards they would head to either Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, so perhaps it made more sense. The club was far busier than he expected. He wouldn’t be surprised if every gay Wizard in England was crammed into the tiny space.

The interior reminded Harry of a velvet lined jewellery box. Everything was blue and somehow cushioned, save for the bar, which was a heavy dark wood. From the moment Harry entered the club he was ogled with a mix of excitement and disbelief. Getting across the dance floor to the bar proved to be an exercise in avoiding hands and bodies that either wanted to grope him or rub up against him. Fred, who was obviously well known here, in the company of Harry, became a minor celebrity.

“Oh my Gods, he’s gorgeous! ” Shrieked an effete man at the bar with an exaggerated wave at them both and while Harry cringed, Fred grabbed his arm and made a beeline for the man.

“Trent,” they air kissed, “he’s just stunning isn’t he?” Fred dragged Harry to his side. “He’s very bad though because he didn’t get dressed up at all, and believe me, he’s just amazing when he’s dressed properly.” Fred slid a possessive arm around Harry’s waist, “Harry, this is Trent, he is the guy to know here. Trent knows everyone, and,” Fred lowered his voice, “he always has the best opium. Do you want some?”

Harry wanted to turn and run, instead he offered his hand to shake and was rewarded by having it kissed daintily.

“Oh, he’s just beautiful,” Trent gushed, “look at those eyes!” Without warning he swept Harry’s hair back to look at the all too famous scar, “Just wonderful. I hear you were with Draco Malfoy, is that true? ”

“Oh,” Harry didn’t want to talk about Draco here, “yeah.”

“Now he is stunning, my Gods what I would do. I’d crawl over ten miles of broken glass just to masturbate in his shadow! Was he just fabulous in bed?”

Harry had no idea what to say, his first instinct was to tell the bastard to mind his own fucking business, but he saw Fred’s anxious look and said nothing at all.

“You are so lucky,” Trent continued unabated, “is he available now?”

Harry narrowed his eyes, “err, no, I don’t think so.” Trent was probably someone Draco would rather hex than go out with and while Harry would say that he was reasonably good looking, the persona would be enough to make Draco run in the opposite direction.

“Oh? Is he with someone else already? Ooh, give us all the goss. I’ve always heard the Malfoy’s love to bed hop!”

“He doesn’t bed hop,” Harry muttered, his voice strained.

Trent laughed, “Oh Darling, I think you still like him.” He turned to Fred, “I thought you said he did the dumping.”

“He did,” Fred was laughing along, “I can’t help it if he still carries a torch.”

“You’ll just have to fuck it out of him then won’t you?”

And they both laughed cattily while Harry assessed the distance to the door. With no attempt at civility he turned his back on Fred and his horror friend and made for the serving area of the bar.

Fred joined him within seconds. “What’s wrong? Trent likes you!”

“He’s a fuckwit,” Harry said bluntly, “why is it that the minute some people discover they’re gay they start throwing their arms around and start talking with so much affectation that no one knows what the fuck they’re on about?”

Fred shrugged elaborately, “it’s all part of the fantabulousness of being gay.”

“No it’s not! You’re not always like that!” Harry shook his head and caught the attention of the barman.

“So I guess this isn’t a good time to ask you if you top or bottom?” Fred smirked.

Harry glared at him. “I’m not having sex with you Fred.”

Fred pouted, disappointed.

“What do you want to drink?”

“Screaming Orgasm,” Fred replied, recovering himself instantly.

Harry rolled his eyes and made the drinks order from a barman who looked as bored as Harry did irritated.

“It’s been a couple of months,” Fred said seriously when he got his drink, “you need to get over him.”

“Don’t tell me how I’m supposed to feel.”

“So what, you plan to spend your life alone and mourning him?”

Harry didn’t answer. Fred didn’t need to know that Harry was planning to go back to Hogwarts and reconcile with Draco.

“You haven’t even been with anyone else.”

Harry still said nothing.

“My point is, you might at least try to enjoy yourself. Why don’t you have a sleaze, snog someone, cop a feel? You don’t have to shag anyone.”

“I don’t feel like sleazing on to anyone.”

Fred rolled his eyes, “kiss me.”

“What? No!”

“No really, it will do you good, kiss me.”

“No!”

