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Chapter Text

Harry slipped into the Leaky Cauldron and leant casually against the wall, as the door shut with a muffled thump beside him. The flavours of the wizarding world wrapped him in their familiarity as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. He savoured the rich, warm smell of wizard tobacco, the sharp, sour tang of old spilt ale, the odour of wizard bodies, their natural scents not disguised with chemicals, but enhanced with herbs and spices. He propped a leg nonchalantly against the wall, adjusting the sports bag on his shoulder as he ran a magical scan over the heaving mass of people. It was a reasonably new skill, and he made sure to use it at every opportunity – partly, because he liked that he could, and partly because he had become more cautious, and liked to know if there were any dangers present.

He felt the magical power levels of the wizards and witches present, his senses sliding quickly over the throng. Most were of low level power, a few middle level – his eyes now adjusted, he noted that Blaise Zabini had a good middle power level - and scanned along the booths lining the back walls, working methodically left to right.

Hold it.

He slid his eyes and senses back again. Interesting. A notice-me-not spell across the third booth in. Which had a good view of the door. He pushed away carefully, making his way calmly to the bar. He waited patiently to be served, the staff dealing as fast and as cheerfully as they could with the enthusiastic demands of the multitude. He leant a hip against the wood, turning as he waited to glance casually over at the booth. He delved through the spell. One person only in there. With an obscuration charm on! And incredibly strong magic. Tinged, as well. He felt his stomach tightening, adrenalin beginning to pump into his veins.

“Mr Johnson!” Tom, the barman, stood grinning at him as he quickly polished a glass ready to fill. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Not at all, Tom,” Harry smiled. “Rushed off your feet, I see.”

“Well, the kids go back to Hogwarts tomorrow. Lots of families leave it till the last minute to come and get their supplies. Make an outing of it, really.”

Harry nodded.

Tom grimaced. “Actually, I’ve a favour to ask.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, his face open.

Tom gestured towards an elderly couple sitting at a small table not far from the bar, just finishing their dinner. “Old Bernard and Mathilda Franks. So many decades since they had anything to do with Hogwarts that it never entered their heads to think we might be a trifle busy this week,” he snorted.

“No room at the inn?” Harry murmured.

“Well, there is, but the thing is, Mrs Franks can’t manage more than one flight of stairs – “

“You want me to do a levitation charm?” Harry guessed.

“No, no. I offered that; don’t have any problem with that myself. But she insists they make her sick and her tummy is too delicate at her age –“

“You want my room.”

“I’ve got one on the third floor you can use,” Tom said hurriedly, “seeing as how you’re young and fit. It’s cheaper –“

“Sounds good to me,” smiled Harry.

“But only a single, though, and you have to share the bathroom,” Tom got out guiltily.

“Tom, it’s fine,” Harry soothed. “Want me to go and talk to them?”

“Would you? I told them I’d have to ask you, that there was no guarantee -”

“No problem. Tell me though, who’s hogging the third booth to themselves at the back there?”

“What?” Tom looked round at the back wall. “Oh, Severus Snape! I’d forgotten he was there! Put up a notice-me-not, has he? Damn cheek! In my pub! Taking that whole booth to himself when I’m so busy! And he’s barely ordered a thing all evening –“

Harry grinned. As soon as he knew the name, he could see the man. He was sitting there with his head in a book and an empty pint glass in front of him.

“I’ll go share his table in a minute. What’s he drinking?”

“Best ale.”

“Two of those then, Tom. Has he eaten yet?”

“You’re not going to buy him dinner?” Tom said, scandalised.

“Hate eating on my own in front of someone. Mrs Tom got any of that steak and Stilton pie on today?” Harry said hopefully.

“She always makes sure it’s on when you’re booked in,” Tom said with a smile. “Two, then?”

“Please.”

Harry strolled over to the elderly couple. Mathilda Franks was the tiniest, most wrinkled person he had ever seen. She had neat white hair scraped into a tight bun at the back of her head, piercing dark eyes and a prim mouth that she was just dabbing with her napkin. Harry hunkered down beside her and found himself at eye level.

“Mrs Franks? I’m Alex Johnson.” He gave her a friendly smile, and held out his hand.

She observed him with a beady eye.

“Mr Johnson?”

That was Bernard. A wheezy voice. Probably have more trouble with the stairs than his wife. Maybe that’s why she was fussing, thought Harry.

“It’s your room?”

“No, it’s yours,” Harry assured him, standing up and swivelling round to the rather chubby little wizard with watery eyes and a rather fetching striped cap on his head. Dumbledore would like that cap, Harry decided with an inward chuckle.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Bernard Franks said anxiously.

“Truly, I don’t. You’re doing me a favour. Tom’s put me in a cheaper room. I didn’t know he had cheaper rooms! I’ll be sure to ask for one next time! Didn’t know he was ripping me off all this time!” Harry glanced over at the bar with a smile to see if Tom was listening, which he was.

“I only open the third floor when we’re really busy, Mr Johnson!” he denied the accusation.

Harry grinned at him. Tom slammed two pints down on the bar. “Dinner’ll take a little while. There’s a backlog,” he grunted.

Harry laughed.

Tom gave in and grinned back sheepishly. “It’s true.”

Harry nodded. He turned again to Mrs Franks, who had not yet said a word. “If there’s anything else I can do for you –“ he began politely, to be cut off by the old witch.

“It’ll work out for the best,” she said, in a clipped voice, as if coming to a decision.

“I’m sorry? “ Harry asked, brows raised in enquiry.

Mrs Franks just looked sharply at Harry and said crisply, “Thank you for the room, young man.”

Harry regarded her for a moment: “You’re very welcome,” he replied, and got up. He knew when he was being dismissed.

Adjusting the sports bag over his shoulder, Harry picked up the pint glasses from the bar and carried them carefully over to Snape’s table.

“I hope you don’t mind me joining you,” he said cheerfully, “but there’s no other seats to be had. The place is heaving, isn’t it?” and he bent his knees to slide the ale onto the table so that his bag didn’t jostle it as he did so.

Snape looked up from his book and glared his trademark glare, but Harry could sense his curiosity that Harry had seen through his notice-me-not spell and invaded his privacy regardless. His eyes swept the room, confirming that all the other tables were in fact occupied.

“It’s a public house,” he answered shortly; “You may sit where you wish.” And he returned his head to his book.

Harry pushed his bag along the bench seat and sat down beside it. He took out his wand and gave his glass a quick tap, cooling the beer, then took a welcome swig of his drink before sighing in pleasure. Really, butterbeer might warm you down to your toes, but on a hot night a chilled ale was delicious. Very unBritish, of course – but he had it at a perfect temperature where the ripe bitter flavours still came through, accentuating the cool wash across his tongue. He was aware that Snape had been watching him from the minute he had withdrawn his wand – indeed, Snape’s own was in his hand under the book, but Harry had made a point of using large slow movements that were clearly unthreatening.

He looked across at the man, meeting his eyes. “Want me to chill yours too?” he asked, pushing the second glass across the table towards Snape.

The black eyes narrowed in the sallow face. “I do not accept drinks from strangers,” he said quietly, his crisp diction slicing into Harry.

“It’s best ale - I asked Tom what you were drinking,” Harry explained.

“And why would you do that?” Snape answered in his silkiest voice.

Harry felt it tingle down his spine and resisted the impulse to shiver.

“’Cos I’m disturbing you?”

Snape looked at him as if he were a specimen in one of the glass jars lining his workroom. Harry felt the coldness of that gaze stroke over his skin, and he could no longer hold back the shudder that twitched through his muscles. He leant his head back and took another long quaff of the beer, letting himself give a further shudder as the cold liquid slid down the back of his throat, and hoping Snape thought that the first one was for the same reason. He pulled the glass from his lips just in time to realize that Snape was watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. He shivered again.

“It’s good cold, on a night like this,” he offered. “Sure you won’t try it?”

Snape returned his gaze to his book. “At the speed you are drinking I’m sure you’ll be able to manage the second one in no time at all,” he said, a hint of censure in his voice.

Harry had to bite back his instinctive desire to respond. Actually, though he didn’t know it, Snape had a point. Harry had already had a couple of pints with his workmates before leaving Brighton and apparating in to Diagon Alley, and he needed to slow down. The ale was much stronger than Muggle beer. He wiped his finger up the side of the glass, catching the chill condensation, and sucked his finger into his mouth. He loved the way it cleared a clean path on the glass. He looked across at Snape to realise that the man was watching him again, and thought maybe it wasn’t the best mannered thing to do. Snape bent his head again.

Harry wondered why he hadn’t accepted the beer. He didn’t know it was Harry offering it and his own glass was empty. Most people would jump at a free pint.

Suddenly, he had an epiphany.

He looked hard at Snape and then glanced away, his eyes scanning unseeing over the smoky bar. Of course Snape hadn’t accepted the drink! He was a Potions Master: he must know of every drug or potion that could be masked by alcohol – beer especially probably – its bitter taste would disguise a number of herbs or poisons. And people hated him; people on both sides of the political divide, even old pupils might enjoy the opportunity to slip him something embarrassing, even if not lethal. Snape would never accept a drink from a stranger – would probably never be able to, whatever the outcome of the war: there would always be people posing a threat to him, seeking vengeance. The thought absolutely shook Harry; he had enjoyed clubbing and drinking in the pub with his friends and workmates over the last couple of years, and the sudden realisations of the restrictions and indeed, the loneliness of Snape’s life, hit him like a bludger.

He turned and looked at Snape again, seeing him as a man for the first time in his life. His eyes roamed over him, taking in the familiar sallow skin, the thin cheeks, the dark shadow along his chin. His hair was lank rather than greasy, and really, he wore it in such an unflattering way! He could tie it back or cut it short, either would look a helluva lot better.

“I don’t pick up stray men, either,” Snape said from his book, not bothering to look up.

Harry had just taken a mouthful of ale and consequently sprayed it over the table.

“You did that on purpose!” he gasped, getting his breath back.

“Told you I was not available?” Snape sneered.

“Chose your moment for maximum affect!” Harry choked, just getting his head round that Snape thought he was trying to pick him up.

“It is an art,” the older wizard said smugly.

Harry stared at him. A hint of humour? From Snape? Who thought that he was interested in him? Did Snape attract that sort of attention? His eyes started looking again, noting the long, rather delicate hands as the man flipped a page over. He looked at his body, searched his memory of the shape of Snape. All he could think of was the commanding swoop of Snape in his robes, swirling down the corridors or coming into class. The man had Presence with a capital P. But his body? Well, he was tall and slim, and really, Harry had never thought anything more of it. He eyed Snape’s shoulders and chest.

“Still not available,” the man murmured, eyes never leaving the page.

Harry flushed. He’d been so overwhelmed at the thought of anyone considering Snape as a potential sexual partner that he had been staring. And was Snape gay?

“Sorry,” he offered fairly, then added, “if it eases your anxieties, I don’t pick up stray men either. I prefer to know where they’ve been, myself.”

Snape’s eyes shot up at that. So, he’d just been trying to be obnoxious – he hadn’t realised that Harry was gay.

Then, to Harry’s discomfiture, Snape checked him out.

Openly.

Harry felt his cheeks redden and tried to stop his hand shaking as he raised his glass and took another small sip. Anything not to look back at the man. Snape! Giving him the once over! Holy shit!

“Getting shy now?” Snape said. Oh my god, Snape was teasing him.

Harry put his drink down and stared straight back at the other man. The black eyes looked assessingly into his. Harry’s heart was thumping and he felt heat surge through his body, bursting out of his pores. Snape looked away, burying himself in his book again dismissively. Shakily, Harry pulled a couple of magazines out of the side pocket of his bag and then decided, with sweat trickling down his spine, that now was the time to take off his hoodie. He tried to stand, but the bench seat did not allow him to get his legs straight, so he manoeuvred his back to the wall and with one knee on the bench reached down to the hem and began to peel it up his body.

Unfortunately the fabric clung like tacky weed to his tee shirt underneath, and he could feel both peeling up. His head was buried, his stomach exposed, and he felt ridiculous. He sucked in his breath to expand his chest to pull the damn thing over his head, and felt his loose jeans slip down his hips. Cursing to himself, he yanked both garments off, peeled the tee shirt from the top and whipped it back on quickly. Snape stared openly throughout, and Harry felt colour washing up his stomach. He pulled his jeans back up and wished he’d invested in a belt. Or underwear.

“Nope. Still not interested,” Snape commented. “Worst striptease I’ve ever seen.”

“And you’ve seen many?” Harry snarled back, red as a beetroot.

“None of that level of amateurishness, that’s for sure.”

“I’m not buying any more hoodies,” Harry grumbled, embarrassed. He must have looked bloody ridiculous. And it was dangerous, that moment of having one’s head covered.

Snape actually laughed. Harry blinked, then gave a small smile in return.

“Nice tattoo though,” Snape said, bending to his book once more.

His trousers had dropped that low? Bloody hell!

“Thanks,” Harry managed to get out with an attempt at nonchalance. He picked up the Quidditch magazine which he had just collected from the seller outside the pub and started to read one of the articles. He hadn’t meant to pull the other journal out of his bag and slipped it back in the pocket. It was a potions periodical which he’d bought because Hermione had finally got her research published. She had used a ‘nom de plume’ as she didn’t expect that the thoughts of a Muggle schoolgirl would get much respect; they had had many a laugh over choosing her name in the Gryffindor Common Room late at night, and Harry felt immensely proud of ‘Herbert Greystoke’ which after many more hilarious options were discarded was chosen because it used Hermione’s initials and had a hint of elderly boring respectability about it. Harry was delighted to find that he actually understood the article, but that was mostly because Hermione had read them excerpts from her research books and discussed the matter with them endlessly over months and months. He had been interested to find that there was also a paper by Snape in ‘Practical Potions Monthly’, but it seemed to be a highly complex refinement of some previous work with a whole string of preceding papers referred to within it. Most of the other articles seemed overly wordy or incredibly boring, and he wondered whether Hermione’s clearly written piece would be hailed as a welcome relief by the readership or rejected as not dull enough.

“Mr Johnson!” said the landlady cheerfully, sliding the steaming plates in front of Harry and Snape. “How are you then, ducks?”

“Fine, thank you, Mrs Tom, and yourself?” Harry responded, shifting half to his feet in greeting. When Harry had first called her Mrs Tom, never having heard the landlord's surname or her first name, and hoping that he’d be enlightened, both halves of the married couple had been tickled by it, and ‘Mrs Tom’ she had remained.

“Ah, sweetheart, sit you down now and get tucked into that! I didn’t know you knew Professor Snape,” she added, glancing from one to another.

“Just sharing a table. You’re doing good trade tonight,” he smiled.

“Hogwarts’ return, isn’t it?” she agreed. “That why you’re here, Professor?” she continued.

“I had some business in town,” Snape said noncommittally. “There appears to have been a mistake, Madam, I did not order any dinner.”

“No dear, I know, Tom says, that nice Mr Johnson has ordered dinner for Professor Snape, just like that, would you believe it! It’s my special, he knows it’s good,” she said bending in conspiratorially towards Snape, giving a nod towards Harry. “Were you a student of his, dear?” she asked Harry. “Wanted to repay one of your teachers, eh? Very nice manners too,” she smiled, and bustled off, without waiting for an answer.

Harry looked at Snape. “Don’t eat it if you’d rather not,” he said quietly, “though it’s the steak and Stilton and it’s delicious. And I haven’t left this table so I can’t have poisoned it.”

“Why should you imagine anyone might want to poison me?” Snape said limpidly.

Oh! Dangerous ground!

“Well, you’re a Potions Master, I expect you’re always on the alert. I expected so after the beer, anyway,” Harry added.

“How do you know I am a Potions Master?” Snape asked, not picking up his knife and fork as Harry had done. “I’m quite certain you are not one of my ex-students – I have a very good memory for faces.”

Well, he certainly wasn’t an ex-student! “Your picture is in Practical Potions,” Harry said, indicating the magazine in his bag.

Snape glanced at it with surprise. “You’re interested in potions?” he asked, a mix of curiosity and wariness in his voice.

“I’m afraid I didn’t understand most of the articles,” Harry admitted. “Yours seemed predicated on so many earlier papers that I got rather lost.”

Snape snorted, looked hard at Harry again, slipped a bookmark into his book before laying it on the table, and took up his knife and fork.

Harry felt ridiculously pleased.

“God, this is delicious,” Harry moaned a few mouthfuls later. Mrs Tom’s pie was just out of this world. Rich gravy, the tang of melted Stilton, the flaky slip of the pastry on his tongue.

Snape looked up at him and smiled. “I have to concur. I have not had this before here and wonder how I could have missed it.”

Harry felt like he’d stepped onto another planet. Snape! Smiled! Again! In six years he had never seen the man smile! Which was an appalling thought, when he came to think about it. Dumbledore smiled. Professor Flitwick was always chuckling at the high table over something, though it was never possible to hear what. Madam Hooch often grinned in excitement on the quidditch pitch, and even laughed at some of the rude locker room jokes. Even Madam Pomfrey liked a bit of a laugh when she had stopped worrying over her patients. But Snape. Snape always looked sour. Well, he didn’t appear to have a lot to laugh about in his life, did he? Harry wondered how he coped with the constant fear that spying must bring: he couldn’t imagine doing it himself. Living every day in fear of discovery; never knowing when he was summoned if he would come back alive or unharmed. Having to do whatever disgusting things he did have to do for Voldemort.

No, it was good to see Snape smile. Harry wondered where his loathing of the man had gone. In truth, it had dissipated over the last year. Here, meeting him as a man and not the cruel tormentor of his past, he was ready to start with a clean slate; here he was not the hated Harry Potter, and it was interesting to see how the other man reacted to a stranger. So far, it was very interesting indeed.

Snape finished everything on his plate, and sat back, elegant and replete. Harry wiped up the last traces of gravy with his bread, not willing to waste a delicious morsel.

“Thank you,” Snape murmured.

Harry grinned.

“Glad you liked it. I hate eating in front of someone who isn’t. Makes you too conscious of yourself.”

Snape looked him over, but didn’t comment. Pushing his plate to the side, he returned to his book. A young girl appeared and picked up the plates, saying conspiratorially, “Mrs Tom said to tell you that she’s made sticky toffee pudding.”

“Oh god! Yes please! With ice cream.” He looked across at Snape, who was watching him indulgently. “You’ve got to have it. It’s orgasmic.”

The girl giggled, and Snape raised a haughty eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

“Sorry, been living around Muggles too much. Muggle expression,” he apologised. “Apt though,” he added.

“Indeed.” Snape intoned. “Nevertheless, I will forgo the pleasure.”

“Not into public orgasms?” Harry said, the words slipping out seemingly of their own volition. Had he really just said that to Snape?!

The girl choked back another giggle; Harry apologised to her again, and she swept away.

“Sorry,” Harry said to Snape. “You’re really missing a heavenly experience though.”

“Perhaps I prefer to keep my body in shape for more earthly pleasures,” Snape said so mildly before burying his head in his book that Harry almost didn’t catch the full meaning, and when he did he was horrified to find that his prick jerked interestedly. Well, Snape did have a sinful voice. Impossible not to have noticed that over the years. Even more sinful saying things like that!

“I can’t believe you have to watch what you eat: you’re incredibly thin as it is,” Harry responded, thinking the response very tactful until he realised that it made pretty clear that he had given Snape a good looking over. Which he hadn’t, had he? Snape always looked like a thin column. Though looking at him now, with just his upper body exposed across the table top, Harry was surprised to realise that the man was much wider in the shoulder than he would have thought.

Snape stood up, and Harry wondered if he had taken offence and was leaving.

“I’m getting another drink. I’d offer you one as you’ve bought me dinner but you still have one in hand,” Snape said, motioning towards the still untouched pint on the table. “A firewhiskey, perhaps?”

“No, I’m fine,” Harry murmured, picking up the pint. “Cheers.” He watched Snape move to the bar, and then turned quickly back to the table as he realised he was trying to decipher the man’s body shape through his robes. He glanced at the book Snape had left on the table, and almost choked with laughter as he realised that it was one of the more obscure texts that Hermione had cited as a reference in her article. He couldn’t wait to tell her!

Next moment, his pudding arrived, steaming, the toffee sauce glistening richly on the top. Several scoops of ice-cream were beginning to melt into the sauce at the side of it. Harry leant forward and breathed deeply. The scent was out of this world, and made his mouth salivate just to smell it.

At the bar, Snape had turned to watch his table companion whilst his pint was being pulled. He observed the sniff, watching the man’s appreciation, then saw him select a careful spoonful which he lifted to his mouth and almost sucked off the spoon, not taking the whole into his mouth but sliding his lips over it and then tilting his head back, eyes almost shut as he savoured it. The man was in a world of his own with the dessert, shut in pleasure, and Snape, to his surprise, felt himself begin to harden at the sight. The man seemed an utter sensualist, smelling, tasting, looking. As a man for whom the senses were an incredibly important part of his work, for whom the exact shade of a potion meant the difference between success or agony, who checked ingredients by sight and scent and touch, he knew how rare such a trait was. So many seemed to see the world in half-colours as it were, pastel shades rather than the full gamut of rich magentas and crimsons and smalt and verdigris. He strolled back to the table, and slid into his seat.

“I’m not giving up this experience for anyone,” Harry groaned. “Read your book and don’t look at me. This is too pleasurable for words,” and sucked another spoonful slowly into his mouth, shutting his eyes to concentrate on the pleasure of the taste.

Snape watched him. The actions were definitely sexy, if not sexual, yet it wasn’t a come-on: “It’s like watching someone masturbating,” Snape said, his voice gravelly. He was fascinated.

“Oh god. Don’t add your voice to it too or I’ll go over the top.” Harry was on sensual overload, the taste of the pudding with its crumbly moist texture, the contrast of the heat of the pudding and the cold ice-cream, the smooth slide of the sauce, the rich sweet smell. And Snape, purring.

“Are you hard?” Snape asked, absolutely curious. Could someone get hard over a pudding?

“Am now,” Harry gulped, Snape’s question shooting right to his groin. He opened his eyes, spoon just coming out of his mouth, could almost feel his pupils dilating.

“Sure you don’t want a taste?”

Snape looked at the young man, mouth slightly open, eyes dark, cheeks flushed, and forced himself not to shift and reveal his discomfort.

“I’ve already said no,” he murmured, but his eyes were drawn to that mouth.

Harry blinked, and suddenly realised that his subconscious was slipping in more than he’d intended. Wasn’t it? “I meant the pudding,” he blushed.

Snape looked down at the half-eaten bowl-full, the brown and white swirling together as the ice cream melted. “I don’t have a sweet tooth,” he commented, “I prefer tangy, salty flavours.”

He was winding him up! Harry felt his erection get impossibly hard. Thoughts of Snape tasting him shot into his head and were so shocking, shocking because they were Snape and him and bare flesh and salty skin and come and shocking because he was aroused and not horrified by the thoughts.

He suddenly couldn’t eat another mouthful, and put the spoon down with a clatter, then straightened it in the bowl, not looking at Snape. The heady tension was enticing and odd and delicious and wrong.

He shifted on the seat and put his back to the wall at the back of the booth, pulling his magazine out again and shifting one leg onto the bench, murmuring a quick cleaning spell on his boots. He didn’t know what to make of the situation. He had no intention of picking Snape up, and the other man had said he wasn’t interested. But that last comment, and the tone of the conversation….

“I apologise,” Snape said quietly, and Harry’s head jerked up.

“That last remark was uncalled for,” Snape continued. “I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable. I’ve never seen anyone enjoy food so much, and let my tongue run away with me.”

Harry gulped again. Do not think about Snape’s tongue… “Sorry too. I shouldn’t have started it by saying it was orgasmic. Let’s forget about it. I don’t think Noble is the best reference, if you’re thinking about Herbert Greystoke’s article. I thought Hudson had more relevance.”

Snape’s eyes lit up, and to Harry’s surprise the next half hour passed in peace with an in depth discussion of the article and the ramifications. Harry felt on firm ground and actually enjoyed the discussion. In Potions class they never questioned or discussed anything in this manner, and it was intriguing to follow Snape’s arguments and thought patterns. Eventually Snape asked about another article, that Harry had found immensely boring. He said so. Snape laughed, and agreed. They had coffee, and it was with a sense of reluctance that they realised that the hour was getting late, the pub had cleared considerably, and that it was time to call a halt.

Snape stood up. “I’ve enjoyed this evening, Mr Johnson. Thank you for my dinner,” Snape said, surprise with a hint of warmth to soften it in his voice.

“Alex,” Harry said. “It’s Alex. And I’ve enjoyed it too. Surprise to me as well,” he commented, “never knew potions could be interesting until recently.”

Snape laughed again. “Perhaps you should have paid more attention in school, Alex.”

Harry smiled. “Perhaps.”

He stood as well, and began to head towards the bar. “I need to pick up my key from Tom. I’ve swapped with an elderly couple and Tom’s put me on the third floor. Didn’t know there was one till tonight.”

“I’ll go up and use the bathroom then,” Snape said.

Harry raised an inquiring eyebrow.

“Tom put me there too, as I asked not to be on the same floor as any of schoolchildren. There’s only one bathroom.”

“Righto, thanks,” Harry said, trying hard not to think of Snape in the bathroom. In the same bathroom that he was going to use. Snape naked in the shower. He turned away quickly, and startled, Snape headed off.

Harry’s alternative accommodation was basic but comfortable, a narrow single bed in a small room in the eaves. He lay on the bed waiting for Snape to come out of the bathroom. Not having heard anything for a while, he picked up his towel and headed along the corridor just as Snape opened the bathroom door and came out of it.

Harry couldn’t help it. A billow of steam flurried in the air, Snape’s hair was clean and washed, and he could smell the most delicious fragrance – lemon balm, and something else. Snape was wearing black silk pyjama bottoms under a towelling robe. Both men stopped in front of each other. Tension, hot and sexual, sprang to life faster than a curse at a Death Eater meeting. The moment seemed forever and as brief as a blink, before Snape stepped around Harry, murmuring, ”Sorry if I kept you,” then strode off to his bedroom without waiting for a response.

Harry shut himself in the bathroom, leant against the sink and took great gulps of air.

Harry leapt out of the bed, wand instantly into his hand, his body in defensive pose, his heart hammering in his chest, before he even realised what had awoken him. His senses quickly judging that the danger was not in the room, he realised that a loud – very loud - noise in another part of the inn was responsible. He checked his muggle wristwatch. 2am. Pulling on his jeans, he padded barefoot to the door and opened it quietly. Peering outside, and finding the corridor empty, he slipped out, re-warding the room with a brief wave of his hand. He stole quietly towards the stairs, then jerked round quickly as Snape’s door opened just as he’d passed it. His eyes quickly took in the older man – wand at the ready, pyjama top open all the way down the front, barefoot like himself. The dark hair pulled back in a neat plait. There was a mutual acknowledgement, then Harry crept forward, Snape right behind him. It felt good to have the man at his back. Quietly, they tiptoed down the edge of the staircase, round the dogleg.

Raised voices could be heard, muffled by the thick pine door at the bottom of the staircase. Harry crept quietly towards it, and carefully turned the knob. Snape’s hand grasped his shoulder, holding it back. Harry had to resist a shiver at the touch of the warm hand on his naked flesh. He could feel the bony fingers forcing their control on him. He stood quietly, waiting, listening through the sliver of gap, conscious of the heat of Snape on the step behind him.

Soon, his shoulders began to shake with suppressed laughter. He turned his head, to look at Snape over his shoulder, to see a similar wry amusement on his face.

Blaise Zabini had apparently sneaked into a girl’s room; their exertions had led to the sudden collapse of the bed, the noise of which having then alerted the girl’s parents...there was a right hullabaloo going on, with the parents shouting, the girl squawking, Blaise’s voice almost absent, and Tom casting spells to repair the bed in a very disgruntled voice.

Carefully pulling the door to, a big grin across his face, Harry turned, and found his nose almost buried in the hair on Severus Snape’s chest.

He inhaled sharply.

Snape smelt fantastic.

He felt the older man take a deep breath –the movement pushed his chest closer to Harry: the tension of desire rose between them instantly. Harry wanted to rub his face over that hair, feel it against his lips, touch his tongue...

He moved his head swiftly to the side. His nose inadvertently brushed a tight nipple, and he felt Snape recoil, as if reality had suddenly hit him, and Snape stepped back onto the higher step behind him. Harry, with the door right behind him, couldn’t move. He looked up at Snape, but in the shadows of the stairwell it was hard to make out his expression.

The older man turned and walked up the stairs. Harry couldn’t help but look, but the loose, unfastened pyjama jacket gave nothing away. Snape turned at the top and stared down at him. Harry wasn’t quite sure what to make of that look.

And then Snape was gone.

Breathing deeply, Harry’s hand slipped automatically into his jeans to adjust himself. Letting out the breath slowly, he had to admit that Snape was hot. He couldn’t remember ever having such a visceral reaction to anyone before.

He walked slowly up the stairs, and rounded the corner at the top. The corridor stretched in front of him.

Snape’s door was ajar.

Author's note: My thanks to Samayel for the excellent "notice-me-not" spell.

Chapter Text

Harry’s footsteps faltered. He stared at the door from the end of the corridor. It had been closed when he had come past earlier. Snape had to have left it open deliberately.

It was an invitation.

Easy for him to ignore, if he so wished.

But did he wish?

His cock was giving him a clear answer on that one.

All his blood was heading south and his mouth felt dry.

His brain was trying to fathom all the reasons he shouldn’t, but he found himself outside the door.

Another deep breath, and he stepped inside.

He found his back against the wall, the door slammed, and Severus Snape kissing the fucking life out of him.

Harry was aware of nothing but hard planes, skin, the scent of Snape’s shampoo, the muscular feel of Snape’s tongue, the wall behind him and Snape enclosing him, and heat, heat, heat.

Eventually, Snape’s mouth pulled away from his, though Snape’s body stayed exactly where it was.

A single candle burned by the bed.

Snape’s face was a landscape of shadows and sharp lines. A mirror on the wall managed to reflect the light sufficiently to give glossy life to the black depths of the man’s eyes.

Harry’s heart was pounding.

It didn’t mean anything that this was Snape, his teacher, a man with whom his relationship before this day could best be described as antagonistic.

It was the most shattering, hottest kiss he had ever had.

Harry’s eyes dropped to Snape’s mouth, and unconsciously his own tongue came out to wet his lips, and his lower body pressed forward.

“I don’t fuck strangers,” Snape repeated his sentiments of earlier.

“No,” Harry agreed dazedly. His eyes flashed up to Snape’s, then down again to his mouth. His brain felt as woolly as a mountain sheep.

Snape barked a laugh, then slid a hand slowly down Harry’s chest. His fingers fanned out, and Harry gasped as he managed to snag both of Harry’s nipples in one pass, before continuing on, down over Harry’s clenching stomach muscles to hook into the top of Harry’s low slung jeans.

“I’m presuming you’re amenable to the other options?” he murmured.

The low, seductive voice stroked over Harry’s nerve endings. He had never felt so at the mercy of another person, so willing to be amenable to their every suggestion. The realisation made him uncomfortable, and he knew that he needed to make this mutual, to make Snape feel as out of control as he did.

“Mmmm,” he agreed, bending forward. His shorter height made it easy for him to reach, and his teeth closed around Snape’s nipple, giving it a firm tug. He felt Snape stiffen, but held on, his other hand sliding up Snape’s side under his shirt, thumb moving to brush Snape’s other nipple before his hand slid round to Snape’s back, stalling momentarily as his fingers noted the ridges, before sliding down into the curve of his back and holding the man firmly against him whilst his mouth and tongue gentled the pain of the tug.

Snape’s guttural grunt was incredibly erotic. Snape’s hands slid down his sides, making him shiver, pulling him away from the wall and sliding over the swell of his arse, pulling him snug against Snape’s solid erection.

The feel of it made Harry moan, his lips leaving the nipple and moving up to Snape’s neck, burying his face in the curve of his throat.

Snape’s hands slid around his sides, trailing over the waistband of his jeans. He pulled back, snapping the stud as he looked at Harry. Harry’s stomach pulled in, an invitation, and his lips sought the older man’s as he felt Snape’s fingers slide the zipper down, his arms moving up over Snape’s shoulders. Snape’s hand slipped into the gap, and Harry gasped into his mouth as he felt cool fingers curl around his length. He couldn’t prevent the thrust of his hips, and Snape laughed, letting go, his fingers pushing lower to explore Harry’s balls.

The pressure of his hand caused the last bit of grip of the denim to give way, and Harry’s jeans slithered down his legs. He tried to pull a foot out of them, stumbled, and with an embarrassed grin he pushed at Snape, giving himself space to get them off.
.
Snape settled back, hands crossed over his chest, watching him. Harry stepped out of the jeans, kicking them to the side, then stood back up straight, naked and needy and caught between self-consciousness and a desire to say ‘take it or leave it: this is me.’

“Beautiful,” Snape said, shocking Harry.

“What...?”

“Come now,” Snape stepped forward. “I’m sure I’m not the first lover to admire your assets?”

.Harry blushed, shockingly pleased to be complimented by this usually dour man. But then, this Snape was not a Snape he had ever met before, ever had any intimation existed.

A sexual, sensual, predator Snape.

Harry’s hands moved to Snape’s pyjama jacket, to slide it off his shoulders.

“Leave it,” Snape moved out of reach, taking Harry by surprise again, then distracting him by dropping his own pyjama pants and stepping out of them.

Harry couldn’t help it. His mouth watered. He swallowed convulsively. His lips opened slightly. And he dropped to his knees.

He might not be good with words, but he’d try to show Snape how impressed he was otherwise. Looking to Snape for permission, one hand moved to grasp the base, whilst his mouth moved forward to taste.

“Alright?” he asked, when Snape didn’t speak. Snape’s eyes were dark, but Harry could sense something, though he wasn’t sure what. “Surely I’m not the first lover to admire your assets?” he repeated Snape’s words back.

Snape laughed, the movement pushing his hips forward. Harry didn’t waste the opportunity, his tongue reaching out to savour the flesh in front of him....

For the next few minutes Harry was so absorbed in his divine task that his thoughts were nothing but a mush of sensation. His jaw ached from stretching around Snape’s girth, but the pleasure, the taste, the small movements that Severus was making that showed his enjoyment...

“The bed, I think,” Snape said huskily after another moment or two.

Harry slowly withdrew, his lips gliding taut, his tongue chasing a last drop of flavour as it swirled around the spongy head in passing. Bliss.

“Your jaw must be aching. And your knees,” Snape said in explanation.

Harry grinned up at him, surprised at the consideration. “Worth it,” he smiled, but his knees cracked as he stood up, and Snape laughed again and held out a hand to him.

Lying on the bed, spread out like a feast with Snape lying alongside him, just looking at him, Harry felt every bit as beautiful as Snape said he was, though he knew he wasn’t really. But Snape – he made him feel like every nerve in his skin was alert and alive, vibrating with tension and sensitive to every stir of air.

Snape spent the next hour making Harry’s body feel, as it had never done before. Snape teased his senses, light delicate touches, ghosting breaths, then the scrape of nails, firm pressure, moist tip of tongue, till Harry was so wound up, so overloaded with sensation, so thoroughly aroused that he knew he’d not only always see Snape as a different person for ever afterwards, but knew himself to be more than he had thought too. Snape had given him license to revel in his sensuality, had encouraged him, allowed him to touch as well as be touched, understanding innately that Harry, like himself, gained pleasure too from that.

In the aftermath of shattering orgasms they both fell asleep, no awkward questions of going or staying to throw cold water on the pleasure.

They woke and moved again into exploration and passion, languid with sleep and the warmth of the bed and the scents of each other, before sleeping again.

The light was breaking through the weave of the drab curtains when Harry next awoke. Snape’s chest was against his back, the flutter of Snape’s silk top moving over his hip as Snape’s arm shifted against him. Snape’s breathing was regular, ghosting warm over his neck: he was still asleep. Harry lay there, cosy and feeling oddly protected, taking stock with a happy smile curling his lips. He edged back tighter into the man’s hold, dozing, until his bladder forced him to ease himself out of Snape’s arms and along to the bathroom.

Returning along the corridor, he reached his own door. Would Snape expect him to leave? Just like that?

He couldn’t.

He carried on and slipped back into the room. Snape was lying back against the pillows, one hand behind his head, the other under the sheet slung low across his hips. The black shirt framed his chest and the taut muscles of his stomach, and Harry felt desire rise in him so fast he felt dizzy.

Only Snape’s right hand moved, an unmistakeable stroke, as he lay there, watching Harry.

Decisively, Harry shucked his jeans and was back on the bed in seconds, stretching out beside Snape.

“We haven’t long,” was all Snape said.

“No,” Harry agreed, but his hand reached out slowly, exploring Snape’s stomach, feeling the tiny contractions of the muscles under his fingers. “You look so fucking hot like that,” he whispered, voice gravelly. His head came down, his lips gliding over that stomach, imprinting the feel of it onto the sensitive skin.

“I’m going to have stubble burn all over me,” Snape snorted.

“You complaining?” Harry asked, deliberately rubbing his jaw harder over Snape’s belly. He always used a muggle razor when he was staying in the flat, rather than the longer lasting wizarding methods.

He could tell from the jerk of Snape’s cock and the sudden tightening of his arm as he squeezed himself involuntarily, that the man liked it, and rubbed again as he pulled the sheet up and away. It was stunningly erotic to see Snape’s long fingers curled around his own erection.

With a final pull, Snape let his hand drop away.

Harry would have liked to spend a long time worshipping that solid flesh again, but the hour was against them, the light brightening through the curtains even as they lay there, and in truth, his jaw ached from the night before. Not that that was going to stop him. There just wasn’t time to tease and play. He swallowed the man down whole, then pulled back, sucking hard as Snape groaned and bucked at the unexpected forthrightness of his approach.

Harry’s hands roamed over the surprisingly strong thighs as he worked. Snape’s legs were pleasantly hairy. His own erection jumped when Snape spread his legs. The movement, the invitation, the request, was incredibly erotic, and Harry’s hand slipped into his own mouth alongside Snape’s cock, coating his fingers with saliva, before he withdrew them and then teased a wet trail over the rippled skin of Snape’s scrotum.

He felt Snape’s pleasure in the thrust of his hips, the tightening, and applied himself to making sure Snape remembered him, remembered this.

Minutes later, Snape was kissing him, tasting his own come in his mouth whilst his hand brought Harry to completion with firm even strokes. Harry’s own hands were gripping Snape’s back, the silk pyjama jacket ghosting over his skin, and he had to pull away from the kiss, panting into Snape’s neck as he rode the wave of pleasure.

They lay there like that as Harry got his breath back.

Snape’s wizarding alarm suddenly started announcing that it was time to get up. Snape reached over him, pointing his wand at it to silence it, before pulling back and waving the wand over them both. Harry could feel the tingle of the cleaning spell. He knew it saved time, but he quite liked the feel of come on his chest, until it got itchy.

He sighed, rolling onto his back.

“You have to go,” he said. A statement.

“I do,” Snape looked at him, then moved away, sliding off the bed to stand. “Do you have any objections to me using the bathroom first?” he asked.

“You’re catching the Hogwarts’ Express?”

“How do you know that?” Snape said, his casual tone belying the sudden suppressed tension Harry could feel emanating from him.

“The place is full of kids to get it!” Harry grinned. “Drew a short straw and got escort duty, did you?” he chuckled.

“Something of the sort,” Snape inclined his head. He slipped his pyjama trousers on, and looked at Harry.

“Oh, sorry,” Harry slid off the bed and pulled on his jeans, taking care as he zipped them. He was thinking fast.

He stood upright. “I’d like to see you again,” he said firmly.

Snape looked at him, his face expressionless. “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” he said, after too long a pause.

Harry looked at him, head cocked. It could, of course, be that Snape didn’t rate the sex. Frankly, he didn’t believe it. They had both enjoyed it – more than enjoyed it. It had been explosive, outstanding. Harry had had more that one one-night-stand, and indeed, a longer relationship. None of it had compared to what had happened last night.

And he loved Derek. Not in love, but still...

He wasn’t going to give up easily on whatever this was.

He had felt utterly in tune with Snape. The man was incredibly sensual. And generous and uninhibited. It was too good to be a one night event.

He flipped his thoughts to think of it from Snape’s point of view.

Stupid! He was so stupid! He looked at Snape, still wearing the silk pyjama top. He looked brilliant, mouth-watering. Harry knew he was hiding the scars he had felt on his back. But that wasn’t it, was it? Snape had worse than that to hide.

The Dark Mark on his arm.

“I don’t have much time for relationships,” Snape continued smoothly. “You already know I’m committed to teaching and research....”

Harry strode over to him.

“I appreciate that school life must keep you busy,” he said quietly. “I bought a house in Hogsmeade a year ago,” he went on, and noted Severus’ eyes widening. “It’s not much but it’s quiet and discreet. We could relax there, without interruption. I’m away a lot myself. But I think what went on here last night is too good to turn our backs on. It was fucking hot, Severus! Admit that, at least!”

Snape looked down at him, eyes dark and unfathomable. His lips quirked. “It was enjoyable,” he conceded.

“Bastard!” Harry grinned. “Well, maybe I got more out of it than you, then. Fair enough. But I’d like the chance to explore further. I’ll be at the Tufted Duck in Hogsmeade for the next three weekends, Friday nights, between 7 and 9.30. Join me if you’d like to see me again.”

Snape said nothing.

Harry tried not to let his shoulders slump, and walked to the door. He turned.

“Thanks. You’re quite incredible, you know?” And he left.

Chapter Text

Harry made his way after dinner to the Headmaster’s office for the expected confrontation.

He had been waiting for this, always slightly on edge after every holiday, for so long now, had rehearsed what he wanted to say so many times, that he needed to get himself under tight control now that the time had actually come. He slowed his pace a little, moving his feet in time with his heartbeat, using the awareness of the steady thump! through his body as a form of meditation, as Andy had taught him. He breathed slowly and regularly. He became aware of the silence of the hallways as he walked, the echo of his footsteps reverberating the only sound, calm and soothing and under his control. He smelled the unique castle scent, of old stone and polish and oil paintings, and felt comforted and at home.

Once calm, he focused on the points he wanted to make, the things that needed to be said. And I must keep an open mind as well, he instructed himself. Judge and decide after any ameliorating facts come to light. Ask the right questions.

He came to the entrance and gave the password McGonagall had given him after the feast, and calmly rode the stair into the Headmaster’s office. He was not surprised to see Professor McGonagall sitting in an armchair in front of the fire sipping tea, with Dumbledore just passing a cup to Snape, who was reclining against the wall.

“Harry! Tea? Milk and sugar?” Dumbledore smiled, waving the pot.

“Milk no sugar, thank you, Sir,” Harry agreed, taking the chair and cup that the headmaster waved him towards.

Harry pushed himself back into the seat and crossed one ankle over the opposite knee, knowing that a relaxed and confident posture would reflect itself in his attitude and in others’ attitudes to him. He was aware of the others noticing it, and felt more in control. He sipped his tea, and waited.

“I’m sure you are not surprised that we have a few questions for you, Harry,” Dumbledore began cheerily.

“That’s fine, Sir, I’ve a few that I’d like to ask you as well,” Harry responded, his voice a polite inquiry.

Dumbledore’s eyes narrowed with surprise. “I’ll answer anything I can, of course,” he smiled. “Did you want to go first, then, Harry?”

“No, after you, Sir,” Harry deferred.

“Very well, perhaps you’d like to tell us where you have been this last week?” Dumbledore got straight to the point.

Harry sipped his tea and looked at the professor. “May I ask why the last week is of such interest to you, Headmaster?” he inquired calmly.

“You were not at your relatives’ house,” Snape snapped. “Where we have wasted a great deal of time and effort creating wards for your protection.”

Harry looked at him. Amazing to think…Not now!

Harry took another sip of tea. The silence stretched out. At last, Professor McGonagall turned to Harry.

“Potter, we realise that life may get a little boring for you in Privet Drive, but –“

“Really, Professor?” Harry asked gently, leaning forward towards his transfiguration teacher. “That’s – interesting. What do you know about my life in Privet Drive?”

Minerva McGonagall gave him a confused look. “I’m sorry, Potter, I don’t understand.”

“I’m just asking, what do you know about my life in Privet Drive?”

Minerva flashed a puzzled glance at her two colleagues, and saw equal incomprehension.

“My memory and understanding is that no adult wizard or witch visited Privet Drive from the night I was left at my aunt’s after my parents died until Mr Weasley collected me the summer before my fourth year? Am I mistaken?” Harry asked.

“Your relatives aren’t very keen on witches and wizards – “ McGonagall began, but Harry interrupted.

“No, they’re not, are they?” he said, softly, dangerously.

There was a moment of still silence.

Harry reined in his anger and continued quietly, “You see, I find that hard to understand. Taking me there the night my parents died – yes, that was understandable. Not checking – ever – that all was well – even though you knew the Dursley’s didn’t like magic – that, I find more than incomprehensible.”

“Mrs Figg – “ Dumbledore began.

“Never once entered the house,” Harry finished.

“Really, Potter, is this all some sob story about being mistreated? Please!” sneered Snape.

Harry looked at the man whose prick had been in his mouth that morning. The strangeness of life made him want to laugh.

“Actually, I’m perfectly happy with my private life at the moment, give or take Voldemort,” Harry responded, “but I am concerned about the mistreatment of others.”

“How very Gryffindor of you,” Snape murmured, which earned him a glare from Professor McGonagall.

“Headmaster, do you know how many orphans there are in the school at the moment?” Harry changed tack slightly.

“Why on earth is that any business of yours?” Snape snarled.

Harry held his temper. “I’m not asking for names, just an idea of numbers. There must be quite a few students who have been orphaned by the Voldemort business.”

“Worried about all the little martyrs’ children, Potter?”

“I expect there are some orphaned children of Death Eaters who displeased Voldemort in your house, Professor,” Harry looked directly at Snape. “And I am every bit as concerned about them. I would just like to understand if this is the normal sort of follow up for orphans, because if it is, it’s not good enough.”

The professors glanced at each other and looked at Harry as if he were a child who did not understand the ways of life.

“Potter, most witch and wizard orphans are taken in by their families. There is no need or time to go chasing round after them –“ Professor McGonagall began condescendingly.

“Professor, I am expected to go and risk death for this wizarding world. Even if I win, there’s undoubtedly going to be a helluva lot of pain on the way, seeing as how fond Voldemort is of Cruciatus. I need to have a world that’s worth fighting for.”

“Really, Potter, your desire to be the petted hero is outrageous! You complain that the wizarding world failed to coddle you, then ignore its efforts for your safety.” Snape leant on the back of the winged chair, his fingers looped together along the back, his dark eyes full of contempt.

“The ‘efforts for my safety’ were pitiable,” snapped Harry, “and only sufficient to ensure that the man who is supposed to save the wizarding world didn’t pop his clogs before you were ready for it. Tell me, did your wards assure you that I was at Privet Drive when Remus Lupin called?”

Snape and McGonagall looked at Professor Dumbledore. “They did, Harry,” he answered, wondering where this was leading.

“So why did Lupin not demand to see me?”

“We assumed that perhaps your relatives had sent you to your room for misbehaviour and weren’t allowing you to see visitors.”

“Ah. Of course, you would be expecting misbehaviour from me. So you only began to worry when it appeared my life force was spluttering out.” He looked at the three faces, each trying to blank their expressions. “Had I been dying for the two days before that happened it would not have been your responsibility at all?”

“Potter, you are being utterly ridiculous!” Snape jeered. “Of all the melodramatic - ! Why on earth should we imagine you might be injured within your own home?”

“Why on earth indeed!” Harry snapped back.

Silence.

“Mr Potter?” Minerva McGonagall asked quietly, and he could hear the shake in her voice, “Are you telling us that your relatives abused you?”

He felt the fierce intensity of three pairs of eyes on him.

“What I’m saying is that you have no way of knowing, and you frankly didn’t care to find out.”

Silence.

Harry took a calming breath. “My concern here is that other children are not put into the same position. I know it is not your responsibility to care for children before they come to Hogwarts, but the wizarding world needs to make sure someone does. And once students are here, there should be some way of monitoring that all is well.”

“So you are saying you were abused.” Snape’s voice was no longer jeering, but Harry was cross because he was missing the point.

“No, Professor Snape, I am not saying that. What happened to me is irrelevant –“

A snort. Harry glared.

“Okay, you want to know. I was not abused. I was probably knocked around more than most kids, and I was starved. Most people would probably feel my living conditions were unacceptable, but I’m not bothered –“

“The house looked fine, Harry, and your relatives are not poor –“ Dumbledore began, puzzled.

Harry sighed. They were not going to let this go. “Have you ever been inside a muggle house, Sir?” he asked the Headmaster.

Dumbledore looked diverted. “No, I don’t think I have,” he answered slowly.

Harry nodded. “Muggle houses are not like wizarding houses. Rooms do not expand to fit the wishes of the occupants. Did you not feel it the slightest bit odd, Sir, that my Hogwarts letter was addressed to The Cupboard Under The Stairs?”

The three sets of eyes glanced at each other and then looked at him.

Harry took a quick look around the room and waved his wand at a blank bit of wall near the fireplace. A small door, about four foot high by two feet wide, appeared. There was a latch on the outside.

“My room,” Harry said, “till I got my Hogwarts letter. Have a look.”

They all moved towards the little door.

“You’ll have to go one at a time,” Harry said, with a smile in his voice. He stood up and held the door open for Professor McGonagall, who ducked her head and went in. Harry closed the door behind her.

“It’s dark!” her muffled voice sounded.

“Yes.”

“Ow! I just hit my head!”

“Sorry Professor, that’s the stairs. You can only stand up straight just by the door.”

“But I can’t see the door!”

“Yes you can. Look for the line of light underneath it.”

“But Potter, where’s the light switch? Muggles have electricity!”

“I usually wasn’t allowed a light bulb,” Harry said quietly. “Electricity costs money.”

Snape and Dumbledore looked at Harry. He found himself avoiding the eye contact, and stepped forward to open the door. McGonagall stayed inside, looking, before coming out. She moved to sit in her chair, just brushing her hand on Harry’s arm as she went by, not looking at him. Harry felt oddly touched.