Fred laughed and sipped his drink. Harry gulped his beer, hoping desperately that he could get out of there soon.

But somehow Harry didn’t think that Fred was going to make it easy.

********

Draco wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing going down to the bar. He was not comfortable in these surroundings, he was not the greatest dancer in the world and the fact that everyone in the club seemed to be bouncing up and down in unison was somehow disorientating.

Harry had said he should go. He had said “I’d love you to come down,” and so he had. He was severely under-dressed. In fact he hadn’t really dressed at all. Jeans and a jumper, he’d been wearing them since yesterday.

Behind him someone made a catty comment. They must have said it loudly to be heard over the music. It didn’t matter, he was here to find Harry and Harry had seen him look worse…maybe.

He scanned the room, looking through the undulation couples and triples and every other combination besides. All men, all together. The few women in the room seemed to be sitting at the bar or hidden in booths drinking and giggling. He’s heard that many women liked to hang around gay men; perhaps they felt safe, who knew? A couple of the men caught his eye, saw past the unwashed clothes and smiled. It wasn’t a hard thing to do, dirty or not, he was still Draco Malfoy and he would always be beautiful and anyone could see it. He ignored the smiles. He was looking for only one person. He had expected to find him on the dance floor, Harry loved to dance. But he wasn’t there; the dance floor was Harry free.

He moved towards the bar, if he was going to be here he may as well have a drink. His mouth started to water at the very thought, and the smell of cigarettes that surrounded the bar was slightly enticing, somehow they reminded him of his father. Not that Lucius smoked a great deal, usually just when he was stressed – or extremely satisfied. Lucius always made smoking look somehow sophisticated, even if he was doing it when stressed out of his head. Here in this bar the patrons made smoking look, well, gay.

Draco smoked pot, and occasionally opium. He saw no use in nicotine. Still, it made the bar smell familiar.

And then he saw them and the world stopped turning.

********

Against all that he’d planned, Harry was on to his third beer, sitting at the bar and still trying to work out how to get back to the castle without upsetting Fred. He had relaxed considerably however, and was taking jibes about his sex life with good humor.

“So, are you going to kiss me?” Fred asked again, considerably drunker now and eyeing Harry with unadorned lust.

“No.” Harry grinned.

“Come on, do me a favor.”

“Do you a favor? Fred, you have more sex than anyone I’ve ever met!”

Fred nodded, conceding the truth, “well yeah, but Harry, I stick my tongue down your throat and I get instant mileage.”

“You are such a sleaze.”

“At least I enjoy myself.”

Harry changed the subject; “How’s Ron?”

“Fuck, I don’t know. I’m his brother, he’s probably told you more than he’s told me. He seems alright.”

“Is he happy at home?”

“With Mum? I guess so.”

“She hurt him.”

“We all did. Pansy is a good buffer between them though. Mum can be pretty suffocating when she wants to be, but Pansy seems to love being mothered.”

“And what about George?”

Fred shrugged, “George is good. He’s dealing with it.”

“How is he with Ron?”

“They’re good, they’re talking, they both feel pretty guilty but they’ll be ok.” Fred leaned forward and placed a hand on Harry’s knee, “So, you gonna kiss me?”

“You’re like a fucking bloodhound, you know that?”

“I know what I want.”

“You’re going to hate me,” Harry admitted, removing Fred’s hand from his knee, “I have to go.”

“What?” Fred sat back, “why?”

“I have to study, “ Harry laughed, “and I told Draco I’d be back at a reasonable hour.”

“Who is he, your mother?”

“No,” Harry reasoned, “I have to talk to him, that’s all.”

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

Harry guess that it probably could, he just didn’t want it to. “I told him I’d be back, he’ll be waiting for me.”

Fred focused on his drink for a while, swirling what was left in the glass, his lips thinning out a little. “Harry,” he said at last, “why did you come if you weren’t going to stay? Why did you come if you were just going to sit here and be a miserable shit all night and then pick yourself up and go running back to the castle because poor little Draco is waiting for you?”

“I…” Harry frowned and he scowled at Fred, “because you wanted to go out and you kept mentioning it so I came with you. I’m sorry if I don’t want to jump into bed with you or scream like a hyena and wave my arms around at anyone who’ll look at me. What I don’t get is just why you want me to be like that. If you’d just wanted to get a drink I probably wouldn’t mind staying, but you’ve been at me since the minute we got here, ‘kiss me, touch me, do you top or bottom?’ It’s fucked!”