Dumbledore merely bent down by the doorway and looked in. He twiddled the latch in his hand. “On the outside only, Harry?” he asked gently.

Harry nodded.

Snape practically had to crawl in. Harry tried not to look at his behind as he bent over. He shut the door. Harry heard the makeshift bed creak as Snape sat on it, and thought it was strangely intimate that Snape should be on his childhood bed. He knew his nose would be picking up the scents of the enclosed space – the unwashed sheets, the odours of sweat and socks and urine, the pleasant smell of shoe polish that was kept on a rack on the back of the door.

Snape rapped the door once and Harry opened it. With a quick decision he waved his wand and a bigger door stood in its place.

“This is where I slept after my Hogwarts letter. It frightened them into giving me Dudley’s second bedroom. “

Again he held the door open, and ushered them all in this time, following behind them. Snape looked at all the padlocks on the door as he passed. They crammed into the small space. Harry felt them noting the sparse furnishings, the bars at the window. He bent down and lifted the floorboard. “I hid my wand and anything precious here. Everything else was locked in my trunk and I wasn’t allowed access.”

“At least you had a cat for company,” Professor McGonagall said, trying for a cheerful note as she spotted the cat flap.

“No, that was to deliver bread and water through. I would be locked in here for weeks at a time, though they let me out to do jobs.”

The silence was so thick that it seemed to muffle the ears. Harry led the way out and sat down again.

In silence, Dumbledore conjured more tea and poured it.

“You must hate them. And us,” whispered Professor McGonagall.

“I did hate them,” Harry agreed, “until I had a heart-to-heart with my aunt at the beginning of the summer holidays last year, just after Sirius died. Then I realised how very unfair it had all been on them.” He could not keep the condemning tone out of his voice.

”You feel sorry for them?” Professor Snape sounded incredulous.

“Yes,” Harry nodded. He turned to Professor Dumbledore: “Sir, I need to ask for an assurance.”

“An assurance, Harry? Of what?” Dumbledore asked in surprise.

“That regardless of whatever I tell you now, you will keep to your commitment to pay Dudley’s school fees. It’s his last year.”

Dumbledore looked seriously at the young man in front of him. He was feeling like his grasp on reality was seriously skewed, and he was having trouble pulling it back into place. However, he kept his voice to its normal tones, and answered, “Very well, Harry.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He had achieved one of his objectives.

“You must be very fond of your cousin, Mr Potter,” Professor McGonagall commented in a warm voice.

Harry laughed. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Professor, but I’m afraid I can’t stand Dudley. I did, however, come to an agreement with my aunt.”

“Would you care to explain that?” Snape slid in.

Harry looked at the dark haired man, now sitting in one of the chairs, his back straight, a cup cradled with apparent nonchalance in his fingers. He really looked amazingly sexy, Harry thought, feeling an inappropriate stirring in his groin. Control! He turned his head away, and looked at Dumbledore: “I need to ask you a question or two first, Sir.”

Fire away!” smiled the older wizard, having fortified himself with a good mouthful of very strong sweet tea.

“The first one is personal,” Harry paused apologetically.

“I’ll answer if I can,” the old man nodded.

“Thank you, Sir. Have you ever had any children?”

Surprise lit the faces of all three.

“No, I haven’t, but as you know I have been involved with children for a very large part of my life.”

“Yes Sir. It’s not exactly the same, is it?”

Dumbledore looked at him enquiringly.

Harry sighed. “I feel relieved – just a little – that your actions were through a complete lack of knowledge rather than malice.”

Harry could feel the shock at this statement, but it had been very important to him.

“Malice? Towards you? Why would I feel that, Harry?” Dumbledore said in surprise.

“I’ve no idea, Sir. I’ve tried to consider as many reasons for your actions as possible.”

“It just seemed the best thing to put you with your relatives. Away from the adulation of the wizarding world…”

“It didn’t occur to you that putting me with a Muggle family that absolutely detests magic and regards wizards as freaks, who believed they had a duty to beat the magic out of me, might actually make me think Voldemort had a point?”

You could slice the air with a knife. What did they expect? thought Harry.

“And what conclusion did you come to, Mr Potter?” Snape asked silkily.

“I had no good experiences of the Muggle world whatsoever before I came to Hogwarts,” Harry stated. “On the other hand, some of my meetings with wizards haven’t exactly been warm fuzzy occasions either," he added, a slight smile in his voice. “It’s very fortunate that I met Hagrid and then the Weasleys, because frankly, I wouldn’t otherwise know the kindness of good people, or what family life could really mean. And luckily, in the last year or so, I’ve met some wonderful Muggles, so perhaps I have a more balanced perception of the world now.”

“So it’s all for the best, then, Harry!” Dumbledore took a slice of cake from the plate in the middle of the low coffee table.

“Perhaps you’d like to go and tell that to my Aunt, then, Sir,” Harry said dangerously.

“Pardon?” Dumbledore mouthed round a piece of icing.

“Perhaps you’d like to go and tell my Aunt that, Sir?”

“I’m not with you, Harry.”

“No. As I said earlier, I understand the initial decision, taken in the rush and shock of my parents’ death, to take me to my Aunt’s. But you must have known they wouldn’t want me, mustn’t you? Otherwise you would have knocked, and told her her sister was dead. What sort of person leaves a baby on the doorstep? With a cowardly letter?”

Snape hissed. Potter had called Dumbledore a coward! But Professor McGonagall sat there, numb; she had been there too, and was deep in the depths of her own culpability.

“I find it hard to believe that you made no effort to find out anything about them – or me – afterwards. Did you know the Dursley’s never wanted children?”

Eyes just stared at him, speechless.

“That after Dudley’s rather unexpected arrival, my Aunt suffered from severe post-natal depression? That she was only just getting over that and was overcompensating by spoiling Dudley rotten? Have you any idea how difficult two toddler boys can be? I’ve got friends with little kids and it’s exhausting after just a couple of hours! Did you not think to even ask Mrs Weasley? Think Fred and George before there was even a chance of remonstrating with them verbally!”

Harry could see from the looks of horror all round that that had struck home.

“Petunia couldn’t cope. She didn’t want to cope -and why should she have to? Did you offer any help? Any respite? They had a child they didn’t want, always there, always in the way, always a threat to their world because I started sprouting magical ability in bits and pieces and it terrified them! Did they have anyone to talk to about it? Tell them how to get it under control? They lived in fear that I might do something terrible. And I could have. It was utterly wrong of you to have put them through that. They never ever had the opportunity to be just their own family; even if it was necessary for me to be there, you could have offered them some respite. I’m sure someone could have been found to take me in for the odd weekend, or week away. No wonder they hate wizards.”

Harry put his cup down on the table, and pushed his hands through his messy hair. They had to know what they had done.

After a few moments, Professor McGonagall looked at him. “You said you came to an agreement with your Aunt, Mr Potter?”

Harry smiled briefly at her. “Yes.”

“To help around the house?”

Harry laughed an ugly laugh. “That was probably the bit that was hard for my Aunt to give up! The only way they coped with me was by finding me useful, or ignoring me. I learnt to do the housework at a very young age, and I’m not complaining either, because when I went to live on my own, looking after myself was a doddle. If I wasn’t doing housework, I had to keep out of the way – either staying out of the house, or locked in my cupboard or room, depending on how they felt. I’m not saying everything they did was bad. Just that I wouldn’t wish it on any one else. Not if I can do something about it.”

“And are you asking us to do something about you? You only have two holidays left, and you could stay at Hogwarts…” Dumbledore began.

“No thanks!” Harry laughed. “I used to be very glad to stay here at Christmas and Easter, thank you Professor, but I don’t need it now!”

“You are happy to stay with the Dursleys, then? You went back there last Christmas and Easter, did you not?” Dumbledore asked, slightly puzzled.

“Oh, I didn’t stay at the Dursleys.”

“Excuse me?”

“I haven’t lived with the Dursleys since I had the discussion with Aunt Petunia.”

“What are you gibbering on about, Potter?” Snape sneered.

That’s what I was saying about the protections being rubbish – sorry for the language, but they are!”

“Really, Potter -!” Snape began.

“Professor Dumbledore, what is your ward telling you now? The one that tells you that I am at the Dursleys?”

Professor Dumbledore’s eyes sharpened, and he whirled round to look at a small glass object on a high shelf behind his chair.

Snape had his wand out pointing at Harry before the Headmaster had even turned back. He kept it trained on Harry as Professor McGonagall stood in front of him, moving her wand over him slowly.

Harry sat back comfortably in the chair, and watched.

“Regresso!” McGonagall snapped, with a flick of her wrist.

Nothing happened.

“I am Harry Potter,” Harry smiled at the taut woman.

“It is not possible to befuddle the detector with polyjuice,” Snape said with authority.

Oh, I know, Sir,” Harry smiled. He settled even more comfortably in the chair and crossed his ankle over his knee again, gently toying with the knobbly bone. “No one can get in by using bits of my hair or fingernails. It was a sensible precaution, but easy to overcome. It merely requires a live part of me to be in the house.”

That intense, expectant quiet again.

“Would you care to explain?” Snape made his racking curiosity sound like a bored request.

“Sperm can live for several days if you maintain the right temperature,” Harry said conversationally.

Snape blinked.

Harry wanted to laugh.

“Mr Potter,” Professor McGonagall drew herself up, her paper soft cheeks stained pink, “you do not mean to tell me that you sent your Aunt semen samples?!”

“Spot on, Professor!” Harry smiled.

To Harry’s secret delight, Snape’s mouth actually fell open, before snapping shut, and he gave Harry an intense black eyed look before turning away and striding over to the fire, kicking a loose log back into the blaze.

“You sent your Aunt samples of… of…” Professor McGonagall couldn’t seem to get over it, and having said the dreaded word once couldn’t seem to manage to repeat it.

“She didn’t know what they were,” Harry said gently. “Not unless she opened the packages, that is. Which she may have done, but I can’t be held responsible for that.”

Harry leant forward and picked up the teapot. “May I?” he asked Dumbledore, and at the nod, refilled his cup, added milk and sipped.

Snape turned to look at the boy, sitting there with his legs spread and the cup cradled against his stomach, and was horrified to have an image flash through his brain of Potter not leaning back with his fingers wrapped around a tea cup, but of a naked Potter looking utterly debauched, sitting in the Headmaster’s study with his hands wrapped around his prick busy providing said sample. Horrified at the stirring in his body, Snape snapped back to look in the fire. He had never had sexual thoughts about his students! Never! It was vile! It must be that his libido was in overdrive after his night (and the morning – was it only this morning?) with Alex. He had not intended to take up Alex’s invitation to meet again, but maybe he needed to rethink. Much better that than having inappropriate thoughts about a student! About Harry Potter! Merlin, he was sick! He’d hated the boy for years. Except he looked very much the man sitting there right now, and – Damn!

Dumbledore coughed. “So you, ah, sent a sample along this morning?” Dumbledore inquired.

“Yes, I thought we’d be having this discussion,” Harry affirmed.

“And will you tell us where you have been during all the holidays? This summer? Easter? Christmas? Last summer?” Dumbledore sought confirmation of how long Harry had been evading them.

“I’ve been living in Brighton,” Harry said.

Snape glanced round. “Improving your suntan, I see,” he snarked.

“Working,” Harry said gently.

“Working?” Dumbledore asked. “Where? Why?”

“On a building site. Hence the suntan. Though the sea was very nice this summer, thank you, Professor. And to earn money of course, to pay my rent.”

“Do you realise the danger you’ve been in?” Professor McGonagall said, getting her wind back. “Potter, -“

“I’m alive, aren’t I? Stronger, fitter and healthier than ever I was at the Dursleys,” he said sharply. “And of course I wore a glamour,” he said, taking the wind out of her sails and perking up the transfiguration professor’s interest at the same time.

“A glamour? You couldn’t have maintained a glamour for the whole summer –“

She was cut off by the look Harry gave her.

“It’s extremely draining on a wizard’s power to maintain a glamour,” she said defensively. “You took it off at home, I take it?”

“No,” Harry said patiently. “I was living with Muggles, one of whom I worked with. And yes, I found it a little tiring last summer, but then I was tired with the physical work anyway, so it all bundled together. And by this summer I was used to it. And it was good for me to learn to cope with a regular drain of power. It was only a head glamour, anyway,” he explained. “I kept my own body.”

“Will you show us, Harry?” Professor Dumbledore asked.

Harry shook his head. After last night there was no way he was going to reveal his identity. But there was another reason too. After inheriting Sirius’ wealth, he had bought a small house in Hogsmeade the previous Autumn. He had only been there a few times, but he had bought it as Alex, and had no intention of revealing that Harry Potter had a house in the village. It was his bolt-hole. And he might be using it a lot more, if he could persuade Severus to pursue their relationship. “I’d rather not, at the moment, Sir. I have lived under a false name and glamour for all the holidays for the last year and a quarter. I haven’t been captured or hurt and it has given me the opportunity to learn a great deal.”

“You’ve lived entirely in the Muggle world?”

Harry shook his head again. “No, though most of the time has been with Muggles. I’ve been to Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade without any problems –“

“Do you know how easy glamours are to detect to an experienced wizard, Potter?” Snape interjected. “I can’t believe you have been so foolhardy! Correct that! What else did I expect from someone who has made an art of flouting every rule –“

As he spoke, Harry looked at him intently, and slowly passed a hand over his face.

Snape juddered to a halt, because as Potter’s hand slid down to his chest his own face stared back at him. In uncanny likeness.

Professor McGonagall gasped.

“Please see if you can detect that this is a glamour,” Harry invited, and Potter’s voice sounded odd coming out of Snape’s mouth. Both Dumbledore and McGonagall stared from one Snape visage to the other, then all three stepped forward and cast revealing charms at the young man.

“Is it solid?” Harry asked.

How the hell did you do that?” Snape snarled, when the spells revealed nothing. And then: “And how the hell do we know that the Potter face isn’t a glamour too?”

Harry looked at Dumbledore. “Is the Marauder’s Map now in your possession, Sir?”

Dumbledore looked at Harry sharply, then went to a cupboard along one wall, and after some shuffling withdrew the familiar parchment. Harry was not surprised that he knew the incantation. The map clearly showed them all, and Harry’s dot labelled as himself. No comments were made on the map, to Harry’s mild surprise.

As a transfiguration teacher, McGonagall seemed fascinated with Harry’s glamour.

“How did you do that, Mr Potter?” she asked, her voice rather less demanding and more filled with curiosity than Snape’s. “You didn’t say anything or use your wand,” she murmured in realisation.

“Body magic –to one’s own body – really doesn’t need it, “Harry said quietly. “It’s a little bit of a twist on a glamour, really – a glamour really acts on convincing people looking at you that what they are seeing is real – that’s why it’s so draining – your magic is having to reach out all the time. I did try that at first, but when I thought about it, this seemed a lot simpler. You just have to tell your body you want to appear in a certain way. It feels exactly as it looks,” he said, and nodded to allow the Professor to lean forward and stroke her smooth-skinned fingers down his cheek.

Snape felt himself oddly disturbed to see Professor McGonagall stroking what was in effect his face. Though it was the boy’s too, and he had to fight the urge to want to feel it as well.

“Want to check it out, Professor? See if it really feels like the face you shave in the morning?” Harry asked, his voice teasing.

Snape pulled himself up.

“In the interests of Science and all that, of course?”

Snape could not resist. How could the boy really know what he felt like? He found his feet taking him to stand between Potter’s legs. The boy stood up, causing him to back off quickly, which made his temper rise even more. However, seeing Potter still his normal height, reaching only up to his chin, somehow took some of the sting out of it. He put his hand forward and stroked it down the slight stubble along his jaw line. He always developed five o’clock shadow if he didn’t use his own depilatory potion, and this morning he had shaved with a spell, not having taken the potion with him. He moved his hand back to his own jaw, marvelling at the sameness. It truly was incredible. Not that he intended to tell the boy. And he smelled like him! Severus noted in shock.

Harry shivered at the feel of Snape’s fingers along his jaw, only just resisting the desire to let his eye lashes flutter down and to lean into the touch. As Snape felt his own jaw for comparison, he raised his own hand to Snape’s face to check if he had got it right. That was his excuse, anyway.

Snape recoiled as the touch of Potter’s fingers shivered through him, breaking the contact. Only years of training in hiding his reactions prevented him from allowing the sharp intake of breath and pounding thump of his heart to appear anything more than distaste. “It’s a passable fake, I suppose,” he drawled.

“Severus! He looks the spit of you!” McGonagall exclaimed. “Really, this is a most interesting magical idea! It’s more a type of transfiguration rather than a charm, isn’t it, Mr Potter?” she asked encouragingly, a whole new avenue of work obviously opening up in front of her eyes.

“Yes, I think so,” Harry agreed, smiling at her. He passed his hand back over his face, and reverted to being Harry Potter.

“And you don’t need your wand for it,” Dumbledore mused, as Harry sat down again.

“Well that was sort of accidental,” Harry said, blushing.

Dumbledore cocked his head at him, a smile twitching his lips. “Trying to evade being caught by the ministry, Harry?”

“Well, I was when I first started trying it, “Harry agreed, “as I was still underage then. It’s funny how something you do for one reason ends up being the best thing in the end.” He smiled.

“What made you realise you could do wandless magic and not get caught?” Professor McGonagall asked.

“Well, it was more body magic that I was thinking about, at the time,” Harry responded.

Snape raised an eyebrow. Harry grinned back. “Nothing like that, Professor! I was thinking about girls.”

“That’s pretty usual for that sort of magic,” Snape smirked.

“Severus!” McGonagall exclaimed, but her lips were twitching.

“Ah, that wouldn’t have done me any good,” Harry threw in casually. “Actually, I was thinking of the hair spells and stuff girls use all the time – you know, to keep it under control or make it into a different style or colour, and I thought how come they can do those in the holidays then, and that made me start thinking about body magic. And the fact that you can do anything to your own body without it registering. The wandless bit is neither here nor there, really. I think most people can do wandless on their own bodies, it takes very little magic when your will is behind it and pointed inwards. Most people just don’t realise and use their wands automatically.”

The three older wizards looked at the boy in astonishment. Even Snape found himself surprised at the depths of the boy’s understanding of magic. Which he just seemed to have stumbled on. Typical Potter luck!

“Well, this is all very interesting,” Dumbledore said jovially, “but I think we now have the answers to our questions. I can’t say I’m happy that you went off without telling us, Harry, or that you chose to deceive us,” he said, looking at the ward detector still winking happily on the shelf. He picked it up, and with a wave of his wand it became a dull lump of purple glass, which he placed on top of one of the piles of parchment on his desk. “You realise your – samples – could have fallen into the wrong hands? That a user of the Dark Arts could have put them to – ill use, shall we say?” He looked sharply at Harry, who was already feeling uptight at the ‘deceit’ comment.

“It was an acceptable risk, in my judgement,” Harry said, emphasising the last word. “The packages were sent by Hedwig, and my Aunt sent back the old sample with her for my disposal. She didn’t like touching Hedwig but swapping a package once a day was a small price to pay for getting rid of me and for Dudley’s school fees. I had worried initially that it would look odd that I never appeared to leave the house, and I thought of asking Aunt Petunia to take the packages out with her in her handbag when she went shopping.”

Professor McGonagall choked.

Harry gave her a smile. “Yeah, I felt a little odd about that too,” he agreed, “and the house had protections, in theory. The sample would be less conspicuous there, no-one would know what they were looking for. And at the end of the day, you never noticed that I apparently never left the house. Ever,” Harry said, unable to hide the trace of bitterness in his voice. He pulled himself together, and looked at Dumbledore. “So, you know what you wanted to know, even though you probably wish you didn’t. I need to know that something will be put in motion for the protection of other wizard orphans. Will you approach the ministry, or shall I?”

Snape could not believe the young man in front of him. He was no longer a boy. He was more than a young man, somehow. He seemed to radiate intent and power, and the ability to wield it. Dumbledore obviously felt it too.

“I’m glad you have drawn these matters to our attention, Harry, and I am sorry for what you have gone through. I know that is not enough. I will talk to the ministry.”

Harry nodded. “I would like reports on your progress,” he said, for all the world as if it were perfectly natural to expect the most powerful wizard in the world to report back to him, Snape thought bitterly, and was further shocked when Dumbledore calmly agreed.

“As soon as I know anything.”

“Thank you. And if it’s convenient,” Harry continued, now standing in front of Dumbledore’s desk, “I’d like an appointment with you on another matter later in the week. Could you fit me in Thursday evening?”

“I could see you now, Harry,” the Headmaster said curiously, his eyes glancing in dismissal at his two teachers.

“No, thank you, I need to do some preparation first,” Harry said firmly.

Dumbledore looked intently at the young man. “At nine on Thursday, then?” he suggested.

Harry nodded. “Thank you.”

He turned to the room, his eyes giving it a quick sweep, Snape noticed, before he looked both of them in the eye and said, “Good evening, Professors.”

“Good night, Mr Potter,” his Head of House said warmly.

Snape remained quiet.

As Harry put his hand on the doorknob, he swung round suddenly, and looked straight at Severus. “Professor Snape? My apologies that you lost some of your holiday looking for me.”

He didn’t wait for a response, but turned and left the room.

The three professors looked at each other in the ensuing heavy silence.

“Firewhisky?” Dumbledore offered, pulling a bottle out of the cupboard behind him.

Chapter Text

It had been a busy few days, but Harry had the information, more or less, that he needed, and had made his decisions. They were controversial, and he had thought a lot about them.

Now he was in his room – as a seventh year, he finally got his own chambers – and for once was carefully choosing what to wear. His normal school robe was not appropriate, and in the end he went for a dark green wizarding robe of fine wool that he had bought over the summer. Neutral but elegant. Confident. He hoped!

Taking a breath, he concentrated on the small space behind a side table in Dumbledore’s study that he had noted at his meeting with the three professors. The space was small, and therefore Dumbledore was unlikely to be in it: splinching himself into the Headmaster would not produce the effect he desired.

He adjusted his eyes to the soft light of the study, pleased that he had successfully gained access without problem, and said quietly, “Good evening, Professor,” even as he noted Dumbledore rising from his chair, aware that his wards had been breached.

Dumbledore, for once, stared at him in open astonishment before concealing his shock.

“Harry. Right on time. Do sit down.”

Harry moved from the corner and slipped into the chair in front of the desk. He wondered if Dumbledore was going to ignore his method of arrival, and felt his lips twitch. He wouldn’t put it past the old sod! Then he sensed Dumbledore checking his wards, and smiled.

“They’re intact, Sir.”

Dumbledore looked hard at him. “And yet you are sitting in my office, having just apparated within the castle, and indeed into the most heavily warded room within it.”

“Sorry about that, Sir,” Harry said cheekily, “but I did want to show you that I was serious.”

“Indeed. About what, may I ask?”

I would like to take a class, Sir.”

Dumbledore blinked. “You wish to swap a class? I foresee no problem – “

“No Sir. I’d like to lead a class. Not exactly teach – it would be a mutual learning experience. Only a few students – six, to be exact.”

“Not another DA then?”

“No, though I feel this is essential if we are to defeat Voldemort. Which I intend to do this year,” Harry said conversationally.

Dumbledore blinked again. “I think you’d better explain,” he said, steepling his fingers together.

“Thank you, Sir. The defeating Voldemort or the lesson bit?”

Dumbledore laughed, and relaxed back in his chair. “Whichever you prefer first, Harry.”

Harry gave a small smile back. “I’ll start with the lesson bit. As I’m sure you’re aware, Professor, my marks have never actually been particularly brilliant,” he looked at Dumbledore for agreement.

“Most years you’ve been rather busy,” twinkled the Headmaster.

Harry’s lips twitched. “Yes. On the other hand, it seemed rather odd to me that I managed to survive Voldemort so many times despite being only an average sort of wizard. I know I had lots of help,” Harry said quickly, adding a heartfelt, “thank God!”

Dumbledore looked at him encouragingly.

“I spent a lot of time the summer before last wondering how I’d managed it, even with the help. And it was too much to be just luck. And I came to a conclusion, and I’ve been working on the principle of that conclusion, and I was right.”

“And?”

“I don’t respond to how magic is taught here, Sir. Oh, I know I’ve learnt some, but when I’ve really needed it – well! I call my magic need magic,” he said quietly. “When I’ve needed it, I’ve been able to draw on it. And that made me think about how I did that, and last year I spent most of my lessons thinking about how I could do whatever spell or transfiguration or whatever we were doing in a way that felt comfortable in me,” Harry said, his fist thumping into his chest.

Dumbledore was regarding him with interest. “And you’ve been successful with doing things…your way?”

“Yes. Magic here is made much too complicated, as far as I can see. Wands, and books, and words, and movements – but Professor,” and Harry leaned forward eagerly, eyes sparkling, “it’s just there. In us, around us. Waiting to be called! It’s - blissful. Not necessarily easy – it’s just that you have to get a feel for it, and then not get too terrified to lose that feeling and – “ he looked hard at Dumbledore – “ you know this, because you feel it too.”

Dumbledore’s face had only a faint hint of a smile, though it was not an unpleasant look he carried. Shock, disbelief, maybe. “I do feel it, “he agreed, “though maybe not as much as you, Harry, and definitely not at your age. Tell me, how did you apparate in here?”

“Well, I’ve been able to apparate in the castle - and into the castle - for a year or so –“

“How did that come about?”

“The summer before last I discovered how to apparate, so when we got back I wondered what it was about the castle that made it impossible. I wanted to feel the wards. And when I pushed against them, I could feel them. And then, of course, when you can feel them, it’s easy to find your way through –“

“How?” Dumbledore said sharply. “Did you find weak spots?”

“No, I’ve checked them all thoroughly and they’re all fine,” Harry said comfortably, causing Dumbledore another minor shock. Checking the wards was an annual event that took the combined efforts of himself, Minerva, Filius, Pomona and Severus almost a whole day and evening and left them all utterly drained from the experience.

“How then?” he said, trying not to let his voice waver.

Harry looked at him a bit nonplussed. “Hard to say, really. I just – feel them. And they can feel my magic, and I make my intentions clear – that I have no ill-will or ill-intent –“

“The wards can assess that?” Dumbledore said in surprise.

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Yes. Didn’t you know?”

Albus shook his head. “I didn’t think of them as being – active?”

“Oh, they are! So many different magics over the years, all intertwining! They’re beautiful! And not exactly animate, but – sort of, in the way that the castle has a sort of life – different than what we mean, but more than say a rock or stone on a beach. Sort of a crafted life. Like - -like, say, a painting. Even a Muggle one. All the paint and canvas on their own are nothing. But when it’s finished, it has meaning, and – life. It gives back to those who look at it; they can believe different things about it – it gives different things to different people – and its more than the paint, or the elements that the paint is made up of. And Hogwarts is like that but more so, because so many people have added to its crafting, with love, and care, over such a long time. And with magic, which gives it even more than, say, the Tower of London. So it does respond, even on its own a bit. More than just the staircases moving when it’s feeling mischievous, or the windows looking at scenes on the other side of the castle.” He looked at Dumbledore, hoping he understood. He must, surely! “And I love it here, and it can feel that – it knows I won’t bring it any harm – the opposite in fact – that I’ll protect it – so it doesn’t exactly drop the wards, but it lets me find my way through. Is there a chance of a cup of tea this evening, Sir? I think I might get a bit dry trying to explain everything,” he finished suddenly, reddening a little.

“Perhaps you ought to summon it?” Dumbledore said quizzically.

“I wouldn’t dream of usurping you in your own rooms, Sir,” Harry said quietly.

The Headmaster chuckled, waved his wand, and poured them both tea from the tray that had appeared.

A few refreshing sips later, Dumbledore asked, “So. Your class. Tell me more about it.”

“Thank you, Sir. As I was saying, I don’t respond necessarily as fast to the normal approach here – and I know it suits 95% of students, and I don’t dispute that one bit. It’s not intended as a criticism at all,” he said earnestly, “but we can’t afford to waste magical potential. And, uh, that’s another thing,” he said, looking down as he sipped his tea.

“Yes?”

“I can see people’s power levels – magical power levels.”

“Like an aura?” Dumbledore asked curiously.

“No, nothing so pretty. I can just sort of feel them; and I can feel if they’re underused. And I’ve done a sort of recce of the school, and there are some people so seriously under-using their power that I wondered if they were failing in school like me, unnecessarily. And that made me think about running this remedial magic class.”

“Remedial magic?” Dumbledore’s lips twitched, at the thought of a wizard with the power Harry was talking about needing remedial magic.

Harry laughed. “Yes, Sir. We could call it anything you like, of course. There are quite a few people, but despite the DA, I know I don’t really know enough about teaching, so I decided it would be foolish to try too much, and that I shouldn’t go for anyone under seventh year.”

“That’s sensible. Who’s on your list, then, Harry?”

“You may find it a little controversial, and I need your advice on a couple as well?” Harry said nervously.

“Fair enough. Fire away. I know I needn’t mention that this conversation is confidential,” Dumbledore added in an apologetic tone.

Harry grinned and nodded. “Of course.” He rubbed his hands down his thighs, and said, “Right. First up: Neville Longbottom.”

Dumbledore sighed. “Well, I suppose that’s no surprise. Between you and me, Harry, I always felt he could do a little better.”

Harry snorted. “There are only three wizards in this school more powerful than him, Sir. Including the staff,“ Harry added.

“Pardon?”

“He’s very powerful, “ Harry explained, “but he’s only using the part that relates to Herbology. We – I – need to help him.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“You can detect a sort of ranking of power?”

“Yes.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Neville has the same power levels as Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick and Hermione.”

“Good gracious. Is Miss Granger next on your list?”

“No. The teaching suits Hermione just fine, she doesn’t need my class. When they’re coming on, though, I’ll want to ask her to be involved in a joint project I have in mind.”

Dumbledore could not believe the young man in front of him was the rebellious student of two years earlier. Or the diffident young boy he had been.

“Who else, then?”

“I needed to ask you about Eloise Midgen. She has a very high power level, much unused, but I’m not sure of her marks. She’s not talked of as someone particularly exceptional?”

“No, she is a middling to struggling pupil.”

“Right, then she’s a must. And Padma Patil? And Ernie McMillan?”

“Same for them.”

“Right, they’re in too, then, if they want. Draco Malfoy.”

Dumbledore sat back in his chair. “Draco Malfoy gets very good marks,” he commented.

“He could do better. He’s as powerful as Neville and that tier.”

“He does nearly as well as Hermione.”

“He needs it. I can feel it.”

Dumbledore looked at Harry. “You know what his father is.”

“Yes, and I’ve debated long and hard. I could exclude him. He’d never know, and he’ll hate being ‘taught’ by me. But he isn’t a Death Eater yet. And education is not about withholding opportunities. We have to make them available to everyone. And then let them make the choices.”

Dumbledore looked at Harry with pride glowing in his eyes. “I applaud your sentiments, Harry, but the risks –“

“I’ll be setting wards myself. To stop anyone taking knowledge of who else I am teaching to anyone else. I can’t stop anyone choosing to use what I give them in whatever way they want, but I’ll be trying my hardest to make the other options look stupid.”

There was a long pause when neither man spoke.

“Very well, Harry.”

Harry let out a long sigh. He hadn’t known how Dumbledore would react. He’d prefer not to have Malfoy to teach, but it wasn’t about preferences. He took his courage in his hands. “The last person on my list is Professor Snape.”

Dumbledore’s cup jerked and his tea sloshed over his hand.

“Sorry,” Harry said apologetically.

“Professor Snape?”

“Yes. He’s as powerful as you,” Harry said.

Silence. “Harry, could you be wrong? Your detection –“

“I’m not wrong,” Harry shook his head, “and if you think I would choose to have Draco Malfoy or Snape in my class you must think I’m mad already!”

Dumbledore burst out laughing. “Harry, I can’t see that Professor Snape will ever agree to be in your class! He’s a Potions Master, and –“

“He’s using only a fragment of his power,” Harry said, “the rest is wrapping around him reeking of disuse and dust. It’s painful.”

“You’re serious.”

“Yes. Get him to my class, and let me do the rest. It’s his choice, but I hope he’ll want to take it.”

“Don’t be disappointed – “

“I will be. Not only do we need him, but it’s a shameful waste. But it must be up to him, and I have to make him want to do it enough to over-ride his hatred of me -“

“He doesn’t hate you –“

Harry laughed. “Professor, don’t! I know he’s saved my life on numerous occasions, but no-one could say that he liked doing it!”

Dumbledore twinkled at Harry, then sat back again.

“Well, we’ve discussed who. Now we need to discuss what, before I can approve this idea. Though it would be worth it just to see Professor Snape’s face – but, anyway! Have you thought over your curriculum?”

“Some. I intend to teach them all to access their ability for wandless magic. And apart from that, there will be a lot of individual work – I need to encourage Eloise, Padma and Ernie to find what they’re good at; once we do that, I hope the rest will come. Conversely, I need Neville and Professor Snape to expand their range – to know that they can excel in other areas.”

“You don’t think specialising a good thing?” Dumbledore asked with interest.

“Oh yes, it’s inevitable in the end. But Neville and Snape have done it to the exclusion of everything else. As well as it being useful to have a more widely developed approach, I think they’ll find that the extra power and skills will bleed back to benefits in their favourite areas.”

“Professor Snape isn’t just about potions, you know, Harry.”

Didn’t he just know it! Not that that was what Dumbledore meant!

“I appreciate that, Sir. I know he has a vast knowledge of the Dark Arts – and maybe that’s why he isn’t using all his power. He’s tasted too much of the power of the Dark Magics and maybe doesn’t want to be drawn in. I don’t know. I don’t think he is aware of his capabilities. And he needs to have a bit more respect for the side of magic he regards as ‘foolish wand waving’! Maybe when he realises he doesn’t need his wand he won’t object so much. Or when he appreciates the real difference between wandless and wand enhanced magic.”

Dumbledore regarded Harry and felt his perceptions shift again. He knew this evening was perhaps one of the most important in his long life. People did not just come and sit and discuss such profound concepts as if they were Quidditch strategies.

“I think it is perhaps time that you showed me what you are capable of,” the old man said at last.

Harry had been expecting as much. “What would you like me to do?”

“I think a wizard’s duel might be interesting?” Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

Harry grinned. “Could be fun!”

Dumbledore reassessed once again. He knew of no other wizard alive, apart from Voldemort, who would willingly duel with him. Did the young man realise what he was going to face? “No holds barred, except the Unforgivables?”

“I’m sure you’ll defeat me, Sir, but I’m delighted to have the opportunity to try. Where would you like to go? I don’t want to damage your room again,” he said sheepishly.

Dumbledore thought quickly about the empty spaces in the castle. “There’s a large empty classroom on the fourth floor –“

“Can you picture it?” Harry asked.

Dumbledore nodded. “Of course,” he said, wondering the reason for the question.

Harry came round the desk. “I’ll apparate us there, then, if that’s alright?”

Trying not to appear dumbstruck once again, Dumbledore smiled and said, ”What a good idea.”

Harry linked their arms, and the next moment they found themselves in the classroom.

“It worked!” Harry said in delight.

“You’re surprised?” Dumbledore said, in surprise himself.

“Well, I’ve never apparated anyone with me before, or gone when I couldn’t see the location myself, but there didn’t seem any reason for it not to work, seeing as the castle is bound to accept you coming through the wards, so –“

“Merlin! It’s too easy to trust you, my lad!”

“No bad thing!” laughed Harry.

Three hours seventeen minutes later, Dumbledore conceded defeat. Harry took the wand held out to him for just a moment to acknowledge it, then handed it back, smiling broadly at Dumbledore.

“That was brilliant!” he grinned, putting his hand out and hauling the older man off the floor.

“Ouch!” as the older man’s grip squeezed the boils on his hand. “Amazing hex, that! Who would have thought boils could be so distracting! Every movement and there they are, grating at you! “

Dumbledore smiled. “I think we could both do with a little of Madam Pomfrey’s attentions,” he said.

Harry looked at him worriedly. “Shall I take us straight up to the infirmary?”

Dumbledore shook his head. “My chambers, if you don’t mind, Harry. We can floo Poppy. It might cause worry if the school thought the Headmaster was in the infirmary for any reason.”

“Which hex is troubling you?” Harry asked anxiously. “I’m sorry I had to –“

“Think nothing of it, dear boy! You did have to. I was impressed that you brought yourself to do it.”

“Well, you sort of gave me permission when you broke my arm,” Harry mumbled.

“Indeed, Harry!”

Harry put his good arm around the Headmaster and in a moment they were in his study. Harry settled the older man into an armchair by the fire, and put a fire call through to the infirmary. It took a minute or two before Madam Pomfrey appeared in her night clothes.

“Sorry to bother you, Poppy!” Dumbledore called from the chair. “Would you mind giving us a little assistance?”

”Albus!” and Poppy came straight through. “Whatever has happened to you two?” she said, glancing from the erupting boils on Harry’s face to his hanging arm to the Headmaster’s pale face.

“Just a little duelling fun!” smiled Albus, “But we wouldn’t be adverse to a little help.”

“Duelling fun? It’s two in the morning, Albus!”

“We got carried away, Poppy dear,” he said apologetically.

Poppy had been busy waving her wand over the Headmaster. “What is this? Your heart rate is completely –“

“Uh, I think that was probably the tachycardia hex,” Harry said in embarrassment.

“You shot a tachycardia hex at the Headmaster? Harry, I am ashamed of you!” she snarled. “And what’s this? Your shin bone is broken, Albus!”

“Oh, I hit that on the edge of one of those old drop down desk seats,” he said cheerfully. “And don’t blame Harry for the hex, Poppy! He’s got a broken arm and a terrible dose of furnunculus!”

Poppy had moved on to Harry, tutting away.

“And a stomach churning hex, from the feel of it,” she compressed her lips.

“Uh, I think that’s just reaction setting in,” Harry said. “I dodged that one.”

“I will be back in a moment with some potions. Sit down, Harry, and don’t move, either of you!”

She zipped into the fire.

“Thank you Sir,” Harry said quietly.

“No, thank you, dear boy. I don’t know when I last had so much fun! But I think you were playing with me at the end?”

Harry bit his lip. “Not playing with you, Sir. Just – learning. You were coming up with some really inventive stuff! I’d never have dreamed of half the spells you chucked at me!”

Dumbledore laughed, and took the boy’s hand lightly, not squeezing.

Poppy came back through, shaking off ash.

“I told you to sit down, Harry,“ she snapped.

Harry blushed. “Can’t, Poppy,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows at him, even as she was handing a small bottle to the Headmaster.

“Boils,” Harry said, explaining everything.

“Everywhere?” she guessed.

Harry nodded.

“How long?”

Harry looked at Dumbledore. “Probably one of the first?” A nod of agreement.

“Nearly three hours?” he hazarded a guess.

“Oh dear! Well, you’ve two choices, Harry. Really, it’s too late to spell them away: you’ll reabsorb the poison; I can do it if you want. Better for an enhancement spell: it’ll bring them on and they’ll burst within the next hour. Painful and messy, but I can give you some Pain-Stop which will ease it a bit, and frankly your skin will feel gorgeous by tomorrow night. It gets rid of all the imperfections.”

“I’d better go with that then,” Harry moaned. “God, my new robes are going to be ruined!”

Poppy laughed. “A good cleaning spell –“

“Yeah, but I’ll know they’ve had pus all over them,” Harry gave a grimace.

“Why don’t you come up to the infirmary? I’ll give you a hospital gown to wear instead.”

“I don’t think I could lie down, Poppy.”

The mediwitch laughed. “I don’t expect you could, Harry, but you might as well wander up and down the infirmary as anywhere else. The Headmaster is definitely going to need to be in bed and I need to stay here and look after him.”

“I could do that.”

“Not without seven years of mediwizard training, you couldn’t,” Poppy said firmly. “Now, let me heal your arm.”

Several minutes later found Harry and Dumbledore both with healed bones. Poppy bustled off into the Headmaster’s bedroom to make all ready, and Dumbledore looked intently at the younger man.

“Harry, I think it might be a good idea to go and see Ollivander about another wand,” he said casually.

Harry looked up sharply. “I’ve already done that.”

Dumbledore looked quickly at Harry’s wand, and Harry could see his shoulders slump slightly.

“My other wand is with my other persona,” he said quietly. “He has a house in Hogsmeade.” Harry decided to mention his other home after all.

“What is it? Your other wand?”

Harry looked carefully at Dumbledore. “Fawkes gave me another feather last Christmas,” Harry said apologetically.

“Just like that?”

“I asked him,” Harry admitted. “I knew I needed another wand so that I wouldn’t be recognised by it when I was wearing my other face. I had a fancy to make my own wand.”

He could see the restrained eagerness in Dumbledore’s face.

“And?” the old man prompted.

“I had trouble,” Harry said. “There’s an apple tree in my Hogsmeade house, and I wanted to use it. I couldn’t seem to get it right. Then the Spring growth came, and it was lovely and whippy, and felt wonderful, but I still couldn’t do it. In the end, I took some wood and the feather to Mr Ollivander and asked him to make it for me.”

“Ah.”

Harry left the pause, teasing. He knew what Dumbledore was after, though he hadn’t known at the time what it all meant. “He invited me to have a go at making it myself.”

He felt Dumbledore’s indrawn breath. “And did you?”

“Yes.”

Dumbledore sat there, breathing heavily. “Since Easter?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve known and haven’t said anything?”

“It doesn’t mean anything. Magic is a continuum. From Muggles to squibs to hedge witches to whatever. It’s just a gift –“

But Dumbledore had levered himself out of the chair and was easing himself down onto his knee.

“NO!” Harry shouted.

Poppy came rushing in. “Albus! Whatever is the matter?”

Albus ignored her, and bowed his head to Harry, his fisted hands crossing his chest.

Poppy stared from one to the other. “Harry?” her voice quavered.

“Please get up, Professor!” Harry urged. “I don’t want this! It isn’t right!”

Albus raised his head, but stayed on his knee. “Mage, don’t deny me this pleasure. I had given up hope of seeing a mage in my life-time. “

Poppy gasped, and fell into the same posture.

“Please! Get up, both of you!” Harry gasped. “I don’t want this! Magic isn’t like that!”

Both of them just looked at him, and Harry looked inside of himself for the right way to deal with this.

He changed his voice, authority suddenly in it. “As a Mage, I ask you to rise.” Eyes widening, they both did so. Harry felt his heart thumping. He had not really admitted to himself that he was a Mage, or that it meant anything, since Mr Ollivander had given him the same obeisance all those months ago. He hadn’t even dared read up about it, as if the act of looking it up in a book would draw attention to it.

“As a Mage,” he said, gentling his voice, “I ask you to believe that I have some feeling about magic, and it tells me I am not special, just that I have a little more power on the continuum that is magic. I don’t want people to kneel before me,” he said, a little desperately.

“Do not we have a right to acknowledge it? To celebrate it? To offer our allegiance?” Albus asked gently.

Harry’s eyes widened. “I don’t ask for allegiance,” he said shakily, “but if I may, I would ask for two things from you?”

Albus regarded him with interest, Poppy with awe.

“I ask you to understand that I do understand magic a little, and to take note of what I say, even if it seems odd sometimes. And I ask that you don’t restrain your counsel, because it’s all raw to me, and I’m seventeen, and I need advice, and I trust you. Both of you,” he said, looking too at Poppy.

Poppy nodded, and wiped her eyes, which made Harry blush, and pat her arm.

“You have it, Harry.” Dumbledore said.

“Thank you. I won’t always take it, of course,” Harry grinned.

Dumbledore smiled back, then looked serious. “You don’t want people to know? Why not?”

“I don’t see that it’s anyone else’s business,” Harry said firmly.

“What about the Order?” Dumbledore pushed.

“I think you’re making too much of it,” Harry replied. “I don’t want Voldemort to know, for it to leak out. Surprise should give us an advantage. I suspect he’ll want to take me out whilst I’m still at Hogwarts, still a ‘child’. We have to finish this this year. I will finish this.”

Dumbledore felt like a weight had lifted from his chest. Harry Potter was on their side. Despite his anger earlier in the week, his disappointment in them, despite his treatment by Muggles, Harry Potter was on their side. And he was a Mage. The first English Mage born in at least 200 years. Merlin, there was hope!

Chapter Text

Harry sat on the edge of one of the desks in a disused classroom on the fourth floor, practicing his meditation technique.

He had had little sleep, having eventually donned a hospital gown but spent his time walking round Dumbledore’s bed chamber, talking to the Headmaster, as the boils had burst and stained the robe with their oily pus. The shower he had had afterwards was one of the most welcome he had ever experienced. He had stunk of the putrid smell of the boils, overlaid with the dried sweat from his duel with Dumbledore. His hair had been matted with sweat and pus, and cleaning it had been absolutely disgusting. He had to admit to relief, when he woke up, to find that his skin had indeed healed over and no trace of the blemishes remained. Even the Boy-Who-Lived was allowed a little vanity, surely?

He and Dumbledore had agreed that the potential members of his class would be owled at breakfast, the message saying only that their presence was requested in the fourth floor classroom at 5pm that afternoon.

Harry had spent a lot of the day thinking about how to handle it. He could have given himself more time, but he really wanted to get it going, and he worked best under pressure.

Neville Longbottom pushed open the door and smiled with surprise when he saw him. “Hi, Harry! You got a note too? What’s it about? Who else is coming?”

Harry grinned at him, but didn’t answer as Ernie McMillan and Eloise Midgen walked in.

Greetings were exchanged.

“What’s this about, then?” Eloise asked, trying to make sense of why they were there.

“We don’t know either,” Neville answered for both of them without consulting Harry.

Padma Patil peeped around the door. “Sorry I’m late! Stopped off to drop a book in on Parvati. What’s going on? Can’t be in trouble already, can we?” she said, as she slung her bag down by a desk.

“Potter’s here: of course trouble is an option,” drawled Draco Malfoy, lounging against the door, taking in the odd assortment of occupants.

“In other words, you haven’t a clue either,” Padma sallied back.

Draco’s eyes narrowed, but he sauntered in and leant against the teacher’s desk. “I think I must have received the note in error,” he said after a moment, “I can’t imagine why I should be in the same room as such a collection of losers.”

The inevitable flare of antagonistic response burst forth, but Harry’s lips twitched. Draco noticed.

“Are you laughing at me, Potter?” he said dangerously.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Malfoy,” Harry smiled back.

Draco’s eyes narrowed again. “Do you know why we are here?” he accused.

“Yes,” Harry said, causing everyone to turn and look at him.

“Harry!” Neville exclaimed. “Spill it then!”

“In a moment. We’re not all here.”

Which made everyone’s eyes turn to the door, just as Professor Snape walked in.

“Professor!” Draco turned to him with a smile. “Is this about some extra club you want us to set up?” he asked, pointedly ignoring Harry.

Snape’s eyes swept the room, an uncharacteristic furrow in his brow. “I have absolutely no idea why we are all here, Draco,” he said, as if the matter were utterly insignificant, “I received an owl at breakfast. No doubt the Headmaster will let us know what he wants of us in his own good time.”

“Actually,” Harry said into the silence, ”you’re all here for a remedial magic class.”

“Excuse me?” Snape drew himself up. “The Headmaster has not asked me to teach any such thing, though Merlin knows most of you need it,” he sneered, looking slowly at them all.

Harry gave a slight cough. And shut the door with a small pulse of magic. “I discussed this with Professor Dumbledore last night, and he has agreed that I’ll be leading this class.”

There was a thumping silence in the room.

Snape drew himself even straighter, swirled in a billow of robes, and strode towards the door.

Harry knew he could not let Severus embarrass himself by not being able to open it. In a blink, he had apparated across the room and stood leaning back on it.

There was a general indrawn breath of shock.

“Yes, I can apparate in Hogwarts. And I’ve locked and warded the door. No-one here can leave until I’ve spoken to you all. If anyone does not wish to take this class, having listened, that is entirely your choice.”

Draco pulled out his wand. “Are you trying to hold us prisoner?” he said, pointing his wand at Harry.

The next moment, it was flying across the room and was in Harry’s hand, instantly followed by the wands of all the other people in the room.

There were a number of gasps. It had escaped no-one’s notice that Harry had disarmed them all, without a wand, without saying a single word. On top of apparating. In Hogwarts. Silence fell. Harry gathered the collection of wands, made a show of placing his own with them, and sailed the whole collection up to the ceiling.

Snape pulled a chair from behind a desk, into the space between the front row and the blackboard, and sat down with an elegant sweep of robes. “Perhaps when you have finished showing off, Mr Potter, you would care to explain yourself,” he said maliciously, ignoring the loss of his wand and appearing utterly in control.

Harry nodded at him. He was not going to let the man fluster him. He was rather impressed with Severus’ cool demeanour – he must be utterly pissed off inside.

“The wands can stay there till the end,” he said quietly, “to avoid any - accidents. You are all here,” he continued, “because you are all extremely powerful witches and wizards - ”

“Cough – Longbottom! Ha!” Malfoy snorted, trying to throw his own embarrassment elsewhere.

Neville turned bright red, and lowered his head.

“And because you are not reaching your potential because the schooling here doesn’t meet your needs,” Harry continued.

“Speak for yourself, Potter,” Draco sneered, “there’s nothing wrong with my marks.”

“Some of you excel in one subject,” Harry glanced at Neville, whose head whipped up as if he could feel the glance, and then pointedly at Snape, “whilst some of you might feel that you are no good at anything. I can assure you, you wouldn’t be here if that was the case.”

“And how is it that you are in a position to decide that, Professor Potter,” Snape asked silkily.

Malfoy tittered.

“As I am sure you know, I’ve only been an average student myself,” Harry ignored the louder snorts from Malfoy and Snape, “and yet somehow, I have managed to not die several times when facing the most feared wizard of our times.”

Silence.

“And I wondered why. And I’ve come to discover that there are other ways of approaching magic, that I would be happy to share. That I think you could all benefit from.”

“Really? What do you think you could teach us, Potter?” Malfoy sneered.

“The first thing I would like you all to learn, Draco, would be wandless magic. Then you wouldn’t all be sitting here feeling insecure because your wands are on the ceiling. It feels pretty good to know that you can get yourself out of a tight spot without needing anything but a bit of self control and focus.”