“Ok…” Fred drew breath, “I’m sorry, I thought you might enjoy it – I was wrong obviously.” He tried to smile but he was as annoyed as Harry by this point, “you could have tried to have fun though…and if you didn’t want to come you should have said something so I didn’t waste my time bringing you here!”

They both fell silent, both studying their drinks and looking vacantly at the dance floor.

“I think I’ll go,” Harry muttered.

“Kiss me first.”

“Oh for fucks sake!”

“Oh Come on! Just do it and I’ll stop bothering you and you can run along home to your ex.”

Harry scowled,

Fred nudged him, “Come on, live a little.”

“And you’ll never ask again? Ever?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Harry sighed and leaned forward and before he could think twice Fred’s mouth crushed his.

********

They were frozen. Everything was frozen, everyone was frozen, time had stopped and the only thing that still breathed was Draco himself – and he was doubting his ability to do such a thing.

They were frozen. Frozen in that position. Mouths locked on each others. Harry’s eyes weren’t quite closed, his eyelids were flickering, almost impercieveably, but Draco could see them. Weasley’s hands were on his knees, but they slid up to his thighs, curved confidently over his hips and were suddenly squeezing Harry’s butt.

And then they unfroze and their mouths started to move. Their tongues must be touching. Touching, caressing, tangling.

Harry’s tongue working, just as it used to work in Draco’s mouth.

Draco felt his breath catch and his lower lip began to tremble. Don’t cry, don’t you fucking cry. His face felt contorted. Don’t you fucking cry. He knew he looked stricken. Don’t you fucking cry.

Harry and Weasley pulled apart, a thin trail of spit glistening in the strange blue lights above the bar, connecting them like some kind of transparent umbilical cord before it finally broke and slid down their chins. Weasley looked questioning and said something, and Harry wiped his chin and replied, and then they both laughed.

Draco wanted to vomit, but he knew if he tried he would only dry heave. His stomach felt twisted, as though someone had reached in and turned it over with painful efficiency. He didn’t want to see this. He didn’t want to see their mouths on each other, he didn’t want to see their mouths moving, he didn’t want to see that sight replayed in his mind over and over again.

But he did see it. He did see it and it hurt and it burned and it ached and ached and ached.

Don’t you fucking cry.

Not his Harry any more.

He hardened his face, or at least tried to. He shouldn’t be here. This was not his world. Draco Malfoy did not belong here in a sleazy gay bar in Hogsmeade. Draco Malfoy did not belong at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was Draco Malfoy, Lord of the Manor, and he belonged there, surrounded by his many possessions and tended to by his servants. He would leave this place and return there tonight. He would return to the place he belonged. He would return to the life he was supposed to live.

Draco Malfoy would survive this. He would become the man that his father raised him to be. He would become powerful and fearsome. He would control his business and those around him with the power of his will and the depth of their fear. He would take many lovers, one after another and he would draw them to him with his charms, draw their sympathy with his scars and discard them as efficiently as he would discard a broken quill. He would draw pleasure from them, perhaps even comfort and like his father he would grow more beautiful as he grew older and he would arrange to marry a Pureblood Witch and he would produce an heir and the cycle would start again.

And that was the way of things, that was how it was meant to be.

There were many who said that a life without love was a life not lived, but he would not live that life. Not any more. For the entire of his life Draco had lived in terror of physical pain. His father had only ever hit him once in his life that he could recall. He was four and had released the family House Elves and his father had been so angry. He could still remember the anger, and he could still remember the fear he felt. He could imagine that his father’s victims had encountered that anger and he could pity them that. Lucius had beaten him almost senseless, and instilled in him a terror of pain. It wasn’t until years later that he discovered that physical pain could be endured. He had endured it, and he had survived it. It was emotional pain that killed. It was emotional pain that caused you to slice open your arms, it was emotional pain that caused you to walk into the sea without hope, it was emotional pain that caused you to stand in a sleazy bar in Hogsmeade gulping for air and crying despite telling yourself not to fucking do it.

He was crying and he realised it now. He was gulping for air and his face was hot and wet and people were looking at him and judging him because he had lost and some red haired Weasley had taken the one thing he had loved more than his father and he had nothing except the length of his life ahead of him.

Draco drew a shuddered breath.

And Harry had turned his face and had seen him and panic crossed his features and he was moving and Draco saw Harry’s mouth form his name but he didn’t hear the words.

It was time to go. Time to go and get Miss Kitty and go home. Time to become himself again. Time to turn and run away, because he simply couldn’t stand here anymore.

It was time to go.

*********

“Well?”

Harry wiped spit from his chin with the back of his hand. In all seriousness it wasn’t that bad. Actually it had been pretty good, but it was just the wrong person. He shrugged, “it was alright.”

“Alright? ” Fred looked genuinely miffed, “That was more than alright mate, that was fantastic!”

“Yeah, it was good...but it was like…” Harry tried to think of the right words, “It was like kissing a…brother.”

Fred’s face now changed and he gave Harry a mortified glare, “Bloody hell Harry, that’s sick!”

“I know! But that’s what it felt like!”

“Well, thanks a lot!”

They both stared at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter.

Fred looked over at the dance floor and his eyes widened. “Well, it looks like you won’t have to go back to the castle to talk to Draco.”

“Huh?”

Fred nodded towards the dance floor, “he’s right there.”

Harry’s head jerked around and his eye caught Draco’s. “Oh fuck…oh Gods…oh fucking shit!” He felt dizzy, as though he would fall off the stool.

“What?” Fred looked from Draco back to Harry. “What’s wrong?”

Harry slid off the stool, Draco had already turned and had fled the door. “He saw us!”

“Yeah, so? You said yourself that it was like kissing a brother!”

“But he doesn’t know that!”

“And might I remind you that you’re not with him any more? You can kiss anyone you want and he can’t do anything to stop you!”

“I gotta go…”

Fred grabbed his arm, “Harry, don’t go running after him, you didn’t do anything wrong. If he can’t accept it’s over then it’s his own problem.”

“You don’t understand…”

“Don’t understand what? You don’t want to upset him? You asked him to come and he said no, you didn’t know that he was going to just turn up – and even if he’d come with us, you can do what you want! What do you plan to do, walk on eggshells for the rest of your life in case he gets upset?”

“You don’t understand that I was going to try and sort things out with him,” Harry cried, “and now he thinks I’ve been out slobbering all over you!”

”It was hardly slobbering.”

Harry pulled his arm out of Fred’s grasp, a desperate noise escaping from his throat.

“Just calm down,” Fred reasoned, “it’s not that bad, but if you go running after him now you’ll look guilty.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!”

“Yes it does. You’re all upset, you’ll look like you’re making excuses.”

Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing, he would be making excuses; he’d be on his damned knees begging for forgiveness! He was almost jumping with his desperation to run after Draco and explain that he’d been a damn fool.

“Look, at least calm down before you go after him, you’re not going to do any good if you start blubbering at him.”

“Well I’m going to do more good blubbering at him than I am standing here arguing with you!”

“It’s not as though cheated on him or anything, God Harry, just calm down.”

“Fucking hell Fred, when did you stop giving a shit about how other people feel? You think it’s a good thing that Draco has run off thinking that I’ve been here snogging you all night? Hasn’t anyone ever hurt you?”

“Well firstly, I do care about how other people feel, and I personally don’t care what Draco Malfoy thinks so no on that score – and yes, of course someone has hurt me, but I’m telling you now, running after him while you’re hysterical isn’t going to do any good.”

“I’M NOT FUCKING HYSTERICAL!”

“Yes,” Fred nodded, “you are.”

Harry snorted and made that same desperate noise again, bouncing on his heels and feeling sick. “I have to go, I really have to go.”

Fred finished the last of his drink; “fine, go,” but by the time Fred had finished his words, Harry was gone.

*********

Draco emerged from the heat of the club with the same relief a suffocating man feels when drawing a vital breath. The air outside was cool and crisp. It wasn’t raining, for the first time in a long time, it wasn’t raining. Not that rain mattered, it was cool and he could breathe at last – and there weren’t dozens of people out here staring at him. The street was quiet; any stray couple must have found their way to a darkened alley or some such place that wasn’t so public. And so the street was deserted and Draco found himself alone and trying to breathe.