Harry could feel the shift of interest in the class. Wandless magic was considered beyond the ability of most wizards and witches, but it was quite obvious that Harry could perform it.

“Could you really teach us that, Harry?” Neville asked timidly.

Harry smiled at him. “I’m positive you are all capable of it,” Harry nodded, “you just have to approach it a bit differently.”

“What do you mean?” Padma asked.

Harry shifted his position so that he had them all in clear sight. “Well, normal magic draws on the environment – your wand as a channel of magic to draw magic from around you. But wandless magic draws on magic from within you – which is why only the strongest witches and wizards find it worth doing – it’s too draining for most people, if they can do it at all.”

Harry saw interest piqued at this explanation, even from Malfoy. Snape’s expression was impervious, but he wasn’t turning away, which Harry took as encouragement.

“What else would you hope to teach us?” Ernie McMillan asked.

“Not the same thing for all of you,” Harry answered. “This class would essentially be practical – I’m not going to set essays or written work unless it’s absolutely necessary. There’ll be a class a week unless something specific comes up. I’ll be setting you each different tasks. For all of you, I’d like to broaden the scope of your magic. That doesn’t mean your specific skills are going to be ignored, for those of you who already know where your main interest lies. But I think you’ll find discovering other areas will help in your specific field.”

“And is Professor Snape here to help you with the Potions side, then?” Eloise asked.

Harry took a breath, wondering if there was going to be an explosion. “I hope to learn things from all of you. This isn’t a one-way traffic class – I’ll be wanting to learn things too, and I hope you’ll help me there. But Severus is a student in this class, and hopefully learning will be a two–way street.”

There was a shocked silence. Harry wasn’t sure if it was because he had used the Professor’s first name, or said he was to be Harry’s student. Everyone waited for the explosion.

It was Draco who came into the breach. “Potter, you do realise that Professor Snape is a Potions’ Master?” he said intimidatingly.

“I am fully aware that Professor Snape is one of the top five Potions’ Masters in the world,” Harry agreed, surprising the other students, and even Snape himself, “but he is only using a fraction of his magic at the moment, and it is a waste.”

Everyone looked at the older man.

“I don’t think you have any concept of the amount of magic good potion making requires, Potter,” Snape said venomously.

“A lot, I should think,” Harry said, “but as far as I know you are the equal of the second most powerful wizard in the world as we know it, and you aren’t using it.”

Utter silence filled with scurrying looks greeted this pronouncement.

“Have you gone completely mad, Potter, or is this some perverted attempt to ingratiate yourself –“

“You are Dumbledore’s equal,” Harry interrupted firmly.

“Rubbish!”

“I can feel people’s power levels,” Harry explained. “That is why I asked to have you all in this class.”

“Potter, why in hell would you ask to teach me?” Draco Malfoy said, for once his voice revealing that he was genuinely puzzled. “We’ve hated each other’s guts for six years.”

Harry nodded: “Yes, but how is that relevant?”

Draco looked absolutely shocked. “Potter, I wouldn’t offer you the time of day, let alone anything that could be of benefit to you.”

“Good thing we’re different, then, isn’t it?” Harry smiled cheerfully. He looked around them all. “I’ll come clean.”

He saw Malfoy sit back: the boy was happier thinking there was self interest for Harry. Well, fine.

“You all know that I’m against Voldemort.” He ignored the hiss at him using the name. “As far as I am concerned, the more people we have opposing him, the better, and the more powerful they are, better than that. I need to learn stuff too, and I can do it with you. I realise,” he added, looking round at their faces, ”that maybe everyone does not have the same political views as I do. That people may have opposing views, or prefer to keep out of the fight. I thought long and hard about that: I know it seems crazy to put a weapon into the hands of your enemy,” Harry studiously avoided looking at Malfoy or Snape – the one as a potential enemy, the other to protect his cover, ”but I believe everyone has the right to the best education possible, and I don’t think I have the right to choose who to deny. I also hope,” he added, “that once you realise the extent of your powers, you might feel reluctant to hand them straight to a lesser wizard to do with as he will.”

“I beg your pardon?” Malfoy leant forward, incredulously.

“Voldemort is not a particularly powerful wizard in his own right,” Harry said calmly, “he draws his power through the Dark Mark. He effectively milks his followers as and when he wants. Personally, I have no intention of being a magic transfusion service to someone whose views I despise, but of course if one believes totally in what he is doing maybe it seems a sacrifice that is worth it.” And let Malfoy chew on that! Harry thought. He hoped very much that the Malfoy pride would lead the bastard away from the Dark Lord. It was a risk he would have to take. “Oh,” he said as an afterthought, “I’ve taken measures for your own protection. You’ll find you won’t be able to tell or write or inform anyone of any information you gather about the other people in this room without their consent. The only people you will be able to discuss such matters with are myself and Professor Dumbledore.”

There was some obvious relief about that from most people, for various reasons.

“Well, Potter, are you all talk? Because, frankly,” Malfoy said dismissively, “I haven’t seen anything very tempting to make it worth bothering to attend this class.”

“Harry, would there be a lot of work?” Eloise tagged on, trying to deflect attention from Malfoy’s rudeness.

“Well, it won’t be a doddle,” Harry said, smiling at her, “but it’s essentially going to be a practical course. As I said, I’ll only ask for written work if I think it’s really important – I haven’t the time either to be marking essays, and frankly, they won’t be relevant.” He glanced at Malfoy. “Let’s have a taste of what this is about, and my teaching style. Would you all gather into a circle, please,” he said firmly, “and touch the person next to you. Skin on skin contact. You don’t have to hold hands but maybe just touch the back of each others’ hands.”

Harry saw with a smile the shuffling as people tried not to have to touch certain others. Neville wedged himself between Harry and Padma, Malfoy went between Padma and Snape.

“Right, I’d like you now to close your eyes and try and clear your mind.”

Ernie McMillan looked at Harry in awe and dread. “You’re not trying to apparate us all are you, Harry? Out of Hogwarts?”

They all stared at him, even Snape, with narrowed eyes that gave nothing away. They had all seen him do the impossible – apparate across the room within the castle. But surely he couldn’t take them all? Apparating even tandem was tricky.

“Ernie, trust me! I won’t splinch you,” Harry promised.

“But I’ve never apparated!” wailed Eloise. There were nods of agreement.

“You don’t have to do anything. Leave this to me,” Harry said quietly. “In fact, it’s better this way.”

“But I don’t know how to clear my mind,” Padma whispered.

“Right. That’s easy. What I want you all to do,” Harry explained,” is to shut your eyes.” He waited till they had all done so, Snape finally dropping his lids. “Good. Now imagine a piece of parchment.” He waited. “Can you see it?” There were nods. “It’s green,” Harry said, his voice soft, “a deep, dark green, rich, velvety. Can you see it?” Nods again. “Good.” Harry sent forth a burst of magic.

“Open your eyes.”

Very satisfactory gasps met Harry’s ears, as the students looked in awe at the rich foliage under the dim light of the trees’ canopy.

“Holy shit!” muttered Ernie.

“Where are we?” Padma asked, looking at Harry.

Harry looked at Malfoy, who was beginning to go paler than his normal pale.

“You’ve brought us into the Forbidden Forest?” he ground out.

Harry smiled.

“Take us back at once!” Malfoy snapped. “It’s fucking dangerous in here!”

“Malfoy! Language! And you too, Mr McMillan!” Snape barked.

“See you back at base,” Harry said, and disappeared.

“Fucking hell!” snarled Malfoy, oblivious to the reprimand Snape had just given him, “he’s apparated out and left us here!”

“Without our wands!” squeaked Ernie.

There was silence, and some shuffling closer to each other.

“You recognise this part of the Forest, Draco?” Snape sought confirmation.

Malfoy nodded. “Potter and I came in here with Hagrid for a detention in first year.” He could not prevent the bob of his Adam’s apple as he recalled his fear.

“Would you happen to remember your way out?” asked the Professor dryly.

Padma jumped and screeched and grabbed Neville as a creature scuttled out of the undergrowth, its tail swishing her robe as it shot past.

“A rat? That can’t be a rat! It was enormous!” she choked.

Neville put his shaking arm around her waist.

“It is the Forbidden Forest for a reason, Miss Patil,” Snape said sarcastically.

“A bloody rat is the least of our worries,” Draco bit out.

“Your language continues to be unacceptable, Draco,” Snape said calmly. “I do not wish to have to take points from my own house. Perhaps you would care to answer my question about whether you remember the way out from here?”

Harry, who had not apparated but was watching under an invisibility spell, marvelled at how Snape’s reference to the mundane house points appeared to have a calming effect on all the students.

“I’m afraid I’ve no idea, Sir,” Malfoy mumbled, looking round.

There was a path, and as one they began to move down it.

“How do you know this is the right way, Sir?” Eloise asked after a few tense minutes punctuated with rustling noises in the undergrowth and strange grunts of an unidentified creature, which appeared to be tracking them, unseen.

“I don’t.”

“What? I mean, pardon, Sir?”

“I have no idea where in the Forest we are, Miss Midgen, but a path tends to lead somewhere.”

“But it might be leading further into the Forest!”

“Indeed. But there is an equal probability that it will be leading us out of it.”

She looked at him in shock, hopes wilting.

Snape relented a little. “We are moving eastwards, Miss Midgen. The Forest is to the west of the castle. Therefore our chances of moving in the right direction are increased.”

“You could have just said so,” muttered Neville under his breath, as he bent down to look at a plant beside the path.

“Did you have a contribution to make, Mr Longbottom?” Snape said silkily.

Neville looked up. “This is an odd variety of Leucothoe,” he commented.

“How intriguing,” Snape said sarcastically, as he held back a branch with ingrained politeness for Eloise and Padma. “This is the Forbidden Forest: there are likely to be varieties of plants that even the most knowledgeable of gardeners will not have seen before,” he continued, dismissing Neville’s knowledge on every front, as he allowed the twig to snap back and hit Neville in the stomach just as he reached it.

They continued walking until the sudden screech of an unknown predator startled the air, making them all leap into a huddle. Harry watched Snape’s reflex to reach for his wand. Despite his nasty comments to Neville, he stood herding the students behind him.

Nothing happened. After a few moments, they started walking again.

Harry noticed that Neville continued to study the bushes and plants. Neville’s words must have had some effect on Snape, because suddenly the man said, ”The air smells of mould and dampness. Keep your eyes open for mushrooms. Don’t touch them until I have identified them. There are several varieties that are hard to find and useful in certain potions. They tend to have – nasty qualities, so do heed my warning.”

“Only Snape could find a bonus in being in a creepy hell like this,” Ernie whispered to Eloise.

Harry smiled.

Several more minutes passed.

“How big is this Forest?” Padma whined.

No one answered.

“It’s getting dark,” Ernie whispered, after another few minutes.

No one answered again.

The screech of an owl and wind from its wings as it swooped just over their heads, grabbed a vole from the path in front of them in its claws and swooped off again, caused several answering screeches from the group.

“I’m going to fucking kill Potter,” Malfoy growled, and pushed forward. As he did so he pushed into Neville, who tripped on a tree root. Neville fell face down into the bushes at the side of the path. He raised his head, sniffing at the plant on which he had landed, sliding his hand up the stem to look at the pale greenish flowers.

“He’s as bad as Snape,” muttered Eloise to Ernie, getting a returning grin from him.

Suddenly Neville was on his knees, pushing the stems apart and digging into the earth with his fingers.

“What in Hades are you doing, Longbottom?” growled Malfoy.

Neville ignored him, his hands scooping down, down in the earth.

“Your hands are filthy,” Malfoy said in disgust. “I hate to think what is under your fingernails.”

“You needn’t worry, Pretty Boy,” Neville spat, ”I wouldn’t dream of putting them anywhere near you.”

A shocked silence thundered in their ears.

“What did you call me, Fat Arse?” Malfoy hissed, unable to believe the ineffectual class flunker had actually said what he did, but throwing in the insult just in case.

Neville ignored him, much to Malfoy’s building fury. “Aha!” Neville had one hand under the root ball, and holding the plant carefully, pulled the whole thing out.

To his surprise, Snape knelt on one knee beside him.

“Well?”

Neville carefully separated the root strands, looking over each part carefully. At last he looked up at Snape.

“We’re not in the Forbidden Forest, Sir,” he said cheerfully.

“What?” Ernie demanded.

Harry couldn’t contain his grin, although there was no-one to see it.

Neville pulled a handkerchief from his pocket – it looked well used, but he wound it around the roots carefully, and stood up. He shoved the plant under his arm, then dusted off his hands.

“Longbottom!” Malfoy snarled.

Neville grinned. “The Leucothoe back there was all wrong. So I’ve been looking at the plants. There isn’t enough variety for a forest this old. They keep repeating themselves. And they have odd things about them. The soil in this bit isn’t right for what’s growing here –“

“Oh for Merlin’s sake!-“ snapped Malfoy.

“Even Professor Snape noticed it,” Neville said, a touch defensively. “The smell’s wrong for what’s growing –“

“Get to the bloody point! What’s with that plant?” Malfoy pressed.

“The point, Malfoy,” Neville said with quiet authority, “is that Fritillaria pontica flowers in the Spring. Not in September. And it is a bulb. This one,” he held up the plant, “is flowering. And it has roots. It’s been created by someone who has seen one but doesn’t really know about them. Like Harry.”

Suddenly, the Forest around them dissolved.

Harry was sitting on a desk swinging his feet, grinning at them.

“Well done, Neville!” he exclaimed happily.

“What the hell was that?” Ernie asked, staring at the classroom.

“That was a – a construct,” Harry said.

“But you apparated us,” Padma squeaked.

“No, you assumed I was apparating you,” Harry said gently.

“But you said you wouldn’t splinch us!” she argued.

“Well, I didn’t, did I?” Harry responded, smiling.

“But – the Forest?” Eloise asked.

“You haven’t left the classroom,” Harry answered the unasked question.

“But it was real. We felt it. Smelt it. There were creatures –“

“Did you enter our minds?” Malfoy said fiercely. “You bastard! You drew on my memory of that detention –“

“I drew on MY memory of that detention to help me build it,” Harry interjected, "though I knew you’d recognise it. But I have not entered your minds, and I wouldn’t, without permission.”

“But it felt real,” Padma said again.

“Well, it was sort of real,” Harry agreed. “It was physically there – you’ve still got your plant, Neville?” Harry asked.

Neville waved the bunch, the drooping, bell-like flowers swinging gently.

“Physically real, but wrong, because as Neville pointed out, I didn’t know enough about plants to get it quite right. But it was enough to make you believe for a short time.”

“But how did you do it?” Eloise asked. “You can’t have transfigured everything –“

“This is where I find it helps to have been raised by Muggles,” Harry said with a smile at the shocked faces of his students. “Sit down, I’ll try and explain – oh, there’s some juice if you’re thirsty,” he said, bringing over a tray of fruit juice and small cakes, which he set on one of the desks.

People helped themselves, although Severus, he noticed, just sat and waited. Harry bet he was dying of curiosity.

“When I first learnt I was a wizard – I was eleven,” Harry said, noting the surprised looks of everyone except Neville, “it was like a whole new world had been opened up to me. Magic was real! It was unbelievable – and yet – I could believe it. To Muggles, magic is all about operating outside of the normal rules of life, of the world – to believe in magic is to believe that anything can happen. So you can imagine my – shock, I suppose, when I realised that to the magical community, magic was bound up in as many rules as the world outside it. You needed a wand – even though the first magic most children do is spontaneous – big and powerful and definitely wandless – and you needed to know the right words, and the right way to flick your wrist, and so on. And of course you just accept that’s how it is. Only now I don’t.” And he sipped at his pineapple juice, which he’d asked Dobby to bring as a change from the standard pumpkin juice. Another disorientating experience for his class.

“You think you can do anything?” Snape sneered.

“I don’t know,” Harry answered honestly, to a shocked intake of breath from the other seventh years. “I think it helps to believe that anything is possible, and find the limitations as you go. It makes you strive harder. I’m not saying everything is easy,” he said, sitting back, “or that it works out, or that you can do it without other knowledge – a bit like Neville’s superior knowledge has just made clear –“

“Are you suggesting that I could just chuck anything into a potion and that it would work?” Snape said dangerously.

“No, but I’m pretty sure the amount of magic you put into it gives you a lot more flexibility than other makers, because you can twist the properties of your ingredients better. Which is why even though potions' recipes are written down, and should in theory all come out the same, yours will always be infinitely better, because not only do you have the power, you have an affinity with the task. It probably makes it harder when you are creating them, because things that will work for you might not be so successful for others, but they probably work well enough so that others know what could be, and that enhances your reputation further. And finding exactly the right ingredients and right quantities makes it easily repeatable – probably less draining on your magic than when you are creating?” he looked to the Potions Master for confirmation, and received a small nod in response.

Harry smiled.

“It must have taken a lot of magic to do all that,” Padma said cautiously. “And your wand is on the ceiling, so you’re saying that was all internal magic. Your magic?”

Harry’s face turned serious. “It was a bit silly of me,” he said apologetically. “It would have been much more sensible to use ambient magic for that - there would probably have been less obvious errors in the environment, because the magic itself would have drawn on reality to create the Forest as it knew it. So that was an important lesson for me too. Know when to use your wand.”

Snape noticed that the boy did not deny that the illusion – construct, Potter had called it – had been entirely created from his own magic, but as he had done earlier, he was giving a response that led the listener to think that the question had been answered, whereas in fact he was leading you down a different path. The last week had shown him there was more to the sodding Boy-Who Lived than he had thought. Maybe the lad had just grown up. He ran his eyes over him, noting that although he was still a shortarse, the boy’s shoulders had definitely widened, and taut against the fabric of his robes, he could see the boys thigh muscles flexing as he swung his legs casually from his desk-top perch. He quickly slid his eyes up to the boy’s face, ignoring the unwelcome stir of interest that the flex of thigh had created. There was something wrong with him! He never lusted after pupils. Maybe he would see Alex again after all. Just to tell him he couldn’t follow up any relationship. After he’d checked whether the heat that had burned between them had been a one-off. The sudden image of Alex arching beside him, candlelight gleaming on the sweat-silvered skin, his own pale hand ghosting over – he yanked his mind back to the present, crossing his legs to hide his body’s response to the mental images. Merlin! One week and his life….he felt anticipation in his gut for the meeting the next day, and that too was an unfamiliar sensation: there had been little in his life to look forward to. He pulled his attention back to the conversation, noting the darkened skin around Potter’s jaw. Five o’clock shadow. Not a boy anymore at all. His teacher! And however much he hated the brat, he wanted to learn. What he had seen the boy – man - do so effortlessly! He could not believe the tosh the boy had spouted about his- Severus’ - power, but if he did have more…He was regarded as a pretty powerful wizard already, it was foolhardy of him to think that the way to get him to take part was to promise him power….and yet…

“..so I’d like you to think about it over the weekend,” Potter was saying, and Severus pulled his attention back. “If you would like to continue, this class will take place here on Tuesdays at 8pm. Just turn up. If you don’t come, I’ll know you’re not interested, and that’s entirely up to you. If you have questions, you can talk to me or Professor Dumbledore any time between now and then. There’s just one or two more things I’d like to make clear. In this class, everyone calls each other by their first name. I’ll be learning too and the ‘Professor’ tag isn’t appropriate. We’ll all be working closely together and surnames can be off-putting. Professor Snape will be Severus during the classes, but outside of this room, you will, of course, revert to his official title. Nothing in this class is compulsory. If at any point you are uncomfortable with what I ask you to do, don’t do it. But I do ask that you discuss it with me afterwards, because there will be a reason for everything I ask of you. On the other hand, you might come up with a better idea, and that will be great! I expect you always to come unless you have a really important reason not to. And on that point, I look forward to seeing you all next week!”

He held out his hand, and the wands lazily circulating by the ceiling zoomed down into it. He grasped them, then opened his palm flat. The wands lifted off and flew to their respective owners. The door clicked open. There was a moment that felt a lot like reluctance to leave, and then Ernie said, “Thanks, Harry,” and strode to the door, followed moments later by Padma and Eloise, also murmuring thanks. Malfoy walked languidly to the door, tapping his wand against his hand, glanced back once at Harry, his expression inscrutable, and left.

“Shall I wait for you, Harry?” Neville asked, glancing anxiously at Professor Snape.

Harry looked at Severus. The man drew himself up, his black eyes as unrevealing as Malfoy’s grey gaze.

“Potter,” he inclined his head, and swept out.

Harry smiled inwardly. The man had such presence!

"Let’s go!” he smiled at Neville, picking up his bag and heading side by side out of the room with him.

Severus swept along the corridors to his rooms, deep in thought. Temptation, annoyance and excitement were vying for place in his emotional maelstrom. If what was being offered was by anyone but Potter! And could he believe what was on offer? He could not believe everything Potter said, yet he had witnessed magic beyond his imaginings. Performed by a seventeen year old without a wand. Who kept provoking a sexual response in him. Maybe it was the power of Potter’s magic that provoked these unwanted urges in him. Something about the boy just heightened awareness. He felt his skin tingling, his stomach full of butterflies. He should be furious, of course. How did that boy have all that power? Knowledge? Insight? Bloody Harry Potter! But on the other hand, he liked learning. Knowledge was one of his key pleasures in life, whether it was the harvesting of information from his spying, or the trial and error of finding new solutions via his potion-making. Potter had the nerve to suggest that he spread his knowledge base, that he was too narrowly focussed –yet hinted that to do so would help his potion making. That was clever, he had to acknowledge. And the outrageous comment that he was as powerful as Albus! Whatever made the idiot suggest such an absurd thing? It had hardly been necessary. And thinking of Albus! The bastard! How dare he send him to be in a class taught by Harry bleeding Potter! Without a sodding word to him! The fact that he knew Albus was as sneaky as they get and knew he would never have gone had he known had nothing to do with it! Where was professional courtesy? Respect for their friendship?

He stopped at the portrait of Eric Thimbletwine, one of the most useless wizards known to man, as far as he could make out, who guarded his rooms. The man appeared to have been completely inept, his one redeeming feature having been his loyalty: he had died in 1492 rather than tell hostile wizards where his sisters were hiding. Snape valued him for that, and had never had cause to complain about his work. His attempts at conversation, were, of course, another matter – he was the sort of fellow who would be a bosom buddy to Longbottom. He muttered his password, ignored Thimbletwine’s cheery enquiry as to why he was late, and swept into his room.

He had a small kitchen to one side, and instantly went in and lit the fire, turning to fill the kettle at the butler’s sink with fresh water. He looped the kettle onto the hook of the gurney, and swung it over the flames. Magic was all very well, but a really good cup of tea was a work of art, and he wasn’t prepared to hurry it. He took out a cup and saucer – blue Spode - the dark brown teapot, and a milk jug from his cooling cupboard, and readied them on a tray. He really was furious with Albus. Part of him wanted to go and rave at the man, tell him exactly what he thought of his manipulative behaviour. To ask Albus what the hell he was thinking of letting a student take a class, let alone reversing the teacher/student role. But in his heart he had already decided to go along – once or twice at least, to see what in Hades Potter was up to – and without a doubt the Headmaster would go straight to the crux of the matter and ask him about his decision – and then say it was all for the best. The old so-and-so knew him far too well. Better to save his battles for more important issues. He grinned, as he warmed the pot with a swirl of almost boiling water: he would bet it would confuse Albus more if he didn’t go storming to see him! Let him stew!

Chapter Text

Harry sat, book on the table, glass in his hand, in The Tufted Duck, the wine bar opened the year previously by Justin Finch-Fletchley’s older brother. The place was doing well, with a nice ambience. At this hour of the evening – 7.35pm – it was just beginning to fill up. Harry had had plenty of time to peruse the menu, which was full of very muggle nouveau ideas, and the bar served muggle beers and wines as well as traditional wizard brews. The prices weren’t cheap, and the mix seemed to attract the more sophisticated younger set, although Harry was intrigued to see several older couples enjoying the food too. The early eater menu, at a distinct reduction to the usual tariff, was a clever idea as it obviously attracted custom and had the place looking bustling from early on. The food looked and smelt delicious.

Harry wondered whether Severus would turn up. He was relieved that he wasn’t the only loner – there was an elderly witch eating alone at one table and a wizard at another, and a couple of singletons at the bar.

He was pleased he had chosen the place: he had only been in it once before, just seen it before it had opened when Justin had taken a few of them to have a look, but it was just the right sort of place to meet. Comfortable for him, and not full of students, which would be better for Severus, should he turn up.

Harry felt itchy, hoping that he would, but now that he had seen him in Professor mode again, he was more than slightly uncomfortable. The man would not take well to being tricked, but there was no way he could tell him who he was. On the other hand, he had promised to be here for the next three Friday evenings, and he at least intended to have the courtesy to do that.

Harry spent the next twenty minutes reading and sipping and feeling his stomach’s knots slowly unwind with relief, whilst at the same time his chest seemed to tighten with disappointment. He was amazed, in a detached sort of way, at the visceral response of his body – that his emotions were transferring to actual, physical sensations. It was whilst mulling these weird symptoms over that Harry saw Snape wending his way through the tables towards him, and his heart seemed to literally start in his chest. So he was definitely pleased after all! A smile spread across his face almost without volition.

“Sorry I’m late,” Snape said, sweeping into the seat opposite him.

“I’d have been here another hour or so, so I reckon you’re early,” Harry smiled. “Can I get you a drink?”

He had just returned from the bar and slid the drinks onto the table when he heard a distinctly familiar voice prick up his spine.

“Severus! What a surprise!” drawled Lucius Malfoy, walking up behind Harry to stand beside their table. “I didn’t realise you frequented this place.”

Snape picked up his beer and took a mouthful, leaning back and looking at Malfoy over the rim.

Lucius’ eyebrow raised, then his lip quirked. His eyes turned to Snape’s companion.

“I’m here with a friend,” Snape said, putting the drink down as he licked the froth from his upper lip, his eyes glancing across at Harry. “And no, I’m not introducing you,” he added crushingly.

Lucius’ eyes swept over Harry, and then Harry’s eyes widened in amazement as Lucius gave him a more thorough, and absolutely blatant perusal.

Lucius Malfoy was gay??? Or – bi, at least! Draco Malfoy’s dad was eyeing him up! Harry could feel a smile bubbling up even as his brain was working overtime.

“He’s mine, Lucius,” Snape said, voice hard, reaching his hand across the table and grasping Harry’s hand. Harry curled his fingers into Snape’s almost reflexively, loving the dry warmth of those long fingers, and grinned at Snape.

Malfoy reached round for a chair from the next table, swirling it and sitting astride it in one smooth motion, his long legs apart and his arms resting along the back. His thigh muscles flexed against the silk fabric of his robe. He didn’t take his eyes from Harry.

“So possessive, Severus? He is rather gorgeous,” he purred, looking admiringly at Harry. “You’re eating here? I’ll join you,” he said firmly.

Harry could see Severus’ lips tighten. He had intended that they eat here, but it looked like Malfoy was going to be a pain. Nothing new there, then.

“Sorry, we’re only having a drink here,” Harry said easily. “I’m cooking for Severus at home.”

Both Severus and Malfoy looked at him.

“I like to cook,” Harry said simply.

“You don’t have house elves?”

Harry could hear the sneer Malfoy was barely restraining.

“I’m sure my elf would love to cook for us, but it’s so much more...satisfying...to meet one’s partner’s needs oneself,” Harry said suggestively, picking up Snape’s hand that was entwined with his, and slowly bringing it to his mouth. He gently rubbed his lips against just the tip of Snape’s index finger, watching Snape and apparently ignoring Malfoy. Snape’s eyes darkened, and he stretched his finger out. Harry’s tongue darted out, rough as a cat’s, licking the edge before he pulled the fingertip into his mouth, gave it a quick bite, then slid his lips slowly over it as it withdrew again.

You could almost smell the arousal at the table.

“What are you making me?” Snape said, his voice low and husky.

“Hard, I hope,” Harry whispered, his calf brushing against Snape’s.

Malfoy cleared his throat.

Harry looked up, and blushed. “And stir-fry. Followed by pecan ice cream,” he grinned apologetically at Malfoy, then back at Severus.

“Sounds delectable,” Malfoy said, his eyes wandering over Harry’s torso. He got up. “Another time, then,” he inclined his head towards Harry, then looked across sharply at Snape as an idea occurred to him.

“I’m having a little card party shortly. You must bring – “ he waited for Harry to be introduced.

Harry made a quick decision. “Alex. Alex Johnson.” He held out his hand, and Malfoy shook it. This could be interesting.

“Lucius Malfoy. I’ll look forward to seeing you soon, Alex.” Malfoy nodded with a satisfied grin at Snape, and sauntered away.

“He’s beautiful but you don’t want to know him,” Snape said, his voice cold.

Harry looked at him, seeing the tight lips.

“Ex-lover?” Harry asked, not knowing how he dared.

Snape snorted. And didn’t answer the question.

“I’d never heard he was into men,” Harry said instead. “His wife is incredibly beautiful,” he added.

“Yes, they make a stunning pair,” Snape agreed.

“But?”

“You think there’s a ‘but’?”

“He’s trawling other people’s partners,” Harry said. “Openly. Of course there’s a ‘but’.”

Snape leaned back in his chair and sipped his drink.

“You interested then?”

“In him?” Harry said in surprise.

“You didn’t exactly put him off. I expect he was as hard as I was. Was the performance for me or him?” His voice was harsh.

Harry finished his drink and stood up. “I’m going home. I’m cooking stir-fry, and then eating ice-cream. Then hopefully I’m eating you. Are you coming?”

Snape held Harry’s eyes, then tilted his throat back and swallowed several times as the remaining half pint of cold beer slipped down his throat. Harry felt himself stiffening just watching Snape’s throat work.

“It sounds like I’ll be coming,” Snape smirked, and followed Harry from the bar.

Severus was surprised to find Alex taking him around the market. The lights were still on, though most of the stalls were shutting down for the night. Harry had already chatted and laughed with the butcher as he cajoled the man into getting him some prime steak, then had bantered with the greengrocer for some vegetables in tip-top condition.

Harry had turned to Snape, smiling. “I hope you don’t mind. I’d planned on buying you a meal in the bar but I wasn’t going to share you with Malfoy. I hadn’t got anything much in foodwise, but I can knock up my standard stir-fry with this. I was a bit worried that there might only be the rough stuff left at this time of night, but we’re ok.”

They stopped at a wine merchant's where Severus insisted on buying a good bottle of red.

The walk through the village was surprisingly companionable.

Soon they were in Harry’s small cottage, and Severus was opening the wine to give it a moment to breathe, whilst Harry was busy chopping the vegetables.

Severus watched him with interest. His hand seemed comfortable with the knife, and although the pieces weren’t even and precise as his always were, the man seemed to know what he was doing.

He followed Alex’s directions and found cutlery and crockery, laying the table that sat in the centre of the kitchen.

“Do you entertain much?” he asked.

“Not at the moment,” Harry answered. “Why?”

“It’s a big table for a single man,” Snape commented.

“Yeah, but I haven’t got a dining room, and I really like the idea of having loads of friends round and everyone sitting round while I cook. You can chat whilst you work and it’s fun. I’ve stayed in a friend’s place that was like that and really liked it,” Harry said, thinking of the Weasley’s kitchen.

“Have you not had this place long?” Severus asked.

“About a year, but I’ve been really busy. Is that wine ready to drink yet?” Harry asked.

“Not really, but it’ll do,” Snape said, and poured him a glass.

“Love having a drink whilst I cook,” Harry grinned sheepishly. For years, he had cooked at the Dursley’s, plain meat and potato and two veg, the ingredients chosen by Petunia, a chore to do and uninspiring on the plate, though he was glad enough of it if he got to eat some at the time. When he had moved into Derek’s flat, it had been a revelation that cooking could be relaxed and fun. Even at The Burrow, Mrs Weasley usually looked rather hassled, catering for so many and doing a hundred other jobs at the same time. Derek, and later Andy, loved curries, and Chinese and Thai, introducing Harry to culinary delights with the same laid back ease with which they had shown him a world of more earthy pleasures.

The food smelt delicious – a hint of ginger, not overdone, and lemon grass, plus the stronger scent of red meat and sweet potato, amongst other things. Snape had come out in two minds about the evening – and certainly hadn’t thought he would at any point be feeling so relaxed.

In no time at all Alex slid the food onto two plates and carried them to the table. Snape had put some bread they had also bought into a basket and there was a pat of fresh butter.

They sat and ate. It was surprisingly light and the flavours delicate. After the hearty meals at Hogwarts it was perfect.

Snape wiped his mouth on his napkin.

“I’m impressed,” he smiled across at Alex. “That was delightful. Thank you.”

Harry grinned, pleased with this relaxed, comfortable Snape. A Snape he had impressed with cooking, which was as near to potions as one was likely to get.

“Good,” Harry stood up, clearing the plates. Snape stood up too, bringing the bread basket across the kitchen. They tidied things away companionably.

“Ice cream, or not?” Harry turned to Severus, remembering his comment that he preferred salty flavours, and finding him much closer than he expected. His eyes slid down to Snape’s mouth, and saw Snape’s tongue catching a stray lick of flavour from his lips. Suddenly the atmosphere was hot and heavy.

“Mmm, I’ll give it a go,” Snape said.

With shaking hands, Harry got the carton from the ice cupboard and served two bowls’ full. Harry turned to Snape.

The next moment he was in his arms, Snape’s mouth on his, Snape’s tongue sweeping round his mouth. Harry’s arms were waving to the sides, still holding precariously the bowls of ice-cream. Snape pulled back, and they laughed. Snape pulled the bowls out of his hands, shoved them on the side, and with a smile, held his arms out again. Harry flung himself into them. His hands free to roam, Harry took every advantage of it, his palms sliding up Snape’s muscled back as his mouth slipped down Snape’s throat, feeling the clean-shaven skin under his lips, his nose loving the scent of Snape.

Snape’s fingers had pulled Harry’s shirt free from his trousers and were now undoing the buttons. Harry’s heart was hammering.

Snape reached behind Harry and lifted a spoonful of ice-cream out of a bowl. Passing it in front of Harry’s gaze, he proceeded to swallow it.

“Hey! Not fair!” Harry grinned, then groaned as Severus bent forward, his chilled mouth closing round Harry’s nipple.

“God!”

Harry couldn’t help thrusting forward against Snape, his erection dying for friction and pressure. He could feel the heavy weight of Snape’s arousal pressing into his own belly, and ground against him.

Snape’s hands slid down to Harry’s arse, and lifted him. Harry’s legs automatically came around Snape’s waist. Snape walked two steps forward, and plopped Harry onto the sturdy kitchen table, smoothing him down onto the surface with a hand stroking along his belly. Harry allowed himself to flop back, his arms spreading out to the side, his legs open in a gesture of total submission.

“Merlin, I could fuck you through the table,” Snape whispered.

Harry wanted it. His body ached with the ferocity of his need. But he had promised himself he wouldn’t let Snape fuck him – or vice versa – until the man knew his identity. In the haze of his desire, it seemed a silly distinction, but he knew he had made it.

His hand fumbled for his flies, and he pulled the zip down.

Snape’s indrawn breath sent his heart pounding even harder.

He turned his face to look at the man. “Suck me,” he whispered. “Put that freezing mouth around me and –“

He lost track of the words. Snape’s eyes gleamed as he yanked Harry’s trousers down, then stooped to pull off Harry’s shoes and socks, sweeping his trousers the rest of the way from his body. Harry lay there, shirt open and otherwise naked, feeling erotic as hell.

Snape took another spoonful of ice cream, and Harry moaned. Severus stuck his fingers in the bowl and scooped some out, then thrust his fingers into Harry’s mouth as his own mouth swooped down on Harry’s cock. He was so aroused that he knew he would barely last. The fingers in his mouth, the sensations down below....Severus knew how to play him, and he did. Harry writhed and moaned, loving every minute, until his orgasm exploded from him, his body arching up from the table, his hands scrabbling in Severus’ hair.

He felt Severus slide onto the table beside him and thanked Merlin that he had bought such a sturdy piece of furniture. He turned to Snape, smiling, and was thoroughly kissed, tasting his own flavour in Snape’s mouth. His hand slipped down to Snape as they kissed, loving the feel of the man’s hot cock in his hand, feeling its turgid urgency. Snape thrust into his hand, his mouth ravaging Harry, Harry’s other hand pinching Severus’ nipples. He loved the feeling of Snape gasping into his mouth, the taut string his body made in the moment before his orgasm hit, the feel of Severus’ come pulsing over his fingers.

As Snape came down, Harry’s hand stroked over his chest, then slid up to soothe gently behind Snape’s neck; he pulled his other hand away and licked Snape’s come, then leaning up across Snape, took a spoonful of melted ice cream and swallowed that down. Snape laughed. Harry grinned.

“Coffee?”

Snape chuckled again, then nodded. It was such an unexpected sound, and Harry felt honoured by it.

Harry sat up, then bounced off the table and pulled on his trousers, leaving the pants and socks. His shirt hung open, and he felt sexy and content as he pootled about making the coffee.

Severus too got up. He did up his fly buttons leaving the top one undone, and left his shirt open.

“You look hot,” Harry smirked, bringing over the coffee to the sofa by the living area fire.

“Am I supposed to reciprocate?”

“Bastard,” Harry said amiably.

Severus’ lips curved. They sat at each end of the sofa drinking, coming down from the high whilst at the same time wondering what was next.

“You staying, or do you have to get back?” Harry asked at last, after they’d had a second cup, now slightly bitter.

He watched at the uncharacteristic flash of emotions across Severus’ face, and steeled himself. Now was the moment.

Snape sat forward, his elbows on his knees. “Alex. Before Lucius bloody Malfoy came along I was intending to meet you only to say that I thought this was not a good idea. To save you waiting for me for the next 3 weeks.”

Harry looked at him. “Don’t lie,” he said quietly, startling his companion, who raised an eyebrow at him. “You thought you’d see if you fancied a last fuck or whatever and would then tell me.”

There was no recrimination in his voice, and Snape paused, before nodding assent. “You’re right. But I’m afraid I can’t really have a relationship with you, Alex. My time is very limited and it really wouldn’t be fair –“

Snape ground to a halt as Harry pulled his wand from his pocket, before carefully laying it on the coffee table in front of them. Snape looked up at Alex.

“And you can’t have a relationship anyway because how many times can you fuck someone without taking your shirt off,” Harry said quietly.

“I beg your pardon?” Snape said in his most deadly tone.

“You have the Dark Mark on your arm,” Harry continued. “You don’t want to bed another Death Eater because you don’t want to get involved with anyone who supports that philosophy. But you can’t appear to be involved with any of Dumbledore’s lot because you’re spying on Voldemort and you need the Death Eaters to trust you –“

Snape’s wand was at his throat. “Who the fuck are you? Who sent you?” he snarled, his whole frame looming over Harry’s.

Harry kept perfectly still. “No one sent me – “

Harry was cut off by a prod from the wand. Snape seemed to draw himself in, then: “You’re telling me your pathetic attempt at seduction at The Leaky Cauldron wasn’t planned?”

“Yes! No!”

“Do elaborate. I find myself thoroughly enlightened by that answer,” Snape sneered, perching himself on the edge of the coffee table in front of Harry, Harry’s wand pushed behind him, Snape’s long legs imprisoning him. His wand staying lodged against Harry’s jugular the whole time.

Harry swallowed. Carefully. “Yes, I’m telling you it wasn’t planned. And I didn’t seduce you –“

“You stripped off at the table five minutes after meeting me!”

“I got caught in my top!”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“You saw me!”

“I certainly did. The goods were well displayed.”

“We were in a public bar! This is ridiculous! It was an accident –“

“I don’t believe in accidents. Who sent you?”

“For fuck’s sake! Have you never picked up a stranger in a bar before? Not everything is some great conspiracy –“

“And yet here you are telling me all sorts of tales about my life,” Snape said, in acid tones. “Don’t deny you knew who I was.”

“You know I knew who you were! You were in the damn potions’ journal! We talked about it.”

“The journal article is completely irrelevant. And I’m losing patience. Are you denying that you knew me apart from the article?”

Harry sighed. His hand went up to rub his face; the point of the wand dug harder into his neck, and he dropped his hand. He hadn’t thought this through enough. His stomach was churning. He was an idiot.

“Yes, I knew who you were,” he said at last. He looked up at Severus. “I work for Dumbledore too. But I had no idea you’d be at The Leaky Cauldron. Or that I’d end up having the hottest sex of my life. And shit, I don’t mean you any harm! I’d just like to go on seeing you.”

Silence.

“Define ‘work for Dumbledore’.” Snape ignored the rest of the comments.

“I’m a member of the Order of the Phoenix,” Harry said.

“I could take you to Voldemort right now,” Snape threatened.

“You could,” Harry agreed.

“Or I could take you to Dumbledore.”

“Yes.”

“Get your shoes on,” Severus snapped.

Harry dressed, whilst Severus did the same. He still didn’t know how this would play out. He had put Snape into an almost impossible position.

Snape pocketed the two wands and walked beside him to Hogwarts. The journey seemed to stretch and the air was chill and damp. It was a relief to get into the castle, though Harry wondered how Dumbledore was going to react.

Harry noticed that Snape allowed Harry to lead, watching to see if he knew his way to the Headmaster’s office. Harry reached the gargoyle and murmured to it. He could feel Snape’s surprise when it responded and allowed him in.

“Severus! Do come in! Would you like hot chocolate?” The Headmaster asked as they came through the door. The man already had on a velour bedrobe of mustard yellow with purple stars that startled both of them as they walked through the door. “And a friend! Do introduce us!” Dumbledore’s eyes darted between the two men.

Snape held his wand directly at Harry.

“This man says he knows you. That he is a member of the Order of the Phoenix,” Snape snarled. “How did you expect to get away with it?” he demanded of Alex.

“Give him my wand,” Harry answered.

Snape stared at him, but handed the wand over to Dumbledore. The old wizard turned it over in his hands, sniffed it, then glanced up sharply at Harry. “Applewood,” he said quietly. “And the core?”

Fawkes burst into a trill, and flew over to Harry’s shoulder. Harry petted the phoenix, to Snape’s astonishment. “One of Fawkes’ feathers,” Harry nodded at the wand.

“Then this man is indeed a member of the Order,” Dumbledore said to Snape.

Snape lowered his wand. “You didn’t recognise him. I have never heard of or seen him before,” he said disbelievingly.

“This isn’t how I usually look. Or my real name,” Harry added. “And personally, I’m praying to every higher deity that Albus has dozens – hundreds – more people like me tucked away doing the Order’s bidding, because we’re in deep shit otherwise.”

“Unfortunately not hundreds,” Dumbledore said, sinking into his chair. He leant over to hand Harry back his wand. “Sit,” he ordered them both, conjuring a tea tray and handing Snape a cup first, his favourite, Severus could tell from the aroma.

Dumbledore drank his slowly, observing the two men, and playing for time. No clearer as to what was going on, he said at last, “I can vouch for him,” he nodded towards Alex, “though I do not understand how you came to have him in your custody,” he prompted.

“We are in a relationship,” Harry said firmly.

“We’ve had a couple of sexual liaisons,” Snape amended.

Dumbledore looked between the two, his eyebrows drawn together.

“Why would he need to tell you about his role in the order for a mere sexual tryst?” he asked Severus, eyebrows knitted.

“He can’t take off his shirt, can he?” Harry snapped.

“Pardon?” Dumbledore enquired.

“He can’t have a relationship with that on his arm, can he? He was going to finish it because he couldn’t take his shirt off and let a stranger see that. It’s not bloody fair on him!”

“And what you are doing is?” Dumbledore snapped back.

Harry flinched. “There’s something between us,” he said quietly. “I – and I hope Severus – would like the chance to explore that. He’s safe with me.”

“Safe?” Dumbledore’s eyes were thunderous. “I do not think this is a good idea at all. Your identity –“

“Needs to remain a secret at the moment,” Harry interrupted.

“You don’t trust me?” Snape asked, actually curious.

“Yes, I do, but to tell you would endanger more than a relationship, and I can’t do it at this point. I will, when I can,” he added pleadingly.

Dumbledore sipped his tea, and watched the interaction between the two.

“Albus?” Snape said. “Alex has a point. Frankly, the sex is great and I’m unlikely to get it elsewhere. You’ll be pleased to hear it’s had a rather positive effect on my temper. If he is indeed safe, what is your objection?”

“Surely you could pursue your sexual interests elsewhere, Severus. I am sorry that I have not appreciated that you are a young and vigorous man, still –“

Harry snorted, and regretted it at once. But really! “Good word,” he mumbled, remembering their first night.

Severus’ eye twitched.

“He is convenient –“

“Thanks!” Harry said in mock outrage.

“And, potentially, I may enjoy more than just the sex. I’d like to find out,” Snape said calmly.

Harry could not stop the smile that bloomed across his face. “Me too,” he nodded.

He turned to Dumbledore. “Sir, I appreciate and understand your concern. I will do my best not to hurt him and will let him know as soon as I am free to do so.”

Dumbledore could not fail to be aware of the tingling zing of magic between the two, the lively chirrup of pleasure and interest. But when Severus found out...the man would feel so betrayed.

“I cannot approve,” he said quietly. “You will both be hurt and I do not want that for you, my boys.”

Severus looked at him. “It will not compromise my role as a spy?”

“No.”

“Then I am old enough to make my own decisions, Albus. Thank you for your concern, and our apologies for waking you.”

He got up, and Harry followed.

Dumbledore stood too. “I wish you well, then, my children. Consideration and kindness, that’s all I can say.”

Harry nodded, feeling the force of Dumbledore’s worry.

They were on the moving staircase down.

“He really loves you,” Harry said gently.

“He’s looked out for me for a long time,” Snape answered.

“Perhaps –“ Harry began.

They had reached the bottom. Severus thrust Harry up against the wall and kissed him breathless. “You must have courage,” he said.

“What?” Harry answered through swollen lips.

“To be acting for the Order in disguise. So why feel fainthearted now? This doesn’t feel worth it to you?” He ground himself against Harry, lifting the younger man slightly so their cocks rubbed against each other.

Harry was glad Snape’s weight was pinning him to the wall. His legs felt like water, and he moaned as he pushed back against the rock hard torso of his would-be lover.

“Worth it for me,” he gasped, “it’s you I worry about.”

“I can take care of myself,” Snape said, his lips sliding down Harry’s neck, where he took a sharp bite at the juncture of his throat.

He pulled back, stroking a soothing finger over the mark. “It’s too late for me to return with you,” he added regretfully. “I should get back to my House.”

Harry nodded. “Are you free next week? I’ll owl you.”

“Do it,” Snape nodded, and kissed him hard once more before pressing the door release and striding off, leaving Harry hard and wanting and wondering how to get Snape to like Harry Potter enough that it would be alright.

Chapter Text

The next few weeks were the busiest of Harry’s life. He carried on with his normal classes, plus his teaching, plus the exercise routine he had started in his holidays, plus running every morning.

And there was his relationship with Severus, which was now taking up Friday or Saturday evenings and half the next day, plus Wednesday evenings as well. The sex was incredibly hot. Snape was undoubtedly the most amazing lover in the wizarding world, Harry had decided: sensual, strong, urgent. Half of him was desperate to go the whole way and have what he had denied himself, and the other half just relished the mind-blowing orgasms that Snape wrenched from his body with his mouth and tongue and hands and fingers....

On top of that was the startling discovery that they not only enjoyed each other’s company, but had found mutual interests. Harry had discovered muggle cinema during his time living in Brighton. He had never been to the pictures as a child, though he had seen films on the television at the Dursleys, usually broken up by the demand that he make tea or wash up or whatever other mundane job needed doing. The big screen had been a delight. After their second weekend together, Harry had discovered that a film he had been looking forward to over the summer had come out and was on in Edinburgh. With some trepidation, he invited Snape along. At least if he offered an alternative, it didn’t seem as if he was just meeting him for sex.

Though Snape was a half-blood, he had been brought up almost entirely in the wizarding world, and had never seen a film. He had been enthralled, shocked, fascinated, plying Harry with questions afterwards, trying to establish what was real and what was fiction and how on earth people flew through the air without broomsticks. Not that Harry could answer all the questions, but it did give an evenness to their relationship that Harry liked. They had gone to see films every Wednesday since, Harry apparating them all over the country in pursuit of films Harry had heard of and thought might be worth watching. In fact, everything seemed worth watching, because the direr films brought out Severus’ sharp tongue and Harry ended up in stitches with laughter. And they always had splendid sex afterwards as well, though Severus needed to go back to Hogwarts mid-week, which of course suited Harry too.

He had been surprised to find that several other pupils had started to join him on his morning runs around the grounds, the group building daily for a while as the news spread, then dropping back as enthusiasm waned. He was left with a hardcore of witches and wizards who were truly keen on improving their fitness. Harry had asked Dumbledore for a fitness room, and to his surprise it had been granted. Most of the members of his teaching group, and his dorm-mates, had all tried one or the other. Neville, who was the most ungainly runner Harry had ever seen, was incredible with weights.

“’S’all the diggin’,” he said with a grin, “strong arms and legs, see?”

Harry even saw Snape in the fitness room, though he had never joined in the running. Harry had had to avert his eyes, to stop himself drooling.

Harry had had to have a heart-to-heart with Hermione and Ron after the Remedial Magic classes took off. It had been difficult to broach, but had actually gone a lot better than he expected. Hermione had seen the class as she’d glanced over Harry’s shoulder at his timetable one morning.

“Remedial Magic? That’s not a very clever name if you’re having extra lessons with Snape,” she said, sotto voce. “No one would believe you need Remedial Magic.”

Harry picked up her hand that was on his shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze.

“I wanted to talk to you and Ron about that,” he said. “Meet us at break?” he asked.

“Sure. Ron, you free at break? Not got any last minute reports to write up?” Hermione said seriously. Ron often did cut it to the very last moment possible.

“Nah, I’ve got a free period after break, I can get my Charms stuff finished then. Where do you want to meet?”

Hermione rolled her eyes at him, but accepted that she was way too late to change Ron’s habits now.

“Your chambers?” Harry said, looking at Ron. He knew he would prefer to finish his work lying on his bed rather than in the library.

So at break time Harry met his two friends, who were already sitting companionably on Ron’s bed, eating a slice of fruitcake that Ron’s Mum had sent. Ron held out the tin, and Harry snagged a piece.

“You’re Mum is such a brilliant cook,” he mumbled, round a mouthful.

Several contented moments later, Harry braced himself.

“It’s about the Remedial Magic class,” Harry began.

“That name is so stupid,” Ron said, his mouth still full. “What was Dumbledore thinking?” he grinned.

“Uh, Ron, you’ve got sultana stuck on your teeth,” Hermione grimaced.

Whilst Ron was picking it off, Harry forged on. “Actually, the crap name is down to me. I’m teaching the class.”

“Hey, cool, man!” Ron exclaimed. “What day are we down for?”

“You’re not,” Harry said. “You don’t need this class. There’s only half a dozen in it.”

“Hey, I’d like to come anyway,” Ron carried on. “’Sgot to be fun, innit?”

Hermione was quiet.

“Who’s in it, then, Harry?”

“I can’t really tell you yet,” Harry said in embarrassment. “There’s an agreement not to mention each other out of class.”

Ron was beginning to look belligerent, and Harry wondered how to head off the impending explosion. “Yeah, but if you’re teaching it, you can tell. Or don’t you trust us?”

“You know I trust you,” Harry sighed, “but I made a promise, Ron.”

There was a stiff silence.

“So what are you teaching, Harry, that these unknown individuals need and we don’t?” Hermione asked.

And Harry explained, as he had to Dumbledore, about the teaching methods at Hogwarts not suiting everybody and so some needed a little help.

Ron sat silently, and then said, astutely, “And Hermione doesn’t need it because she’s brilliant anyway and books suit her best, and I don’t need it ‘cos this is as good as it gets. Me. Middle of the road wizard.”

Harry’s heart ached.

“Ron...”

But Ron was getting up to leave.

“Don’t worry, mate. Think I didn’t already know that?”

Harry grabbed his arm. “You’re right,” he agreed. “You have a middle power level –“

Ron tried to pull away, but Harry held fast.

“Magic isn’t everything, Ron. Not for winning the war and not for anything else.”

Ron’s chin was up, waiting.

“You’re brilliant at strategy, mate. A natural at it. Do you have any idea how useful that’s going to be? The planning for this war is crap, as far as I can see. We’re so busy reacting, rather than taking the initiative. I’m alright at the get-up-and-go stuff, but my problem is I’m too impulsive. I know I am. And I’ve dragged you into it in the past. But I need you to stand up to me now. To take a good long look at things and plan for what we should be doing, not just knee jerk stuff. And then I’ll be really glad to have you at my side, whatever the strength of your magic, because I’ll know we should be there, it’s thought through, and we’re prepared, and I have a man I can trust at my side. And you can’t train for that, Ron, but it’s the most valuable thing in the world.”

Ron looked at him for a long moment, and then just nodded. But his eyes were warm, and he patted Harry on the back with a rather diffident move.

Harry patted back, and turned to Hermione, who was smiling at him.

“Muggles have some puzzles for improving strategy,” she said. “I’ll get Mum to send some. Sharpen you up, Ron. They’re fun! Then, when Harry’s ready, you can do what he asks.”

“Thanks,” Ron nodded, throwing himself back down on the bed before bending over the far side and fishing a bag of Bertie Botts from the bottom of his bedside cupboard. “I’ll start looking at history books and see what’s been done so far in this war. May find some pointers,” he added.

Hermione leant over and gave him a kiss.

“Ronald Weasley, you have earnt in my pants tonight,” she grinned at him. “I can’t believe my ears! You have just volunteered to read a book!”

“Do I get rights for each one I read?” Ron grinned, his face bright red. Harry watched with amusement as he shifted onto his side on the bed, trying to hide his groin with a casually raised leg.

“I think I’m going to leave you wicked people to it,” he smirked, getting up and strolling to the door.

“You don’t have to go,” Hermione began.

Ron groaned, and Harry laughed.

“Ron’s got a free period and a hard on. Much as I like men, I’m not staying to help. And thanks,” he added softly, as Ron buried his head in the cover. “Is it alright if I ask you to do some stuff later, Mione?”

“Not if it’s like what I’m going to be doing to Ron in a minute, much as I love you,” Hermione grinned.

Harry threw his arms across his chest as if warding off evil. “Stay away from me, woman, it’s only your mind I’m after!”

Hermione lobbed a pillow at him.

Ron suddenly looked up, his brain disengaging from his cock. “Hey! Did you just say – “

Harry slipped out of the door, then peeped back around the edge. “That I like men? Oh, yes!” And he snapped the door shut, even as he heard Hermione berating his flame-haired friend, “Honestly, Ron! Don’t tell me you hadn’t realised that!”

********************************

It was now nearing Halloween. Harry thought back to the first proper lesson of the Remedial Magic class. He had waited anxiously in the classroom on the Tuesday following the initial meeting, wondering who would turn up. He was pretty sure Neville and Padma would, and reasonably confident of Ernie and Eloise. It was his Slytherin colleagues that he was unsure about. He had felt a huge sense of relief when Malfoy had strolled in, followed a moment or two later by Snape.

Harry had set the desks into a block, so that they all sat round a rectangle together. There was a pile of strips of paper in the middle, and a bunch of biros. Harry launched straight into the lesson as soon as everyone had arrived.

“Right. Good evening, everybody. Thank you all for coming.”

He saw Malfoy’s lips curl, but kept his voice calm and even.

“Today there are two objectives to the lesson; first, we will have an information gathering activity, and following this, we will make a start on wandless magic.”

He could feel the buzz of interest in the latter, and the uncertainly about the former.

“Right off, I’m going to say don’t expect everything to happen all at once, and don’t be downhearted if others master it before you. It might sound corny to say it, but it really isn’t a race. Someone will be first and someone will be last, but – I am positive that you are all going to get there, ok?”

He looked at them all, taking in Eloise’s shy nod, Ernie’s grin, and the dubious look on Padma’s face.

“So, the first task. Pick up a biro and 3 scraps of paper. I want you to write what you think you are best at on one piece – it can be anything, not necessarily a school subject. Quidditch, cooking, being a good friend...whatever you really think is your forte. On the second piece, I want you to write what you think you’re crap at – “ there was a giggle from Padma and a snort from Neville, “and on the last piece, I want you to put down what you most want to be doing in 70 years. You have 3 minutes.”

They stared at him gobsmacked.

“Come on! 180 seconds and counting!”

There was a scrabble for the pens.

“What on earth are these?” Malfoy sneered, twirling the biro in his fingers.

“160 seconds. Use it, Draco, and I will explain afterwards.”

“But this isn’t even parchment!”

“No, it isn’t. 145 seconds.”

As the time closed, everyone had finished the task, and was hoarding the pieces in front of them.

“Well done,” Harry grinned. “Right, now you remember that you are unable to pass on any information you learn in this room about the others?”

At the nods, Harry continued. ”Good. Can you all put them in the middle?”

“What are you planning on doing with them, Mr Potter?” Snape said, holding on to his. He had done it, though, and without much hesitation, Harry noted.

“We’re going to look at them all – “

“But it’s secret!” Padma wailed.

“Padma, is it in my nature to deliberately hurt anyone?” Harry asked. She looked at him wide-eyed, and after a moment, shook her head. “Trust me on this. If you are unhappy with anything revealed at the end of the session, I will ask Severus to obliviate that memory from everyone for you. That holds for everyone,” he said, looking round. “Is that fair?”

There was still some wriggling.

“I suspect there may be things people would rather I didn’t remember at the end,” Severus said languidly.

Harry could understand that. “The thing is,” he said, “that Severus is well-known as one of the best Legilimens in the country, so I thought it best if he did the obliviating. Given that he can most likely look into the brains of any of us any time he likes, he could find out these wishes anyway.”

Harry wanted to laugh at the horrified looks of everyone except Draco. And Neville, which was interesting.

“Tell me now why we had to use that inferior paper and those...those things?” Draco asked, changing the subject.

“Those things are called biros, after the chap who designed them. Or just pens.”

“They’re muggle. This is a school for witchcraft and wizardry. Why are we using those nasty little things?”

“Did they work?”

“So?”

“So Muggles used to use quills. But they developed better things. They keep at it. These ones are so cheap that charities send them free in the post to encourage you to write them a cheque. They used technology they discovered going to the moon to make ones that work upside down. You can get pens that write underwater. All I’m saying is, Muggles keep improving things. Why do wizards, who have even more power available to them, rely on old stuff? If there’s a good reason that I don’t know because I’m not wizard-raised, that’s fine, but I’d also like to know. And if there isn’t, why not take advantage of Muggles’ advances and add witchcraft on top of it? Use everything there is to our advantage?”

There was silence.

“Okay, moving on,” Harry said, and looked at Snape. “Can you put your slips in the pool, Severus?”

Snape thrust his bits of paper into the pile, and tight-lipped, sat back.

Harry waved his hand over the pile, and with a flurry, the pile rose into the air, and then settled back down.

“Hey!” Ernie exclaimed, “the writing’s changed!”

Harry smiled. “I’ve put them all into typescript, so you can’t tell who wrote what from the writing. Ernie, pick up the top one and read it out.”

“It says 'Running my own specialist plant company'”.

“The person to your left – Eloise, yes, that’s you, needs to guess who said it, and what category it is. I think the last bit’s obvious,” he smiled.

Eloise blinked. “It’s Neville, isn’t it? His future plans?”

Neville nodded, a slight blush on his cheeks, but he held his head up, Harry noted.

“That’s what you want to achieve in your life,” Malfoy snorted.

“Actually, the best companies charge a fortune,” Snape said calmly. “If you provide the rare plants needed for the discerning potions’ specialist, it’ll be a good career.”

Eyes stared at him in shock.

“Thank you, Sir,” Neville stuttered.

“It is merely an observation,” Snape said off-handedly.

“And it’s Severus in here,” Harry reminded Neville gently. “OK, Eloise, you next.”

“'Potions',” Eloise read from the scrap of paper.

All eyes turned to Snape.

“Not me,” the Potions Master said.

“You don’t think your best thing is Potions?” Draco said in surprise.

“I daresay you will find out during the course of this silly game what I consider my best skill to be,” Snape said in a bored voice. “I presume Long- Neville – is the author?”

“Not guilty,” Neville said, his chin tilting up a little, a fierce look in his eye despite the pink washing into his cheeks.

“You think you are even worse at something - worse than at Potions?” Snape said in disbelief.

Harry coughed.

“It was me,” Ernie said with a squeak.

Snape looked at him. “Mr McMillan – “

“Ernie,” Harry interjected.

Snape glared at him. “Ernie. Whilst I would not have admitted you to NEWT Level Potions even had you had any desire to do so, I think had you ever visited the Gryffindor/Slytherin class you would have found yourself placed amongst the most able element.”

Everyone stared at Snape, and then at Ernie. Ernie swallowed.

“I know I just about scraped along,” Ernie said with a gulp, “but I never really felt I understood any of it. I followed the instructions, I can read, but had we had to create anything – I couldn’t have done it.” He looked cautiously at Snape.

“Very few can. That is what differentiates potential masters,” Snape said coolly. “You show a great deal more intellect than most in having even considered the question.”

Ernie swallowed so loudly even Neville put his hand to his own throat as if to soothe down an obstruction.

“Thank you, Sir,” he croaked.

“It is barely a recommendation,” Snape said. “And I believe you need to endeavour to use my forename, or Harry will be hissing again.”

Harry grinned. “Next!”

“'Shagging'!” Ernie read, laughing. He turned to Padma next to him. “Who do you think’s best at shagging, Padma?”

“Maybe someone thinks they’re crap at it,” drawled Malfoy.

Everyone was sniggering; even Snape’s lips were curling.

Padma looked round the table. “Malfoy – Draco? Best at, that is, “she blushed, and hid her face in her hands.

Everyone was laughing out loud now.

“Why Padma,” Draco smirked, “I’m touched. Unfortunately, I didn’t think to put such a private skill down. How remiss of me.”

Padma looked round the table, gulped and blushed again. “Profes – Sev- Severus?”

“Best or worst, Miss – Padma?” Snape said silkily.

“B-best!”

Everyone was chuckling.

“I’m afraid you are wrong again. Sensible choice though,” he added, to hoots of laughter.

Everyone looked at each other with curiosity.

“OK, I own up,” Harry said. “Not best or worst, though. What I hope to be doing in 70 years. Frequently. Preferably with a tasty man that I have spent the last forever with.”

“You’re queer, Potter?” Draco sneered amidst the laughter that stumbled to a halt in shock.

“Yes. But you needn’t worry, you aren’t my type, Draco.”

Padma giggled.

“Next question?” Harry swept on.

“'Staying alive',” Neville read. He looked at Draco next to him.

“Well, it’s got to be P – Harry, hasn’t it? The thing you’re best at.”

“Or is it the thing he’s worst at?” Snape murmured.

“Good point,“ Neville said. He grinned at Harry. “You’ve missed death by a hairsbreadth loads of times.”

“Yeah, but he’s still here,” Ernie said, “so it has to be best.”

“Good thinking, but it wasn’t me,” Harry said.

The silence stretched.

“I regard it as my best skill,” Snape drawled.

The rounds continued until all the slips were discussed.

“Well,” Harry drew it to a conclusion. “Part one done. Grab another bit of paper. Don’t groan. This’ll be quick. One minute to write down what you think we may have gained from this exercise. All comments acceptable.”

A minute later Harry swirled the pile and once again rendered them incognito.

“Padma, pick up the stack and read them out.”

“The first one says -” she paused.

“Read it out, Padma, doesn’t matter whether it’s good or bad.”

“It says, 'I learnt Harry Potter is a poof',” she blushed, and looked up at Harry in embarrassment.

“True enough,” Harry said calmly, “go on.”

“The next one says, 'I learnt a lot about everyone'.” She looked up again. Harry motioned her on.

“The next one says, 'It was surprising how hard it was to tell who thought what of themselves, and what their dreams were'.”

“That’s a good point,” Harry nodded. “I don’t know if that shows us how little we know each other, or how much we’re actually similar.”

“And this one says ‘Very little.”

“Fair enough,” Harry said, hoping the comment was from Snape and that there wasn’t anything even more damning to come.

Fortunately that was the worst of it.

Harry magicked a tray of pumpkin juice, hot chocolate, coffee and biscuits.

“Take what you want, we can eat and work at the same time,” he said. He was very pleased to see Severus helping himself to coffee.

“Right, the bit you’ve been waiting for. Wandless magic. Everyone take out their wands and pass them along 2 places.”

“I beg your pardon?” Snape said, in his coldest voice.

“You can all see them. No one is going to steal your wand. But I want you to have a try with another wand.”

“Harry, a wand is tuned to the individual,” Neville reminded him mildly.

“I know,” Harry returned, “but you’re going to have to learn to do magic without one at all. It feels weird, at first. You need to find that feeling before you can do it. Trying to do magic with a wand that’s not your own is a step on the way to that. You know how to do the motions, you know the words, you have a conduit. But it won’t feel the same. Give it a try.”

Harry had thought of this idea after getting his second wand. It had felt so different to his first that he had had to work at getting the feeling right. Now, it felt much better – stronger, more sensitive, than his trusty old one – but it hadn’t felt that way at first. And frankly, he preferred wandless for most things.

The people at the table reluctantly swapped.

“We’ll start with that old favourite, wingardium leviosa,” Harry grinned at them.

Snape’s wand was in his hand, and almost without thinking, he ran his fingers down the length of it. Snape glared at him as if he had personally molested him.

“Sorry,” Harry muttered.

Harry threw some feathers onto the table, and they all began to try, with mixed success. “Swap again,” Harry said, and they tried again. “And pass it on again,” Harry said after a few minutes.

It was interesting. Snape wasn’t bad, but the two girls were by far the best at getting results out of the other wands. He wondered whether they were more empathic, and whether this made a difference.

He brought the topic up with the group. He could see they were quite unused to being asked why they thought things happened, but the atmosphere was relaxed and the ideas began to flow.

The bell rang to warn of lights out for the lower years and Harry decided to call a halt. “That’s it for today, then. A little homework –“

“You said there wouldn’t be any homework!” Eloise protested. “I’ve got loads of other stuff to do!”

“Nothing too much,” Harry said soothingly. “I want you all to try to manage for two days without magic.”

There was a shocked huff.

“Harry –“

“I know, you may need it. But see where you can do without it. And then try and keep a record for the week of what you do use it for. I’m not going to ask for details – we all use it for personal reasons, I’m sure,” he grinned. “But if you can just keep a tick box record in categories – for example, school work, personal care, safety, heating charms, etc etc. We’ll collate next week and no one’s individual uses will be under scrutiny, ok? See you next week, same time, same place. And thank you all for coming.”

***********************

It was on Harry’s first visit to Severus’ rooms, just before half term, that Harry saw the invitation from Malfoy.

The whole process had been odd to begin with – Harry was determined to keep his two personae separate, and so had apparated out of Hogwarts to his home, put on his glamour, changed into a deep navy shirt and some snug jeans, donned a navy outer robe and headed back up to Hogwarts.

He had knocked on Snape’s door, and although the castle was familiar to him, the moment he walked into Snape’s sitting room, he was fully Alex, because Harry had never been in these rooms. Snape smiled his pleasure at his arrival, running a hand down his arm rather than leaning in to kiss him, with the sort of restraint that Harry found endearing, especially knowing how unrestrained Severus could be, and hopefully would be later!

Severus had invited him for a meal and a drink. Harry was rather anxious about whether he would be recognised through his glamour by the elves, and had debated long and hard about whether to speak to them first. But when he had slipped into the kitchen the night before, there were so many elves there that he decided that there was no way that he wanted to tell them all his secret, and he didn’t know who was responsible for serving Severus or if it was arbitrary. He had instead accepted a mug of hot chocolate and some cake, and sat chatting to Winky. He thought he could ask Dobby about elf powers, but Winky told him that Dobby was on a mission for the Headmaster. Winky was much more cheerful and seemed to have resolved her inclinations to imbibe more than she could tolerate, and Harry found her company surprisingly pleasant. She had quite firm views on things, but Harry found her ideas refreshing and that looking at things from a different perspective made him question his own views. The chance meeting made Harry determined to visit more, and value the contribution of the elves. They were so taken for granted and yet their magic was so powerful – he could feel the kitchen throbbing with the energy of it – that they really needed to consider whether the elves would be willing to take a more active role in the war, or whether they were essentially neutral. He needed to talk to Dobby and Dumbledore and Ron.

Whilst Severus was pouring them a drink, Harry looked around. The room was much lower than the Gryffindor common room, with a vaulted ceiling, stone arches filled in with warm golden bricks. The walls were mostly lined with books, giving a richness to the room. There was a large desk at one end, covered in papers and more books, and wicker containers on the floor beside it full of scrolls; Harry recognised them as the containers students’ work was collected in. The light was soft and mellow, from flickering tapers on the walls, and the fire hissed merrily in the grate. There was a small sofa and a single chair facing each other in front of the fire, both looking comfy and well used. Above the mantel was an oil painting of a snow scene, the bright light of a rising sun casting light and shadows on a range of mountains. Harry stepped closer to look at it, when he spotted the card addressed to ‘Severus and Alex’ propped behind a candlestick.

He picked it up, reading it, and glanced across at Snape.

“It came this morning. I’ll send our apologies,” Snape said, bringing Harry a glass of red wine.

Harry took the glass and sipped. “You’re not free?” he asked.

Snape looked at him. “You don’t want to get involved with Malfoy. Whatever it is you do for the Order, you must know he’s trouble.”

“Exactly!” Harry said. “The closer eye we keep on him the better. And there may be other useful contacts at this card party.”

“You don’t appreciate the danger – “ Snape began.

“No. You don’t appreciate that you’re not alone,” Harry interrupted.

Snape sucked in his breath, his eyes furious.

Harry put a hand on Snape’s chest. “I’m just saying. We want to win this war, and it’s going to take a joint effort, lots of people all doing a tiny bit, not one or two players with the whole effort on their shoulders. That’s what the Order is about, surely? And here we’ve got an opening – “

“I can deal with Malfoy –“

“I don’t doubt it. But there will be others there, and at future occasions, and two of us has got to be better than one, hasn’t it? Are they all likely to be Death Eaters?” Harry asked, changing tactics. He had dropped his hand, but still stood close to Snape. And Snape hadn’t moved away.

“No. They’re all likely to be sympathisers with the Dark Lord’s views, but Lucius knows a lot of very powerful people who like to sit on the fence. They’ve too much to lose and they’re cautious. Malfoy cultivates them because they’re his safety policy, lots of contacts in the right places, all able to say that he had behaved with perfect propriety.”

“So there’s no major danger in going, then?”

Severus swirled his wine, inhaled the bouquet, and took a sip.

“What?” Harry said softly.

“I preferred to keep our relationship away from all that,” Snape said quietly.

Harry felt a warm swell of emotion in him, and stepped forward to rest his head against Severus’ chest. Severus didn’t move, but didn’t reject him.

Harry looked up, brushing his lips over Severus’ jaw.

“Mmmn, newly shaved,” he murmured, distracted. His body slid closer to Snape’s, and he felt his sudden intake of breath.

Severus stepped back swiftly, but before Harry had a chance to feel bereft Severus had put his glass down, taken Harry’s and done the same and then pulled Harry roughly into his arms , kissing him fiercely.

Harry felt like swooning like a maiden! His arms started to move up around Severus’ neck, then changed direction, pulling out Severus’ shirt and sliding up his back underneath. He needed to touch skin, and felt the smooth glide of his fingers over the bunched muscles, the knobs along Snape’s spine, the thrust of his shoulder blades. His groin ground into Severus’ without conscious thought. Snape pulled his tongue from Harry’s mouth and bit his bottom lip. The sharp pain, the tang of blood, the fierce grip of the man shot straight to Harry’s already hard cock.

“God!”

Severus roughly licked the blood, then his mouth was sliding down Harry’s neck and he bit into the juncture of neck and shoulder.

Had Harry been asked whether biting was erotic twenty minutes earlier, he would probably have said it was alright. Now all he could say was,” God, Severus, don’t! I’ll come!” He felt delirious with the intensity of his arousal.

Snape growled and pulled back. Even as Harry felt the loss, Snape yanked his shirt from his trousers, pulled at the top, shredding buttons from holes, leant in and bit Harry’s nipple hard, at the same time twisting the other.

Harry screamed.

And came in his pants, convulsing as Severus continued to bite and squeeze, soothing slowly to gentle licks.

Tears were coming from the edges of Harry’s eyes.

He felt shocked and sated and ridiculously wobbly.

Snape held him tight and then returned to his mouth, kissing him gently.

“What the hell was that?” Harry whispered, his voice croaking.

“Generally called an orgasm, Mr Johnson,” Snape murmured, his deep voice stroking over Harry.

To his disbelief, his cock twitched with renewed interest, sticky as it was in his damp underwear.

“Also known as coming, le petit mort, an ejac –"

“Yeah yeah,” Harry snorted, pulling back to look the man in the eye. “God, I need to sit down! My legs are like jelly.”

Snape laughed, and led Harry to the sofa.

Harry’s eyes were drawn to the erection tenting Snape’s trousers. He licked his lips.

Snape laughed again. “Later,” he chuckled.

“What’s wrong with now?” Harry murmured, his hand snaking up Snape’s thigh.

Snape slapped his hand on top of it. “Unless you have no objection to an audience, I suggest we wait. The house-elves are about to bring us dinner, and I’m afraid Albus asked if he could join us.”

“Albus? Why?”

“He did not say. When I mentioned that I wouldn’t be at supper because you were coming to dinner, he asked to join us. I hope you don’t mind too much?”

“Oh, I’m thrilled,“ Harry said glumly.

“Wonderful!” Dumbledore exclaimed, stepping through the fire.

Harry did the quickest cleaning spell of his life, and blushing, rose to greet Dumbledore, extending his hand.

Severus, he noted, had risen quickly and was slipping on a robe that was over the back of a chair, his back to them momentarily. Harry’s lips twitched.

“So good of you to invite me, Severus,” Albus beamed, thrusting a bottle into Snape’s hand.

“Thank you, Albus,” Snape said, surprised.

Albus bent down, and Snape’s and Harry’s eyes met over his head, glinting with amusement, which turned into horror as the old man handed Harry a button.

Harry’s eyes shot down his front as he realised that his shirt was still undone and ripped to shreds.

A quick spell and it was fixed, and Harry’s face was as red as Ron’s hair.

Suddenly, the noise of house elves could be heard, and to Harry’s immense relief, Snape led them into his small dining kitchen without Dumbledore saying a word.

The first course passed with desultory conversation. Harry could barely taste the food, but when the pudding appeared his eyes lit up and his mouth watered. It was as Harry had just taken a mouthful of chocolate mousse that Dumbledore asked, “So you two boys are getting along well, then?”

Harry choked, as a smidgen went down the wrong way, but waved Albus off as the man offered to thump him on the back. He looked at Severus, but he was already answering.

“He wants to come to a do at Lucius Malfoy’s with me.”

Well, that was an interesting tack.

Albus looked at Harry. “Why do you want to go?” he asked. “I’m sure the delights of Malfoy Manor are an attraction, but have you any other reason?”

Harry snorted. “I’m sure that I could do without the pleasures of Malfoy Manor, but there are opportunities for getting information and Severus tells me it is unlikely to be a Death Eater rally.”

He wondered what Dumbledore would think. It hadn’t been his intention to tell him – not till he’d been, anyway. Dumbledore knew who he was and Severus didn’t. In more ways than one. Whilst he might object to the Man Who Lived walking into a Death Eater’s home, would he feel a mage to be unable to take care of himself?

“What sort of information do you hope to glean, if that is the case?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry looked at him. “This is based on an idea from a friend,” he said, thinking of the surprising amount of research Ron had been putting in – and apparently loving it. And he outlined the idea.

Both Dumbledore and Snape looked reasonably impressed.

And agreed that it was worth a try.

Later, Dumbledore had enquired how Alex liked Hogsmeade, which had led to a discussion of his house and then pursuant to that, of his overgrown garden. The odd upshot of which was that when Harry had jokingly said he would have to get a gardener, Snape – Snape! – had recommended he ask Neville Longbottom, as Madam Sprout had been singing the boy’s praises in the staff room only that day. Dumbledore’s eyes had, of course, reverted to their regular twinkling, and he had agreed that should Mr Longbottom wish to take on a little work outside of school, he would have no objection.

Later, after Dumbledore’s departure – he had given Harry a heavy look as he left, but Harry wasn’t sure what it was intended to mean, though he was pretty sure the Headmaster was warning him that he had better not hurt Severus – they sat once again in front of the fire, Harry’s head on Snape’s shoulder and the older man’s arm loosely around him along the back of the sofa. Harry felt incredibly content to be there: tingly, mellow from the wine, and very satisfied with his lot. And talking of satisfaction....he leant across Snape to pop his coffee cup down on the side table at the end of the sofa, turning his body into the older man as he did so. He felt the bunch and shift of Snape’s muscles under him. The new position left him sprawled across Severus, his face close to his. His hand came up to Snape’s face, smoothing down the side of his jaw. Snape’s dark eyes looked back steadily into his. Inviting. As he leant in, the tension suddenly tight and hot between them, a loud knock sounded on the door.

“Blast!” Snape muttered.

Harry pulled himself back.

“A student? Will they go away?”

Snape was looking at a mirror beside the door. Not a mirror, Harry realised, as it now showed the section of corridor directly outside the room, and the young man who was knocking.

Draco Malfoy.

“I need to see to it,” Snape said, getting up. “Mr Malfoy was in charge tonight; he wouldn’t disturb me unless it was urgent.”

Harry nodded, standing also. “Do you want me to wait in the kitchen?”

Severus paused. “If you have no objections, Mr Malfoy is Lucius’ son. It will not hurt for it to get back to his father that he met you here.”

Harry nodded. “You can send me away if it’s private.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry –“

“Not at all,” Harry said, a hand on his arm briefly as Snape strode to the door just as Malfoy raised his hand again.

“Professor, I’m sorry to disturb you – “

“Come in, Mr Malfoy,” Snape said.

Draco jerked to a halt as he realised that there was another man in the room.

“I’ll leave you if this is private,” Harry said.

“I – no!” Draco said jerkily, with less than his usual cool, as his eyes took in the low lighting, the cups and glasses, the casual dress. Snape’s robe wasn’t even done up! And his shirt was open at the collar – and the next button down. He could see a curl of Snape’s chest hair. How very weird.

“It isn’t private, and – and I’m very sorry to disturb you, “ he said, looking from one man to another, a blush beginning to steal up his pale cheeks. “It’s just that Daventry has had a bit of an accident. I’ve taken him to the hospital wing, but Madam Pomfrey says that his parents must be contacted and –“

“You were quite right to disturb me, Draco,” Snape nodded. He turned to Harry.

“I’ll go,” Harry said, walking to the door. “I’ll see you at the weekend?”

“Indeed,” Snape said. But his voice was warm. Draco had never heard it so deep and rich before. It sent shivers down his spine.

Harry held out his hand to Draco. “Pleased to meet you, Mr Malfoy. I’ve recently met your father.”

As Draco shook his hand, Snape briefly made the introductions.

Harry smiled at him, and left.

Snape listened to the details of the accident, thanked Draco, and decided to check out the boy in the infirmary before contacting the parents, as it sounded serious but not life-threatening. His evening was going to be busy.

*******************

Draco returned to the common room, his adrenalin levels slowly dropping. He had dealt with a serious accident, kept the house calm, and had confirmation that his Head of House was indeed gay. Well, strictly, he could have been entertaining a friend, but there was a definite warmth between the two, a comfortableness – and more - that had surprised Draco. Although he had heard from his father that Snape preferred his own sex, he had never seen him with another man. He’d never seen him be less than severe, either – even when he was talking to his House, and lacing his speech with witticisms, his posture, and demeanour were always restrained, self-contained. Even in Potter’s classes, when he was as much of a student as they were, he was still a cold fish. To see him looking relaxed, and entertaining someone....not that it should be odd that teachers had private lives, they must have – however would they get teachers otherwise, but he had never been aware of it before. It was the sort of tasty bit of gossip that one wanted to share with someone, but even as he felt this he became aware of two things: he couldn’t think of anyone that he really wanted to share it with, and it might be better for his relationship with his Head of House if he showed that he could keep private matters quiet.

He didn’t know what to think of Severus Snape.

Or of Harry Potter, come to think of it.

Potter had been his arch rival for 6 years, and yet now was offering him help. Why? And Snape too. Didn’t he know Snape was a Death Eater? Even if he didn’t know whether he still was – Draco didn’t know himself - he must know that Snape used to be one. And he still had the Dark Mark, which must mean that Voldemort could summon him; he’d seen his father being summoned many times, and had seen Snape give that infinitesimal jerk that his father also gave when the Mark first flared.

What game was Potter playing? Was he really so naive as to believe that they would make up their own minds when they had come into their powers?

Did he himself believe that he could be more powerful? He knew he was already more powerful than most wizards, and on top of that he had wealth, status and influence.

And yet, the astounding power that Potter had shown that first day was so far beyond his limits – so far beyond the limits of anyone he knew – that he even knew existed – that he’d be stupid not to explore the possibilities. And Draco Malfoy was no fool.

He had to admit that the classes were surprising in a number of ways. Who knew Neville Longbottom wasn’t a complete dunce at everything? Of course, he’d known that he was a favourite of Professor Sprout, but he’d never put much store by gardening. They employed several people on the estate for that sort of menial labour. But Neville had surprised him by using that knowledge to solve a puzzle. Whilst he himself had been stymied by his fear of the Forbidden Forest, Longbottom had used his knowledge to make deductions and get them out of there. Of course, what with him and Potter being chummy, maybe they had set it up together to make him and Snape look bad. But he didn’t really believe that, just acknowledged that it could have been done, had Potter not been such a Gryffindor.

And if the people in the class were really the most powerful people around, then he’d certainly gain by being intimately connected with them.

And surprisingly, the sessions were remarkably interesting. Potter had a real knack for making you consider why and how and what for?

Of course, he was better at almost everything than the others there – apart from the herbology incident, and of course potions. Surprisingly, Potter had set him to explaining some basic potions principles to McMillan – Ernie – and Potter himself. Potter had breezed over Draco’s embarrassment at being asked to do this in Snape’s presence, and had set Snape a Charms task with Padma, using each other’s wands. It was surprising how hard it was to explain something which you almost innately understood to someone else. He had quite enjoyed the challenge, even though he had huffed a bit about being there to stretch himself rather than to act as a free tutor to others.

His wandless magic wouldn’t seem to come. Frankly, if Potter didn’t use it all the time, unconsciously, as if it was just an extension of himself, he would have thrown in the towel, and not believed it possible. But Potter was living proof that it was possible, and if that little runt of a mongrel could do it, there was no way he was going to give up.

*********************

Harry had had a bizarre interview with Neville. Dressed smartly, his classmate had arrived at his house after Alex Johnson had written to ask him whether he would consider working on his garden for a small wage.

Neville had stood on the step and peered silently at Harry. When Harry had invited him in, he had asked Harry to step out and show him round the garden, going through the front and then walking through the house to the back garden. Harry looked at the wilderness through fresh eyes. He could see that there had once been a herb garden near the house, but as with everwhere else it had become overgrown with sticky weed and convolvulus and every other invasive plant known to man. Harry had done enough gardening with the Dursleys to know how much work was involved. The only bit he had really taken a positive interest in had been the orchard at the end, where he had found the wood to create his new wand.

Neville had asked him what he wanted to achieve. Harry hadn’t really thought about it. He didn’t want a garden like the Dursleys which was so prim and proper that it made him feel ill.

“I’d like it to be a comfortable place to sit in,” Harry answered at last. “To sit with a cup of tea and lunch or a glass of wine in the evening. I’d like to have nice smells and a bit of colour. Some herbs to cook with. Not regimented – sort of tidy but natural, if you know what I mean,” he said, looking at his quiet friend. Harry felt peculiar at deceiving him; but as Harry he probably wouldn’t have asked. Nev might have felt some sense of obligation – through friendship, or the extra classes – and he didn’t want that.

Neville nodded.

“I like it natural under the apple trees,” Harry added quickly, thinking. “There’s lots of wild flowers in the spring. It feels sort of magical,” he said apologetically.

“Fair enough,” Neville answered. “ May I add in plants? Once these weeds are under control there’s going to be some big spaces. Is there anything you’d like?”

“I – I don’t know,” Harry said. “Perhaps I could leave that to you? Nothing too expensive, though, unless you talk to me first. Would you like some money up front to buy things?”

Neville laughed. “I’ll be trying to grow them from cuttings or seeds, mostly, so you needn’t worry about that! If that’s ok with you?”

“Yes, thank you! But you must charge me for your time and everything – I mean the time growing the plants, as well as the actual working here,” he added awkwardly.

They discussed money and the deal was done.

Neville had been round twice a week ever since, and already Harry could see the improvement. Snape had arrived early one Wednesday when Neville was still there.

“Mr Longbottom,” he said cordially.

Neville, who had been untangling a rose bush buried beneath the overgrowth, pricked his finger, and jerked in shock and pain.

“Professor!” He gave his finger a quick suck, and seemed to get his poise back. “Did you need to see me, Sir? Is there an emergency?” he asked hurriedly.

Snape snorted.

Neville stared: Snape’s lips curling in amusement was just peculiar.

At that moment Harry opened the door.

“Sev!” he beamed.

“Good evening, Alex,” Snape said, his voice low and warm. “Mr Longbottom is finding some life beneath the weeds, I see.”

Neville was staring from one to the other.

“Do close your mouth, Mr Longbottom,” Snape drawled. “Your tongue is purple. I presume you have been indulging in some Weasley nonsense.”

Neville snapped his mouth shut, but then managed to retort, “Honeydukes Blackcurrant and Mint Bursts, actually.”

“I stand corrected,” Snape bowed his head in mocking acknowledgement. “It makes no difference to the effect, however.”

Harry laughed and smacked Snape on the arm. “Don’t be so horrid, Severus! And after you recommended Neville to me too.”

Neville’s eyes almost bugged out of his head, first at the blow, for which there was no retaliation, and then at the comment.

“You recommended me?” he squeaked.

“Professor Sprout mentioned you were passable in Herbology,” Snape said off-handedly, flicking a speck of dust from his sleeve. “I didn’t think there was much for you to ruin here,” he added.

“Hey! This garden is going to be brilliant!” Harry grinned.

“Indeed. Mr Longbottom, I see you have your work cut out. We will leave you to it.”

And he headed into the house.

“We’re going out in a minute,” Harry said to Neville. “I’ll set the wards to let you in; help yourself to a butterbeer from the cool store.”

“Thanks,” Neville blinked. “Are you – uh, sorry, none of my business,” he blushed, turning back to the rose.

“We are,” Harry agreed, hoping Severus wouldn’t mind Neville knowing that he liked men. Though why shouldn’t he?

“Okay,” Neville mumbled. He glanced up and back down again quickly. “Have – have a nice time then. Going somewhere nice?”

Harry wanted to burst out laughing at the stuttering attempt at coolness.

“The pictures. We like films.”

“Alex,” Snape appeared at the door.

Harry grinned swiftly at Neville and followed Snape in.

The door shut with a firm click, and Snape pulled him through into the kitchen, then leaned into him against the counter.

One thorough kiss later, and Snape growled against his ear lobe, “Do you want him?” and bit the tender flesh.

“Wh –what?” Harry’s mind was completely blank. His blood was pounding through his body, all apparently congregating in the south. He could smell the cologne Snape was wearing, lemongrass and sage and underneath the scent of Severus. The body against him was hard all over, Snape’s breath hot against his skin. He shivered.

“Your gardener. Do you find him attractive? All hot and sweaty and –“

“Neville?!” Harry squawked, realising what Severus was saying. “Fancy Neville? Are you mad? Hold on! Do you?”

“ A boy? Certainly not!” Snape sneered, his tongue licking down Harry’s neck. “But you took your time. And I can see he has attributes...”

“No way!” Harry laughed. The thought of fancying Neville! Six years in a dorm with him and he had never felt the slightest flicker of sexual interest in boy or man. Harry had a horrible worry for a moment that the animosity between the two was due to an unspoken attraction. He pulled back from Snape, leaning hard against the counter and pushing his palms on Snape’s chest. He didn’t like the idea at all.

“Wait! You think he’s attractive?”

“I have eyes, Alex. He’s a fit young man, good muscles, pleasant face –“

“And you like that?”

“I am saying that I can see the potential. Personally, he doesn’t appeal to me. He is my student – “

“That can’t stop how you feel –“

“Yes, it can. I don’t ever think of my students in sexual terms. It’s not appropriate.”

“You just did think of him in sexual terms,” Harry pointed out anxiously.

Snape looked at him. “Jealous?”

Harry opened his mouth to deny it, and halted.

“Yes. Should I be?”

Snape laughed, and then took him tight in his arms and kissed him till his head was spinning.

“No,” he murmured, against Harry’s lips. “You are quite enough for me. And were I ever to consider a student conquest – which I won’t – it would not be Mr Longbottom.”

Snape wished he hadn’t said the last thing. Because he had a sudden image of Harry Potter in his mind that made him want to swear. Alex was right. He had noticed Potter in sexual terms. There was just the odd movement, the occasional gesture, posture – no! He was not going to even think of the damn boy! He was glad he had Alex this year. If his libido was going to start going into overdrive he was glad he had a mutually satisfying outlet. He pressed tighter to Alex, rubbing against him.

Harry groaned, thrusting back.

“We need to leave,” he said regretfully.

“Mmmn. I can stay a little later tonight, perhaps,” Snape suggested against Harry’s jaw.

“Thank Merlin for that!” Harry groaned. “You do it on purpose, don’t you? You know I’m going to be half hard all night.”

“Only half? I must be losing my touch,” Snape said, voice like dark chocolate, as his fingers ghosted over Harry’s cock.

“Bastard!” Harry thrust into the touch.

Snape pulled away.

“Indeed,” Snape smirked. “Shall we go?”

*************

Later that night, in his bed at Hogwarts, Harry, sated but not relaxed, tried not to think of what Severus would say when he discovered that he had been dating one of his pupils after all.

Chapter Text

Harry ran his fingers down the stem of the wine glass, admiring how the soft light from the candelabra caught and sparkled on the planes of the cut glass, the wine within it glowing like a fat and ostentatious ruby. He looked around at the company: Lucius Malfoy to his right at the head of the table; a man called Smethlewick to his left, a chap whose name he could not recall next to him. At the foot of the table was Aramis Purefoy, a rather beautiful man with a mane of golden brown hair and golden eyes. Unfortunately, Harry thought the man had overdone it, having added a moustache and goatee to the ensemble, making him look very lionesque.

And moustaches – ugh!

As far from him as he could possibly be, and next to Purefoy, was Severus, looking absolutely delicious in bottle green silk velvet, the severity of the cut belied by the sumptuous fabric. Felix Catismore sat in the middle next to Snape. And opposite Harry a rather thin, drawn-looking man in impeccably cut black robes called Haydn Fell attempted to monopolize Malfoy’s attention, an endeavour that had met with little success, as Lucius had been flirting outrageously with Harry throughout the meal.

The food itself was delicious – how could it not be? The place screamed quality. Harry felt like he was sitting in one of those National Trust houses he had seen in the Dursleys’ Sunday supplements. The room even echoed. Each of them had a servant behind their chair to serve their every whim, which Harry thought was really overdoing it, but seemed to be accepted by the others, so Harry assumed this was the normal way of life chez Malfoy.

Give him a meal at the Burrow any day!

Whilst Fell was once again trying to engage Lucius, Harry turned to talk to Smethlewick, though his eyes strayed to Severus, who looked at him steadily over his glass. He didn’t think Harry really welcomed Malfoy’s attentions, did he? He saw Snape glance briefly at Harry’s fingers on the stem, and the look sparked an idea. A flash of magic later, and he asked Smethlewick his views of the latest Puddlemere/Cannons match, whilst watching Severus out of the corner of his eye. He saw Severus raise his glass to his lips and acted. The wine sloshed hazardously in Severus’ glass, but he was amused to see his lover get a grip, calmly putting his glass down then looking discretely round the table even as he maintained his conversation with Catismore.

Moments later Harry acted again. Snape shuddered. His eyes met Harry’s across the table, and Harry gently slid his fingers down the stem of his glass with one hand, whilst nonchalantly spooning a little of the classic trifle into his mouth, sucking on the spoon.

“Severus!” Lucius’ voice along the length of the table called them back to reality.

“Really, I know Alex is a handsome young man, but do restrain yourself till later! You look positively bewitched!”

There was tittering around the table.

“Oh he is!” Alex chuckled. “Quite literally though: I’m afraid I was trying out a little something on him. You can’t blame him for being distracted.”

Severus was leaning back, frowning a little, and Harry was beginning to regret his childishness, more so when Lucius observed condescendingly, “I thought school boys found watching erotic play with wine glasses provocative. Really, Severus!”

Hmmm, thought Harry. He needed to be more cautious with Malfoy: he was more observant than he thought. But it was quite useful to have the man finding him attractive. Perhaps he could play this to his advantage though.

“Well, it was a little more than that,” Harry grinned.

“Alex,” Severus warned.

Harry looked at his lover. “Don’t you think they’d like it, Severus?” he asked, raising his brows.

A moment of thought, and Severus laughed.

“As you will.”

“Of course, some of you gentlemen being straight, you might not want me to do this,” Harry murmured.

There was a moment of reservation warring with even greater curiosity.

“I don’t expect anything you could do at a dinner table is likely to change anyone’s orientation, Alex,” Lucius said with a smirk.

There was a laugh of agreement.

Harry slipped his wand out, and raised his eyes to Malfoy: he was sure it was only polite to seek permission for using a wand at the table.

Malfoy nodded.

Harry made a little show of waving his wand in one loop around the table, muttering a few unintelligible words. In truth, it was an intention spell, but he wasn’t going to show that hand.

“I don’t feel anything,” Catismore complained.

“You will. Do eat,” Harry said.

Slowly, the men began finishing their desserts, feeling rather cheated. Harry ate a spoonful and then touched his glass. There was a jerk in every seat. Harry wanted to laugh at the mental pun. Severus excepted, of course. Still eating with one hand, he nonchalantly slid the fingers of his other hand down the stem.

Smethlewick gasped.

Harry’s fingers did an upstroke. He could see four of the men had cottoned on, and were watching his fingers avidly even as they slid with an even firmer grip down the stem.

“Merlin and damnation!” Fell exclaimed, shifting abruptly in his seat.

Harry ate his last spoonful, his fingers just keeping a firm grip at the base.

The tension mounted.

After carefully sucking every morseful from the spoon, he looked at Malfoy and said, “Delicious!”, then as Malfoy opened his mouth to answer, Harry slowly lifted the glass and felt Malfoy grind to a halt, felt the indrawn breaths around the table, and wanted to chuckle with glee. His eyes met Severus’ dark ones, and he smiled, gripped the glass tighter, feeling the tension rise a notch again, and just as the glass hovered a centimetre from his lips, as he opened them as if to sip, as the tip of his tongue moistened his upper lip, just as the tension in the room could be cut with a knife, he said, “Maybe not,” and put the glass down again.

“Holy shit!” Purefoy hissed out. “Now that’s what I call a party trick!”

The ice broke and everyone laughed. There was a lot of shuffling and adjusting of robes.

Harry grinned.

“How long was he doing that to you?” Purefoy asked of Severus. “You must have balls of steel!”

Severus gave a trademark smirk. “It pays to have an inventive lover,” he drawled.

Harry waved his wand over the table, appearing to cancel the spell.

Lucius turned to Harry, and briefly placed his hand on his. “A neat trick, Alex. You must allow me to repay the favour some time.”

Harry’s eyes widened. This was one notch up from flirtation. He needed to rein it back.

“A pleasant offer, Sir,” he said, using the formal term to create a bit of distance, “but it was just a trick. Severus is more than enough for me to handle, I assure you.”

“Mmmn.” The man leant back in his chair, sipping his wine. “I am aware of Severus’ skills.”

Harry felt his stomach lurch. He shouldn’t be surprised, of course.

“We all have a past,” Harry said quietly, hoping that it was entirely in the past. The thought of Severus with Malfoy hurt. In his chest. The feeling was unexpected, Harry told himself. But of course it wasn’t. It had always been more than fucking between them. The revelation of where that thought was leading him made Harry look across the table at Severus, taking in the ugly nose, the pale skin, the broad shoulders narrowing down to impossibly small hips, his body completely fat fee, just muscles and sinews, firm and taut. Had he fallen in love with the man? How? When?

Severus looked at him, his eyes quizzical under the intense stare. Harry gave a half-hearted smile, and turned back to Lucius, who had watched the small byplay.

“Jealous?”

Harry felt his eyebrows snapping together before he forced his face to relax.

Malfoy laughed. “You needn’t be,” he said silkily. “My tastes have moved on. However good he is in bed, he’s still an ugly bastard. You come to realise that you could be with someone equally skilled in the intimate arts but a lot more attractive to wake to in the morning. When you realise that, my dear Alex, I may be able to help you,” Malfoy purred.

Harry sat back in his chair. “Another generous offer,” he said softly. “From one of our world’s most handsome men,” he added, and saw the smugness in Malfoy’s expression, as Harry casually perused his features. “But I like Severus’ face in the morning, Lucius,” he finished with a smile.

He saw the flicker of annoyance in Malfoy’s eyes, and then the man laughed. “Well! Severus is a friend; he’s lucky to have such a loyal companion!”

Harry couldn’t believe the nerve of the man who had been trying to win his attentions away from his old friend for the last two hours.

“Come!” Lucius said, rising. “Let’s adjourn to the study.”

In the study there was port and coffee and entirely unnecessary small cakes, as well as a table set up for cards.

Harry had asked Severus what the stakes were. Although he had played various games – poker and the like, with his muggle friends over the summers, and felt he could hold his own, he wondered how high the betting would be in this elite company. He had been surprised to find that pureblood wizards thought the idea of playing for money to be beneath their dignity: scores however, were recorded in books held within the family homes for generations.

Despite this reassurance Harry didn’t feel that inclined to play, and saw his opportunity when the man whose name eluded him collected a coffee and sat on the sofa beside the roaring fire. The servants had left the provisions on a side table and had been waved away by their master. Harry collected coffee too, and with a brief word to the men settling round the table, that he would play a later hand, sat down beside the man.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry apologised quietly. “I didn’t quite catch your name when we were introduced.”

“Sebastian Flight,” the man smiled easily. “And you’re Alex. Not keen on cards?”

“I don’t mind, actually. Just didn’t feel in the mood. I’ll join in later, perhaps. You’re not keen?”

“No, I don’t really understand it. I spend all my day gambling on figures and outcomes, so I don’t really want to do a variation of it in the evening. But I had a meeting with Mr Malfoy today so he’d asked me if I’d like to stay; I haven’t seen Catismore for a while, so it seemed a good idea.”

“What sort of juggling with figures do you do?” Harry asked. “Are you an accountant?”

“A stockbroker,” the rotund man grimaced. “I’m afraid that’s usually a conversation killer.”

“Not at all,” Harry said, swinging round to face the man more. This could be very useful! Ideas were popping into his head at a fast rate of knots. “Forgive me: I expect it’s awfully bad manners to talk business; but I’d be very grateful if you could recommend someone to help me expand my investments.”

Sebastian Flight looked him over with some interest. “Most people just ask me outright what sort of investments they should make.”

Harry grinned. “Just as if you were a doctor and they suddenly brought up their haemorrhoids!”

His companion laughed.

“Please ignore my asking!” Harry said. “Tell me, what do you think of Longsdale as the British Seeker?”

Mr Flight sipped his coffee and regarded Harry over the cup. “You’ve piqued my curiosity. No need to change the subject. You don’t fancy me acting for you but ask me to recommend someone else? What area are you thinking of investing in?”

Harry sat forward earnestly. “Please! I had no intention of being rude! Of course I wouldn’t be so presumptuous as to ask you to advise or act for me –you are handling Mr Malfoy’s business - I need someone to deal with what I am sure are much smaller investments.”

“Mmmm. What have you got into so far?”