He reasoned that he should just Apparate and go home. He didn’t need to go back to the castle, there was nothing there that could not be packed up by a few considerate House Elves and forwarded on to the Manor. Those self same House Elves would no doubt take care of Miss Kitty until she could be sent to him.

But Miss Kitty was a small thing and she wouldn’t understand if he didn’t come to get her. He would go to the castle now and collect her, and then he would go. It wouldn’t take any more than twenty minutes, and then they would be on their way.

He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself down. He needed to thing rationally. But closing his eyes only brought the image back with full force. The image of them.

“Fuck! Harry…” He ran his hand through his dirty hair and just wanted to sink into the street and howl. It was out of the question of course. He was Draco Malfoy, he wasn’t going to throw himself onto the cobblestones and scream. He couldn’t stop himself from crying however, and as much as he tried to stop himself and simply breathe, he couldn’t stop the tears. And so he was standing there in the street like some heart broken fourteen year old girl after a shitty Valentine’s Day.

Damn him. Damn him for doing this. Damn him for saying he should come here. Damn him for making him feel this way.

Draco wiped his nose unceremoniously on his sleeve and his shame mounted as he truly realized just how he looked. Of course Harry had found someone else. Of course he was in there kissing some Weasel Boy. At least the Weasel Boy was showered and dressed and he’d shaved and done his hair and smelled of some kind of cologne. Draco was wearing one of Harry’s old Weasley jumpers, the one with the big hole in it and now it had snot up the sleeve – and the shirt he had on underneath hadn’t been washed. The jeans were dirty and he smelled like stale sweat and he didn’t deserve anyone to love him.

He gulped a noisy breath and looked towards the shadow of the castle. He just had to go.

“Draco?”

He whirled around, jerking his chin in the direction of the voice. Not Harry’s voice. Not Harry coming to get him or explain or hug him or apologize. The man who had spoken was taller and older and his voice when he uttered Draco’s name was strangely elated in its surprise. Draco didn’t know the voice and yet it was familiar, as though he remembered it from some half remembered dream. The man stood tall and straight. Taller than Draco, which surprised him because he was tall himself. He was hooded and cloaked, his face obscured by shadow. In his hand he carried a bag from one of the local stores; he had obviously been doing some kind of after hours business.

“It is you isn’t it?” Once again, the voice was elated, “Yes of course it is, how could you not be, you look so very perfect.”

“Do I know you?” Draco’s voice was shaky, slightly hoarse. He sniffled involuntarily and narrowed his grey eyes.

“You look just like him, so incredibly like him.” The man approached, one hand outstretched and Draco instinctively stepped back before that hand could touch his wet face. “But you’re crying!” He sounded astonished, as though the idea of tears being shed was astonishing, “what devil dares cause such misery to make an angel weep?”

And Draco suddenly knew who this was. “You,” he stepped back again, knowing he should just turn and run back into the bar, “You’re the Curator…from the Museum.”

“I have to say, this is only the second time I have seen you in the flesh and you take my breath away.” Semeuse pushed the hood back a little, as though to get a better look. “Do you believe in kismet Draco? You being here, alone in this street, so obviously distressed. You look like a little urchin who requires rescuing. This was meant to be My Little Dragon. ”

“I…” Draco found the handle of his wand in the pocket of his robes, “I need to go now, I’m expected.”

Semeuse smiled, knowing full well that the boy’s fingers had just curled around his wand. He stood still, staring at the child. Not really a child at all, he was a man in every sense of the word. But he was Lucius’ child and the opportunity was too perfect to pass up. He pushed gently and unnoticed into the boys mind and found the evenings events fresh and vivid there. He smiled again, fatherly, almost predatory. “No one is waiting for you Draco. My sweet beauty, a fool has caused you to weep – and yet, what sweeter sight could be seen than that of an Angels tears?”

“I have to go.” Draco frowned and made to pull out his wand and Semeuse breathed out a long slow breath, a whisper seemed drawn out beneath it and Draco felt his body shudder and relax; his wand fell silently to the street.

“No one would miss you my darling one. No one cares. Except me. Except your father. You are alone Draco,” Semeuse breathed the words and drew closer, “By some twist of fate some fool has left you alone.” Semeuse extended his long fingers, his cool palm finding Draco’s cheek and caressed it with reverent fascination.