“Oh, not much,” Harry said deprecatingly. “I’ve an investment in the entertainment industry,” - well, what else could he term the twins’ business? – “ a little in property and in a Muggle building company. I want to get more involved in wizarding businesses, but as far as I can see things are not done as openly as they are in the Muggle world.”

“You have no objections to investing in Muggle businesses?” Mr Flight said, with a quick look towards Lucius Malfoy.

“I cannot see any objection to allowing Muggles to work to make money for me,” Harry said blandly, sitting back.

Sebastian Flight chuckled.

“An interesting point. What sort of amount are you looking to invest?”

“Well, that depends,” Harry said cautiously. “I’d be rather anxious about putting all my eggs in one basket, especially with the – ah, current political climate, should we say. I’m thinking of perhaps a hundred thousand galleons at the moment. I could increase that later, of course, but there’s some security in Gringotts, isn’t there, at the present time?”

Would the man bite? Harry wondered. He hoped his parents would forgive him for spending his inheritance, but if it could help defeat Voldemort then it was money well spent.

“That’s rather more than I would have thought to be a small investment,” the man said carefully, “and you are obviously a sensible man.” He reached into his pocket and handed Harry a card. “Come and see me. I may be able to help you.”

Harry felt well satisfied. Ron had pointed out that Muggles with insider knowledge had made huge movements of their investments prior to major developments in past wars: he hoped that by making such investments with the right people, they might benefit from such a tip off. Of course, he was more likely to be taken for a ride unless he was seen as a person of influence; hopefully the significant sums available to him, his presence in Malfoy Manor and Lucius’ obvious show of interest would stand him in good stead. This was exactly the sort of advantage that he hoped to gain from being there.

The rest of the evening continued peaceably. Harry took a round at the card table, and despite the earlier discussion Malfoy continued to flirt. Harry wondered if it was meaningless, but his gut told him Malfoy would have him on his back given the slightest chance. You could see the thrill of the chase, the desire for conquest, in his eyes. He needed to keep stringing the man along whilst ensuring that he knew Alex was not ready to ditch Snape. And to be honest, there was fun in the give and take of the conversational rallies. He wondered why Lucius was interested: he rather thought his glamour was not particularly attractive – he had after all, aimed for it to be unmemorable.

Later that night, Harry lay, sweat slicked and panting, against Severus’ chest, hearing his lover’s heart beat slowly steadying to normal. However he felt he looked, Severus had showed him – thoroughly – that he found him desirable.

“You’re absolutely incredible,” Harry whispered the words that he was thinking, brushing lips against the chest, loving the salty sweat taste that told of their exertions.

“I don’t have Malfoy’s looks,” Snape’s voice rumbled against him, and Harry could feel the tension returning to the man’s body.

He pulled himself up to look at Snape, his hands stroking the fine hair. “You don’t,” he agreed.

Severus looked at him. The tension was fierce for a moment, and then Snape laughed.

“Bastard.”

Harry grinned back. “You’d know I’d be lying if I said otherwise. He has to be one of the most handsome men on the planet. All that ethereal beauty and all that hard nastiness underneath. Uurgh!” Harry shuddered.

Snape stroked his back, his large hand gliding slowly over his cooling skin. It was delicious.

“You flirted with him all evening.”

“I told him I liked your face in the morning.”

Severus looked up at Harry. “You did?”

“I did and I do,” Harry said. “Not to mention your chest, and your arms, specially when they’re around me, and your –“

“You told him all those bits?”

“No. He was familiar with all those bits. I had no intention of re-arousing his interest.”

Severus pulled out from underneath Harry so that they were lying facing each other.

“It was a long time ago.”

“Good. Not tempted yourself to go back to him?”

Severus snorted. “The fucking was good. Malfoy wouldn’t know an emotion if it bit him on the arse. Well, pride, maybe, and anger. Nothing one wants in the bed with you though.”

Harry felt a warmth in his chest. His hand tentatively stroked Severus’. “This feels good, doesn’t it?” he said softly, his eyes reluctant to look up.

Snape took hold of his chin and looked at him. His mouth came closer, and Harry felt his breath hitching in his chest. Snape’s lips brushed his, gentle, erotic. “It does,” he answered, and kissed Harry breathless.

Chapter Text

It was moving towards the Christmas break. Harry was in the gym putting himself through a punishing regime. Remedial Magic had finished an hour previously and Harry was facing hard decisions.

He had held a brief review of progress session with each of his students, and although some interesting pluses had come forth, he felt weighed down by his failures.

As he forced himself through the repetitive motions, Harry tried to rein in the uncomfortable feelings in his stomach and get to grip with the issues. His foremost worry was that no-one was yet achieving the skills that he had wanted. He needed to work out how to make it right. Muscles burning with the work, he forced himself to review the situation logically. First, he needed to consider his objectives; secondly, he needed to consider what had been achieved so far; thirdly, he needed to decide what still needed to be done; fourthly, how it could be achieved.

He moved to the bench press, allowing his mind to blank whilst he set up the weights. Magic took away the need for a spotter. He settled into position and began to work, using the movements like counters in his thoughts.

Right. His objectives. He had first and foremost promised the class wandless magic.

None of them could do it.

Although the girls, especially, had done really well with using other people’s wands, that different feeling of drawing on internal power had eluded them all. He needed – but he would come back to that in a minute. He slickly pushed the weights up again, breathing in slowly as he lowered the bar back towards his chest. He had only promised them one other thing – to broaden the scope of their magic. He thought about whether he had achieved that.

Well, Ernie’s work with Draco seemed to have paid off. Although Ernie wasn’t studying NEWT level Potions, Severus had checked some of the potions Ernie had made with Draco and been satisfied with them. But Ernie had produced satisfactory work in class before his OWLs anyway. In his review, Ernie was enthusiastic. Whereas before he had done the work by closely following instructions, now he felt he understood what was happening. As he said to Harry, he’d probably knock up any uncomplicated potions he needed himself, in future, when frankly, he had intended to just buy anything he needed before Draco’s help. And Draco had shown him how to customise stuff for his individual use. This had been valuable too, as Draco had shown him how to analyse his unique body composition, and adjust accordingly. Ernie was well pleased. He felt his charms had also improved, and he found it helpful watching how other people went about their magic in the small class setting. Harry was rather disconcerted that Ernie felt his charms had improved because he had better perfected the shape of some of the spell movements after watching the others. With wandless magic, and wordless, the shape or sound wouldn’t matter at all; he wondered why it had had any effect on Ernie’s? Had it? Or was it an increased concentration and observation of the spell? He needed to think about that.

Draco had actually enjoyed teaching. It had made him think about something he took for granted, and he had appreciated the subject all the more because of it. Harry knew Draco was pretty good at practically everything he attempted; he didn’t feel he had achieved much for him and yet he knew there was much more to Draco’s powers. Their session had been uncomfortable, though Draco was not as aggressive as Harry had feared he might be. He was quite surprised that Draco was even bothering to continue with the class – he suspected that Draco just couldn’t stand that Harry could do some magic that he couldn’t, and was determined to master it. His determination was interesting. Harry hadn’t really registered it before, except, of course, in quidditch. Now, he could see that Draco brought that same attitude to other subjects, although as he usually found them easy, it didn’t show. Draco admitted that he had been using the gym too, although he obviously chose times when Harry wasn’t there. Draco was actually quite reedy, and Harry was interested that Draco wanted to build up his body. Draco took a lot of care with his appearance, and Harry thought maybe Draco had deliberately cultivated the thin and willowy look. From the sound of their conversation on it, Draco was working hard to build up his muscle mass. Harry wondered whether he wanted it for aesthetic reasons, or for fighting. He didn’t ask. They did not discuss Draco’s loyalties, and he could almost sense Draco’s surprise at that.

Eloise Midgen was interesting. Harry had hardly known the girl previously, she had appeared so quiet. However, in a small group setting the girl had a wicked sense of humour and had even made Severus smirk on several occasions. Harry felt that she had perhaps had the greatest leaps in magical ability. She seemed to have blossomed almost from the attention alone. She told Harry that her marks had significantly improved in all her classes, so much so that she had twice been asked whose work she was copying, much to her chagrin. She did not appear to have developed any particular area of interest, but was just happy to be there and was a key member of the group. As with Padma, she had taken to using other people’s wands like a duck to water, producing spells accurately and powerfully after just one or two attempts to get the feel of the wand. Harry was fascinated by this ability: for practical purposes, he had both girls seeing if they could get the ‘feel’ even before a spell was cast, so that in an emergency situation they could use any wand and produce a positive result. The fact that they needed to do at least one spell indicated that they needed to feel the flow of the magic to do it; on the positive side, this meant that they could feel the flow of external magic well: just not their internal source. It was useful none the less: he needed to think how that could be used. Perhaps they needed a group brainstorming session on that. That could be good. And maybe it would prompt the men’s ability, give them a window into understanding it.

Padma was surprisingly stubborn. Harry had to constantly battle against her reluctance to try anything new and her belief that she couldn’t do it. It was frustrating and annoying. No amount of reassurance seemed to help. Even her skill at using other’s wands didn’t seem to translate into anything like enthusiasm. Despite having seen her more through her visits to Parvati in Gryffindor over the years, he felt he actually knew her the least of the people in the class. He had even wondered if he had been mistaken about her power, but he knew he hadn’t. Perhaps he needed to think about branches of magic that they hadn’t touched on, to see where her talents lay. Some wizards and witches were, rarely, able in one area only: perhaps Padma was one of them?

Neville, thought Harry fondly. He heaved himself up from the press and did squats to work on his legs. Somehow that first success at calling Harry’s bluff had done Neville a lot of good. He seemed to have an air of quiet confidence about him. His work in Harry’s garden seemed to add to his success. Harry had asked him to develop his herb bed – in particular, to grow any plants that would be useful for Potions, and as well as the standards, to have a go at anything rare or more difficult. Neville had taken to the idea with zim. He had created micro-climates, got plants that Harry didn’t recognise, and generally thrown himself into the project with abandon. It had been an off-chance conversation that led Harry to discover that the rather peculiar specimen under his back window came from China.

“How did you get it shipped?” Harry had asked.

“Oh, you couldn’t trust one to shipping!” Neville had exclaimed in horror. “I collected it.”

It turned out that Neville had been apparating long distance all round the globe in search of rare plants, establishing contacts with all sorts of people. His charm and enthusiasm seemed to melt the stoniest hearts and he had amassed cuttings, seeds, plants, etc. None of this had he brought up in their meeting – just that he had been developing a translation spell that actually included intonation and expression – it made a huge difference to how a person reacted, Neville said, and existing spells didn’t seem to go that far. Harry had no worries about Neville at all.

And then there was Severus. Harry was really rather surprised that Severus had not mastered wandless magic yet. He also disliked using anyone else’s wand, and generally produced poor results doing so. The man seemed to come to the classes to learn how others were learning – a professional interest – rather than gaining any increase of power for himself. Harry had kept a straight face when Severus had introduced a blitzing session in his top year potions class on suggestions for improving the potion they were studying that week.

He needed to do something about it. He picked up his towel and wiped his face, doing a few stretches and moving into his warm-down before heading off to the showers.

He knew what he had to do, really. He had just been putting it off, hoping it could be achieved painlessly. He had found his own abilities through fear and desperation.

Now he would have to try that route.

Later that evening, he went to Dumbledore to outline his plan, and to make arrangements.

“Severus still doesn’t know?” he asked Harry, “Not an inkling?”

“No. I don’t think so,” Harry amended. Sometimes Snape looked at him – at Harry – strangely. But he was sure that Snape couldn’t know. “No,” he said firmly.

“And you plan to tell him when? He’s going to be very upset, Harry. I’m not pleased to be involved in this deception.”

“I know, Sir,” Harry said, rubbing his forehead. “I’m really sorry. I’m not sure what else I could have done. He’s been happy, hasn’t he?”

“I don’t doubt it, but he’s going to be very angry. With both of us.”

“I can’t tell him until he’s got his wandless magic. I can’t risk him giving up the classes. At least he might understand then why I couldn’t tell him. And have something really positive.”

“Hmn. Well, I hope this idea of yours works. I’ll clear the homework for the weekend with the other teachers, and I can do Severus’ marking.”

Harry gave his thanks and left, worried.

He sent a note to his class telling them to meet him in the classroom on Friday night at 5pm for an extra class.

He and Severus had not arranged to meet that Wednesday, as Severus was delivering a paper at a symposium in London. Harry really wished he could see him. Be in his arms, held tight and warm against his chest. He could feel the weight of his fear, but he had no option. This had to be done.

Severus had been due to come to his cottage late-ish on Friday evening, after supper: having been absent for the symposium, he was expected to show his face in the Great Hall that night. Although it hurt, Harry knew that Severus’ frustration at missing their meeting and not being able to tell Alex would help.

At five to five, all the classmates had appeared.

“What’re we doing, Harry?” Ernie asked, his leg swinging as he sat on the corner of the desk.

“Going on a trip,” Harry said. “All been to the loo?”

Padma giggled but no-one moved to leave the class.

“What time will we be back?” Severus said sharply.

Harry looked at him. “That’s up to you lot really,” he said genially. “Right, can everyone stretch out your arms to their full lengths at the side, and just touch each other’s fingertips?”

“You apparating us or tricking us, this time?” Draco sneered, even as he got into position.

“Decide for yourself,” Harry answered. “Shut your eyes, everyone.”

“Why?”

“’Cos I asked you to?”

Ernie snickered. “We going to turn up on the stage of a ballet or something?” he asked, causing a few chuckles at the weird position.

“Or something,” Harry agreed, and apparated them.

“What the fuck!”

“Hey!”

“Harry! This isn’t funny.”

“Mr Potter. Remove these shackles at once!”

Harry moved away from the wall and stood in the centre of the room, looking at his class. His heart was thumping, but he was determined to remain calm. With a wave of his hand, all six wands flew into his palm. Harry pocketed them. He pulled a bottle of water out of his robe pocket, and put it down in the centre, placing a small key beside it. He raised his eyes, looking round at the 6 people now shackled to the walls of a dungeon. The arm restraints had less than a foot of chain before they were bolted into the wall, so that they all stood with their arms spread out but drooping slightly. A couple of wall sconces flickered, casting looming shadows as they moved.

“Would you care to explain yourself?” Severus said, his voice at its most venomous.

“Your task today is to get yourself out,” Harry said calmly. “The key to the cuffs is here,” he indicated the key on the floor. “And water, if you get thirsty,” he saw Ernie lick his lips, and knew just how the suggestion of it would bring feelings of thirst to the fore. “I’ve cleared your absence with the Headmaster –“

“Professor Dumbledore knows that you’ve chained us to a wall?” Padma squeaked. “I don’t think so!”

“Well, I didn’t tell him the details,” Harry agreed.

Draco snorted. “Merlin, Potter, you should have been in Slytherin!”

“The Sorting Hat certainly thought so,” Harry grinned, watching Draco’s eyes widen in disbelief. “We could have been friends years ago, Draco!”

“If tying your friends up to walls is part of your normality, I’ve seriously been underestimating Gryffindor,” the blond haired boy retorted.

“Mr Potter, some of us may have made other arrangements for the evening,” Severus said silkily.

“Harry,” Harry gently reminded him. “I’m afraid you’ll have to give your apologies later if you had other plans,” he said to the group as a whole. “The sooner you get yourselves out, the sooner you can do that. Now, I’m going to leave you to it, but if there is an emergency you may call me. I have a monitoring spell set up. But it is only for emergencies,” he added.

“You’re going to leave us here?” Eloise squeaked.

Neville turned to Snape. “Is this one of the Hogwarts dungeons, Sir?”

Snape looked at the boy – no, man - with dawning respect. No panic or comments from Mr Longbottom, just astute questions. He looked around carefully.

“I don’t recognise it,” he said at last.

Harry had walked over to him. “I’m very sorry to do this to you, Severus,” he said, “but it will be too easy for the group to be tempted to put you in charge.” He leant forward and carefully slid a silk scarf over Snape’s mouth.

Snape stood there, involuntarily inhaling the scent of the boy as he leant in, feeling the hard body brush momentarily against his own. To his horror, he found the soft brush of the boy’s hair against his cheek, the hard body against his, the gentle hands tying the cloth behind his head, forcing his head forward onto the boy’s shoulder, to be unwelcomingly erotic. He forced himself to stand stiffly, not to turn his head to sniff the boy’s neck. He knew fear could increase arousal. That was all it was. And he hadn’t seen Alex for a week, what with his trip to London. He had been primed for a hot evening with his lover. His anger towards Harry increased, even though he could see the logic of silencing him. He opened his mouth to utter a blistering set down when he felt the tingle of the boy’s magic against his lips.

“The spell to keep you silent. The cloth to prevent lip reading,” Potter said softly, his breath ghosting over his face.

Severus glared.

“Right, I think we’re set,” the boy said, standing back and looking round.

“Harry! This is ridiculous! What do you hope to achieve?” Ernie snapped.

Harry looked around at them all. “You’ll need wandless magic to get that key,” he answered, and with a pop that sounded remarkably like apparition, he blinked himself invisible, setting a silence spell around himself as he did so. He settled himself down on the floor to watch.

He suspected it was going to be a very long night.

There was several moment’s silence.

“Bastard!” Ernie said at last. “This is ridiculous! How long can he leave us like this?”

“My arms are aching already,” Padma moaned.

“Just let your arms flop,” Eloise suggested.

“But the cuffs dig in!”

There was a lot of rattling of the chains as they all attempted to find comfortable positions.

“I wish he hadn’t left that bottle,” Ernie said after a few moments of silence. “It makes me thirsty just looking at it.”

There was a muffled giggle in response.

More chain rattling.

“How come you’re so quiet, Draco?” Ernie said at last.

Silence.

“Draco?”

“For Merlin’s sake!” snapped the Slytherin. “I’m attempting to get the key to move! You might be better using your time if you tried too, instead of wittering on.”

Silence.

“But he can’t really leave us here for long, can he?” Padma said. “I mean, this is silly. And I’m sure he didn’t realise these things would hurt. Harry’s always trying to save people, not hurt them. And he knows we can’t do wandless.”

“How long do you reckon before he comes back?” Ernie asked cheerfully. “I reckon he’ll make us sweat a bit. An hour and a half, or something.”

Three hours later, the atmosphere had changed considerably. “That fucking shit!” Ernie snarled. “This is bloody ridiculous!”

The key and bottle were in exactly the same positions.

“I’m cold,” Eloise said miserably. “I wish I’d worn trousers today.”

“That’s the problem with having nice legs,” Ernie said, looking Eloise over.

“What?” she answered.

“Well, if you had big fat legs, you’d probably want to cover them up more. As your legs are nice, you want to show them off. Hence short skirt and cold legs.”

In the silence, everyone stared at Eloise’s legs, even Snape, Harry noticed, had a quick glance.

“That is the worst, sexist, -“

“Compliment?” Padma interjected.

“Huh?”

“He says your legs are nice. They are,” Padma said, looking at them critically.

“They are,” Draco agreed. “However, unless you are a contortionist and you can twist yourself up and crack these cuffs off with a pincer movement, can we concentrate on the job in hand?”

An hour later, Padma’s voice wobbled out. “Are the candles burning down? We’re not going to be in the dark, are we?”

At once, everyone was aware that the candles were guttering.

“Shit! He can’t leave us in the dark!” Ernie exploded.

“He can. He’s not scared of the dark,” Neville said quietly.

“Well bully for him!” snapped Padma, “’cos I am!”

There was a moment’s silence.

“He can’t,” Ernie said, voice troubled.

A moment later, one of the candles went out.

Padma screamed.

“Shut up!” snapped Draco. “Concentrate on the bloody key! We’ll never be able to do it in the dark!”

There was an intense silence, and the weight of concentration.

Then the other candle flickered, and gutted.

“No!” Padma didn’t scream, but a thin, reedy wail came out.

It was pitch black, a darkness that felt oppressive, pushing in on them.

“Please,” Padma whispered.

Harry steeled himself.

Padma screamed.

Chains rattled as everyone jumped.

“It’s only me! It’s only me!” Ernie shouted.

“A creature! Something!” Padma was hyperventilating.

“Calm down! I touched your fingers! I thought it might make you feel better!” Ernie shouted.

The dungeon silenced, only the sound of Padma’s gasping breaths echoing around.

“I can’t!” she said. “I can’t do this! I’m going to call Harry.”

“Look Padma, I don’t like the dark either –“ Ernie began.

“I can’t,” she whispered, “it’s pressing in on me! I can’t!”

“Don’t give the bastard the satisfaction!” Draco hissed.

“I can’t,” she cried, sobbing. “Harry!” she shouted. “Harry! Help!”

There was a silence. Had there been a pin to drop, they would have heard it. Harry curled his head into his knees. It hurt. It hurt to ignore her.

“Harry!” she shouted again, voice desperate.

A moment.

“Harry!”

“The prick’s not coming,” Draco said, surprise in his voice.

“No! Yes! He must come! Harry!” Padma shrieked.

Silence.

Padma started to sob.

“Neville?” Ernie asked. “What the hell is going on? He can’t leave us here in the dark.”

Neville took a long time to answer. Padma’s sobs punctuating the silence. “He can,” Neville said at last, his voice sounding resigned. “He’ll do what he thinks best. That’s what he does.”

“Best?” Draco snarled. “Best to leave us here with that madwoman shrieking?”

Padma sobbed louder.

“I’ve got to get out of here! He’s right, he’s right, I’m going mad!”

“Padma, “ Eloise began gently, when suddenly a light flickered.

A second of silence, and then a cheer. The light flickered slightly stronger.

“He’s not abandoned us!”

The light dimmed.

Neville looked round. “Prof – Severus? That’s you, isn’t it?”

Harry looked across at Snape. He himself had been amazed, had wondered if some emergency system had kicked in.

Snape had his head leaning back against the wall; a trickle of sweat on his brow caught the light. He gave a slight nod.

“You’re doing the light wandless?” Draco exclaimed, voice excited.

Snape nodded. The light flickered.

“Holy shit!” breathed Ernie.

“Thank you! Thank you, Sir,” whispered Padma.

“Can you get the key?” Draco asked urgently.

The light went out.

“No!” Padma’s voice groaned softly.

There was a strange scraping noise.

“He’s doing it!” Ernie yelled excitedly.

Many moments passed.

And then silence.

“What’s happening?” Eloise asked tentatively.

The light flickered on again, to Padma’s relief.

The key had moved only an inch.

They all looked at it in disappointment.

Snape nodded his head towards the light.

“What? Yes. Severus, if you can keep the light going, the rest of us will keep trying, ok?”

Severus nodded. It was obviously a strain.

An hour and a half passed; spurred on by Snape’s success, the key had jerked in odd movements around the floor, but was still within inches of the bottle.

“God, I need a drink! Strong beer would be best, but I could murder for that water!” Ernie groaned.

Several pairs of eyes looked at him.

“What? It’s an expression!”

“I - “

“What?” Neville said gently, turning to Eloise.

She shook her head. “Nothing. I’m going to concentrate on moving that damn key.”

Three quarters of an hour later, the interminable rattling of Eloise’s chains was annoying everyone.

“Eloise! For god’s sake, I know your legs are cold but can’t you keep still for a minute? I can’t concentrate with that noise!” snapped Padma.

Eloise shifted, then rattled again, a moment later.

“Eli!”

“I can’t help it!” Eloise snapped back.

“Of course you can! We’re all cold,” Ernie said.

“I – I –“

“What?” Draco snarled.

“I need the loo, alright!”

There was a horrified silence.

“Oh shit,” Neville said softly. “Er, not to be offensive or anything, but – well, which sort?”

The profound embarrassment of the situation was evident in the fact that nobody even snickered.

“A wee. I need a wee,” Eloise whispered. You could hear the blush in her voice.

“Can you hold it?” Ernie asked.

“What do you think I’ve been doing for the last three hours!” Eloise snapped.

“You’ve wanted to go for three hours?” Ernie asked incredulously.

Eloise nodded.

“Blimey, I’ve wanted to go for half an hour and that feels bad enough,” Ernie said.

Eloise gave a little grin. And clenched her legs.

“Don’t make me laugh, anyone,” she warned.

“I think we’re past laughing here,” Padma said.

Fifty minutes later the key was still in the middle and Eloise was sweating and pale.

“You have to go,” Neville said suddenly.

“I can’t wet myself,” Eloise grimaced.

“You’ll be ill. You’ll do yourself a damage. I’m going to kill Harry,” he said grimly, making all eyes turn to him.

Harry’s heart lurched.

Should he end it? He was so tempted, but it was just this sort of desperation that might work. He prayed it would.

Ten minutes later Eloise looked ready to pass out. The key was jiggling but going nowhere.

“Eloise, just go,” Ernie said. “It’s only piss. We won’t look.”

“I can’t,” she sobbed.

After a couple of moments of unbearable tension, punctuated only by her sniffles, Ernie said, “Did you hear about the international convention of brewers?”

Everyone turned to look at him as if he had grown an extra head.

He stood up straight and carried on. “Yeah. The bosses of various Muggle brewing organisations had gone to the hotel bar at the end of the day’s conference. Bruce, the boss of this Australian company, shouted to the barman: 'In 'Strylya, we make the best bladdy beer in the world, so pour me a bladdy Fosters, mate.'” Ernie did a really good Australian accent, then went on, “Bob, boss of an American lot, calls out next: 'In the States, we brew the finest beers of the world, and I make the King of them all, gimme a Bud.'”, changing his accent accordingly. Everyone was listening intently. He went on, “Hans steps up next: 'In Germany ve invented das beer, verdamt. Give me ein Becks, ya ist der real King of beers, danke.'”

“Relation of Krum’s?” Draco inserted, to a snorted response.

Ernie picked up, “Paddy, the Guinness boss, steps forward: 'Barman, would ya give me a doyet coke wid ice and lemon. Tanks.' The others stare at him in stunned silence, amazement written all over their faces. Eventually Bruce asks: 'Are you not going to have a Guinness, Pat?' Paddy replies: 'Well, if you pansies aren't drinkin', then neither am I'”.

Everyone burst out laughing. Even if they hadn't really understood the joke. The craziniess of even telling a joke in this situation, the fact that they were all thirsty, the funny voices…

As they stopped sniggering, Eloise’s quiet sobs could be heard.

Everyone looked at her.

And the puddle at her feet.

Ernie stretched his fingers out to touch her hand, but she kept hers hanging limply.

“It’s not the end of the world,” he said softly. “It isn’t.”

But Eloise continued to cry.

“Bugger it,” Ernie said. “I might as well be comfortable.”

They all stared at him, and even in the gloom saw the wet patch start on his trousers, visible through the front of his robe, and the sound of urine trickling onto the floor.

“Aah,” he said at last. “That’s better. Nice and warm for a minute too.”

Eloise sobbed and laughed and snorted at the same time.

“Bugger this!” Draco said. He looked at the key, and concentrated. It shifted more than it had done before.

“Hey! That’s working! Go, man, go!” Ernie shouted.

Unfortunately, several minutes later the key had only moved a foot across the floor.

“Let’s think about this,” Draco said, breathing heavily. “Has everyone been able to make it move a bit?”

Everyone nodded.

“Okay. If we haven’t the power to do it individually, perhaps we can do it between us? We need to plan what we’re doing – all concentrating on making it do exactly the same thing. Say the same spell. Get it to move in the same direction.”

Twenty minutes later, the key was in Padma’s hand. Carefully, she rotated her hand and opened the lock on Ernie’s wrist. Ernie took the key. Moments later, they were all free.

Ernie grabbed the bottle and took a sip, before passing it to Eloise.

“God, that’s the best drink I’ve ever had!”

Snape had removed the scarf, and found to his surprise that he could speak.

Harry felt that the others weren’t relying on his leadership, so now it was ok. Without speech, he might be excluded. He felt a huge sense of relief that they had all managed to escape. He hadn’t envisioned the working together, but that was good. He kept himself out of the paths of the group as they stretched their legs.

Eloise however, huddled against the wall, arms round her knees, robe pulled around her, head down.

Harry saw Snape watching her. The man appeared to make a decision. He motioned to Ernie, who was also watching Eloise, uncertain of what to do. Ernie went over. With an indrawn breath, a murmured word and a hand movement, Ernie's and Eloise’s clothes were dry. The light barely flickered. Harry smiled. Severus was getting it.

The girl looked up at her teacher. “Thanks,” she whispered, but looked quickly away.

Snape sat himself down against the wall next to her. He was aware of the others in the room quieting.

“Eloise, I know you’re worried about what people will think of you. You feel you will never live it down. You will,” he said firmly.

Eloise buried her head further in her arm, her face hidden.

“We all have so much pride that we hate the indignity of presenting ourselves in any way that we prefer other people didn’t see us. But sometimes, circumstances are beyond our control. We all do the best we can. You do discover you can still live afterwards.”

“You don’t understand – “

“I do, Miss Midgen,” Severus said, deliberately giving her the respect of her title. He looked at her as she raised her head at his tone.

“I have been the guest of the Dark Lord. I have lain in my own piss and shit and vomit under torture, begging and screaming, with people that I had known and respected laughing at my disgrace. It isn’t easy to believe that you will ever feel human again, but someone said to me, and I took it to heart, that we all shit and piss and vomit and scream and beg; it was just the occasion that made it seem so unbearable. I was so angry when that was said to me, but, actually, it’s true. I expect everyone in here will be running to the lavatories in a minute or two when we get through that door. We are all human. There are many things in life to be ashamed of – letting down your friends, deliberately hurting people - but this, I assure you, isn’t one of them.”

Eloise looked at him, her eyes wide.

The dungeon was silent, people taking in what Snape had said. It was hard to picture the controlled man in that situation. Harry couldn’t believe he had opened his soul to comfort Eloise, but he turned and looked at the others and could see the profound effect his words were having. Draco looked gobsmacked.

And it was Draco who had responded to Eloise’s distress with action.

He hoped this was going to work out well.

Snape stood, and reached out his hand to Eloise. She tentatively took it, and let him pull her up.

Harry noted that Snape had maintained the light the whole time.

Padma came forward and hugged the other girl, and a moment later, Ernie and Neville did too. Draco looked rather horrified at this exhibition of support, but gave the girl a slight nod.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, turning to the door.

They crowded behind him.

As he stretched his hand forward, the stupidity of expecting the key to fit dawned.

There was a huge lock.

As Draco’s hand with the minute key hovered before the gaping keyhole, reality dawned on them all.

They were still trapped.

Chapter Text

“I don’t believe it,” Ernie groaned.

“Look around – maybe the other key is hidden somewhere,” Padma suggested.

With little other option, they all took up her suggestion, though it did not take long to look. The only things they found of any interest were that there was a tiny barred grille high up, that water dripped down one wall, and that the grate in the corner didn’t lift off.

The purpose of the grate became evident.

Two hours of trying to open the door later – including spells and physical violence - they were no further advanced. They had all used the grate, the others turning their backs, and conversations, if not already ongoing, were started to camouflage the noise and ease the embarrassment. Once they had all been, it seemed easier, somehow, as if the action had invoked a sense of camaraderie.

Neville said quietly, “I think we should stop.”

“Huh?” Ernie said.

“We’d be better to sleep and continue in the morning,” he said. “There’ll be light then; Severus can help with the magic: it must be using up loads of power to maintain the light.”

Draco turned to Severus: even in the dimness he could see how drawn the man was. He cursed himself for not having noticed before.

“I agree,” he said firmly.

The swift acquiescence of the others indicated that it was a good idea.

“Shall we keep a guard going?” Eloise asked quietly. “I’m happy to take first shift.”

They looked at each other.

Nothing could apparently get in, but they could not trust the environment.

“Why don’t we pair off and do three 2 hour shifts?” Ernie said. “We can keep each other awake, and it’ll be morning by the time we’re done. I don’t mind joining Eli on first. You need to rest, Severus.”

Padma quickly offered to pair up with Neville: the options of Snape or Draco were still rather too scary.

The sleepers spread out. The light began to flicker even as Snape settled. The floor was hard and cold. Padma began to panic.

“Severus, hold the light a second,” Neville began. Snape raised his head on his elbow.

“Can anyone else do the light?” Neville asked.

After a few tries of flickering flames, it seemed that it was too much.

“Right. I suggest we huddle up,” Neville said calmly. “Padma, I’ll snug up to you and Draco and Severus can come behind. It’ll help us keep warm, help the two guarding know where we are, and we won’t have to worry about the light. Alright?”

Surprisingly, everyone scooted up without much objection.

Neville cautiously wrapped an arm and his robe over Padma, who had her back to him.

“Alright?” he whispered.

She nodded.

The light went out.

The chill of the dungeon seemed to eat into one’s bones.

Draco couldn’t believe how cold it was. He could feel that Severus behind him was already asleep. He wished he had on more than a silk shirt under his robe. That he wasn’t commando. That he was wearing thick long johns under his trousers and a thermal vest like Goyle wore.

He started shivering and couldn’t stop. His teeth started chattering. Noisily.

He heard rustling, felt the air move, and then Neville’s voice.

“Draco? Shift over here and snuggle up. It’s a lot warmer if you have body contact.”

It was a measure of how cold it was that Draco did so.

Harry sat in his corner watching over them, a charm enabling him to see despite the lack of light, listening to the quiet talk of Ernie and Eloise, feeling like he was intruding. Although their conversation was not particularly personal, the process of it, the quiet, the dark, was fostering a sense of intimacy between them that was almost tangible.

Just as their time was almost up, Harry, head lowered onto his arms, could hear the definite sounds of them kissing.

Well, that had been an unplanned outcome.

Ernie shook Neville awake, before moving to Padma.

Neville felt himself surface, enjoying the feeling of the bodies on either side of him. He was surprised to find Draco’s arm slung over his hip, the man snug up behind him. He lay there a moment as Padma was woken, waiting for her to move so he could roll over forward and not disturb Draco too much.

He had never slept with anyone before.

Maybe the harsh floor made the warmth and give of the human bodies feel better, but Neville couldn’t help thinking that he wished he hadn’t discovered how nice it was to be so close to others, how comforting. He suspected it would be a long time before he again found himself in another’s embrace.

Harry was interested to note that although Padma and Neville were civil, that was it. No romance there! They didn’t talk much, both half asleep still. The two hours seemed interminable. Harry took a sip of the draught in his pocket. He couldn’t afford to fall asleep.

Draco and Severus rose without complaint, quietly and smoothly. They took turns at the grate before settling beside each other in companionable silence.

After some time, Draco said quietly, “Severus? Why did the Dark Lord torture you?”

Harry held his breath.

Snape didn’t answer for a long while, and then said, simply, “Which time?”

Draco’s head whipped round to stare at him, even though Harry knew he couldn’t see in the dark. Draco’s head dropped onto his arms.

“Hades! I heard he was vicious with Muggles, but with wizards?”

Snape laughed harshly. “Friend or foe, Muggle, wizard or squib, makes no difference.”

“Then I don’t understand how he has so many followers,” Draco interjected.

Snape was quiet.

“Fear is a great motivator,” he said at last.

“But why did you join him?” Draco asked.

Snape sighed. “Because I was a teenager who thought he knew more that he did; because he was charismatic then; because I thought what he said made sense.”

“And now?”

Snape was silent.

“What are you asking me, Draco?” he said heavily. “You want to know whether you should join him? Decide whether you believe in what he stands for. Then decide whether you believe the end justifies the means. Then decide. You have enough moral stature to make your own judgements; you can’t survive if you base your actions on what you believe people want you to do: you can only ever have any sense of justification if you believe yourself.”

A long period of silence ensued.

“What do you think of what Potter said?” Draco whispered.

“Which nugget of wisdom are you referring to?” Snape drawled.

Harry almost snorted. He loved Snape’s sense of humour. How had he come to enjoy the man snarking?

“About us being powerful and deciding whether we wanted to serve someone less than ourselves?”

Snape sounded very weary, Harry thought.

“There’s nothing wrong about working for someone with less power than you,” was Snape’s surprising answer. “They may have all sorts of other qualities you don’t possess. Drive, ambition, motivation. On the other hand, I believe he is right in that more power gives you more choice on deciding how to act.”

“Do you think he’s right? That Voldemort draws power through the Dark Mark?”

Harry waited, breathless, for the answer.

“I have been paying particular attention to it since Mr Potter said that,” Severus said. “I believe he is correct.”

Even in the gloom Harry could detect the look of horror on Draco’s face, though he said nothing.

“It is ingenious, is it not?” Snape said.

Draco was silent, then said, curious, ”You don’t mind? Were you told before you got the Mark?”

Snape made a weird sound. “I had no idea until Potter mentioned it.”

“But – whatever one’s beliefs, “ Draco said cautiously, “doesn’t it feel like a - a violation? For it to be taken without your permission.”

Another silence. Draco wondered if he had gone too far. Would Snape report on his disgust to Voldemort?

“The Dark Lord has been known to violate people on many occasions,” Snape answered at last. “You have to decide whether one’s initial choice to join is permission for all that follows, or not.”

Draco gasped.

One of the sleepers tried to turn over, and thought better of it.

“His followers? Not just Muggles?”

“Draco, he made one of his followers wear him on the back of his head for months. What do you think?”

“But – sexual? He rapes his women followers?” Draco was having horrid thoughts. He had always been surprised at his mother’s reluctance to have Voldemort in the manor – surely Voldemort hadn’t – couldn’t have –

“You think he would only discipline women?” Snape jeered, sotto voce. “Rape is about control, Draco. Most of his followers are men.”

Draco took this in. Surely not - ?

“You would be wise to refrain from asking the question that is on the tip of your tongue,” Snape said.

Draco gulped.

Harry’s heart was breaking.

There was silence for a long time. At last, Severus looked up.

“Dawn,” he said quietly, observing the now grey square that was the window high up on the wall.

“Should we wake them?” Draco asked.

“Give them half an hour. Then it might be light enough to be useful.”

They sat quietly.

Eventually, their fellows were roused.

“Any water left?” Ernie asked. “My mouth tastes of mouldy fur.”

Padma took up the bottle; there was only an inch in the bottom. “Just a tiny sip each, then,” she said.

They all carefully moistened their mouths, making sure there was enough for everyone. No one needed the grate. Their bodies were dehydrating.

“Well, I’m cold, stiff, miserable, thirsty and starving,” Ernie said. “Can we get out of here so I can hit that bastard? Not even a drop of water! I bet he’s been fucking someone all night and forgotten about us!”

“Who?” Padma asked with interest.

Harry was interested too.

“Madam Hooch,” Ernie said cheerfully. “She’d give him a good ride. Maybe they do it on a broomstick!”

There was laughter. “An interesting idea, but Potter said he was a nancy,” Draco drawled.

So’s your bloody father, Harry thought angrily. And you know Severus is!

As if realising this at the same time, Draco turned round, an apology on his face, but Severus just gave an infinitesimal shake of his head. His sexual preference might be known to the son of his old lover, but he had no intention of being classroom gossip.

“I think this conversation is rather pointless,” he said, in best teacher voice. “I have not the slightest interest in Mr Potter’s love life, apart from the wish to make him incapable of it for the next 50 years or so.”

Amidst the laughter, Harry hoped very much that that was a wish that wouldn’t come true.

“Let us look at this door now that we can see it properly.”

After an hour, no progress had been made. Tummies were rumbling noisily.

Neville had spent the last five minutes in the corner.

“Nev, what are you doing?” Padma asked. “Aren’t you interested in getting out?”

The comment turned all eyes to him, as a relief from staring and spell-casting at the immovable door.

Neville did a last couple of waves of his hand, muttering a few words.

“There are mushroom spores over here,” he said. “Thought I’d see if I could speed up the growth so we can have some breakfast.”

Draco opened his mouth to mock and snapped it shut again. He was starving.

“I know they’re not that nutritious but they’ll take the edge off,” Neville explained apologetically.

“Neville, I think you’re brilliant!” Eloise smiled. “Are you sure they’re not poisonous?” she added.

Neville laughed. “No, I know my mushrooms,” he grinned.

The whole group stood and watched as the mushrooms bloomed to life at their feet. Soon, they were all munching their way through a handful each, and afterwards, their spirits had lifted considerably.

Neville himself bloomed under the thanks.

They went back to the door.

“The spells on it are weird, aren’t they?” Padma said.

Snape looked at her.

“In what way ‘weird’? How do you know? Do you see them, or -?” Snape invited Padma to explain.

“Oh, I can see them, when I concentrate,” she said. “Can’t everyone?”

There was a silence.

“No, Padma,” Ernie said.

“I think you’ve found your talent,” Snape said quietly.

“But I’ve always been able to see spells,” Padma argued.

“It’s really uncommon,” Eloise offered. “Can you use it to help us get out?”

Padma studied the door. “Frankly,” she said at last, “it’s so heavily guarded it would be easier to blast through the wall.”

They all looked at each other.

“Well done, Padma! Some innovative thinking at last!” Neville said.

“What? I was joking!”

“Well, it’s the best idea so far. What spell shall we use?” he said, looking round.

“Everta?” Draco said, looking at Severus.

The older man nodded.

“Okay. Everyone, let’s concentrate the spell in one area so we can make sure we achieve something,” Draco said, pointing at a spot on the wall. “Once we break through we can do the spell again or physically knock it out.”

Two minutes later, they were wiping the dust from their eyes; Harry grinned. Desperation had worked: there was the most enormous hole in the wall.

“Well shit!” Ernie said. “We could have done that last night!”

“It’s a good lesson not to look for the obvious in this place,” Draco said seriously. “Shall I go first? I’d offer the ladies, but it might be dangerous...”

“I’d say that was sexist, but I’m very happy to follow you,” Eloise grinned.

Draco hauled himself up and climbed over the mound of fallen rubble, gripping on as stones shifted underfoot.

“Oh fuck!”

“Is it safe?”

“As far as I can see. Come through.”

“Bugger!” Ernie said, moments later.

Through the haze of stone dust, they stared up and down a corridor. Dark wood doors lined both sides, and cut off each end.

“Why am I getting a bad feeling about this?” Ernie said.

“’Cos your instincts are good?” Neville responded, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets.

“Do we go all together or split up?” Eloise asked.

“I suggest sticking together,” Snape said calmly. “At least until we get some idea of what is behind those doors.”

“Does anyone recognise this place?” Ernie asked.

“It reminds me of the Ministry of Magic,” Neville said.

“You’ve been to the Ministry of Magic?” Padma asked.

“In fifth year. Harry was there,” Neville answered.

Draco looked at him sharply. “Do you think this is another construct? No, it couldn’t be! It’s been hours – we’re all experiencing it –“

“Look for anything odd. Don’t open the doors yet,” Neville said firmly.

They walked up and down the corridor, feeling, looking, touching.

“It feels real enough,” Padma said finally.

“So did the forest,” Eloise replied.

“Does it make a difference even if it is a construct?” Draco said slowly.

“What do you mean?” Eloise asked.

“Even if it is, it didn’t just break when we mentioned it. So if it is, Potter wants us to be here. He’s not letting us out until we’ve done whatever it is he wants of us.”

“We could try apparating out,” Neville suggested.

“I haven’t taken my licence yet,” Padma shook her head

“Nor me or any of us except Severus, I expect, “ Draco commented. “That wasn’t the question. Can you do it?”

Ernie, Padma and Eloise shook their heads.

“We could take them, side-along,” Neville offered, looking at Draco and Snape.

Draco sneered. “Yeah right! Like you’ve the practice to do that!”

“I could take one,” Neville said firmly.

“Without your sodding wand? Are you mad?”

“I’m pretty confident I could,” Neville said calmly, “but if we all can’t, and I don’t know how to get back, then let’s give it a miss for now. Freedom might be behind one of these doors for all we know.”

Draco stared at Neville as if seeing him for the first time. Gone was the trembling tubby teenager of the past. Here stood a calm, cool young man. Built, thought Draco, remembering the disconcerting feel of Neville’s muscular back against his chest and belly. He was not particularly good looking, but his eyes were – strong – Draco thought in surprise.

“Lets do it,” he said. “Ends first?”

They all followed him as he strode to the nearest end door, and flung it open.

There was an empty room.

Dusty floorboards, no window, no furniture, no fireplace.

They crowded in.

“Don’t let the door shut!” Draco commanded.

They felt over the walls, but there appeared to be no hidden panels.

“Let’s try another,” Eloise suggested.

They filed out.

Snape pulled a piece of chalk from his robe and marked a large cross on the door.

They moved to the next.

Another empty room, just like the first.

The next was the same.

And the next.

Snape marked them all.

Ernie flung open the next door.

And yelled, stumbling back.

He fell on his arse on the floor, as the air swarmed with black creatures. Hundreds, thousands of them.

“Bats!” Neville exclaimed.

Padma was screeching, Ernie was cowering on the floor, and the others were trying to fend them off. The creatures had nowhere to go in the corridor, and were whirling and zooming around, getting more and more agitated.

“Sopor!” Eloise shouted. The bats crashed to the floor, soft thuds sounding as they hit the wood.

“Merlin! Well done!” Neville hugged Eloise briefly around the shoulders.

“Ernie?” she asked.

Ernie peeked out of his huddled form.

He stood up cautiously, shoving a clump of bats to the side with his foot and shuddering.

“Sorry,” he whispered, looking away. “I’ve got a thing about bats.”

“Don’t worry about it,“ Neville said.

“Great spell; how long do you think it will last?” Padma asked, stepping carefully into the spaces between the bodies.

Ernie’s head whipped back. “Oh god!”

Snape took a handkerchief out of his pocket, and turned it into a large crate. He pointed at the nearest clump of bats, which rose up and plopped into the box. The others watched.

“Some assistance would speed things along,” he said, the snark back in his voice.

The others hurried to help. Even Ernie.

Harry was delighted to see that they were all able to shift at least several bats at a time. Yesterday they had not been able to lift a key.

Snape closed the lid.

“Let’s take a look in that room. They must have some way of getting in.”

It was true, but unfortunately it appeared to be merely a missing brick high up on the wall.

“Who’s opening the next door?” Ernie said nervously.

“Me,” Draco said, moving to the next door. He waited till the others were behind him, and opened it.

“Blank,” he said, stepping into the room. Then, urgently, “Run!”

There was a growl, a flurry of movement and colour. Draco was trying to pull the door shut. The paw of a tiger raked around the edge, the claws slicing down his hand.

“Shit!” He let go of the door. “Oh shit!”

The others were in the corridor trying to get into the marked rooms.

The doors wouldn’t open. They all turned round, backed against the wall. The tiger was prowling across the floor at the far end, never taking his eyes from them, wending closer with each move.

“Sopor!” Eloise shouted again. The tiger shook his head, as if a fly had bothered him.

“All together!” she whispered urgently.

The tiger stumbled, and began to sink to its knees.

“It’s working!”

“Oh hell!” Ernie gasped, as another tiger stepped around the door.

Neville reached into his pocket, and threw a handful of seeds across the floor ahead of them.

“Tigers don’t eat sodding grain!” Draco hissed.

But Neville was on his knees, his arms outstretched.

“Holy shit!” Ernie whispered.

Already, the seeds had germinated. They could see them sinking their roots into the wooden floor. Shoots and leaves were appearing.

The tigers prowled towards them. A third had appeared.

“Hold the tigers!” Draco shouted, “keep going with Sopor!”

The tigers looked dazed, stumbling around.

The bamboo was growing and growing. Soon it hit the ceiling, and kept going, pushing through the plaster. It was so dense that it wasn’t possible to see the tigers any more; the stems were thicker than a fist.

Neville suddenly collapsed, falling forward onto his face.

Draco dropped the spell and knelt beside him, turning him over.

Neville’s face was white, his eyes rolled up.

Snape knelt on the other side, and dropped his head to Neville’s chest.

“His heart sounds alright,” he said a moment later.

“What is it?” Eloise whispered.

Draco acted on instinct. He opened Neville’s shirt and put his hand on his chest, shut his eyes, and felt.

He didn’t know what he was feeling for, only that he needed to do this.

He let his mind sink – that’s what it felt like – as if his mind had sunk into Neville’s body. He could feel the blood pumping; and he could feel a sort of groaning. He concentrated on it, then knew what it was. With barely a moment’s hesitation, he acted.

Moments later, he withdrew his hand; his head dropped forward, his hands on his thighs, his breath coming in deep pants.

“He’s coming round,” Snape said quietly to Draco.

Draco looked up at Snape, then down at Neville. The sooty eyelashes fluttered.

Neville’s eyes opened. He looked at Snape, and then across to Draco. His eyes widened.

“You’re a Healer?” he whispered.

Draco heard the gasps behind him.

“I’ve had a Healer before. Tried to mend my brain. Thought it was fried the night my parents –“ he halted, then restarted. “She didn’t do any good, but I know how it feels. I could feel that, Draco. Congratulations,” he smiled shyly. “And - thanks.”

The others offered congratulations too. Draco blushed, a thing he was sure he had never done before. But true healing was a very rare talent. He knew without a doubt that he had it, from the moment he had sunk into Neville’s chest. He had even voluntarily given Neville some of his own magic, as Neville had used a huge amount creating the bamboo barrier so quickly.

“That’s it!” Eloise said. “I have had enough of this! Draco, your own hand is still bleeding,” she added.

Neville sat up, taking hold of Draco’s hand.

“Lie still,” Draco admonished him. “Do you know how dangerous it was to use so much magic all at once?” He ignored the feeling in his stomach as Neville turned his hand to look at the wound. He did not fancy Neville Longbottom! He did not fancy men! His magical change was upsetting his internal balance, that was all. Perhaps healing required an equal empathy with both sexes. He needed to research.

Eloise, meanwhile, stood between the two doors on the right that were behind the bamboo and that weren’t marked with chalk.

“Harry Potter!” she called out. “If the exit is not behind one of these doors I am personally going to castrate you! Now open the fucking door!”

Several moments passed.

And then the lock on the left hand door clicked.

Snape strode forward and pushed the door open cautiously.

Harry Potter sat at a table resplendent with food. It was set up in their normal classroom.

“Brunch,” he invited.

Draco helped Neville up, and the group crowded in.

Ernie strode up to Harry.

And punched him in the face.

Harry fell off the chair.

“You utter bastard!” Ernie hissed.

Harry stood up, rubbing his cheek.

“What in particular has got your goat, Ernie?” he asked, setting the chair straight and standing beside it.

“What in particular...? How about – look at the state of Neville? And Draco’s hand? And leaving us in a dungeon overnight without food or water? Or not bothering to respond to your monitoring charms! Did you even bother to set one? You utter prick! I quit!”

Harry looked at him, and the rest of the group.

“Sit. Eat. You won’t be going anywhere until you do. I’ll answer then.”

The food smelled incredible.

“Is this another trick?” Padma said quietly.

“No tricks,” Harry shook his head. “The session is over. This is just the debrief, and then you can go back and sleep.”

Quietly, the atmosphere charged, they sat down.

Once Harry was sure they had all had something to eat and drink, he spoke. “I appreciate your anger.”

Draco snorted.

“I had hoped we wouldn’t have to resort to this. But it’s been nearly a term and I promised you wandless magic. In the last 18 hours, you’ve all achieved that,” he looked around at them all. “Some of you with more strength than others: that doesn’t matter. Now you’ve got it, you can build on it. You’ll never need to feel helpless again,” he added.

It was true. They had somehow taken the enormity of this achievement for granted in the pursuit of freedom.

“On top of that, we’ve achieved much more than I expected. Severus and Neville, I believe, have gained enormous power in their magic.”

“I wasn’t able to stave off the tigers,” Severus interjected.

“I’d made them almost impervious. I assure you, you did well. A normal creature would have been out for the count.”

He looked around the table, seeing the slow pleasure of this realisation sinking in.

“Padma, you discovered that you’ve had a gift for ages without even realising it; you need to work on that now. Draco. A Healer! Congratulations!”

“And me?” Ernie said belligerently. “And Eli?”

Harry looked at them. “I believe your outcome was entirely unexpected,” he said quietly. “Do you regret what has happened in your life since yesterday?”

Ernie and Eloise looked at each other. Ernie reached his hand tentatively across the table.

“I don’t,” Eloise said quietly, “though I did not appreciate wetting myself in public.” She turned stern eyes on Harry.

“I’m sorry for that,” Harry nodded, “but it was actually that that led everyone to work together and helped you all gain wandless. Sometimes the most horrible things have valuable outcomes.”

Draco looked at him carefully. “The same thing might be said of the Dark Lord.”

Harry remembered Severus’ conversation with Draco in the middle of the night, and cursed his choice of words.

“There are differences,” he said quietly. “Firstly, I hadn’t planned it with the intent of humiliating anyone. Secondly, the outcome is to your own personal benefit, rather than to anyone else.”

“But you admit that you want us to fight on your side.”

“I’d be honoured to have any of you on my side,” Harry said quietly, “but the decision must be yours.”

“You’re such a bastard! You left us to it! How can you expect us to fight with you if you lie to us, let us down?” Ernie attacked.

“He didn’t,” Neville said quietly.

“What?”

“He didn’t leave us to it; or lie, or let us down.”

“He didn’t sodding come even when Padma called!” Ernie almost shouted.

“He was there. All the time,” Neville said.

“What?”

Faces moved from Neville’s to Harry’s and back again, like a tennis match.

“He told you he was there and you believed him?”

“He didn’t say anything. I could feel his magical signature.”

“You could feel me?” Harry said, truly shocked.

Neville nodded.

“I have never heard of anyone having such a skill before,” Snape said, looking with interest at Neville.

“You knew he was there and never said anything?” Padma turned on Neville.

“If he’d wanted us to know he would have said. I accidentally knew. It might have spoiled his plans to say so.”

“Damn. You’re both bastards,” Ernie said, but his tone was a lot less aggressive and more accepting.

Severus stood up. “Mr Potter, if the debrief is over I have other places to be.”

Harry stood too and fished out all their wands from his pocket, and handed Severus’ over, passing the others around, before walking to the door with him, moving out into the corridor.

Severus looked around, affirming that he was indeed in the castle.

“Severus,” Harry said quietly. “Now that you have come fully into your powers, the Dark Lord may sense it. I’m loathe for him to have access to it. We need to find a way to block the connection, if you will allow it.”

Severus nodded. “There is one – I looked it up many years back. It requires a wizard of great power. I would be grateful for your assistance.”

Relieved, Harry nodded. “We should both be rested by Monday. May I visit you in the evening?”

“It will be safest if you flooed directly into my chambers. I will send you the direction. I change the code daily,” Severus explained, then inclined his head and swept away.

Harry watched him go, his heart delighted for the man.

Back at the table, the hostility seemed to have dissipated, and an argument was going on about whether the experience had been a construct, whether they had apparated, been portkeyed or what.

“Well?” Draco asked.

“You’ve been here the whole time,” Harry answered, pouring himself a fresh cup of tea.

“In the castle?” Padma queried. “How come Severus didn’t recognise the dungeon?”

“In this room,” Harry corrected. “Though I did apparate you six inches or so just to confuse things a bit.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Draco whispered. “We could barely light a candle. Mostly couldn’t. It’s not possible to hold a construct for all that time.”

Harry helped himself to buttered toast, and spread it thickly with marmalade.

“Even a mage couldn’t do that!” Ernie laughed.

Harry munched.

“Oh my god,” Draco whispered.

“What?” Eloise looked at Draco, who was as white as a sheet. “Are you ill, Draco?” she asked anxiously.

“You are, aren’t you?” Draco whispered.

“What?” Harry said.

“A mage.”

“Yes,” Harry said, and took another mouthful of tea.

“There hasn’t been a mage in centuries,” Ernie gasped.

Neville slipped out of his chair onto his knee, crossing his hands. Padma and Draco followed.

“No!” Harry bellowed. “No,” he said more quietly.

All three stayed there. Ernie and Eloise looked on with their mouths open.

“Look,” Harry said firmly. “I know this is tradition. I’m not a very traditional person. However, if you want to offer me allegiance, or to show your respect, I will accept it. But not as a duty. Not as something just done. If you mean it, come to me in your own time. Not now, not in front of others, not when it creates a pressure to conform. Please get up.”

They did, but stood there, staring at him, shuffling awkwardly.

“Thank you,” Harry said quietly. “Now, I suggest you all get some sleep. You’ve all been let off homework for the weekend, if you want to avoid it. You’ll probably find you’re really tired: I was when I first started using wandless. It uses your own energy, so sleep and eat, okay?”

Ernie and Eloise stood up too.

“Why haven’t you told people?” Draco asked.

“Why would I?”

“Because they’d follow you!”

“Draco, people need to follow me because they think what I’m doing is right, not because I’m powerful. I don’t want anyone informed,” he said firmly.

Draco shook his head, as if shaking the disbelief out of it.

Harry smiled, said well done to them all, and apparated to his cottage.

Chapter Text

Harry floo-called Dumbledore to let him know that the students were fine and back in their dorms, probably, and that the session had been successful. He promised to give Dumbledore a fuller report the next day, but needed to sleep.

Harry was shaking with exhaustion, and drank another cup of tea and ate some chocolate before climbing into the shower. The hot water soothed the aches in his muscles and loosened the tension that he hadn’t realised had been knotting him up. He had barely got out of the shower before the door-bell rang.

Wrapping a towel around his waist, he flicked his glamour into place and opened the door to a harassed looking Severus.

Harry noticed that Severus couldn’t stop his eyes doing a once over down his naked and dripping chest before he stepped into the cottage.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t turn up last night –"

“I’m sorry I wasn’t in –"

They both stopped, and then slowly grinned.

Severus leant forward, his head on Harry’s shoulder. Harry held him.

Severus licked up a drop of water, sending shivers down Harry’s spine.

“You need to get dry,” Severus whispered, his nose nuzzling into Harry’s neck. Harry loved it, but his body was exhausted.

“I’ve just got back. Had to work extra. I’m so knackered,” he responded, rubbing his cheek against Severus’ head. He didn’t know how Severus was still standing. He had been out for the count for nearly 24 hours after the first time he had really had a go with wandless magic.

Snape stood back and looked at him. “I’m tired myself. I just wanted you to know that I would have come if I could. I’ll let you get some sleep.”

Harry could hear that Severus had mistaken his meaning. He thought he was being dismissed.

Harry slid his hand down his lover’s cheek. “I do need to sleep. Want to join me?” he asked.

Severus’ eyes warmed. “Sure?”

“Definitely. I’d better warn you that I’m going to be out for the count in about 5 seconds flat, though.”

Severus smiled. “Suits me.”

Severus helped dry Harry, and within minutes, they were in bed, Severus’ arms wrapped around Harry, Harry with his back to Severus’ chest.

“So good,” Harry whispered, as he began to drift off.

Severus’ arms tightened.

They slept.

Draco woke late the next morning, having been dead to the world for nearly 18 hours solid. He lay on his back, looking up at the carved canopy of his four poster. There were satyrs and nymphs running riot over it. Really, it was a rather outrageous bed for a school, he thought.

He knew without a doubt that his life had changed completely in one weekend.

He was a Healer! He, Draco Malfoy, was a Healer, one of the rarest sorts of wizards in existence. He couldn’t believe it! Yet he knew, deep within him, that it was true. He could feel it. He remembered the feeling of sinking into Neville’s body, feeling what was happening in it, understanding it, his whole person awash with this other life. Neville was throbbing with magic. Even though he had dissipated his reserves, , Draco could feel the hole the working had left behind in the creative power coursing through Neville. Neville’s magic was all about creating, developing, enhancing. He wondered how other people felt. He would have to apprentice to someone. There were few true Healers, so that accepting a gifted person as an apprentice was almost a duty. He had never met a Healer himself – never been that ill, or known anyone that was.

What would his parents think? He would be revered in society – his parents would like that. His mother would be delighted. His father? Lucius would like the rank. But he was, Draco had to admit, a terrible snob. How would he feel about Draco working with all and any sort of wizard, as would be his duty. Even Mudbloods. How did Draco feel?

He folded his arms behind his head and snuggled back into his pillows and thought about it. It would be interesting, at least, to see if their magic felt different to that of purebloods. He was surprised to find that he did not find the idea repulsive. Harry Potter, after all, was not a pure blood – though of course both his parents had magic.

Harry bloody Potter.

Harry amazing Potter.

Harry sodding Potter who had led him to his magic. Who had generously and without prejudice helped Draco Malfoy, who had been a bastard to him for years, to not only achieve wandless magic but to find he was a Healer.

Harry damn Potter who had told him he was powerful.

He hadn’t believed him.

What else was Potter right about?

Harry Mage Potter.

Who unbelievably had not told a soul, had not sought the recognition and honour that was his due.

Harry Potter who had instead chosen to help others find their magic. Had not bullied them into it by telling them he was a mage. Had just encouraged. And then resorted to extremely underhand means.

Unbelievable!

Draco laughed aloud.

Harry Gryffindor Potter locking them up in a dungeon.

Starving them.

Setting wild beasts on them.

He could like a man like that.

So. Potter had said when they had their power it was up to them whether they gave it to the Dark Lord. Severus had confirmed that the Dark Lord was siphoning off his power.

Was he willing to give up his? For what? To please his father? Severus? Severus certainly wasn’t pushing him to make a choice, but then maybe he was being particularly Slytherin about it. Did he believe in what the Dark Lord said? That purebloods were better than Mudbloods? Harry Potter was a bloody mage! That turned the notion of pureblood supremacy on its head. Granger was the cleverest witch in school, and she had no magical ancestry whatsoever. If rumour were true, Voldemort was a Mudblood, which made a nonsense of his position.

And as for Muggles: well, wizards and witches were clearly superior. But then nobody in society denied that! It was what to do about them wherein the difference lay. And frankly, there were millions of them and they bred like rodents. An eradication programme really seemed pointless. They would always come back. And so what if they did? They had never prevented Draco from doing anything he wanted.

So. Was he willing to give his power to the Dark Lord?

No fucking way!

Harry sat, naked, straddling Severus’ lap, on a chair in the kitchen. The late morning sunlight was pouring through the window, gilding his flesh.

“God!“ he groaned.

Severus, shirtless, his trousers open, his hand encasing both their cocks, was firmly and slowly pumping them both.

Harry shifted his arse closer, stretching his chest, inviting Severus’ touch.

The older man chuckled, and leant forward to swipe his tongue over Harry’s nipples. They were incredibly sensitive. They had already made love twice, having woken the previous evening to snack and touch, and Severus had woken him that morning with his mouth around his cock and his nipples being harshly pinched – just the way he loved.

Harry had showered and come into the kitchen to the smell of Severus frying bacon and mushrooms. They had eaten the food packed into fresh bread, drunk more tea, and then, the next minute, Severus had magicked off his clothes – using his wand, Harry noticed – and had him hard and horny in seconds.

Harry felt the disturbance in his wards but somehow the idea never reached his brain.

The next minute Neville popped his head around the door.

“Morning, Alex! I just – oh shit! Sorry!”

The door slammed shut.

“Longbottom,” Severus ground out, not stopping.

“Probably come to do my garden,” Harry hissed. He was so close.

“Come,” Snape whispered into his neck, biting the tendon.

Harry moaned, and did.

Snape too.

Catching their breaths moments later, Harry said, “Oh shit. Neville just got an eyeful.” He looked hard at Snape. “I’m so sorry –"

“Your wards allow him in?”

“Yes, he comes whenever he can get the odd moment to look over the plants he’s put in, as well as his regular hours.”

“You allow him access into the house?”

“Downstairs, and up to the loo. So he can get himself a drink and a biscuit, wash up when he’s muddy.”

“Unfortunate.”

“I’m really sorry – "

“He already knew we were in a relationship. So it is just the visuals that one must regret.”

Harry nodded. “He’s growing some plants for you.”

“Here?” Severus asked in surprise, cleaning them up with a wave of his wand.

“Mmmn. I asked him to put in some standard potions’ herbs and anything rarer he thought you might be interested in.”

“I must go and see,” Severus said, lifting Harry from his lap.

“Do you want me to speak to him first?” Harry suggested. “He’s my employee. He’s probably more embarrassed than you.”

“No. I’m his professor, and that’s where the embarrassment lies. I’ll head out. Make us some tea.”

Harry dressed while the kettle boiled, made three cups of tea and took them outside. Severus and Neville were crouched over Neville’s special herb area.

“Alex! Can you believe Mr Longbottom is cultivating a fibrium nervatosina? In your garden? I didn’t believe they grew outside of China! And there’s a spindificus aroratea under your kitchen window. I thought I must be seeing things!“

Severus’ delight was palpable. He chatted on, quizzing Neville.

“Where on earth did you get the spindificus?” he asked.

“Oh, a friend of my uncle’s knew someone in China,” Neville said calmly.

“And he just sent it to you?”

“No, I went to talk to him about it, and he was really helpful.”

Severus paused, looked hard at Neville, and then obviously decided to terminate the conversation.

“I’d better go and shower; I should be getting back to school. Please accept my apologies once again, Mr Longbottom.”

“No worries,” Neville said, fishing his clippers out and removing a couple of strategic shoots.

Severus gave Harry a peck on the cheek, and walked back up the path into the house.

I’m sorry you had to see that,” Harry said quietly.

“He doesn’t know, does he?” Neville said, his voice harsh.

“What?”

“You haven’t told him who you are, Harry. How could you do that to him?”

Harry’s mouth opened and shut like a fish.

“You know?”

“Of course I know. I’ve always known. I assumed you had a reason for not telling me, but how you can have the nerve to string Professor Snape along -! He’s going to kill you! Why, Harry?”

Harry sighed. “We met just before term started. I’d been like this all summer – in this face. And it was incredible. He was funny. And so hot,” Harry blushed.

Neville blushed too. “Yeah, but to start a relationship without telling him –"

“We started it that night,” Harry admitted.

“Whoa! Man whore!” Neville teased.

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry’s face was even redder. “The thing is, it was great, Nev. Wonderful. I didn’t really think before that first night. And afterwards, I didn’t want to give it up.”

“But if he’d known – the mage thing – maybe –"

Harry shook his head. “I know he’s always despised Harry Potter, though it has got better, in the classes, hasn’t it?” he asked, wondering if Neville felt so too.

“Sure, so why - ?”

“Because at the beginning, I didn’t know that. And Harry Potter had to make sure Professor Snape got his full magic. I couldn’t risk that. And if he’d known I’d - I’d tricked him – he would’ve just walked out. Wouldn’t he?”

Neville rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re right, of course. But – hell, Harry, you are so deep in the shit right now!”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You have to tell him now, right? He’s got his magic.”

“I’m going to cut off Voldemort’s access through the mark on Monday – tomorrow," he corrected, realising that the rest of Saturday had disappeared in sleep. “I need to do that first.”

Neville nodded. “I can’t imagine how you’re going to tell him,” he stared at Harry.

“Neither can I,” Harry said glumly. He had been putting off thinking about it – cut it out entirely from his mind. But by this time next week Snape would know. He had to have told him. How was Snape going to react? Well, that was pretty obvious, he thought. More to the point, how could he make it alright? Lessen the damage?

“Alex?”

Snape was at the back door.

“I’m afraid I’d better get back.”

Harry walked up the path, slipped in past Snape, pulling him with him, and shut the door. Then he took the man into his arms and kissed him for all he was worth, as if he could imprint all his care, his feelings, in that kiss.

“Mmmm,” Snape whispered as they came up for air. “What did I do to deserve that?”

Harry shook his head, and buried his face in Snape’s neck, inhaling his scent. “Just going to miss you,” Harry said, holding him tight.

“I’ll see you Wednesday?” Snape asked.

“Next weekend,” Harry said. “I can’t make Wednesday.” He needed to be sure that they had controlled the link. He couldn’t face seeing Snape again until he could tell him. He had no excuse now.

Snape kissed him slowly, sweetly. “I’ll be here.”

Harry nodded, and let him go.

The next morning, Harry was just about to leave his chamber at Hogwarts when there was a knock. Tying his tie, he opened the door to find Neville outside.

“Got a minute, Harry?”

“Sure. Come in,” Harry asked, wondering what was up.

“I hope you had no doubts I wanted to do this properly on Saturday,” Neville said, dropping to his knees.

Harry blanched.

“Neville –"

“You promised. Gran would be proud to know I had done this properly. She’ll ask when it comes out, Harry, and it will.”

Harry took a deep breath and nodded.

The door burst open, and Ron stuck his head round.

“You ready, Harry? Neville? What the hell are you doing? Not giving Harry a blow job, are you?” he asked in sudden horror.

Neville gave him a look and then turned back. He looked up at Harry. Ron should know. Harry understood the silent communication, and nodded.

Neville crossed his hands over his chest. “Mage, it is my honour to seek your wisdom, to shelter in your care, to –"

“What the hell? That isn’t funny, Neville!” Ron said angrily.

Both Harry and Neville just looked at him.

“Oh, holy cowbells! You are?” he breathed, his eyes going round as his brows shot up.

Harry nodded.

“Bastard. You didn’t tell me?” he asked, but his voice wasn’t angry, Harry thought with relief. Ron dropped onto his knees beside Neville. “You’re not stopping me doing this for all the brooms in Quality Quidditch Supplies!” he warned.

Harry smiled, and put his hand on Ron’s shoulder, then put the other on Neville’s.

They both crossed their hands over their chests and started again.

“Mage, it is my honour to seek your wisdom, to shelter in your care, to offer you my allegiance, and to do your bidding," they both said together, Ron looking to Neville to remind him of the words most purebloods learnt through the tale of Arafin the Mage, a popular childhood story.

Harry said, "I know that’s the tradition, but I’d like you to take note of the first part, and therefore agree to amend the end.”

They looked at him, their mind’s going over the first bit. “What’s that, then, Harry?” Ron asked quietly.

“Not to do my bidding, but to ‘consider doing my bidding if I think it right and just’,” Harry said. “The other is just ridiculous. No man nor mage should expect blind obedience, nor offer it either. Please?”

“Mage, it is my honour to seek your wisdom, to shelter in your care, to offer you my allegiance, and to consider doing your bidding if I think it right and just’," they both intoned together, voices sturdier this time.

Harry felt very relieved. “Thank you both,” he grinned.

They were both getting up when the door opened again. Hermione stuck her head round this time. She quickly assessed that something odd was happening.

“What’s going on?”

“Harry’s a mage!” Ron chirped, a smile from ear to ear.

“And it’s a secret,” Harry said. “Not from you, of course, ‘Mione,” he added.

“What? Can’t tell my Mum? Charlie? Gred and Forge? They’ll go ballistic!”

“Sorry, Ron. I can’t risk it getting out. Secret weapon against Voldie.”

“”Bloody hell, it is!” Ron beamed. “He is so dead! Shit, I can’t believe this and I can! Why didn’t you say? Where’s your other wand, then?”

“Too many questions, too much hunger. Can we do this later? Only I’m starving,” Harry said, “and breakfast is nearly over.”

“Anything else we should know? So we don’t say anything we shouldn’t?” Hermione asked. “Does anyone else know?”

“Dumbledore. Madam Pomfrey. And the class – I suppose I’d better tell you who they are, though I’ll need to impose the secrecy spell on you?”

Both nodded, and Harry popped the spell in place.

“There’s Nev, Padma, Ernie, Eloise Midgin, Draco Malfoy – but Severus – Professor Snape - doesn’t know yet. He was out of the room. The others can’t tell secrets from the class anyway, but it probably helps if you know they know.”

“Draco Malfoy? You told Draco Malfoy before me?” Ron said, his expression gutted.

Neville was jerking his head, but didn’t appear able to speak.

Harry realised the problem, and the next moment, Neville could speak.

“Thanks,” he grinned at Harry. At the curiosity on the other two’s faces, he added, “As Harry just said, he made it so none of us could say anything that happened in that classroom, to protect each other. Right, now you’ve taken it off, I can say a bit more?” he asked Harry.

“Only if you’re quick,” Harry rubbed his growling stomach, “wandless uses loads of energy and I’m still filling up.”

“Okay, Harry did a big – huge, really, mega – magic working at the weekend. And at the end, Draco guessed that Harry was a mage. He’s never said, even though he’s shown us amazing stuff before, but he didn’t deny it. Like I say, no one can tell from the class, so the info’s safe.”

“And please can we eat now?” Harry groaned.

They were already heading to the door and down the stairs.

“I have so much to ask you, mate,” Ron said.

“I’m making a list. In my head,” Hermione hastened to add.

“We’ll talk later, yeah?” Harry offered as they made their way down the stairs and into the Great Hall.

“Oh yeah,” Ron agreed.

Harry had a busy day.

He coasted through lessons. Usually, he tried to look at the magic being taught and see the shape of it. Then he tried to assess the core idea behind the individual spell. Then he tried to come up with at least three other ways of teaching it – he had fast learnt that just one alternative was never enough. Today, however, he was tired. His mind was on what he needed to do for Severus. He wished he had already seen the spell. He might have to look at it tonight and delay the actual working till he felt he really understood it, and had all his strength about him. He tried to tell himself that he wasn’t just putting it off. He didn’t want to put it off, even though he didn’t want to tell Severus who he was. Severus’ magic needed withdrawing from Voldemort, and fast.

At morning break, he was approached by Padma, asking for a private word. Padma gave him her allegiance.

At lunch, Eloise and Ernie appeared, and did the same.

Just after supper, Draco cornered him outside the Great Hall. He was just about to go off and talk to Ron and Hermione, before seeing Snape, but he looked at Draco’s serious face, and turned to his friends.

“I’ll catch up with you both later. I’ve got somewhere else to be this evening too, so I’ll see you in the common room latish, ok? Rustle up some grub from the kitchen if you can, Ron. I’m still starving,” he grinned.

“Sure thing, mate,” Ron nodded, looking intently at Draco.

Draco nodded slightly to both Ron and Hermione, acknowledging them without a rude word for the first time ever.

Ron gasped audibly, but Hermione just said, “Night, Malfoy,” inclined her head too, and walked away, grabbing Ron’s hand and pulling him with her.

“Let’s go to the classroom," Harry said, suppressing a surprised grin.

They walked in silence, but when they entered the class, Draco shut the door and leant back on it.

“You know what this is about,” he said quietly.

“I know what I hope it is about, but you’re a man of surprises, Draco. Sit down and tell me,” he invited, waving a hand over a couple of the desks and turning them into easy chairs.

Draco shook his head. “Let me do the business bit first,” he said, and dropped to his knees.

Harry walked in front of him, and stood looking down.

Draco began to say the familiar words.

“Draco,“ Harry interrupted him. “I don’t mean to insult your intelligence – quite the opposite – you’ve thought about this? The implications?”

Draco stayed on his knees. “That I’m cutting myself off from my father? Probably losing my inheritance? Possibly my name? Making a stand against the Dark Lord? Isolating myself from my House? Yes.”

“I hope you have some positives in there to counter that list,” Harry said, fully realising what it would mean for Draco.

“You’ve given me something – several things – I never thought I’d have. Though I’ve been your enemy. Though I could continue to be. You were right when I thought you must be wrong. In the face of this, how can I not bow to your wisdom?”

“I’ve changed the last line of the phrasing,” Harry said gently. “I don’t, and never will, ask for blind obedience. You are your own man, Draco. But I should be very happy indeed if you chose to stand alongside me against Voldemort. And I should be happy for your company - in small doses – " he grinned, “on happier occasions.”

“You are very generous,” Draco said, swallowing.

“No. I am very lucky to hope that we might develop an understanding, Draco. If you wish to say it, these are the amended words.”

And he told Draco, and Draco made his vow.

Afterwards, Harry summoned some hot chocolate and cakes.

“How are you feeling? If you’re anything like me, still starving?” he grinned, around a cake.

“Never felt so hungry in my life,” Draco nodded. “That’s using the wandless, you said?”

“Yes, and your healing must use a load too, I would have thought. Are you pleased about that?”

Draco nodded. “Absolutely. My father won’t be overjoyed –"

“Really? I thought Healers were so rare they had really high status? Not that I know much,” Harry added.

“They do. They are also expected to treat any magical condition, any injury to anyone with magic.”

“Ah.” Harry said, understanding what Draco was not saying. “Forget your father. How do you feel about it?”

“Surprisingly curious,” Draco said honestly. “I’m interested to see how different people’s magic feels – whether there is any correlation with background, or skills, or whatever.”

“That could be interesting,” Harry nodded. “Hermione might like to help you with that.”

“We’re not exactly chums, Potter,” Draco couldn’t prevent himself sneering.

“I know, but if you’re willing to change your attitude, and you’re going to need to if you really want to do this, Hermione is a forgiving sort. And also the most knowledge-seeking person in the world,” he added. “Actually, I’d like you to work on another project with Hermione, if you will. It’s a potions project.”

“Why not ask Severus? Oh.”

Harry looked at him.

“You’re worried about how your House will react to your changed loyalties? And your Head of House?”

Draco looked away. “You must know he has the Mark,” Draco said quietly.

“Yes.” Harry looked at him, a sudden thought coming into his mind.

“Draco. Would you wait here a moment? I need to speak to Professor Dumbledore.”

“Sure.”

Draco blinked as Harry apparated out of the room. Wondering if he could now do the same, he tried apparating across the room. Nothing happened.

“Show off,” he mumbled.

Harry appeared on the staircase outside the Headmaster’s office, and knocked on the door.

“Harry! What can I do for you?” Dumbledore welcomed him.

“Draco has sworn allegiance,” Harry said, not beating about the bush. “And as he’s a Healer, I’m wondering about asking his help to remove Severus’ Dark Mark.”

“Sworn allegiance to you as a Mage? Or to the Light?”

“To me as a Mage, but as he specifically said he’d make a stand against Voldemort, and accept my wisdom....”

“Yes, I see. You told him your were a Mage?” Dumbledore asked curiously.

Harry shook his head. “They worked it out. At the weekend. Obviously, it’s a mighty decision for him. He knows he’s going to be isolated from his House, and he thinks Severus too. He warned me that Severus had the Dark Mark,” Harry grinned.

“So you wish him to know Severus is with us. You trust him?”

“Yes. I don’t think he’s taken the decision lightly.”

“Harry, I know you want to give people the benefit of the doubt. But the bottom line is, do you trust him with Severus’ life?”

Harry took a deep breath. What if he were wrong? What if Draco betrayed Severus?

“I think we need to get Severus,” Dumbledore said, and floo-called the potions master.

“Albus?” Severus’ head appeared in the fire.

“Severus, I have Harry with me, with some urgent business. Could you step through?”

The next moment, the lanky frame stepped elegantly into the room, a pale hand brushing down his robes. Severus nodded to Harry.

“What can I do for you, Headmaster?”

“It is more a case of what Harry hopes to do for you. He has a suggestion.”

“I was talking to the Headmaster about removing your Dark Mark,” Harry began.

Severus’ brow twitched. “We did not discuss removing it. That would prevent me continuing my role as spy,” Severus said solidly. “The plan, I understood, was to control the power drain.”

Harry looked at Severus, and Dumbledore. “Yes, you’re right. The spell you mentioned can do that? Essentially, we’re wanting Voldemort to be able to contact you but not to drain your power, yes?”

“It would be most sensible to leave a small drain in place, I would think. To prevent suspicion.”

“Yes, that would seem sensible,” Dumbledore agreed. “Do you think there has been any change to the actual form of your magic? Could Voldemort detect that?”

“It doesn’t feel essentially different,” Snape said slowly.

“Neville could help with that, I think,” Harry said, thinking fast.

The two older men looked at him.

“He can see personal signatures. Through glamours. So maybe he can see if there have been any noticeable changes.”

“That is a very useful skill,” Dumbledore said.

“It was a useful weekend,” Harry nodded. “That brings us onto Draco. As he is a Healer, it could be useful to have him with us when we close down the power drain.”

Severus looked at Harry as if he were mad.

“Why bother shutting down the connection, Mr Potter? You could just ask Mr Malfoy to inform his father that I am in league with the enemy and be done with it,” Snape said sarcastically.

“He has sworn allegiance, Severus,” Dumbledore said gently.

“To the side of Light? You believed him? You have taken him into your confidence? When did this happy event take place?” he growled.

Harry wanted to smack his head at his own stupidity. Severus hadn’t been in the room when the others realised he was a mage. He had to go back a whole step here. God, he was an idiot! How was Snape going to take the news?

“Harry?”

“Could you wait a moment? I’ve left Draco in the class but this is going to be longer than I thought.”

“Take a seat, Severus,” Dumbledore invited.

“Dobby?” Harry called softly, as the other men seated themselves.

The elf popped into view.

“Harry Potter, Sir!” he beamed, bowing low. “Headmaster! Professor Snape!”

The others nodded in greeting, but Dumbledore resisted the urge to engage the elf in talk.

“Dobby, would you do me a favour?”

“Harry Potter, Sir, anything, you knows that!”

“Thank you. I know he probably brings bad memories, but would you please take a message to Draco Malfoy for me? He’s waiting in my classroom. I’m going to be a little longer than I thought. Can you tell him that, ask him to wait, take him a small steak and some green vegetables – yes, I know he’s had supper, but it’ll do him good – and ask if you can get him a book or anything? If you’d prefer to send one of the other elves that would be fine, Dobby.”

Dobby drew himself up. “Dobby will take care of it! Harry Potter can rely on Dobby, Sir!”

“Thank you, Dobby. It’s a great help to know I can call on you. I really appreciate it.”

Great tears pooled in Dobby’s huge eyes. “So gracious! So –"

Harry leant forward, and gently touched the elf. “Thank you, Dobby. And Dobby – Draco has found out he is a Healer –" the elf’s eyes grew even bigger – " if there are any books that you think –"

“Dobby is seeing! Harry Potter is helping Master Draco! And trusting Dobby to find – oh, yes sir! Thank you, Harry Potter, Sir!” And he was gone.

Harry sat down with a sigh.

Severus smirked.

“Taking advantage of your adoring public, Potter?” he said, but as Harry bristled he noted the lack of serious nastiness in his tone.

He settled back. “Don’t start,” he said wearily, his lack of ire taking Severus by surprise.

“Dobby‘s – well – Dobby. But he’s a good elf – a good friend to me, really. I have a lot of trust in him.”

Severus’ eyebrows were rising to his hairline. “You regard an elf as a friend?”

“Why not?” Harry snapped.

“Did I detect a hint of caution there, Harry?” Dumbledore intervened.

Harry loosened up and grinned. “I’d say I trusted him entirely, but the thing is, house elves seem to think so differently from us that sometimes they act in ways that are not what you intended at all. Let’s face it, Dobby’s way of trying to save my life when I first met him was to get me into so much trouble that I wouldn’t be allowed back to school, stopped me getting the train, set a bludger onto me.....”

Snape’s lips were curling.

“Ah! So inventive,” Dumbledore murmured.

“Thanks,” Harry said sourly, and Snape chuckled. Harry couldn’t resist flashing a smile at him. Snape’s eyes seemed to freeze.

Harry felt like a bucket of cold water had been thrown over him. This was Severus’ reaction to Harry Potter. He had slipped into the easy intimacy Alex had with Severus. It was not something that Snape was going to share with Harry Potter. Harry pushed the crowding anxieties away. Deal with the matter in hand.

“Right,” he said, leaning forward, his forearms along his thighs. “Draco. After you left on Saturday, Professor Snape, the others stayed talking for a few minutes. They were wondering about the scenario that had taken place – real, construct, use of apparition, etc.”

Severus nodded. “Sensible questions," he said. “You have achieved at least making people think.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, almost glowing. Harry Potter getting praise from Severus? Was there hope?

“Severus!” Dumbledore admonished. “I haven’t had the full breakdown yet, but my understanding is that Harry achieved far more than that!”

Snape looked at the Headmaster. “I quite value thinking,” he replied solidly.

“However, you are correct. The methods were rather surprising – for our Golden Gryffindor – but remarkably effective. I have yet to thank you,” he turned to Harry.

Harry shook his head, blushing. “I was frustrated that it took this long for you all. I could feel the power. I felt very guilty that I hadn’t helped it out of you all earlier, and even more so that I had to resort to the methods that I did.”

“You didn’t explain what you were going to do,” Dumbledore said, “should I have enquired further?” His tone had hardened.

Harry and Snape exchanged a glance.

“Nothing untoward, Headmaster,” Snape said smoothly.

Harry could feel that Dumbledore was not happy at the evasion.

“I’ll explain in full later, Sir,” Harry said.

“Very well. Continue, Harry.”

Here was the tricky bit. Harry took a breath. “Ernie made a joke. Draco realised he was right. He asked me outright. I admitted it.”

Silence.

“Do you intend to expand on that garbled bit of nonsense, Mr Potter?” Snape said silkily.

Harry thought about asking Snape how he thought things had been achieved, but Draco was waiting, and he was prevaricating.

“I am a mage.”

Silence.

Snape sat in his chair, his body as still as if he had been petrified.

Suddenly, in a flurry of robes, he stood up. Harry had a horrible moment when he thought Snape was going to give his allegiance. He had never thought about it. But instantly, irrevocably, Harry knew he did not want that. He could not bear to have Snape making those vows to him, even though Dumbledore himself had insisted on going on his knees. There was only one way Harry wanted Snape on his knees in front of him, and that was for their mutual pleasure. And however crude that thought was at this moment, it went to the heart of the matter. Snape was his lover. What they had was shared, mutual. There was no inequality, no power ratio. And that was the way he wanted it.

Fortunately, Snape whirled away, and stood leaning, back to them, on the mantle. The fire burnt merrily in front of him, the crackling suddenly sounding loud in the room.

“Of course you are,” he said at last.

Harry couldn’t make out what he meant from the tone, what he felt.

“Severus," Dumbledore began.

The dark head shot up.

Briskly, Snape came back and sat down again.

“Draco gave you formal allegiance,” he confirmed.

“I refused it on Saturday. I told them to go away and think, to truly mean it. He came to me tonight. I’ve changed the last words. I won’t accept blind obedience.”

“But you believe he means it.”

“I do. But Professor Dumbledore asked if I believed it so entirely as to trust your life with it. That puts things in perspective.”

“I’m sure it does. You took him into your confidence at once, I take it?”

That hurt. “I would rather die myself than have you hurt, Professor Snape,” Harry said quietly, and he meant it. He meant it. The thought of Snape dead – of living without him – of Snape injured because of him – a huge fearful thing was rearing its head in front of Harry, but he couldn’t think of what it meant now. He gulped, ignored the disbelief in Snape’s eye and the twinkle in Dumbledore’s, and hurried on. “Unfortunately, our choices are never so clear cut. We have to decide what to do. You know him best, Professor, and it is your life on the line. It’s your decision. We don’t have to tell him anything about you. We can see how he progresses over time. But he is feeling very cut off. He thinks you are an active Death Eater; he reminded me you had the Dark Mark –"

“He did?”

Harry nodded, hating the feeling that that must make Severus feel so betrayed.

“That is a good sign then,” Snape said, to Harry’s surprise.

“It is?”

“I believe so. He has put his allegiance to you – and maybe to the Light – above his loyalty to his House, or even to a family friend. I don’t believe he would do that lightly.”

“I think he is terrified, to be honest,” Harry said. “Not that it shows with Malfoy. But he certainly feels himself cut off from his House, and most definitely from his relationship with you, both as Head of House and whatever else your relationship entails. It must be terrifying.”

Snape nodded. “Not all my Slytherins are Voldemort sympathisers, you know.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Harry nodded, “but I expect people don’t go spouting about their loyalties any more than anyone in Gryffindor would say they believe Voldemort’s a good chap with the right ideas, though I’m sure some must think so.”

Snape looked at him. “Did the arrival of your powers deliver a functioning brain with it?” he said acerbically.

Harry laughed.

Snape regarded him. Harry Potter a mage! He was sitting laughing with a mage. A man – boy – he had hated most of his life. A man who had chosen to teach him, to give him a huge gift despite his harshness over the years. He watched Potter cross his legs and couldn’t help his eyes sliding down the slender thigh. And back up again. Was he attracted to power? Was that why he had joined Voldemort? Revered Dumbledore, who had to be one of the most annoying men on the planet? Felt attracted, despite his will, to this man in front of him? He acknowledged the frequent spark of interest the young wizard – blasted mage! – had provoked in him all term, how his eyes had been drawn to the odd movement, the spiky hair, the petite physique. He had thought his unwelcome arousal was a result of the active sex-life he shared with Alex – that regular sex just led to craving for more, and made him more aware of other men than before. But he had never lusted after a pupil before. Noticed if they were fit, of course. Felt any compulsion to act on it? Never. His dislike of Potter had been a relief, in a way: he would never consider acting on his urges with James Potter’s son. Ever. And despite this absurd interest his body would not ignore, he liked Alex. He had never felt so relaxed with anyone, or laughed so much. Their sex-life was great. He would go so far as to say he had become fond of the man. He wondered what Alex was doing over the holidays. Perhaps he could spend the break at the cottage. Realising that his thoughts were rambling, he looked up, to see Potter watching him intently. Those green eyes were really ridiculously startling on a man.

“What do you think?” Harry prompted. Snape had looked miles away. He was sure he had checked out his legs. Harry had clenched his thighs together, feeling the stir of arousal.

“Mmmm?”

“About Draco. As I said, we could bide our time. Alternatively, we could ask him to assist when we tighten down the conduit of the Dark Mark. I know he has no training, but he was right in there with Neville. I think it must be instinctive. And if he knows he has you to rely on, it will really help him – and the fact that we’ve trusted him should help tie him to us.”

Snape stood up again. “Very well.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asked, standing too.

“Yes.”

“The spell – is it complicated? Can we do it tonight, or should we wait until we’re both more rested?”

“Why don’t I fetch the book, and you may consider yourself?” There was no parade or trumpeting, but the suggestion was undoubtedly an acknowledgement that Harry was a mage. Harry felt absolutely delighted, and nodded his head: there were no words.

“Harry, why don’t you bring Draco to me?” Dumbledore suggested. “Severus, fetch the book. Harry can read through whilst I talk to Draco, and then, if Harry thinks we should go ahead, we can do it tonight. I can add my power too if that will help. Can I suggest you wait in your chambers until we call you?”

Draco was sitting back in the comfortable chair reading when Harry arrived, an empty plate with gravy remains beside him.

He looked up. “Thanks for the steak, Mage Potter. And the book,” he added, standing up quickly.

“Right, let’s sort this at once,” Harry said. “Call me Harry. I’m not one for titles.”

“But you're entitled –"

“One, you might slip and say it in public. I don’t want it known at the moment. Two, it sounds stupid and feels silly. Three, I prefer Harry.”

Draco looked at him assessingly. “And what shall I call you in public?”

“Harry, I think. Can you stand it? People will be surprised at first, but I think we’re going to have to show that we’re developing a friendship. Let’s see how your house reacts. We have things in common. People are likely to just think we’ve grown up and seen that.”

“They might think you fancy me, if you’re suddenly all friendly,” Draco said, his cheeks reddening.

“That bothers you? It might make a rational explanation to most people, hormones being what they are.”

“I like women!”

Harry looked at him. “No problem. You’re not my cup of tea, as I’ve said before.”

“I can go with the friendship line,” Draco said slowly. “It’ll get back to my father,” he added.

“You’ll need protection and sanctuary,” Harry said gently. “I’m sorry I was so long, I’ve just been seeing Dumbledore. Would you come and see him with me?” and he held out his hand.

“Are you really going to apparate us this time, or will he be a construct?”

Harry laughed, and whisked them both into the Headmaster’s office.

“Mr Malfoy! Welcome. Harry tells me you’ve decided to ally yourself with us against Voldemort. Do take a seat. Tea? Hot chocolate? Harry, that book we discussed is on the table. The page is marked. Do read it over whilst I have a little chat with Mr Malfoy.”

Harry grinned at Draco as the slender blonde almost wilted under the barrage of Dumbledore’s stream of consciousness approach.

Draco sat across from Dumbledore, and Harry moved to the other side of the room and picked up the book. The pages were old and crumbling, but the ink was still clear and the spell remarkably straight-forward. The spell had been designed to allow bonded servants some autonomy, either as a reward, or if their master wished them to go off and conduct business on his behalf. It seemed exactly the thing. It was created for a master to use over his own spell, so did indeed require a wizard of equal capacity. Voldemort had in fact been thought to be overwhelmingly powerful, but Harry knew this wasn’t the case: he used the power of his followers, but his own core was nothing to write home about. This spell could have been done for Severus long ago. On the other hand, they were not the owners of the constraint on Severus. They would not know if they could do the spell until they tried. Harry suspected that his own connection to Voldemort might swing it in their favour. Should he try it alone, without Dumbledore? He didn’t want Voldemort to feel what was happening. Was that possible? At the moment, Voldemort did not know about the extra power at Snape’s fingertips. What they really needed was to keep the flow exactly what it was now, or perhaps set it up to diminish microscopically day by day, till only a fraction of Severus’ power was going to the bastard. Harry begrudged any of Snape’s essence to that murderer.

He knew suddenly that Draco was essential to this.

He walked across and interrupted the conversation between the Headmaster and the young man. They both looked up at him, curious.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he began.

“No problem, we were just chatting,” Dumbledore said amiably.

Harry squatted beside Draco. “Draco, when you went into Neville, could you feel everything? How his magic worked? Do you think you can you control any of it?”

“I could feel how his magic worked, that sort of jumps out at you. I suppose I could control it – Healers must do that. I’m not sure how –"

“Can you do legilimency?”

Draco glanced hastily at Dumbledore, and then nodded.

“Good,” Harry said.

“What?”

“I’ve a task you could help with. We might need to link minds. Would you be willing to try?”

“Po – Harry, I’m not trained or anything –"

“I’ve got a gut feeling on this. I think you’re the one.” Harry looked up at Dumbledore. “He knows him. It’ll make a difference, I can feel it.”

Dumbledore nodded. “You’d better floo him then.”

Draco looked worried.

Harry put a hand on his knee, but removed it swiftly as he felt Draco tense. Damn. Just because he was gay didn’t mean every touch was a sexual advance!

“I’m going to make a suggestion to you. You can refuse. Hear it out, and see what you think. You are not being coerced. If you have any doubts about it, that’s fine. You say no, and your part is over. Do you understand, Draco? I mean it.”

“I don’t know what you’re going on about, Harry, but ok.”

Harry nodded, and went to the fire.

Seconds later, Severus walked through.

“P –professor!” Draco rose hastily to his feet, for once lacking his usual grace.

“Draco,” Severus inclined his head. “Do sit down.” He swept across and took a chair himself. “Have you told him?” he asked Harry.

“No. I wanted you here. I think the spell is possible and that Draco is instrumental to it.”

“I see.”

Severus regarded Draco, who sat, pale and flustered, but with his chin thrust out aggressively.

Severus stood up, and methodically started undoing the myriad buttons holding his robe closed.

Harry felt his cock twitch inappropriately at the impromptu striptease.

The robe was draped over the back of the chair. The silence was palpable, only the rustle of cloth breaking it. Harry admired the long legs, the narrow hips, the grace of the man.

Severus sat down again, and freed his cufflink, then rolled up his sleeve.

He held out the Dark Mark.

“I was foolish enough to accept this many years ago,” he spoke directly to Draco. “And have regretted it for nearly as many years.”

Draco’s eyes shot from the Mark to Severus’ face to the Mark again. His hands were clenched tight on his thighs.

“Severus has been spying for us for all of your life-time, Mr Malfoy,” Dumbledore said calmly.

Draco just stared at Severus. “Is that why he tortured you?” he asked at last.

Severus shook his head. “I have not been under suspicion – no more than anyone else, anyway.”

“Your friendship with my father?”

Harry’s eyes shot up to Snape, but the man was looking only at Draco.

“Your father and I were friends long before I became a spy,” he said gently.

Well, there was an understatement, thought Harry.

Draco was silent. “But you’ve used information you’ve learnt from him?”

“Yes.”

No qualification, no explanation, just the truth.

Harry’s heart went out to Severus.

Surprisingly, Draco nodded. “You’d be a fool not to. He’s not a spy too?” he added, half hopefully.

“I wish he was on our side,” Severus said. “He is a formidable adversary.”

Draco nodded at the compliment, but then threaded a shaking hand through his hair.

“We’ll win. With Potter, now, we’ll win. He’ll die, or get kissed,” he said quietly.

We. He had said we.

“Draco,” Severus said calmly, “you cannot be responsible for him. He is a man. He has made his own decisions.”

“If he knew Potter was a mage he might change sides. Probably would. He’s a realist. An opportunist,” he said hopefully.

“I can’t take that risk at the moment, Draco. Too many lives are at stake. I’m sorry,” Harry offered. Sorry for Draco’s hurt, at least.

Draco looked at Harry and nodded. He seemed to pull himself together. “You wanted to ask something of me?”

“There is a spell to stop Voldemort draining power from Severus. Actually, what I want to do is to cut it off so he can’t take any more, so that he doesn’t know what has happened to Severus, and then to slowly reduce it so that eventually the drain is infinitesimal – only enough so that he doesn’t become aware of the change. I suspect you could help me with that. If we lock minds, and you take me into Severus’ body with you, I could provide the power while you direct and control. Do you think that is possible?”

Draco’s eyes were wide.

“You don’t do things by halves, do you, Pot – Harry?” he gasped a laugh.

“I won’t let Voldemort have at Severus’ power.”

Draco sat there thinking.

They waited.

Draco looked up anxiously. “I think you’re right, it’s possible. But – can we do it tomorrow? I’m still tired, and – frankly, I’ve got a lot to think about. I don’t want to make a mistake and hurt Professor Snape. Would that be alright? And – and you know that spell you did on us to stop us giving information from the classes? Can you extend that, or something? I don’t want to risk giving any information away about the professor to anyone.”

He did look pale and exhausted.

“That’s a very sensible suggestion,” Dumbledore agreed. “Harry, would you like to extend the spell, or shall I?”

Harry was pleased Draco had asked before he brought it up. He looked across at Draco, and did it.

“Done,” he said quietly.

“Just like that?”

Harry nodded. He suddenly slapped his forehead.

“You’re right, Draco, we are too tired.” He looked at Snape and Dumbledore. "We’d forgotten we were going to ask Neville to check over Snape’s signature first.“ He looked back at the blond. “Draco, if tomorrow you don’t feel ready to go ahead, let me know. There are always other ways to do things, ok?”

“Thanks.” Draco stood up, his hands shaking as he wiped them over his thighs.

Severus stood up too. “Would you care for a nightcap with me, Draco? Or straight to sleep?”

“A – a nightcap sounds good. Thank you, Sir.”

They took their leave and left through the floo. Harry wished it was him having a nightcap with Severus, but knew the two Slytherins needed to talk.

“I think that went alright,” Harry turned to Dumbledore. “He’s going to be very good to have on our side.”

“Yes. It is going to be hard on him though. We’ll all need to keep an eye on how his fellow Slytherins treat him. I have wards set up in the castle that prevent serious injuries, but nevertheless...”

Harry nodded. “I want him to work on a project with Hermione. I think they could get on well if he can get over himself, which I think he might just be doing.”

“Well, that could prove interesting! Things are looking up! Do you have time to give me a report on your session now?”

Three quarters of an hour later Harry was on his bed with Ron, Mione and Neville all settled around and eating the feast Ron had rustled up.

“Tell us all about it, mate,” Ron said, round a mouthful of chocolate gateau. His teeth were caked with it and it looked disgusting.

“You are such a pig, Ron,” Harry grimaced.

“Yeah, but you love me anyway. In a purely platonic way,” he added quickly.

Harry grinned.

“What do you want to know?”

“Come on! When did you find out? How? What can you do? Where’s your mage wand?”

“How does it feel, Harry?” Hermione asked. “Do you feel different? Does your magic feel different?”

“Doesn’t feel different in style, but I can feel there’s more of it – or rather, that I can get at what I want. Nev,” he asked, “does my signature look any different to you? Did you notice any changes?”

“Nah, same old Harry,” Neville answered at once.

So, hopefully Voldemort would not have detected a difference in Snape. He’d ask Nev to check all the same.

Hermione looked from one to the other. “You can see magical signatures?” she asked Neville.

“Yeah,” Nev said shyly.

“Since when? Is that part of what Harry’s helped you with?”

Neville shook his head. “I’ve always seen them. Never knew there was anything odd about it,” he mumbled. “Not the sort of thing that comes up in conversation, is it?”

“Blimey Nev,” Ron whistled. “What does mine look like?”

“I’m not much good at describing them. I can just sort of sense them. They’re not colourful or anything.”