Draco shuddered and tried to pull back, and found that his limbs would not cooperate with his mind.

“Don’t fight the charm Draco, you will only hurt yourself.”

Draco blinked and tried to quell the rising panic. Someone would come out soon, someone would find them. Harry would come out. He had gotten up when he saw Draco in the club, he would come after him. He would. He had to. Harry had saved countless people; surely he would spare a minute to save some pathetic ex-lover from this man.

“He is not coming for you, my darling.” Semeuse traced a tear track with a boney finger, “He doesn’t love you any more. He has moved on and found someone else. He was never worthy of you my love. He could never keep you, he did not deserve something so close to perfection, and he could never hold on to something so divine.”

“I just want to go home,” Draco murmured, his voice suddenly flat, “please just let me go home.”

“You look so much like him.” For Semeuse it was wondrous, as though he had found the greatest of hidden treasures. “You have his features, and yet you are more delicate I think, tainted by your mother’s blood.” He slid his hands over Draco’s waist and was surprised at just how slight the boy was, the oversized jumper was misleading. “How like Angels you both are. You are, both of you, far too perfect for this realm; you belong with your own kind on the celestial planes, but I am the lucky one - I get to keep you both.”

What was it about him that attracted utter nut cases? First Regina and now this freak. Or perhaps it was his father that attracted the nut bars and he just got caught in the cross fire. Draco was fully aware of just who the Curator was referring to when he referred to him, and while Draco knew that the men of his family were good looking, to suggest that they bore some kind of celestial visage was a little far fetched. More than a little, it was downright ludicrous.

“Your father loves you Draco…” Semeuse soothed, his hands caressing that slender waist, “he was willing to do so much to protect you.” he moved one hand back to Draco’s face, delicately rubbing his thumb across Draco’s soft mouth, “But you are so very delectable, you are like him, the sweetest morsel on a platter and irresistible. How could I leave you here? My Angel will get over it, he might even learn to enjoy it. You might even learn to enjoy it, Draco. Imagine it sweet one, you are perfect – and he is beyond that plane – and so you would be the perfect compliment to each other, the only real compliment to each other that is possible. The two of you, entwined, swimming in oceans of pleasure, how erotic, how sensual, can’t you just see it Draco?”

Draco’s mouth opened and closed and then he realized exactly what the Curator was implying.

Oh yeah, he’s a nut bar, this is just great. First Harry leaves me for some Weasel Boy and now this old pervert wants to watch me fuck my father – I have the best luck.

“He’s my father.” But of course the Curator already knew that, and Draco knew that the Curator knew that. Still, it bore being said, just to ram the point home, perhaps illustrate just how very sick the concept was.

“He’s perfect, Draco – and you’re perfect. Think about your life, think about who you are and how you were raised. Only the best will do for you, and he is the very best.” Semeuse smiled, grasping Draco behind his head, tangling his fingers in his pale hair. “I know who your lover was, a hero, our hero. Harry Potter. I can see how you mistook him for the best you could possibly have, but he was there all along, right under your nose. I am only going to help you find him. He loves you, and I love you, and that is all that matters.”

“How could you love me, you don’t know me.”

Semeuse actually shrugged, “beyond your beauty my sweet, your mind means little to me.”

Draco almost smiled, he had always suspected as much. He tried to pull himself out of the Curator’s grasp and found that he could indeed move again. He stepped back, pulling himself from the old man’s hands. If he could move fast enough he could get back into the bar. The Curator was an old man, Draco could get away, even if it did mean leaving his wand lying there on the ground.

Then again, what was the old man going to do? Snatch him off the street? Even if the Curator used Imperio to control Draco, forcing someone to Apparate was risky at best and trying to Apparate with someone could spell disaster. Then again, he could have a Portkey and Draco was basically fucked unless he got inside. Draco also knew that age was not something that he could really count on as a factor to slow the man down. Anyone who knew Albus Dumbledore knew full well that when it came to Wizards, with age came power.

But if the old buzzard was so powerful, why would he choose to be a Museum Curator?

Because he’s a fucking freak, that’s why!

“Don’t walk away, Draco. There is nothing to hold you here. You are alone, Draco, desperately alone, and I can feel your pain. What drove you from that bar right now? I can see it, Draco, he broke your heart, he doesn’t love you, but then, how could he? He doesn’t understand you, he doesn’t understand where you come from, he is a half blood, he has no concept of your life and the beauty that dwells within you.”