“Boring!” Ron grinned. “Back to Harry, then. You always been a mage, Harry?”

“That’s quite a good question, Ron,” Hermione smiled at her boyfriend.

Ron grinned back, and pulled Hermione to sit between his legs against the headboard.

Now that he’d finished his cake, and had wiped his teeth over with his tongue, she moved happily into position.

“I don’t really know the answer,” Harry said. “Sorry, I’m going to give answers as unhelpful as Neville’s,” he flashed a smile at Neville to show that there was no sting in his words.

“Did it come on suddenly?” Hermione asked; “Was there a point when you felt you’d had a magic burst or something?”

“Not really. Like I said before, I always felt pretty useless at magic, like I was getting by on a wing and a prayer. Then I started thinking out other ways to do things. At the same time, I needed the glamour so that I could move out of the Dursley’s. And once I thought about my glamour persona making appearances in the wizarding world as well as the Muggle, I knew I needed a wand. And I got this urge to make my own. It was like a compulsion that wouldn’t go away. I made loads of attempts.”

“Where is it?” Ron asked.

“With my other life,” Harry grinned.

“But you don’t really need it?” Hermione asked.

“No. I prefer wandless, really. Makes me feel more in control.”

“You can do what you like wandless?” Ron asked curiously.

“I think so. I mean, you use a lot of energy, so probably if you were doing a big casting it would be better with a wand, especially if it involved natural elements, ‘cos the magic uses the environment and adjusts to some extent for your lack of knowledge. I used my wand – this one – " he held up his ordinary wand – “this weekend, for the working, which helped a bit. Made it more real.”

“Too bloody right!” Neville snorted.

“What? What did you do?” Hermione asked eagerly.

“I wanted to create a bit of desperation to help them find their wandless magic, that’s all,” Harry said meekly.

“Ha!” Neville said. “Chose a kinky way to do it though, didn’t you? Trapped us in a dungeon and pinned us to the wall in manacles!”

“You didn’t!” Ron’s eyes were round.

“Draco,” Hermione breathed. “You pinned Draco to the wall with manacles?”

“And Professor Snape,” Neville grinned.

“What? Wait! Professor Snape is actually in your class? Like a pupil? I thought you meant he was helping you out.” Ron’s eyes were bugging out of his head.

If he knew that Harry had had Snape’s cock in his mouth and fingers up his arse he’d probably have an aneurism, Harry thought.

“And he didn’t kill you?” Hermione exclaimed.

“It worked,” Harry said.

“Holy shit, you are the man!” Ron said. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you! How on earth did you have the nerve?”

“I didn’t hurt them –"

“How’s Draco’s hand?” Neville interjected.

“What? What?” Ron was all eager.

“Yeah, well, I was more worried about you. You were amazing, Neville.”

The other two turned and stared at the blushing Neville.

“He was,” Harry said. “We are so lucky to have Neville on our side. We’re really going to have to get going on things now. I can get you two involved, if you’re willing, now their magic is sorted. If you don’t mind coming to the classes and doing extra work.”

“Harry, classes where you manacle Snape to the wall sound just the thing for me,” Ron grinned.

“Unfortunately, you’d be manacled too,” Neville reminded him.

“Oh God!” Hermione was blushing.

They all looked at her. “What?”

“Nothing!”

“You can’t leave it at that? What are you thinking?”

“You don’t want to know. You really don’t!”

“Oh we do! Spill!” Harry urged. With Hermione that embarrassed it had to be good.

“Snape. In manacles.”

“Yes, we’ve been there,” Ron coaxed. “Lovely thought, but not tied up too.”

“Yeah, exactly. Snape in manacles, at your mercy, that’s what I was thinking.” Hermione was bright red.

“That’s vindictive for you,” Harry said in surprise, a sinking feeling in his stomach. “I thought you thought Snape was ok? Snarky, but ok?”

“Way to go with the torture for me!” Ron grinned.

Hermione had her face buried in her hands in her lap. “I so wish we hadn’t gone here,” she moaned.

“Don’t like us knowing about your sadistic streak?” Harry asked.

“Not torture, you twit!” She gasped. “Just the mental idea, the picture. Snape at your mercy. All strung out against the wall. It’s damn hot, isn’t it?”

You could have heard a mouse passing a dropping, let alone a pin falling.

“You fancy Snape?” Ron gagged.

Neville’s eyes met Harry over their heads, and Harry could see the laughter his friend was fighting to hold in.

“I like tall thin men!” Hermione protested, taking Ron’s hand and kissing it.

Ron was slightly mollified. “I hope you don’t compare me to that prick,” Ron said angrily.

Hermione shifted round and nibbled his ear: it always turned Ron to mush. “Don’t tell me you don’t fancy other people,” she said. “I’ve seen you looking at Lisa Turpin.”

“I don’t!”

“Harry, he does, doesn’t he?” Hermione turned to her friend.

“Whoa, don’t involve me!”

“Well, you do,” Hermione said, “And that’s fine. She’s really pretty and nice. And she fancies you.”

“She does?”

“Yeah, she checked out whether I was going out with you.”

“What! When?”

“See! I told you you were interested.”

“Hey! How did you get to that?”

“Give in, Ron,” Neville laughed, “she’s got you by the - yeah, you know,” Neville blushed. Though he joined in with the salacious humour of the seventh year boys, Neville was still inclined to be very proper in front of females. It was pretty clear that his Gran had drummed the word ‘respect’ into him.

“Well,” Ron huffed, “You’re my girl.”

“And you’re my man,” Hermione smiled at him, and kissed his cheek.

“Wand, tell us about your bloody wand,” Ron turned to Harry, trying to get back on tack. He got aroused very easily, and had no intention of sitting there with a woody with Nev and Harry there. Hermione had one hand resting high on his thigh and he was torn between pushing himself up against it and moving it a little further away.

“Are we changing the subject or are we still on sex appeal?” Harry quipped.

Ron flicked the pillow at him, groaning, whilst the others laughed.

“Your mage wand. You really made it?”

Harry nodded.

And remembered the day he had gone to Ollivander’s.

Chapter Text

Harry had been so frustrated with his wand-making attempts. He had tried working on several woods, but from the first time he had sauntered down to the bottom of the garden of his cottage, he had been attracted to the gnarly apple tree. Unfortunately, his initial trials had been disappointing – better, but not right.

He had actually asked Fawkes for a feather, and had been given it. He had carefully chosen wood, and shaped and sanded and carefully, with a tiny blade tied to a stick, hollowed out the centre and threaded the feather in. He had carved tiny stoppers from the wood to plug the end, sealed them into place, polished and cherished the wands.

And they had worked.

They sort of rattled, the infinitesimal weight of the feather shifting within the wand, but he could work spells. Something felt off, but the spells worked. It was only by accident that he realised that actually, it wasn’t the wand working: he had been dozing on the sofa at the flat in Brighton and stretching over the side without his glasses on, and had picked up his most recent wand and sleepily summoned a blanket.

He woke up cosy and comfortable an hour later – and realised that he was still clutching - not a wand, but a chopstick. A chopstick that had been coated with sweet and sour sauce, which orange gloop was now smeared down his favourite tee-shirt.

After that, Harry had worked hard on the wandless magic that had first come to him when he was locked in his room at the Dursley’s, waking up outrageously thirsty and without the chance to get at any water. His window had been sealed shut and there was a heatwave. He had worked all day in the garden and had been seen into his room by Vernon before he left with Petunia to go out to the cinema and dinner. They didn’t trust him to have the run of the house in their absence.

Harry had taken a nap, but his thirst on waking was so great that when he heard the key in the front door and Dudley’s footsteps, he had called out.

Big mistake.

Dudley had Piers Polkiss and another friend with him, and they had been doing drugs.

Dudley had opened the locks on his bedroom door, and all three boys had barged in, shutting the door behind them. When Harry had asked for water, one of them had handed him a bottle of vodka. He was so thirsty he took a swig.

Dudley made himself comfortable against Harry’s pillow, whilst the boy called Eric lounged at the foot of his bed; Piers had sunk down against the door, cutting off Harry’s exit. Harry hovered over by his desk. Fear was pumping adrenalin through his veins, but his mouth still felt dry as a bone and the vodka had only made things worse. His head felt muzzy.

Piers drew up lines of white powder, and after the others had all indulged, Harry was forced to snort a line too, his head held down by Eric. Harry soon felt even worse. He had a bad feeling that drugs and magic didn’t mix.

Eric started calling Harry a girl. They were all laughing. And they were all about twice his weight at the very minimum. Piers jeered that he was a fag, not a girl. Harry, who had only recently come to the realisation that he was indeed 'a fag', felt terror like he’d never known before.

Nothing good was going to come out of this.

Piers told him he could suck his dick.

Harry declined.

The laughter turned to aggression. Piers got up, yanked Harry’s belt out of his trousers, and shoved him into the desk, tying his hands behind his back. His baggy trousers came down with a yank. Eric was cheering Piers on. Harry managed to turn to Dudley, who, he noted, was an ugly shade of puce.

He actually begged Dudley to help him.

Dudley got up, and Harry hoped that his cousin was going to come alright at last.

Dudley rolled to the door.

“Where you going, mate?” Piers shouted. “Don’t you want a turn with the pansy?”

Dudley turned round. “Sick,” he mumbled, and lumbered out of the room.

“Fucking idiot,” Piers muttered.

He turned Harry round, his hand around his neck, squeezing hard. “Gonna suck my cock now, pansy boy, or am I gonna shove it up your scrawny arse?”

As the hand tightened and Piers began to force him down, something snapped in Harry.

The next moment, both boys had gone. Disappeared. Harry hoisted up his trousers and stumbled out of the door, his hand on his throat, gasping. Dudley was throwing up into the toilet. Harry staggered to the sink and drank straight from the tap, mouthful after mouthful. Then he threw up.

He was scared to leave the house in the state he was in, and scared to stay in it.

He looked at Dudley, crouched over the toilet with his stomach wobbling as waves of nausea caused him to retch again and again.

“I’m going back into my room,” he said, once there was a break in proceedings. “I’ve got rid of your pals. If you fucking come near me I’ll kill you.”

Dudley nodded, and threw up again.

Harry went back into the room, shoved the desk and chest of drawers against the door, and collapsed on the bed.

The incident was never mentioned. Petunia had reported a couple of days later how shocked Piers’ mum had been to find that he was so drunk he had turned up in Exeter not knowing how he had got there. Dudley said not a word. He avoided Harry like the plague. No insults, no nothing. Harry found a water bottle in his room two days later. He sniffed it, wondering what was in it, but it was water. Maybe Dudley had a conscience after all.

By the following year, Dudley had acquired a different set of friends. Petunia had written of it to Harry. He had taken up sports as well as boxing and had lost a lot of weight. She was sorry that he didn’t keep up with his old friends, but maybe it was for the best as Piers had been done for GBH whilst under the influence of drugs.

Harry had never mentioned the incident to anyone.

Not to Ron nor Hermione, nor Derek nor Andy, his first lovers and flatmates from Brighton.

He had started getting fit, and working on his magic.

He had no intention of being in that position again.

His thoughts turned back to his wand-making efforts. Having concentrated over the winter break on his wandless magic, he had again been drawn to the apple tree. The spring growth on it had been whippy and bursting with life. This was it. This was what he needed. Harry could feel it. He cut a shoot that felt right, and went to Ollivanders.

He breezed into the shop in his Alex persona.

The silent weight of magic hung heavily in the air, dust motes dancing in the fraying light forcing itself through the windows.

Enjoying the silence, Harry jumped when Mr Ollivander appeared.

“Mr Potter! Well, well! Yes, yes. Growing up now, I see. Time for another wand, is it?”

“Yes, Sir,” Harry started, stunned that the elderly man could see through his glamour, but the wizard had already turned away to look at boxes, and was muttering to himself. “Now then, what about – no, no, I don’t think –“

Harry coughed loudly, and when he was ignored, coughed again.

“It’s the dust,” said Mr Ollivander, turning round, “breathe through your nose, dear boy, that’s what all those fine hairs are for, after all.”

“Uh, it’s not that, Sir,” Harry blinked. He took the feather and the twig from his bag and laid them on the rostrum that served as Mr Ollivander’s counter.

The wizard looked at them and looked up sharply at Harry.

“I’ve been trying to make my own, Sir, but it’s not working very well. And now, I’ve found this –“ he held up the twig, hoping Ollivander wouldn’t think he was mad – “and – well, it’s right, Sir, and I don’t want to mess it up. And it seems to me, you’re the expert, so I wondered if you could help me. I’ll pay, of course,” he added, hoping his request wasn’t way off the acceptable. He really didn’t know anywhere near enough about wizarding etiquette.

“Make your own, eh? Why’s that, young man?” Ollivander’s beady eyes looked at him over the rim of his half moon specs.

“I‘ve just had the urge,” Harry said, feeling foolish, “but I think there must be a spell to weld the core in, because it sort of rattles otherwise, and I hoped you’d be able to teach me.”

“Mmmm. And have they worked at all?”

Harry blushed. “Well, I thought they were,” he admitted, “but it turned out I was doing, “ he paused, and lowered his voice, ”er, wandless, without realising it.” It was a bit embarrassing, asking a wand-maker for advice whilst admitting to not needing the goods.

“Oh yes? Wandless, eh? What can you do, then, young man? Let’s see now!”

“Uh, what would you like me to do?” Harry asked, bemused.

The beady eyes regarded him again.

“There’s a wand in here made of unicorn hair and lime wood. Can you summon it?”

It was a weird request, but then again, it was a wand shop. Harry let himself feel the shop. He tried to feel the individual elements. He was looking for wood. The floor and the counter almost shouted their presence at him. Stupid! Well, the unicorn hair would be rare, and therefore easier to differentiate. He thought of unicorn hair, and summoned. Nine boxes came shooting out and landed on the rostrum in a stack.

Ollivander gave them a glance and regarded him.

“First sort,” Harry said.

He looked at the boxes, thought of lime trees, felt the stickiness in his mind, and put his hand forward and touched a box. “This one,” he said firmly.

Ollivander opened the box and withdrew the wand. “Yes, good, good. Not many people able to do that. Very few suited to a career in wand making and selling,” he muttered.

"It must be very interesting,” Harry commented.

“Mmmn. Well then, come through, young man, come through! No time to dawdle!”

And he took Harry through a door into the back of the shop.

Which was a surprisingly light room with a central table, at which sat three people, a young woman, a middle aged man, and a woman whose wrinkles drooped in waves from her cheeks.

Harry gave a slight bow as the people looked up. They were all working on wands.

“Jemima, dear, would you go and mind the shop? And Lottie, Alfric, have the afternoon off! No interruptions, Jemima, if you please! I trust your judgement! Don’t let anyone bully you! “

“Yes uncle, of course.” She bustled up, looking at Harry curiously. She bobbed a hint of a curtsey as she passed.

The old lady heaved herself up and carefully folded the wand she was working on into lambswool, then popped it into a standard Ollivander box and slipped it into a cupboard behind her. She turned and looked at Harry, eyes sharp in their pouched sockets.

She looked at Ollivander and gave a little nod. “I’ll make a nice stew for later. It’ll keep in the oven,” she said, then smiled at Harry, bobbed too, and left, her movements surprisingly nimble given her age and ample size.

The man had also cleared away his work, straightened his waistcoat, nodded at them and left.

“Well then, well then! Some peace and quiet! Splendid!” As if the three normally created a riot of noise.

“I’m awfully sorry if I’ve disrupted your business –“

“Good lord, lad, they’ve been moaning that I never give them time off for fifty years! And Jemima – she’s my great great great great niece, you know, loves looking after the shop. Wants to inherit when I finally pop my clogs, so’s to speak. I think she’ll do, too,” he added. “What do you think?” And he looked at Harry with all seriousness.

“Well sir, I’ve no idea how good she is with wands, but she seems pleasant, and that must always be a good thing, mustn’t it?”

“Cautious answer, I like that. Well said, well said! Well then, on the table with them! Let’s have a look!”

Harry laid the glorious feather and the slim piece of wood side by side, on the huge white table.

“Fawkes give you the feather?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Albus know?”

“Er, no, Sir.”

“Don’t worry about that, dear boy, Fawkes makes up his own mind on these things. Did you ask or did he suggest it?”

“I asked,” Harry said, hoping that was alright.

“Yes, yes, don’t worry on that score. Knew what you wanted, very good. Been using the same one in your attempts?”

“Yes, it comes out battered but seems to fluff up again every time,” Harry admitted, looking at the beautiful feather. He reached out and stroked it between his fingers. Little magic sparks erupted along it.

“Oh, very good! Old growth, to balance the new wood. Wonderful, wonderful!”

Harry was bemused. He had obviously inadvertently made good choices, though didn’t feel he deserved the praise being heaped on him. And Ollivander, excited, seemed to repeat everything and talk in exclamations. It was somehow quite soothing, yet contagiously joyful.

Well, let’s see the wand in your hand. Give it a flick now! Yes, that’s it! Only an infinitesimal fraction too long. You’re nearly done growing then.”

“Really?” Harry said. “I’d hoped I might have a late growth spurt.”

“’Fraid not, dear boy. Nothing wrong with being short, you know. Never hampered me. Use a step ladder for the shelves – what does it matter if I have to use it for one shelf lower than another man? Anyone would need it to reach the top! Nothing wrong with shortness, nothing at all.”

Harry grinned at him. Bizarre the man might be, but interesting – definitely.

“Well, tell me what you did previously, and we’ll see what we need to work on.”

Harry explained what he had been doing, while Ollivander exclaimed and tutted and nodded.

“Not a bad attempt, then, but the right equipment is the thing. Now, first we soak the wood.”

He took Harry into a little side room, where several small oblong vats seemed to house soaking wands.

Harry looked at his, and looked at the solution. He sniffed. And looked at the wand again.

“Pop it in, now. The wood’s young so a couple of hours should do it.”

“Er, I’m really sorry sir, but I’ve got a feeling,” Harry blushed.

“Yes? What is that, Mr Potter?”

“It doesn’t want to go in there,” Harry said, feeling incredibly stupid.

“No?”

“No. No additives at all. Can we still do it?” he asked. Here he was, asking for the man’s expertise, and them refusing to do what he was told. He fully expected to be thrown out on his ear at any moment.

“Really? Well, well. Purity added to the mix. Very interesting. Rare. Very difficult to work with, but if it expects it of you, then that is your task, Mr Potter.”

It was like having a conversation with a native speaker when you’d only had lessons for a year – the sound was familiar but understanding it was another matter. Harry breathed a sigh of relief, though, and Mr Ollivander’s attitude made him feel more confident in saying what he felt.

Mr Ollivander fiddled in one of the troughs and selected one piece of wood after another, humming to himself as he did so.

Harry waited patiently.

Finally, a choice selected, Mr Ollivander wiped off the wand and led Harry back into the other room.

“Very well, very well, Mr Potter. Now, first, we strip the bark. Like so,” he demonstrated, sitting down beside Harry and proceeding to work on the wand he had extracted from the vat. “Now, no need to hurry anything. Time is immaterial to a good wand. Some of them can be done in a day or two, and others can take months. Let the feel of it guide you, Mr Potter.”

Sometime later, the wand was bare. Harry’s was not quite straight, as a side shoot had been about to form in the wood. Harry liked the little nodule, which fitted just by his thumb. The pad of his thumb stroked over it as he held the wand.

“Leaving that, I see. Very unusual. Nothing wrong with that, of course,” Mr Ollivander added, smiling at Harry.

“It feels right,” Harry said, trying not to sound belligerent.

“Yes, yes, trust your instincts. Very good, my boy! Very hard to do at your age! Excellent!”

Harry was getting used to the overflow of commentary.

“What’s next, Sir?”

“Ah, the next bit is tricky! Have a drink first, my dear boy! Water? Tea? Once you start you can’t stop.”

Harry had a glass of water, and Mr Ollivander led him to a machine which was essentially a drill, with the tiniest drill bit Harry had ever seen. It was mounted on a stand at eye height.

“Now, you sit here,” Mr Ollivander said, popping Harry onto a stool with a hand to his shoulder. “You have to hold the wand. It can’t be put in a vice. You’re not looking for a straight line, you see? You have to find the core – the pathway it wants you to take. That nodule will give it a little hiccup, I expect. Don’t hurry! Certainly not. You have to feel what the wood wants of you, yes?”

Harry nodded, trying to take it in.

“Hold the wood in front of it and see how it feels. Have a good look before you start.”

Harry held his wand-to-be in front of the machine. It was quite a stretch on the arms.

“You can lean your elbows on the table. You’ll need to to keep it steady.”

Harry did so, and sighted down the drill as he imagined marksmen sighted down a rifle. He couldn’t quite get the feel of it.

Suddenly, he took off his glasses, and shutting one eye, tried again. That was it!

“Good. Well done, young man. Now, a practice go or two,” Ollivander said, placing a couple of prepared wands in front of him.

It was a sensible suggestion. He needed to get it right. Harry put down his wand and picked one up, then put it down and picked up the other.

He looked at Ollivander.

“Don’t worry about wasting them, my boy! It’s only wood and a little time!”

Harry held one of the pieces in his hand, put it down and picked up his own piece. “The thing is, Sir, this isn’t.”

“Mmmn? What’s that? Explain, dear fellow!”

“Well,“ Harry said, stroking his apple wood, ”they are bits of wood. But this is a wand.”

Ollivander chuckled. “Well, well! What do you want to do, then? You tell me!”

“I’m really sorry, Sir, I know it makes sense to practice, but I don’t think it will make a difference. I can’t feel anything from those two. This,” he stroked the wand, “is practically screaming at me.”

“Ah well, that’s one thought ruled out,” Ollivander said mysteriously. “Go ahead, then! In your own time.”

“How do you control the drill, Sir?”

“Oh! Yes, yes, silly me. A foot pedal. See? Yes, that’s it. Give it a little press and get the feel. Oh yes, that’s it. Good, good.”

Harry felt Ollivander hovering as he aligned the drill and began, but soon, he was aware of nothing else but the drill and the wood and the ache in his arms.

Everything faded away but the sense of the path he was trying to follow, the tension he needed to maintain to get there, the steadiness of holding the wand exactly right.

When he had finished, his shoulders felt as if he had been hung in a torture chamber, his back was screaming, and his vision odd from focussing through one eye.

He put the wand down carefully, got up and stretched. He was shocked to see that it was dark outside and that he had been working by strong lamplight. He had not even been aware of the transition.

Mr Ollivander bustled back in. “All done? Excellent. You must be exhausted. No one realises how physical wand making is!”

“I’m really sorry, Sir, I’ve kept you so late – I had no idea of the time.”

“Late! Pshaw! When one is having such fun, what is late? But you must be starving. Come and have some of Lottie’s stew.”

“I really don’t want to inconvenience you, Sir. Could I come back tomorrow?”

“Come back tomorrow? No no! You can’t stop now! It needs to be finished! And you need to eat first, the next bit is hard. Come!”

Harry followed the man upstairs, and after a trip to the bathroom sat down at a scrubbed wood table in a very cosy kitchen, and tucked into a huge bowl of stew served with hunks of delicious bread.

Lottie had already eaten, but bustled about looking after them and finally settled at the table with a small glass of something purple and alcoholic to keep them company.

“Well, Mr Potter, still at school? What’s your favourite lesson?” she asked cheerily.

“Yes, Madam,” Harry said, because he wasn’t sure if she was Mrs Ollivander or not.

“Oh, no need to be formal! Call me Lottie! Everyone does,” she said encouragingly.

“Well, call me Harry, then, please. I’m not much good at wizarding etiquette,” Harry said in embarrassment, “I’m never quite sure what’s done or not,” he admitted.

“Nice manners don’t have to follow rules,” Lottie smiled at him, “and yours seem very pretty, Harry.”

Harry smiled back.

There was pudding too – fruit crumble and custard.

Harry licked the last fraction from his spoon and beamed at the cook. “That was absolutely delicious, Lottie! I tasted clove and cardamom, but there was something else?”

“Well! A young man who can cook? What a surprising person you are!” and they exchanged recipes for a minute or two.

“Well, work to be done, I’m afraid,” Mr Ollivander said, standing up.

“Shall I wash the dishes first?” Harry asked, standing quickly.

Lottie laughed. “Get on with you! I’ll finish up up here, you’ve more important things to be getting on with! I can see Barny champing at the bit.”

Harry grinned, and in a moment of impulse, leant over and pecked Lottie on the cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Oh! You sweetheart! Off now, before Barny gets jealous!” she chuckled, but was obviously delighted.

Harry followed down the stairs and back into the workroom.

“We put the core in next, Mr Ollivander?” he asked.

“Oh ho! My wife’s Lottie and I’m Mr Ollivander?”

“I wouldn’t presume – “

“At this time of night we’ve had enough ceremony! Barny is my name, and a good name too!”

“Thank you – Barny,” Harry grinned.

“Well, well, Mr Potter –“

“Harry.”

“Delighted, my boy. Very well then, Harry. First the easy bit, and then the hard. Or maybe you won’t find it so. Anyway, here we go! Fawkes’ feather into the wand, Harry!”

Harry picked up the feather and gently eased it into the slot. He noticed that Mr Ollivander – Barney – had not touched either the feather or wand at any point, and realised that it was quite deliberate. It was going to be his wand, his work, or not at all. He was actually very happy about that.

“Good, simple that bit, eh? With a feather, anyway. Other cores take time to get in, you know. Not straightforward at all. Imagine mermaid’s scales. Very tricky. And as for – well, well! I digress. Now, you need to seal it.”

“That’s always where I come unstuck,” Harry said. “There must be a spell?”

“No, no spell.”

Harry’s face dropped.

“No words, anyway. But you can do wandless and wordless, I noticed, so you should be fine. Now. You have to regrow the wood a bit. Bring it back to life just enough so that inside, it grows up to every tiny hair on the feather, and no further. So that those little hairs are intact, but there isn’t a molecule of space between the two.”

Harry looked at the wand, and the task seemed enormous.

“How do I do that?” he asked.

“Hold the wand. Feel it. Shut your eyes. That’s all I can tell you, Harry.”

Harry did. He could feel the special something that he had always associated with this piece of wood. It felt different now, with the feather inside it. But he didn’t know what he was looking for.

He opened his eyes and looked at Ollivander, who just smiled back at him encouragingly.

Harry shut his eyes again.

What could he do to make this work? To control so explicitly the meeting of these two materials? He thought about wands. That they controlled external magic, earth magic, not his own. A channel. And not just earth. Fumbling, he stood up. He needed the elements.

“Do you have a garden?” he asked.

Ollivander smiled. “This way.”

He took Harry outside into the small garden behind the shop. Fumbling on instinct, Harry took his shoes off and stood in the soil of the flowerbed, feeling the damp shift of the earth under his toes. The air brushed coolly around him. He looked at Ollivander and blushed.

“Whatever you need to do, dear boy, whatever you need to do.”

Harry stepped onto the patch of grass again and stripped off his clothes. He felt ridiculous but excited at the same time. The air was chill against his skin, but that in itself felt right.

What else? Fire and water. He looked round. There was a water butt underneath the guttering.

“It’s all rain water?” Harry asked.

Ollivander nodded. Harry felt happier in his skin, as the old man seemed to take it in his stride.

So just the fire.

There was a brazier in the corner, and Harry summoned it. There was some brush and wood chippings already in it, under its lid. Harry looked up at Ollivander.

“Whatever you will,” the man encouraged.

Harry lit the fire. He could feel the flames against his skin, the flickering warmth, and the cold on his back.

He took the wand in his hand, and began to draw power.

And stopped.

It didn’t feel right.

What was missing? He had all the elements.

What was it? He shivered.

The fire crackled.

Ollivander’s face was cast in sharp planes by the shadows.

“I need the sun,” he said.

“Sun? Yes? Well, get dressed then, Harry, before you freeze,” Ollivander said pragmatically.

Harry pulled his clothes on, feeling disappointed but knowing that it was the right decision.

“Would you have any time for me to come back tomorrow?” Harry asked hopefully.

“Good heavens, dear boy, you can’t go home now! A bed! Sleep here! We can continue in the morning!”

“But your business – and I don’t want to put Lottie out -“

“Tush! We’ve always got a bed made up! Grandchildren, nephews and nieces – always coming to stay! Convenient for the Alley, you see!” He leant forward conspiratorially. “Lottie loves it! Can’t live on wand-making alone you know! Friends. Family. That’s what life is all about. Taking time to enjoy them. Each big picture is made up of small strokes, Harry.”

And so, after a firewhisky night cap, Harry found himself tucked up in bed under the eaves, tired, content and excited.

Barny Ollivander stood looking out of the landing window the following morning. The sun was only just peeking over the gables and chimney pots, gilding them with sharp spring light. It was going to be a pleasant day.

An interesting day, indeed.

Harry Potter was in his garden, naked as the day he was born, tracking the sun and finding the spot where it would first break past the shadows. Oh, very good! Such a delight to see such a natural grasp of things! Well, well! Lottie came to stand beside him, wrapping a shawl over her nightdress.

“Good lord,” she said. “He is, then?”

“Seems that way. What an honour, what an honour!” Their hands slipped into each others, the route familiar after more than a century, and they watched together.

The sun crested next door’s end wall and hit the young man standing waiting for it. Even behind the window they could feel the pull of power, familiar as they were with wand-making.

“The strength!” Lottie gasped.

“Indeed!”

It did not take long. There were no trumpets. Moments later, Harry Potter carefully waved the wand through the air, plunged it into the flames in the brazier, doused it in the water butt, and then poked it into the earth. Then he pulled it out, laid it on the grass in the sunshine, and calmly proceeded to dress.

“I’ll put the kettle on,” Lottie said. “Bring him up, dear, he’ll have an appetite on him!”

Ollivander skipped his usual routine and waved his wand over himself to dress, then slipped down the stairs and met Harry as he came in the back door.

“Barny?” he looked sheepish. “I needed to do it at first light –“

“Yes, yes, very good thinking too. Full of hope and freshness, that wand! Very imaginative. We witnessed from the window. Do come and eat, you’ll be hungry. Lottie has the breakfast on, I’m sure.”

Harry followed up the stairs, and ate every scrap of bacon, eggs, mushrooms, sausages and toast that were put before him.

“I must wash up this time,” he grinned at Lottie.

“Well dear, why don’t you do that whilst Barny talks to Jemima and Alfric? And I need to sort my hair.”

So Harry washed the dishes and pans, enjoying the mundane activity and the hot water. His body felt surprisingly energised, though he had expected to feel drained by the magic.

He made his way downstairs.

“Pop it on the table, Harry. I’ve sent Alfric off to get some more wood. Africa. He loves a hot climate.”

Harry placed the wand on the table, and Ollivander studied it as if it were an intricate antique.

“The balance?”

Harry lifted it and gave a quick flick. The shower of silver sparks circled, swooped down around Mr Ollivander, who chuckled gleefully, and disappeared with a musical harmony.

“Oh, lovely, lovely! Yes, yes!”

“And no rattle,” Harry grinned.

“Just the finish to go, young man. What do you fancy? A varnish? Polish? Light? Dark?”

Harry looked at the wand. So many decisions! “Just a light polish – smooth but not slippery. No colour added.”

“Very well. Just a very light sanding, I think. It looks very smooth already.”

He bustled off and returned with a beige sheet of very fine sandpaper. Harry sat and gently rubbed the wand, and when he was happy with it, coated it with the silky polish Ollivander had laid out on the table.

“Mr Ollivander? Barny?” he began tentatively, when he felt that there was not a rub more needed.

Mr Ollivander, who was pootling with a box in the corner, turned to look at him.

“Thank you. I’ve really enjoyed doing this. Do you have vacancies for apprentices? I know I have business with Voldemort first, but if I live and –“

Ollivander hooted with laughter and came and sat next to Harry. He was wiping tears from his eyes.

“Dear boy! Do you know how long an apprenticeship takes?”

Harry shook his head.

“Alfric has been with me for sixty four years. He can’t make a wand on his own yet.”

“What? But –“

“He’s learning. Dear fellow. He’ll be competent. Jemima will be better, in the end. It’s an art, Harry.”

“But –“

“Yes, yes. I was very confused when you came in. Usually, it’s a staff first. The wand comes years later. Years, dear man! But – well, your request was unusual. And I felt – well, sometimes it’s all instinct, isn’t it? Wand-making is very instinctual, don’t you agree?”

“Yes, of course, “Harry nodded, bemused again, “but I’m not following you, Barny, I’m sorry –“

“Mages, dear boy. Usually a staff calls to them. Years later, they make their wand. But you are different, and why not?” he beamed.

“Mages?” Harry croaked.

“Nothing to worry about! Just very powerful wizards, Harry!”

“Like Albus Dumbledore? Voldemort?”

“No, no! Have you looked at Tom Riddle? Not powerful at all! Clever, though. Have a good look at him, do! See if it doesn’t scream at you. Albus – well, he’s very strong. But a mage – no, a mage is a bit different. You can’t learn it. It’s like being a squib or a wizard. There’s genes there, but – well!”

Harry laid his head on his hands on the table.

“Now then! What’s all this? Nothing to worry about, Harry! Good lord, no!”

Harry turned his face to look at the other man. “I think I’ve got a staff,” he mumbled.

“What? What’s that? Explain, do!”

“When I started getting a thing for the apple tree,” he blushed, “I pruned it a bit. The garden was overgrown. And there was a branch that seemed perfect for holding – and it felt good and – well, I’d had a bonfire with the rest but I couldn’t bring myself – I stuck it by the back door.”

“Yes? And then?”

Harry sat up, and leant his chin against his hand, elbow on the table as he spoke. “I – you probably don’t know – there’s a chamber under Hogwarts. I met a basilisk there in second year. Anyway, I went back, and got a tooth. It’s dead, of course,” – he interjected hastily. “Three, actually.”

“Basilisk tooth! Good heavens! Go on!” The man was almost jumping with excitement.

“Well, I pushed them into the wood. Through the end. Well, one at each end and one sideways through the middle. The point sticks out the other side. But it’s not venomous anymore,” Harry hastened to say.

“Indeed, ingenious! No need for the binding! The wood and teeth already right up to each other. Genius!”

Harry blushed. “Well, I could feel it was magical, and I used to hold it quite a lot – I expect that sounds stupid,” he groaned.

“Not at all! Outside? Connection to the earth?”

Harry nodded, relieved at the telling and the understanding. He had thought it was barmy at the time, that he felt he could think about magic better holding an apple branch shoved into the earth out in the open air.

“Well, it was really helpful, but not really practical, is it? So I got the urge to make a wand. And you know the rest.”

“Well, that’s a treat for a wand-maker to know, Harry. And now it’s time. You won’t mind if Lottie and Jemima join me, will you?”

“Of course not. In what, Sir?” Harry queried.

“A mage is a very rare thing. For a wand–maker – well. I can only say that this honour will be the highlight of my working life.”

“The honour is mine,” Harry protested. “I couldn’t have done it without you – “

“Ah, but you did! Advice – yes. But everything else – all yours, Mage.”

Barny strode to the doorway. “Lottie! Come down, dear! Jemima! Any customers? No? Shut the shop for the moment. Yes, yes, put up the sign. That’s it. Good girl.”

The women bustled in, Lottie smiling and Jemima curious.

“Jemima dear, we have a profound honour today. You are luckier than I can say to witness this, so early in your life. Mr Potter has made his own wand.”

Jemima stared at the old man, at Harry, and back again. Barny was grinning from ear to ear, nodding his head repeatedly.

He looked up at Harry. “There’s a form, dear boy. A tradition. Just let it flow over you. You’ll know what to do.”

And suddenly, all three had sunk to their knees, crossed their fists, and said the words Harry had heard a number of times since.

Harry had felt embarrassed, pleased, awed. Contrary to Barny’s belief, he hadn’t known what to do. But these people were wand-makers.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “Would you like to see it?” he asked tentatively.

And that had been the right thing to say. Ollivander, who had not touched it up to that point, took the wand reverently in his hands.

There followed much technical muttering as it was passed round.

Finally, Jemima went back into the shop, as someone was banging hard on the door.

“Thank you so much,” Harry said to Barny and Lottie. “I’m awfully sorry if it’s rude to broach money, but what do I owe you? Your shop has been shut and your time and the food and bed –“ he gabbled in embarrassment.

“Nonsense!” Lottie’s cheeks wobbled as she spoke. “Even had you not succeeded, it was a pleasure to have you here. Bed and board indeed!” but she smiled to show she had neither taken nor meant offence.

“And for me – the thrill – payment enough, I assure you, Harry. Really. Though if you are passing -”

“Yes?” Harry encouraged.

“I would be intrigued – professional interest, you know – to see your staff.”

Harry looked from one to the other. “I’d be delighted if I could repay your kindness by asking you both to dinner. You could see the staff. And the tree,” Harry added.

And they had come. Several times. Harry regarded them as the grandparents he had never had.

A smile on his face, he turned to look at his friends.

“Miles away, there mate!” Ron grinned. “Wand. Wooden variety. Making it. Spill!”

Harry shook his head. “Professional secret. Can’t say. Sorry!”

Ron threw his other pillow at him.

Chapter Text

The following evening, being Tuesday, Harry made his way to his classroom, this time accompanied by Ron and Hermione as well as Neville.

The class were already gathered, and conversation was blooming. Harry was thrilled at the ease settling amongst this diverse mix of people, drawn by chance from all the Houses. Faces looked up, brows furrowed, at the intruders.

“Hi all,” Harry greeted them.

There was a slight nod from all of them, apart from Severus, as if they wanted to bow but weren’t sure about Ron and Hermione.

Harry sat at the large table that was their usual start set up.

“I’ve brought Ron and Hermione. They’ll be bound by the same magic that prevents you talking about anyone else, and as you’ve all mastered the big number it’s time to expand our repertoire. Everyone ok with that?”

“No problem,” Ernie said. “Hi mate,” he grinned at Ron. They played chess occasionally.

“Right. I’m really delighted with you all,” Harry beamed, “and I hope you’re part way to forgiving me. I know it was hard and nasty.”

He heard the “Too bloody right,” but on the whole the reaction wasn’t too bad. They were all here, anyway.

“Now, I need to know, is everyone ok? Any odd side effects? Too tired? You can speak to me now or after, but if you are experiencing any problems it’s probably worth mentioning now, because someone else might feel the same and we can help each other out.”

Harry looked round carefully.

“No wonky magic?”

“My wand sort of feels alien,” Ernie ventured. There were other nods of agreement.

“Still works ok, though?” Harry asked.

“Oh yeah, everything feels really easy,” Ernie grinned.

“It’s because you’ve felt that other sort of magic,” Harry said. “It makes earth magic feel new again, somehow. Give it a few days and you’ll have adapted. Anything else?”

“I’ve been really tired,” Padma admitted.

“Have you been eating enough?” Harry asked. “Really, wandless burns up loads of calories. You’ll never need to diet or anything. Not that you need to anyway, Padma,” he added hastily.

“I have been eating because I’ve been hungry all the time, but I’m still tired.”

Harry was concerned. Food always did it for him. And it had been a couple of days already.

“Maybe you’ve been practicing it on your own too much?”

Padma shook her head.

“Maybe you should go to Madam Pomfrey,” Harry said worriedly.

“I suggest asking the house elves for liver or steak for supper,” Severus intoned in his deep voice.

They all looked at him. Harry had made sure he’d had meat, but his immediate need had always been for carbohydrates.

“I don’t wish to embarrass you, but we could discuss this forever. I believe your exhaustion is compounded by the fact that you are menstruating,” Severus added matter of factly.

Padma went bright red, her hand slipping to her skirt in case she had had an accident.

The boys didn’t know where to look, whilst Hermione and Eloise gave sympathetic glances.

“Oh please!” Severus said snarkily. “Excluding our newcomers, we’ve all carried out bodily functions in front of each other. There is no shame in menstruating. Old customs revered the transition to womanhood, and it was celebrated. Perhaps we would be wise to bring back such traditions, if you are all to be namby-pamby about it.”

“But how did you know?” Padma croaked.

“I have a nose of exceedingly large proportions, Miss – Padma. Despite its appearance it is advantageous to a potions master.”

“You can smell me?” she said in horror, as the boys snickered at Severus’ self portrait.

“Please. I can smell every girl menstruating in my class.”

He paused, assessing the look of horror on the girls’ faces, the relief on the boys’.

“And of course every boy who has nipped off to have a wank between classes,” he added.

Ron choked, Neville went bright red, Ernie smirked, and Harry thanked god that he always washed with different soaps and shampoos every time he changed persona.

“I won’t mention the horrors of teenage personal hygiene,” Snape finished.

“Thank heaven for that,” Harry grinned. “See, team effort does work! Moving on! I want you all to use your wandless all the time. Try using it for everything for a while. See what it’s better for and what it isn’t.”

“When other people are around?” Eloise asked.

Harry nodded. “You can’t hide it forever. If people ask, which I expect they will, you can say it’s just come to you, which is true. It’ll up the ante. More people will try it. Most won’t succeed, or find the little they can do not worth the effort. There are many here at Hogwarts working under par, though you lot were a beacon of need,” he teased.

“Respect!” Ernie grinned. “Think of the respect!”

Eli chuckled. “They all think I’m useless.”

“We’ll show them,” Ernie grabbed her hand.

“You ought to try some workings together,” Neville said quietly, “you have compatible magic.”

“What?”

Neville looked at Harry, who encouraged him to continue.

“I can see magical signatures. Yours are really compatible. It could have interesting results.”

“Way to go! We could try that here in a minute,” Harry smiled encouragement. “But first, some heavy stuff. You all know I stand against Voldemort. And I know you are all committed to me or to the fight against him.”

He saw the eyes shift around the class, looking at Severus, darting away, returning to note his composed exterior.

“Some of the work in this class will inevitably focus on tasks to forward our fight against him. Not all. And I don’t want anyone to feel bludgered into anything they don’t want to do. If you are unhappy about anything, as before, speak to me, either at the time or whenever you prefer. If you have a project of your own you want to work on, great! Is that understood? Everything here is voluntary.”

There were mumbles of assent.

“Good. Now for this evening. Ernie and Eli, as mentioned. Draco, I’d like you to work with Hermione on a potion – yes, I know Severus is the expert, but sometimes a fresh approach is the best thing. Severus can look over it when you’ve moved it along. I’ll give you the details in a minute. Severus, I’d like you and Ron to work on some strategy. We’ll discuss that in a moment. Padma, you can see the actual shape of spells?”

She nodded.

“Good. Then I want you to watch Ernie and Eloise, ok, analyse what’s happening. Alright?”

Everyone broke up into groups, each setting up their own work area.

He spoke first to Hermione and Draco.

“I’d like you both to work on a potion. Well,” he backtracked, “it could be a charm, but I suspect a potion will be most useful. I want something that’s long-lasting – several hours, if possible – and will increase power several times.”

“Why do you think a charm wouldn’t work?” Hermione asked.

“We’re going to need all the available power we’ve got at the time. It needs to be something ready to use, leaving everyone free.”

“Who’s it for?” Draco asked.

“Me,” Harry said, causing Draco to choke on the pumpkin juice that he was sipping. Harry had asked the house elves to provide food and drink to counter the effects of wandless magic use.

“You’re a bloody mage! How power hungry can you get?” he asked in disbelief.

“Voldemort is drawing power from hundreds of supporters,” Harry explained. “My bet is, when it comes to the crunch, he’ll draw all their power to defeat me, regardless of the consequences to them. But I expect we’ll all be fighting, so I don’t want anyone else to be wasting their efforts holding a charm on me when they need the power for themselves. So, I’d like it to multiply my power. If it can work on everyone too, that would be excellent, but without sounding snotty, if I’m the only one who can get rid of the bastard, it makes sense to make sure I can do it. Willing to give it a try?”

Hermione looked at Draco. “What do you think? A dragon’s blood base has strengthening effects.”

“Yeah, but it’s so volatile. We’d need to –“

Harry got up.

Hermione turned to him, her hair flicking round. “Great project, Harry. Thanks!”

Ron and Severus were already sitting next to a low table in a couple of comfy armchairs. Harry wondered who had transfigured them. There was also an impermeable sound shield in place.

Harry perched on the arm of Ron’s chair.

“Severus, Ron. Alright? I’d like you to work on some strategy for the upcoming war. Severus, Ron may have said that he has been researching Muggle and Wizard warfare and is getting pretty knowledgeable, but you will know if his ideas are workable from your insider information and your general good sense. I don’t know how you think this might work, strategically, but I’ve been having this idea.

We know that I have to kill Voldemort. I’ve asked Mione and Draco to work on a strengthening potion, so that I can face him even if he tried to draw all his supporters’ power through the Mark. So we need to think of a way to set up the battle to our advantage, given that we don’t know how to find his base. Can I set you off thinking along this scenario? Of course, all other ideas most welcome. It’s probably a crap idea.”

“Okay, Harry, that’s a starter,” Ron nodded, and Harry saw the man in the lanky body for the first time. “It’ll get us talking at least, working together.”

“It is an interesting idea, Harry. I’d be happy to help with the potion, as you know. Are they considering –“

“Hold up, Severus! Let them move along with it, and then look at their work. I’m very happy if you have any time to consider it too, in parallel, but unless we get the strategy right no amount of potions is going to do the trick.”

“Very well. Ronald – “

“Ron. Can’t stand Ronald ever since I saw this Muggle figure outside a restaurant.”

Snape snorted. “I enjoyed the burgers though,” he commented.

“You’ve been to a McDonald’s?” Ron gasped.

Harry, grinning, left them to it. That had been a very good night. Cinema, McDonalds – Snape’s face was a picture – and home to bed.

Later, Harry joined Draco and Severus as they made their way down to the potion master’s quarters.

“Are you ready for this, Professor?” Harry asked, as the man began to take off his robe.

“As ready as I’ll ever be, given that I have wished this thing gone for two decades,” he retorted. “You may continue to call me Severus if you wish, Mr Potter. We are in private.”

“Thank you. Then it’s Harry.”

Snape inclined his head.

“Where should we do this?”

“On your bed if you don’t mind,” Draco said. “There’ll be room for all of us,” he added, and then blushed bright red, remembering that Severus liked men.

“You need have no worries for your virtue, either of you,” Severus said, drawing himself up. “We can go to the infirmary or create a medical couch in here if you prefer.”

“The bed sounds much more comfortable,” Harry said, knowing that indeed it was.

Severus looked at Potter. Draco’s pale beauty did nothing for him, but the thought of Potter’s tousled head on his pillow was a thought he’d rather not have.

However, needs must.

With a burst of flames, Dumbledore arrived through the floo.

“Good evening, all,” he greeted jovially. “Ready?”

Severus looked at Draco, his hands hovering by his shirt buttons.

Draco was still a glowing tomato, but nodded, and tried to sound authoritative. “Yes, please, Severus. Undo all the front, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Harry tried not to watch. He did. But Severus’ body was so –uuummm! The planes of his chest – he could see Severus’ chest hair now, could feel the slow glide of Severus’ fingers through his button-holes. He turned away quickly. Getting aroused would not be a good idea, especially as he and Draco were going to link minds in a moment.

Severus wondered if Potter were repulsed by him. He was old enough to be his father after all, and just because a man was gay didn’t mean he lacked discrimination. Potter was powerful, attractive and lithe. He could have any man, and probably did.

They all moved through into the bedroom. Dumbledore conjured an armchair and sat himself down. Severus lay down on the bed, shirt spread open, head on the pillows.

Harry gulped.

He shut his eyes and forced himself to think of why they were there.

“Potter – Harry?” Draco prompted. He was already kneeling on the bed beside Severus. Harry couldn’t decide whether it looked hot or made him feel jealous.

“Sorry,” he turned away again, struggling to get his libido under control. Dumbledore was in the room, for Merlin’s sake! And – oh shit! Severus would be able to smell his arousal! He shut his thoughts off at once.

“Problem?” Draco asked.

Harry looked back quickly. “I’m not too keen on legilimency. Never been too good at occluding,” he prevaricated, “give me a sec to get myself ready.”

“Your powers haven’t helped with that?” Severus said with professional interest.

“Never put it to the test,” Harry responded.

“But what about Voldemort?”

“Oh, I sort of shut that down, rather than occluded, like we’re going to try on you. That’s why I’m pretty hopeful it will work,” he added, coming over to the bed at last.

He knelt on the other side of Severus, trying not to inhale his scent or lean too close.

“But you want me to do it here, right?” Draco questioned.

“Yes. I don’t think my scar works in the same way as the Dark Mark at all – there wasn’t any willing choice in its creation, for a start. And knowing how my magic feels isn’t the same as handling someone else’s. I may be a mage, but I don’t appear to be any good at healing. It’s obviously a very specific gift, like the Sight, or Nev’s.”

“Okay. Once we link, we can be sure of what we are doing together,” Draco said. “Severus, do you need sedation? Something for the pain if there is anything? I can’t guarantee my skills at all, so if you have a potion at the ready – blast, we should have thought of this before.”

Harry knew, though of course he couldn’t say, that Severus had a bottle of pain relief elixir in his bedside drawer, which he used after a bad night at the Dark Lord’s. He was relieved to see Severus reach across and put it on the top.

Draco looked curious, but restrained himself from asking why a strong pain potion was by the bed.

Draco and Harry reached out their hands and laid them on Severus’ chest, Draco’s underneath.

“Here we go,” Draco whispered, and they made eye contact.

They spent an unknown time adjusting to each other, accepting the meld, before Draco focussed his energies on Severus.

Harry found it extraordinary as they fell into Severus’ body. He could feel the cells, the nerves firing, the blood whooshing. He could feel Severus’ magic, the strength of it! But – yes – something was off.

Draco seemed to do nothing and Harry wondered if there was a problem, but suddenly Draco seemed to have found the point of loss and was dragging them to it, looking at it, feeling it without getting too close. Draco reached out, gently, so gently that Harry marvelled. His mind could feel Draco’s intention, and he began to siphon his power into Draco as he began to encircle the node. Slowly, slowly, a tourniquet was applied. Draco seemed to sit back, and Harry felt him seeking his opinion. How were they to set the parameters to shrink the outflow slowly, slowly, but never to the point of cutting it off? Carefully, on instinct, Draco set the magic. It was as they began to withdraw that something seemed to go haywire.