“Harry understands me…he…”

“He left you, Draco.”

Draco frowned and stepped back again. How did he know these things? Another proficient in Legilemancy? Or something else?

“Everyone leaves you in the end Draco, they always will. There is only one who would never choose to be apart from you, and I have him…he missed you so much…”

“He doesn’t want me to be near you. He doesn’t want me to be anywhere near that museum.”

That was surprising, and Draco had the mild satisfaction of seeing the Curator look a little shocked. “I see Lucius has been testing his boundaries, I’ll deal with him later.” He smiled wanly. “He likes to try me, it’s like a game to him.” He noticed the look on Draco’s face, “You thought it was a dream did you? Oh no, it was very much him. He is perfectly conscious, didn’t you know? I did think that the little Elf spy would have told you that much – or perhaps he told your greasy Godfather and the message was not passed on. Perhaps they didn’t think you deserved to know. Perhaps they didn’t think you important enough to know. It doesn’t matter either way, Lucius is mine, Draco, and I will not give him up simply because his whelp misses him.”

Draco blinked back fresh tears and hardened his face.

“But what a beautiful whelp you are Draco.” Semeuse reached for him again and his fingers closed around the fine chains that hung around Draco’s throat. He pulled the two pendants out from beneath Draco’s shirt and inspected them thoughtfully. “You love beautiful things Draco,” he murmured, “and so do I, you see, we already have this in common.”

Draco frowned. The pendants were his mother’s locket which he agreed was beautiful, the other was a tiny vial of Navitas, hardly a thing to gush over. Harry hadn’t come out of the club yet and Draco finally began to doubt that he would. Perhaps he just didn’t care – it didn’t matter anyway, he had to try and get himself out of this situation, he just wasn’t sure how. “Just leave me alone,” he said firmly, his voice full of false bravado, “I have to get back to the castle, I’m expected.”

“I can’t leave you alone, Draco.” The Curator’s voice was lilting, hypnotic; Draco recognized the trick from his last encounter with the man and stepped back again. “Don’t walk away little one, you can’t, you belong with me – and your father.”

Draco had heard enough, he couldn’t stand any more and it would be better inside the club than it was here with this man. He turned to go, forgetting that the Curator still held the pendants in his hand.

Semeuse yanked hard on the chains, jerking Draco’s head back and causing him to catch his breath painfully in his throat as the chains gave way with a snap. Semeuse raked his fingers through Draco’s hair and snapped his head back.

Draco vaguely heard the pendants hit the ground and his body was pulled back so that the Curator was pressed hard against his back. The old man’s free hand snaked around his body and Draco felt the sharp tip of a wand dug hard into his ribs.

“I told you, Draco, you belong with me.” Semeuse pulled a little harder on Draco’s hair, pulling his head back and causing an involuntary yelp to escape his lips. “Don’t fight me, Draco, you can’t win.”

Draco lashed out hard, kicking back, the heel of his boot connecting with the Curator’s shins, eliciting a groan and a sharp tug on his hair. It didn’t matter, let the bastard pull most of his hair out, it would grow back.

But the man was far stronger than he looked and the arm around Draco’s waist tightened and the wand under his ribs dug in deeper.

Oh Gods, I’m not going to get away from this freak.

And then Harry came out of the club, running, looking frantically around, so intent on finding what direction Draco went in that he didn’t see at first what was right in front of his eyes.

Oh thank you God, thank you God, thank you God.

“It’s time to go little one,” Semeuse whispered, his eye on Harry who had finally seen and was reaching for his wand.

“HARRY!!”

Semeuse actually managed to chuckle in Draco’s ear before he dug the wand harder into his ribs and whispered “Stupefy.”

Draco slumped into the Curator’s grasp and Semeuse smiled at Harry, even as Harry opened his mouth to utter a curse. He touched the clasp on his cloak and before Harry could finish his curse they were gone, vanishing into the night air with nothing to prove that they had even been there, save the two pendants and Draco’s wand lying on the ground.

Harry stood alone in the cold night air, his heart pounding in his chest and the desolation of despair settling quickly into his gut.

NOTES:

Az

Chapter 19 >>