Physically, Harry could feel Severus start to convulse beside him. Panicking, Harry tried to communicate with Draco. Something terrible was happening. Harry could feel that Dumbledore had come to hold Severus. Mentally he was screaming at Draco.

The next minute, Draco had thrown him out.

Harry could suddenly see Severus, from outside his body, the muscular spasms tightening him like a bowstring. Dumbledore had shoved something between his teeth.

Harry was terrified. Why had Draco thrown him out? Had he done this to Severus? Had he done something wrong? Shaking, taking his eyes from Severus for just a moment, he caught Dumbledore’s eye.

“What’s happening?” he gasped. He could feel tears of terror and fear pooling in the corners of his eyes and brushed them away savagely. “What can I do?”

“Help hold him. Trust Draco,” Dumbledore ground out.

Harry slipped his arms about the beloved body, trying to hold onto the flailing limbs.

All of a sudden Severus gave a great gasp and lay still. Draco’s head fell onto his chest.

“Oh god, no!” Harry felt hysterical. “He can’t be – he’s not –“

He grabbed the now floppy wrist. He could feel no pulse. He tried to shove Draco’s head out of the way so that he could listen to Severus’ heart.

“He’s alright,” Draco groaned.

“He’s got no pulse!” Harry shouted.

“You’re probably feeling in the wrong place,” Draco straightened up, grabbed Harry’s hand, and held it over Severus’ chest.

He didn’t take him in; just let Harry feel the steady thump under his fingers.

Dumbledore was straightening Severus out, making him comfortable, but Harry could not take his hand away from that confirmation of life.

Draco flopped to the side of Severus, laying full length.

Dumbledore threw a blanket over the two of them, the cloth pooling over Harry’s knees.

“We shouldn’t have done it,” he whispered, horrified. “Why did we think we could – oh, dear god.” He bowed his head, just resting it on Severus’ chest. He thought he might throw up.

“Stop panicking,” Draco said calmly, even as he lay unmoving. “He was never in danger of dying. I had him.”

Harry lifted his head and looked at Draco. He meant it.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “I can never thank you enough. I’m so sorry I suggested you go through that.”

“Potter, stop being such a wimp. It was fun!”

Harry gawked.

“Fun!”

“Well, there was a moment of worry, obviously, but then I had it under control. It felt – good, you know?”

“No, and I never want to! Dear god, Draco!”

“Healer Malfoy, can I help you sit up?” Dumbledore bustled quietly. “You need to eat something and then you’ll feel better.”

He helped the young man sit up against the headboard, and held a cup of something steaming to his mouth. Harry noted that despite his comments, Draco’s hands were shaking so much he couldn’t hold the cup, and allowed Dumbledore to help him.

If Harry wasn’t so shaken, he knew the scene would make him laugh. Draco next to Snape in bed, with Dumbledore attending and Harry freaking like an idiot.

“You too, Harry,” Dumbledore said gently.

Harry started to shake his head but thought better of it. “I think I’ll be sick,” he admitted.

“It has an anti-nausea component,” Dumbledore soothed. “Have a sip or two.”

A second cup rose in the air and hovered in front of Harry.

“What about Severus?”

“Let him sleep,” Draco said.

Harry accepted his authority, and carefully took the cup. Several sips later, he felt much better.

“Did it work, Draco?” he asked.

“Yup.”

Harry hung his head. He felt absolutely wrung out. He didn’t know if he wanted to vomit, cry, or what.

His hand was still on Severus’ chest. He looked at his face. He was pale, but then he always was. And there was none of that tightening associated with pain.

“Will he be in pain when he wakes up?” he asked.

“I don’t think so,” Draco commented. “At a guess, I’d say he’ll feel better than he usually does. Though he might need a muscle relaxant after the convulsions,” he added thoughtfully.

Harry nodded, and reluctantly slipped his hand away.

He staggered off the bed.

“He needs to be watched,” he said quietly. “Draco, you’re too tired.”

“I am,” Draco surprisingly agreed, “and you must be too. I drew a ton of power off you. I don’t know how you can walk around with that much flooding you all the time.”

Harry didn’t know want to say, and didn’t need to say anything, because Dumbledore, who had been remarkably quiet and efficient, took control.

“You two boys need to go to bed,” he said. “I will stay with Severus. If he needs anything, I will call Madam Pomfrey, and if it seems to require your special skills, I will call you, Draco.”

“Please call me too,” Harry almost begged. “Draco might need my power.” He hated having no right to stay, no excuse.

Dumbledore looked at Harry over his glasses. Harry didn’t know what he was thinking.

“Very well, Harry,” he said at last. “You two have done Severus a great service, you know. Well done, boys.” And he sat himself down in the chair, drawing a book from within his robes.

They were dismissed, and walked back into Severus’ sitting room, closing the door quietly.

Harry stood by the floo, ready to return to his chamber, whilst Draco walked slowly to the door. Harry thought better of using the floo given the state of his stomach, and went to join Draco.

“I can’t face the floo. Can you check for me no-one’s around? It’s not suspicious you being here, but me –“

“Sure.” Draco touched the door handle and then turned to Harry. “Pot –Harry. I know that was scary, but your power was really useful in there. I couldn’t have done it without you. When I’m trained – if I live that long – “ his lips curled, “I might get difficult cases. We worked well together. Might you - ?”

“After I was such a sissy?”

“I had all the control. Not having it is scary, I understand that. But if at some time you trust me, we could do some good stuff together. Consider it?”

Harry touched Draco’s shoulder briefly: he knew his touch spooked him. “I’d be honoured to, Draco,” he said sincerely.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t until Hermione asked, that Harry realised he didn’t even know what had gone wrong with Severus.

He had made his way through the castle in a daze, and climbed through the entrance to the Gryffindor common room on automatic pilot, just determined to reach his chamber.

“Hey, Harry!” Hermione called out from the squashy sofa in front of the fire.

He turned glazed eyes towards her, as if he had suddenly stepped into a different reality.

Hermione had the books off her lap and was standing in front of him before he’d walked three paces.

“What’s up?” she said gently, hand on his arm.

“Let’s get him to his room,” Neville said, coming up alongside him.

Somehow Ron was there too and they were all crowding into Harry’s room.

He sat down on the bed.

“Wait a mo,” Ron said, and disappeared off, returning less than a minute later with a bottle of firewhisky.

“Take a swig, mate, I haven’t got any glasses.”

Harry did, and passed the bottle on.

“Where did you get this?” Hermione asked, wiping her lips daintily after her go.

“Bill gave it to me last time I saw him. Said every man needed a bottle for medicinal purposes.”

“I won’t go into how sexist that sounds,” Hermione said with an exasperated sigh.

“True though, eh?” he said, nodding his head towards Harry.

“What happened, Harry?” Neville asked quietly. “Did it not work? Was there a problem?”

“No. Yes.” Harry brushed a shaking hand over his hair.

“Care to elaborate on that?” Ron said, passing him the bottle again, “seeing as I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about?”

Harry took the bottle automatically but it just hung loose from his hands. He tried to pull his brain together, to make sense of the words.

Right. Ron and Hermione didn’t know where he’d gone after the class. Neville did. Everything was happening so fast and he was losing track.

He explained that he, Dumbledore and Draco had gone to cut off Snape’s magic from Voldemort.

“Hold on. What’s Malfoy got to do with it?” Ron asked.

Oh damn, there was such a lot he hadn’t told them.

“He found he was a Healer this weekend,” Neville explained.

“What? Draco Mr High-and-Mighty Malfoy a Healer? You have to be kidding me?” Ron sat back on his heels.

“Yeah, he is,” Harry confirmed. “That is, Nev’s not kidding and yes Draco is,” he clarified.

Ron shook his head. “And – let me get this right – a couple of days after he’d discovered it, you expected him to be able to just do stuff?”

It did sound utterly ridiculous, Harry agreed in hindsight.

“The thing is, he knows what to do,” Neville said. “He helped me at the weekend – that’s how he found out.”

“Helped you how?”

“I’d sort of overdone it and conked out,” Neville said sheepishly. “As I was coming round I could feel him in me –“

“Eeww!” Ron grimaced.

Mione slapped his arm. “Shut up, Ron! How did it feel, Neville?”

Neville shrugged. “Hard to explain. I – I just felt he knew what he was doing, that he felt perfectly at ease. Not like it was an alien invasion, or something”, he gave a small smile, not yet comfortable with making jokes. “He gave me some of his magic.”

“He did?” Hermione said in surprise.

“Yeah. And we all know how he’s despised me for years, so I think he really has got the Healer thing properly. You know, having to treat all and sundry. I’d trust him anytime, anyway.”

“I can’t see Draco Pureblood Malfoy consenting to help anyone of mixed blood,” Ron sneered. “He might not like you but you’re a pureblood, Nev.”

“Actually,” Harry inserted, “I think he’s quite interested in finding if there’s any difference to the feel of purebloods and us lesser species. I said you might be interested in helping him research, Hermione.”

“No way! No way is that git getting inside you!” Ron snarled, looking at Mione.

“Hey! This is my body! I make the decisions about it!” Hermione took umbrage.

“No. You’re my girlfriend. I’m not having another man poking around in your body. Especially that ferret. ” Ron stuck his chin out mulishly.

Harry and Neville looked at each other, feeling the row brewing. There was no way Hermione would stand for that.

“Look,” Harry said, “if you want to have an argument go and have it somewhere else. I’m absolutely knackered.”

Hermione snapped back to Harry, her eyes softening. “Sorry, Harry, I really want to hear about this evening. Ron, you and I will talk about this later,” she said severely.

“Damn right we will!” he muttered.

“Well, we went in together –Draco and I. Because I’ve got a connection to Voldemort and the power for doing it, and Draco for feeling his way round and – and making sure Severus didn’t get hurt,” Harry gulped.

“See, I told you he couldn’t be any good,” Ron said, “if it went wrong. So what’s happened to Snape? You reduced him to a gibbering moron?”

Harry looked at Ron. “Get out,” he said coldly.

“Wha -? Only joking, mate, come on!” Ron held up his hands in surrender.

“Yeah? I don’t find it funny. I nearly killed him tonight or something and he hasn’t come round and you can fucking get out if you find that funny!” Harry was standing up, fists clenched, actually yelling now. Ron had been having civilised discussions with Snape less than two hours ago: how could he revert to such childish crassness?

Ron reached out a hand to Harry’s shoulder – Harry shook it off: he couldn’t bear for Ron to touch him right now.

“Look, I’m sorry, mate,” Ron’s arms were out in a gesture of supplication. “I didn’t realise it was anything serious. Thought I’d lighten you up. How – is he going to be alright?”

Harry’s shoulders slumped and he sat down again heavily.

“Draco says he will be. Don’t say another fucking word,” he said, seeing the twitch of Ron’s lips.

“Can you tell us what happened exactly?” Hermione intervened, her voice gentle, a hand tentatively on his arm.

Harry gave her a thankful look. “It all seemed to go alright, we did it. Draco was amazing, believe it or not – “ he said, glaring at Ron before looking back at Hermione. “He was really – delicate. It was amazing going in with him, feeling what he feels. We found the node and tied it down. Then just as we were coming out, Severus started convulsing. I – I panicked. Draco threw me out and sorted him out on his own. Only I thought – I thought he was dead,” he croaked, his throat tightening. He turned his head away; he was having a hard job not to cry. Hermione put her arms round him and that was it, a huge sob tore out of his throat. Tears leaked out of his squeezed-shut eyes. He held on tight, his fists bunched in her robe.

“Sorry, sorry,” he babbled, knowing Ron and Neville would be horrified, but unable to stop the torrent.

Neville settled on the bed beside him and gave him a tentative pat on the back.

Ron was crouched at his feet, a hand resting lightly on his knee. “You cry it all out, mate, no harm in that. Didn’t realise you’d had such a horrible time. Charlie bawled his head off when one of his baby dragons snuffed it, and you don’t get more macho than Charlie, now do you?”

Harry snorted a choking laugh at the irrelevance of Ron thinking he cared whether he was macho or not – but it was a Ron sort of distraction, he knew. The man was often thoughtless but he was also carelessly clever at times. And the tension between them had dissolved in an instant.

Nev handed him an only slightly grubby handkerchief as he eventually pulled away from Hermione, stroking the front of her robe to try and wipe away the wet before he realised that the globe under his palm was her breast.

He yanked his hand away, blushing.

“God, sorry, Mione -” he began.

“Oi! “ Ron teased, “think you can cop a feel just because you’ve had a few tears? Good thing you’re gay, mate, that’s all I can say!”

Neville was blushing, his eyes glancing at Mione’s chest as she gave her front a quick rub.

“So, is he in the hospital wing now?” Mione asked.

Harry shook his head. “Dumbledore stayed with him. Draco – Draco says he’ll probably feel better than normal in future,” he said tentatively.

Ron was about to make a comment, but even as he opened his mouth he thought better of it, which was just as well because Hermione and Neville were both glaring at him.

“But you don’t know what happened?” Hermione prompted.

Harry shook his head. “Dumbledore gave us both a drink to get our strength back and then basically told us to go and sleep it off. That was it.”

“Well, you’ll have to ask Draco tomorrow,” Mione said practically.

The abandoned bottle was retrieved and after the emotional outburst they were all glad to have a drink.

Harry took himself off for a shower and the combination of the firewhisky and the hot spray seemed to ease the tension from his muscles. He crawled into bed and slept like a log.

He walked into breakfast almost late the next morning, and nearly wilted in relief to see Snape at the Head Table. The man’s eyes passed over him as he made his way to his regular spot, and his head gave just the tiniest hint of a nod. Harry felt like a fist in his chest had released itself. He turned briefly to look at Draco and saw the Slytherin give him a quick thumbs up, before the boy turned and took up a conversation with Pansy Parkinson.

Ron and Mione grinned at him. He tucked in happily, enjoying a bowl of porridge with cream and brown sugar before moving on to sausages and bacon. He must have used quite a bit of energy the night before.

He had just finished up and was about to leave when Neville scooted into the hall and sat down next to Harry. His robe exuded cold and Harry guessed that Nev had been out to the greenhouses before breakfast.

“I see our friend is better,” Neville commented, grabbing a piece of toast and the marmalade pot.

“Can’t see any improvement yet,” Ron said, “he looks as sour as ever.”

Harry thought of all the times he had seen Severus looking anything but sour – smirking, content, sated, tense with passion - and decided to let the comment pass. He was happy to have those memories to himself.

“I’m off,” Hermione said, bending over to pick up her bag.

“I’ll walk you,” Ron got up. “I’ve got a free period.”

Once they’d gone, Nev turned to Harry, who had decided to wait a moment as Ron was obviously intending to snog Hermione en route.

“I’ve got an idea,” he said, “Got a moment?”

“Only a short one, I’m due to meet McGonagall for my review.” Term ended the following week, and the sixth form students had individual meetings with their teachers every term to review progress.

“Right. I’ve just had mine with Madam Sprout,” Neville said.

“Before breakfast?”

“I’m usually over the greenhouses first thing and so’s she,” Neville shrugged. “Anyway, the thing is, I’m nipping over to China tonight to take some cuttings from Siu Lee, the old lady who gave me the plant under your window. When I was talking to her last time, she told me her niece ran a small store selling rare ingredients.” He looked at Harry.

Harry thought he knew where this was leading, but was still grinning at the just ‘nipping over to China’ comment.

“Thought you might like to come along?” Neville suggested. “You’re planning on talking to him this weekend, aren’t you? Thought it might soften the blow or something,” Nev blushed at having made the suggestion.

Harry gave him a quick hug, and got up. “You’re a good friend, Nev. Thanks! Love to!”

That evening, having got permission slips from Madam Sprout for the trip, they chatted as they walked to the gates.

Snape had been at lunch as well as breakfast and appeared to be perfectly well. Harry hadn’t had a chance to talk to Draco, but he felt much happier about the events of the previous night.

“Nev, do you have any idea how hard transatlantic apparition is?” Harry asked, rubbing his hands together against the cold.

“Seems alright,” Neville protested, “I suspect it’s just a ruse on the part of the floo companies to get business. I’d rather apparate any day.”

Harry laughed and shook his head. “I looked it up. Only really powerful wizards can apparate huge distances. Even quite strong wizards are scared to attempt it in case they fall short, in the middle of the sea or a foreign country where they don’t speak the language. There’s some really gory stories in 'The Splinch-free Guide to the Do’s and Don’ts of Successful Apparating'.”

“Good thing I didn’t know then,” Nev grinned at him, clapping his arms across his chest to promote some warmth. A thought occurred to him. “What’s the furthest you’ve apparated, Harry?”

“Uumm, here to Brighton?”

“You alright for managing it, then?”

“Don’t know. In theory I’ve got the power – “

“Why don’t I take us both out – I know where we’re going – and you bring us both back. I can take over if there’s a problem and at least you won’t be distracted by not knowing the location well.”

“You think you can take us both?”

“Yeah, if you’re happy to trust me?” Neville said tentatively.

“You know, your lack of confidence is endearing, Nev, but one of these days you’re going to have to face up to the fact that you’re one of the most powerful wizards on the planet.”

Instead of shrugging it off, Neville didn’t say anything, and Harry wondered if he’d offended him.

“Nev?”

“I like it,” Nev said quietly.

Harry looked at him, waiting for more information, and kept walking, feet crunching on the frozen gravel.

“Knowing that I’ve got all that power in me,” Neville explained, “knowing that people underestimate me. For years, I felt such a failure. Now, that’s really handy. It’s hard to disappoint people if they don’t expect much of you,” he said. “And you can sort of get on with what you want to do without being pestered. God knows what people will expect of you when they know you’re a mage, Harry. ”

Harry found the trip with Neville a revelation. Out in China, using his translation spell (“not good enough yet, Harry, I’m still working on it,”) Neville charmed the pants off Siu Lee and her niece. Some of it, he was sure, was down to the fact that Neville had had a lot of experience in handling old ladies; some of it was because his love and knowledge of herbology shone through, and some of it was that his shy and unassuming manner just made people want to do things for him. Neville came back with several more cuttings and plants than he had hoped for, and Harry had a small collection of what he understood to be very rare potions ingredients indeed. As the money he had taken turned out to be unacceptable, he had paid (at Neville’s suggestion) by working a complex strengthening charm on the structure of Sui Lee’s crumbling home. Everyone had been happy.

After apparating them both home (no mid ocean splinching either), he had tumbled into bed utterly exhausted.

Chapter Text

Despite his exhaustion on going to bed, Harry had a fitful night’s sleep, full of fleeting anxieties and nameless fears.

He got out of bed and headed down to breakfast. He wondered if he had worked too much magic - he hadn’t felt a limit before, but he had done the big working at the weekend, helped Draco with Severus, apparated two of them back from China, and done a fairly hard bit of magic whilst he was there.

Of course, he could no longer fail to acknowledge that the tense knot in his stomach, and perhaps the nameless night fears, were due to another reason: in less than 36 hours he would be telling Severus that Alex Johnson was, in fact, his all-time favourite student, Harry Potter.

He had put off and put off thinking about it, quite deliberately cutting the two lives apart. But now he had to face up to it. Although he liked the idea of the gift Neville had suggested, he didn’t think it was going to do much to calm Severus’ ire. It might work best when the man had calmed down a bit.

He needed to work out how to explain his reasons. But what was there to say?

I really fancied you, Severus, and it was sooo good between us. I couldn’t tell you who I was until you’d got your magic properly. If it hadn’t taken you so long I could have told you ages ago.....

Maybe not.

I was in my other persona when I met you. You were so different! Funny! Sexy! Nothing like Professor Snape! And you weren’t so slow to sleep with me either...

God! What was he going to say?

Look Severus, I know you’ve always hated me because of my father but I’m not a bastard like him....

All day various ideas flitted in and out of his head. No brilliant words appeared to help him out of the pit he had dug himself into. He cared for Severus. If he explained that, would it be enough?

Ha! He was talking about Severus Snape.

He felt rougher and rougher throughout the day. He tried to eat a bit more at lunch but anxiety seemed to be tying his stomach in knots and it was hard to force more than a small meal down.

After lunch it was Double Potions. At least he would be able to check that Snape was ok. And afterwards he was going to sleep.

The class filed into the room. Severus was already there, looking at some papers on his desk. Harry settled in his normal place, watching the man surreptitiously. He seemed to be fine, and Harry relaxed.

Potions classes had been easier – less fraught was perhaps a better way of describing it – since they had started NEWTS the year before. The less able or inclined people were no longer in the class, and that appeared to help Snape’s temper considerably. Although the man still made sarcastic comments on anything from the colour of a potion, its poor consistency or the appalling way ingredients had been prepared, now at least his remarks were related to the work rather than the individual. He was always right too, and in some ways it was easier to accept his acerbic criticism and improve than if he had tiptoed around the fault.

Not that anyone could ever imagine that happening.

Harry had found that his mage powers appeared to lend no improvement to his potions’ skills. He was competent, but that was it. It was disappointing, but he supposed it just proved that being a mage didn’t mean that he was literally all-powerful, as people seemed to assume the term meant. He hadn’t suddenly turned into Trelawney’s best friend either, so maybe he should be thankful for small mercies. And that was odd – that was a branch of magic that mages weren’t suddenly supposed to be proficient at. And Healers were special....Harry realised his mind was wandering. But he hadn’t even considered if any of his group had the Sight, and loath as he was to do it, perhaps it was unfair not to explore this avenue.

Snape had meanwhile called the class to order and Harry had collected his ingredients on autopilot. They were working individually on a complex wart removing potion.

Harry set up the base; potions in a particular family had the same base ingredients and they had been working on how small variations of ingredients let to major changes in purpose and outcome. Although it sounded simple, all work this year was expected to be of perfect quality, suitable for use in the infirmary or wherever else the potion pertained to. Students had to return after hours to redo unsuccessful work and there was a small laboratory for their use to which they had access during evenings and weekends. A house elf called Flinger was always present, his sole job to take control should any situation get out of hand. Harry knew Hermione went there frequently to work on potions of her own devising, and this was encouraged, if not expected. She had, of course, made good friends with Flinger, and had also been furthering her knowledge of house elf society.

Harry had been there plenty of times, but only for redoing work. Much as he liked Severus, potions held no draw for him.

He had looked at potions as he had other subjects, wondering if there were other ways to achieve the results, and had come to the conclusion that although strong magical powers could help the brewer ensure perfection and consistency in the potion, the subject required an incredible knowledge of ingredients – their properties, composition, every possible reaction with any other substance......and the step between competency and mastery also required an inventive mind, an open mind, that considered anything as a potential ingredient.

Harry chopped off and weighed a section of horseradish root, returning the rest to the table at the front for someone else to use. Severus was already prowling the class, commenting on technique. You’d think they’d have satisfactorily mastered cutting after nearly seven years, but Snape expected total accuracy and precision.

Harry was so tired that he felt his hands shaking as he worked and knew that his efforts were not going to pass muster.

He kept working and Severus seemed to ignore him, thankfully. He had just added the scraped newts tails – a disgusting job which was making his stomach revolt – and had washed his hands at the sink in the corner.

At least now all the major ingredients were in and he had 20 minutes to rest while it simmered, although continuous stirring was required.

Harry realised that the previous night’s travelling had definitely been a step too far, when 10 minutes in, his arm ached so badly that it felt like lead. He should have eaten more at lunch, he had been silly. He knew he had some chocolate in his pocket and although eating was strictly forbidden in the class, Harry had clean hands, wasn’t working on ingredients, and was going to keel over if he didn’t do something. Keeping up the stirring with his left hand, he slipped his right into his pocket and surreptitiously broke off a piece of the chocolate. Luckily it had softened up enough against the warmth of his body not to make a distinctive crack. Turning slowly to check where Snape was, he thought he was clear and pulled the piece of chocolate out, lifting it carefully curled in his fingers to hide it.

It was at that point that everything fell to pieces.

And he had no-one to blame but himself.

Pansy Parkinson saw the movement and assumed Harry was cheating by adding an unknown ingredient to his cauldron. She shouted out. The surprise made Harry’s stirring hand jerk, knocking into the other; the chocolate cube seemed to just fly out of his fingers and the next moment had plopped pathetically into the cauldron. Harry stared bemusedly at the pale potion which was even now gaining a brown swirl. He could hear Snape stalking up to him and despite the lurch of adrenalin at the impending discovery of wrongdoing, it felt more like a trickle of added energy rather than a flood. The next moment the cauldron contents whooshed up into the air. Harry threw his arm across his face and a wandless containment charm around the elevated mix and the cauldron, but not before the first drops had hit his arm and chest.

He could hear Snape bellowing his name but it felt like everything had moved into slow motion, before it shot into normal speed again and Snape was demanding to know what he had just dropped into the mix.

“Chocolate,” he admitted.

He could tell that in just a fraction of a second Snape had calculated the effects.

“Get your robe off! Fast, boy!” he was shouting. A glob of mixture slid off his robe onto the floor and Harry looked down in bemusement as he heard it sizzle: the stone floor had developed a small crater-like dip, which was smoking. Blankly he realised that his robe now sported several speedily growing holes.

With a growl Severus had thrown a spell on him to remove it, looking round quickly at the class to see if anyone else was hurt.

Everyone was staring, but the containment spell seemed to have worked. The potion had retreated into the cauldron. Snape flicked a quick spell to put out the fire under it, and hearing the sizzle on the floor, snapped at Potter to move out of the way.

Harry walked in a daze to the front. He was feeling dizzy and disorientated and didn’t know if it was the potion or the final drain on his already depleted magic from putting up the containment charm.

Snape walked to the front, coming up behind Potter, ready to give him a piece of his mind.

He was a mage! How stupid could he be? Seven years of pounding the rules into their heads and the boy was eating in class. He was not going to get away with this! He pulled in front of him with a string of invective in his mouth and realised with horror that the toxic, caustic substance Potter had created had not only eaten through his robe, but was now working in spots on his shirt and trousers.

“Get them off!” he yelled.

The boy looked down, as if dazed.

Snape whipped a spell at him, stripping off his outer clothes.

He heard the hiss of shocked laughter from the class and strode to stand beside the boy, flashing up an impermeable vision and sound barrier. Were they really so immature as to be shocked at the sight of a naked back and legs? Honestly.

He glanced sideways at Potter, his eyes slipping down the boy’s side to realise that he was completely naked, apart from his socks.

Oh.

The boy went commando.

That explained the shocked giggles.

“Are you alright, Potter?”

The man still seemed dazed.

Harry shuffled towards the door. “A spare robe?” the boy croaked.

Severus had one in his workroom.

He couldn’t help noticing that the boy’s arse was magnificent.

Round and firm and just as he liked – and he was so not going there.

“Are you injured at all?” he asked again, walking past the boy to get the robe from the storeroom door.

He kept his back to the boy, his hand gathering up the robe and his arm extending to the side to hold it out.

“Potter?” he asked, his voice surprisingly gentle. The boy was obviously mortified. Or maybe he was more injured than he thought.

Severus turned round quickly, saying, “Don’t be embarr –“

His voice cut off. Harry Potter’s head had gone up. His face was deathly pale and he looked ill. His body – his body was small and lean and amazingly well muscled for a boy. In fact, it was a man’s body.

Definitely.

But that was not what had cut off Severus’ words.

The black-haired Boy-Who-Lived stood straight in front of him, arms by his sides.

Severus’ eyes had taken everything in at a glance, disbelieved, and returned to look again.

Below the ripple of abdominal muscles, below the neat belly button, above the long slim cock hanging limp from its black nest of curls was an intricate Celtic tattoo that he was very familiar with.

He looked down at the cock, the slender but muscular legs. His eyes moved over the bony hips, the washboard stomach, the pale nipples with their dusting of hair. There was a burn from the caustic mixture just above one of them, and on the curve of the shoulder. The firm biceps, well known to him, were free of marks, but one forearm had several burns.

His eyes slid up and met the guilt in the green gaze.

“Get out.”

“Severus –“

“Out! Now!” Snape bellowed, and flung his hand, finger extended, towards the door.

Harry Potter disappeared.

Chapter Text

Hermione, shocked (and rather intrigued) by the sight of Harry’s muscular back and derriere, had been thankful when Snape had flung up the charm, preventing the rest of the class seeing what was happening at the front. Her own potion was at a crucial stage, and as Harry had obviously done a containment charm (without his wand and wordlessly – she wondered how many in the class had noticed) she added the next ingredients carefully and continued to stir.

Several minutes passed.

Hermione looked over at Draco Malfoy.

The boy – man – was staring at the shield. Well, he was a Healer – perhaps he was wondering if he could help?

The class were beginning to wind up their work and there was muttering about what was happening.

Draco strolled over to Hermione.

“Granger, did you see if Potter had been badly hit?” he asked casually.

Hermione, conscious of the others around them, shook her head.

Eloise Midgen spoke up. “What would chocolate have done to the mixture, Hermione?”

Hermione looked at her. “Well, it was obviously pretty caustic,” she said. “I think the cocoa solids must have converted –“

“That doesn’t really matter, does it?” Pansy Parkinson cut her off. “It was obvious that it burns. Serves him right for eating in class,” she added nastily.

Draco’s eyes met Hermione’s briefly before looking away.

Potter wouldn’t have done it unless it was absolutely necessary. He had used a lot of magic in the working on Monday; maybe he hadn’t made it up yet. It had been stupid, though.

“Should I go in and see if he’s alright?” Eloise asked tentatively, promoting a surprising feeling of possessiveness in Hermione.

“I’ll go,” she said quickly.

“You can’t do that,” Terry Boot interjected, shocked, “he had no clothes on!”

Draco sighed, and walked up to the shimmering barrier.

“Professor?” he called out. “Everything alright?”

After a moment’s silence the shield dropped. Snape was writing something at his desk.

There was no sign of Harry.

“If you’ve finished, bottle your work and clear your workstations,” Snape said, not looking up. “Keep your distance from Potter’s work area,” he added. “I’m sure you have been sensible enough to do so already,” he said with his vicious sneer in place.

The students were all looking at each other.

“Well? Get to it!” Snape snapped. He was obviously in a foul temper.

“Sir?” Hermione said tentatively, “where’s Harry?”

“I neither know nor care, Miss Granger,” Snape said, not even lifting his head.

Hermione noticed that his pen had paused. And he was practically grinding the nib into the parchment.

Eloise and Hermione exchanged a glance. Snape had been civil with Harry at the remedial magic class on Tuesday. Harry had worked to help Snape that very evening, Hermione thought, had been upset that the professor had reacted badly. She avoided looking at Draco, but could feel his surprise.

“Is he all right, Sir?” Eloise asked bravely.

Snape looked up. His face was a blank mask. “I have no time for students who are foolish enough to eat – eat! – in my class! Have I got nothing through your thick skulls in all these years? Clear up and get out!” he snarled.

Working hastily, they did so, exiting the room as quickly as possible.

Snape was barely holding himself together until the last one had left. He had felt Draco hanging back, but had glared so hard at him that the boy had picked up his bag and gone.

Harry Potter. He had been having a relationship with Harry Bloody Potter!

Sex.

He shuddered.

With a student.

They might not have gone the whole way – full anal sex – but they had done pretty damn much everything else. The only reason they hadn’t done the other was because –

Because Alex had said they wouldn’t until he could reveal his real identity.

Fucking hell!

Did the idiot believe he would sleep with him after this?

He had had sex with a student.

He had liked –

No.

He did not like Harry Potter.

He might have grown used to him, but like?

And Alex?

Alex was - no–one.

Severus had not known him at all.

All that time, Harry Potter had known....had sucked his cock, laughed –

No.

It was all a lie.

Why? Why?

What was in it for Potter?

And the Headmaster would kill him – he had not only had sex with a student, but his fucking Boy-Who-Lived.

But –

His stomach lurched.

Bile rose up, vicious and burning in his throat.

Albus had known.

Albus had known and not said a word.

Severus picked up one of the potion bottles left on his desk and flung it at the wall.

Harry had found himself just outside the potions' classroom, naked apart from his socks. His legs seemed to drop out under him and he slipped to his knees.

Two tiny must-be-first-years came round the corner, chatting. Harry curled into a ball. The noise stopped, overtaken by giggling. The halted footsteps started up again, and he lifted his head a fraction to see two pairs of black shoes in front of him.

“You’ve got no clothes on,” one commented, giggling.

“Potions' accident,” Harry ground out. “Never eat chocolate in class.”

The giggle cut off.

Feet shuffled.

He felt something shoved against his hand, and looked up.

Piercing blue eyes under tousled mousy hair met his.

“Better borrow my robe,” the figure said, and Harry realised that the person had stripped their robe off and was trying to shove it into his hand.

Taken aback by the kindness, he clutched it. The figure turned round, quickly followed by his mate, who had started giggling again.

Harry slowly stood up, and wrapped the robe around him.

It came just below his knees, and had a Slytherin crest on the front.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

The two boys turned round.

“Send it back when you’ve washed it,” his helper said practically. “I’ve only got three.”

Harry nodded. “I will. Who do I send it to?”

“Aaron Greengrass,” the boy said, inclining his head. He turned to his friend. “This is Jon Wilkes.”

“Pleased to meet you both,” said Harry. He felt like he had fallen into another dimension.

“And you are?” Aaron prompted. “Just in case I need to chase you up, you know,” he added. Obviously he’d had things borrowed before.

“Harry Potter,” Harry said. He saw the boys’ eyes move to his forehead. ”Still want to lend it to me?”

Aaron looked at him. “You can’t walk around the school naked,” he said pragmatically. “Daphne says you’re ok. She’s my sister,” he explained.

Daphne Greengrass. Yes. In Harry’s year and also a Slytherin. That was interesting, though Harry wasn’t in a position to process any of it.

“Thank you, Aaron Greengrass. I’ll send it back straight away – as soon as it’s clean.”

“You’d better go before class comes out,” the boy said sensibly. “You don’t want to be seen like that.”

Harry looked down at himself. “I’ve no objection to the Slytherin robe,” he said quietly, causing the boys’ eyes to widen. “The Sorting Hat nearly put me in with you. But I think the naked hairy calves bit is a bit over the top, eh?”

The boys laughed.

Harry turned and stumbled off.

Back in his chamber, he carefully took off the robe and called Dobby, to come and clean it and return it to the boy. Dobby saw the burns and fussed. Harry was too tired to do anything, and let Dobby apply salve and generally mother him. Dobby gave him a hot drink full of sugar and milk. Harry forced himself to drink it down. His head, his whole body screamed at him that Severus knew, Severus knew and the look on his face....the shock, the disgust. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t think. His muscles were screaming with an exhaustion he had never felt before and his brain had shut all active functions, he felt. He curled up on top of his bed, too tired to pull back the covers.

Dobby did something and suddenly he was snug and warm within it.

He curled in on himself, feeling agonised and fearful and lonely.

So lonely.

Hermione, Eloise and Draco had all headed to the infirmary after the class, but Madam Pomfrey had met with their request to see Harry with surprise.

“Harry? He’s not been in all term, dear. Why? Did something happen?”

“He got a spill on him in Potions, but maybe it was just on his robe after all,” Hermione explained.

“I expect so, dear. Professor Snape usually keeps treatments for minor potions’ incidents to hand, and he’s not put through a report. He always specifies the contact substance if he has to send anyone through so I can treat it properly,” she expanded.

“Oh, right. I should have gone straight to Gryffindor Tower. Harry’s probably just changing his robe,” Hermione apologised. “I’m sorry we’ve wasted your time, Madam Pomfrey.”

“Not at all, my dears. It’s always a pleasant change to see people when they aren’t injured. Actually, Mr Malfoy, do you have a moment to have a word?” she asked, turning her attention to Draco.

Hermione looked at the blond boy, and realised that he was actually worried about Harry Potter. It was an odd feeling after all these years of sniping and nastiness.

“I’ll check the tower and let Eloise know how he is. Eli, can you pass the message to Draco?”

And so it was agreed. They all knew that a message direct from Hermione to Draco would be suspicious, but other Slytherins knew that Draco took an extra class with Eloise.

Back in the tower Hermione bumped into Neville.

“Have you seen Harry?”

“Not since breakfast, why?”

Hermione explained the potions' incident.

Neville’s eyebrows drew sharply together and they both headed up to Harry’s room. As they opened the door onto the darkened chamber, they both jerked back in surprise as Dobby apparated into their faces and bundled them back out.

“Master Harry is sleeping,” Dobby said firmly.

“But Dobby,” Hermione asked, “is he alright? He was hit in Potions –“

”Dobby is looking after Harry Potter,” the elf interrupted. “He is putting salves on his burns and they is not hurting any more. And Harry Potter is needing to sleep because his magic is all used up and so Dobby is giving him a sleeping draught. Dobby will look after him, Miss Hermione,” he said firmly.

“Thank you, Dobby,” Hermione said, realising that she was going to get nowhere with the protective house elf.

“Come and talk in my room?” Neville said tentatively.

The castle appeared to have old fashioned principles. Although the boys could not get into the girls' rooms or dormitories, the opposite was not true. Hermione nodded. She had spent a lot of time in Harry’s room, and considerably more in Ron’s, but had never been in Neville’s.

There were plants everywhere.

Rather than looking like a greenhouse extension, they were arranged in such a way that each was an object of beauty and interest. Hermione was enchanted.

“Wow!” she breathed.

Neville blushed. He had never had a girl in his room before.

“Can I get you a drink? Tea? Squash? Pumpkin juice?”

Hermione settled for tea.

“Gosh, Neville, this tastes refreshing,” Hermione sipped blissfully at the pale liquid. “What make is this? I’ll have to get some.”

“It’s a strain I’ve been growing,” Neville’s blush returned, “Do you like it? I can give you some.”

“Yes please! Neville, you’re a marvel!”

Bright red, Neville turned away, and bustled about putting some leaves into a little caddy for Hermione.

“Shouldn’t you have Arithmancy now?” he turned round suddenly.

“Yes,” Hermione sighed, “but I was worried about Harry.”

“I think it’s partly my fault,” Neville said, sitting down tentatively on his desk chair. Hermione was ensconced in his comfy armchair and he didn’t think it was polite to lounge on the bed. “We went to China last night. I didn’t think – he’s done so much magic this week that he must be knackered.”

“China? You went to China?”

“I’ve a friend who gives me plants and cuttings,“ Neville explained.

Hermione was fascinated and asked lots of questions.

“But why did Harry come with you?”

Neville didn’t want to lie, but Hermione hadn’t given any indication that Harry had told her about Snape. He shrugged his shoulders. “He’s not apparated out of the country before,” he said. “We thought we’d give it a try.”

Hermione shook her head in amusement.

“Snape was really angry,” she commented.

Neville nodded.

He could imagine what had happened. They’d shared a dorm until this term...

Naked, Harry was definitely – distinctive.

Hermione pulled herself up. “I’d better let Eloise and Draco know he’s ok,” she said. “Thanks, Neville.”

“You’re welcome,” he gave a genuine smile, and helped Hermione lift her bulging shoulder bag on.

“You should put a lightweight charm on that,” he suggested.

“Yeah, I know, but somehow the weight is comforting.”

Neville laughed, and Hermione slipped out of the room.

She walked down the corridor – there was obviously magic at work in creating these individual rooms in a tower – and passed Ron’s room, her hand sliding over the door fondly.

Ron usually used the gym at this time. She needed to go to the library and do the work she would be missing in Arithmancy, once she’d spoken to Eloise, but maybe she’d leave him a seductive note on his bed to amuse him when he got back. She opened the door.

And staggered back, her bag clattering to the floor.

There was no room on the bed for a note.

It was already occupied.

A very naked Ron was sweaty and definitely getting a workout.

With an equally naked and moaning Lisa Turpin.

Chapter Text

Neville heard the thump of the bag and ran out into the corridor. Hermione was backing away from Ron’s door. Racing up, he stared in. Ron was just in the process of pulling himself from Lisa Turpin’s body with a wet slurping sound. His eyes, and Lisa’s, were fixed on Hermione with a look of horror.

Neville leaned in and slammed the door.

“Mione.”

She pulled away from the arms that were trying to embrace her, kneeling down and shovelling up her books. Harsh sobs were coming from her throat.

“I need to get away. I can’t talk to him, I can’t!”

Neville grabbed the bag and books and hauled Hermione back into his chambers. He wasn’t going to let her go into her own room where he couldn’t follow. She wasn’t particularly friends with any of the other Gryffindor girls in their year, and although she was good friends with Ginny Weasley that would not be a brilliant choice right now.

Once in his room Neville felt like he had too many arms and legs and didn’t know where to put them. Hermione collapsed back into his armchair and sobbed into her hands, relieving him of the worry. He knelt quietly at her feet, waiting. Ron was an idiot.

“How could he? How could he?” Hermione moaned, talking to herself rather than to Neville. “I can’t face him. I can’t!”

Neville heard footsteps in the corridor, but they went the other way, pounding down the stairs. A door clicked, and a quieter set of steps followed. Lisa leaving. So Ron had gone after Hermione at least.

“What am I going to do, Neville?” Hermione asked him, looking up at him.

He patted her knee awkwardly, not knowing what to say.

She didn’t seem to need an answer.

Her shoulders were shaking convulsively, and Neville really hated Ron in that moment. Hermione was always so strong, so in control.

“God, what am I going to do?” she whispered again.

Neville got up and pulled the throw off the bed, wrapping it round Hermione’s shoulders. She hunched down into it.

Neville crouched down again. He might not know what to say, but at least he could just be there.

“God, I’m such an idiot!” Hermione groaned.

“You are not!” Neville repudiated the idea.

“I am!” Hermione retorted. “It’s my fault. I bloody told him that Lisa Turpin fancied him!”

“Hermione Granger, you know that doesn’t make it your fault! He thinks with his ….you know!” snapped Neville.

Hermione sat back in the chair, her face turned away. “I know,” she agreed.

Footsteps could be heard pounding along the corridor.

Hermione looked terrified, and Neville instantly threw up a locking charm on the door.

Ron started pounding on it, then tried the handle.

“Mione! Come out! For Merlin’s sake, please!”

Hermione turned, eyes brimming with tears, to Neville.

“Don’t let him in! I can’t face him! I can’t, Neville.”

“Mione! Come on! I know you’re in there. Look, I want to apologise! It was the first time – shit!” There was a pause. “The only time, Mione! I wasn’t thinking – please, open up, let me explain.”

Hermione sat there shaking her head. “I’ve got to get out of here. I can’t face him, Neville. Not yet. I can’t think. I need to think. I can’t - please!” Her hand was on his arm.

They would not get out of the room without having to deal with Ron. Even if they waited, they’d have to pass his room.

Neville took out his wand and laid it directly onto the stone floor, and held his hand on top of it, in contact with wand and stone. He slipped his other hand round so that it locked with Hermione’s, and begging the castle to let him pass, threw his power into the spell.

Hermione stared.

A hot breeze ruffled her hair. Waves lapped at the fine sand on the beach. She was still sat in Neville’s chintzy armchair, Neville kneeling beside her. A choked laugh escaped her.

“Neville? You apparated us out of Hogwarts? Where are we?”

“Australia. I collected a nice hibiscus cutting here a few weeks back. Thought it’d be quiet.”

Hermione slung forward and hugged him. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Are the wards down?” she asked, suddenly.

“No, I just made contact with the castle and asked it to let us go. Harry took us out the first week, so I – oh.”

“What?” Hermione asked, curious at the sudden halt.

Neville blushed. “Harry took us to the Forbidden Forest the first week - I remembered that when I wanted to get you out – only I forgot that, actually, he didn’t. He’d just made a construct-thingy.”

Hermione gave a choked chuckle.

“Maybe we’d better get the wards checked when we get back,” Neville suggested. “I’ll talk to Harry too,” he added.

Hermione sat back in the chair. Her body felt like it had lost all its energy. She stared at the sea for long minutes. Neville settled himself comfortably on the sand. The warmth after the cold in Scotland was delicious. He allowed the grains to trickle quietly through his fingers.

“It’s very peaceful here,” Hermione commented.

“Yes. I really liked it. I’m glad we’ve come – not glad for the reason, of course, “ he added hastily.

Hermione nodded.

“Why did he do it?” she asked, a few minutes later.

Neville looked at her, not sure if she was asking him or talking to herself.

Hermione turned her head and looked at him.

“I know I’m not as pretty as her, and that I can be annoying at times, but – you know, we love each other. Or at least, I love him. And the sex was really good. I didn’t think he had any complaints, anyway. I was obviously wrong.”

Hermione’s bluntness made Neville blush. He was still working hard to get the visual of Lisa and Ron out of his head. He hadn’t realised sex was so sweaty and earthy, somehow. It had hit him hard that he really was missing out on this amazing-looking aspect of life.

“Mione,” he said cautiously, “I don’t know anything about sex, more’s the pity,” he gave a wry grin, “but I’m sure Ron loves you. He just doesn’t necessarily put the two together.”

Hermione thought about it. “I know you’re right, partly at least. He’s a walking hormone. You only have to give him a suggestive look and he’s up and ready to go.”

Neville tried not to smile.

“The trouble is, I do put the two together,” she whispered quietly. “Maybe it’s just a girl thing – but I hate that sexist bullshit!” she groaned. She flopped back in the wings of the chair.

There wasn’t really anything to be said. They sat quietly. Hermione suddenly looked down at Neville.

“Oh god, Neville, I’m so selfish!” She quickly transformed the chair to a small sofa, and patted the seat encouragingly.

“I was fine on the ground,” Neville said, but got up and sat down next to Hermione anyway.

Actually, he missed the feeling of the sand. Bending down, he took his shoes and socks off, and sighed as he buried his feet in the sun-warmed grains.

Hermione gave a wet chuckle, and bent down to undo her own shoes. “Don’t look,” she ordered, then stood up and walked behind the sofa, where she peeled off her thick woollen tights and came and sat back down again.

“Oh, Neville, that does feel good!” she sighed, wiggling her toes.

They sat there a long time, disturbed only by the wail of sea birds and the hush of the sea.

“We’ll have to go back,” Hermione said regretfully. “What am I to do?”

Neville looked at her. “Do you have to make a decision?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Ron’s going to pester you, and to be honest, you might as well listen because otherwise he’ll drive you nuts. But that doesn’t mean that you have to come to a decision, does it? Just tell him you’re willing to listen to what he has to say but you want to think about it.”

Hermione looked carefully at Neville. “You’re absolutely right. I was jumping three steps ahead and thinking of the outcomes, when what he has to say will have a bearing on those anyway.”

“What do you see as the outcomes – only if you don’t mind discussing it?”

“No, it’s good. Well, there’s kiss and make up and go on as before. Then there’s talk and break up: side order on that one is a fight and I really don’t want to go there. That’s it, basically. The thing is, even kiss and make up isn’t going to get us to where we were before. The magic’s just – gone. I don’t want to walk about worrying if he’s off screwing someone else everytime I’m putting in extra hours in the library – and I don’t want to give up going to the library or doing extra research just to keep an eye on him. That’s not my idea of a healthy relationship.”

“No, I agree with you there.”

“And the thing is, Nev, he’s my friend. He’s always been my friend. I so don’t want to lose that. Maybe we should never have gone out.”

“Well, I don’t agree with you there,” Neville said surprisingly. “You’ve been really happy, even if it’s painful now. I think I’m a believer in that old ‘it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all’. And I’m saying that from the boring safe side of the fence. I think I’d love to have that, to love someone and have them love me, even if it wasn’t for very long.”

Hermione gave Neville a compassionate smile, and rested her head on his shoulder.

“It hurts,” she whispered.

Neville squeezed her hand.

It was supper in the Great Hall, and Professor McGonagall was looking askance at her House table. Potter, Granger, Longbottom and Ron Weasley were all missing.

She turned to Dumbledore. “Albus, have you got Potter’s group working on something?”

“Minerva, my apologies, I forgot to tell you. Dobby informed me that he had given Harry a sleeping draught. I gather Harry had overextended his magic and had a minor accident in Potions this afternoon.”

“What? Severus never sent me a report!” She looked round, but her colleague was absent. “He’s usually very precise about that, even when he is working on a potion.”

“Dobby said he had only a burn or two. Nothing to worry about at all. Dobby is watching over him and he should be fine tomorrow.”

“Well where are the others, then? They can’t be sitting with him whilst he’s asleep, surely?”

The hall door opened. Ron Weasley’s red head poked through, scanned the Gryffindor table and withdrew quickly.

Minerva was on her feet in a moment. “Something’s going on! I can smell it!”

She strode over to her House table.

Draco Malfoy, across the hall, was watching curiously. He had been cross with Hermione for not contacting Eloise with a report on Potter’s wellbeing, but the anger had turned to anxiety since he had come to supper and none of Potter’s cronies were there. And Snape was absent. Harry must have been more hurt than initially thought. He was therefore confused that when a rather distraught looking Weasley poked his head round the door, McGonagall headed to the table rather than after him. He reached in his bag and grabbed out a potions book, getting up quickly.

“Where’re you going, Draco?” Goyle asked.

“Granger left her book behind after the potions' accident,” he lied. Pansy had loved telling the tale of Potter being stripped naked in front of the class to the whole Slytherin common room. “She’s not bothered to come and I’m not traipsing up to bloody Gryffindor Tower. One of the others can take it,” he kept his voice sounding as if he was very put out, and sidled over to the table, hoping to catch the conversation.

“Mr Finnegan, why is Mr Weasley lurking outside the hall when he should be in here eating? Heaven knows, he usually takes little enough persuasion! And where are Miss Granger and Mr Longbottom?”

Seamus, along with practically every other member of the house, knew exactly what had happened between Ron and Hermione. Those who were there had been very excited to pass on the scandal that Ron had raced around the common room asking if anyone had seen Hermione, when only moments later Lisa Turpin from Ravenclaw had come down the boys' stairs and left in tears. Half the people present had followed Ron when he had charged up the stairs and started banging on Neville Longbottom’s door.

Neville had refused to open it and no-one had gone in or out. Ron, not entirely sure that Hermione was there, has searched the school and returned to the common room asking again if anyone had seen Hermione. He had repeated this several times, getting increasingly more frantic, and going up to Neville’s room and trying to kick the door in in-between. Ginny had asked him what was up and Ron had told her to mind her own business, but did she know where Hermione was? When someone whispered to Ginny that Lisa Turpin seemed to be involved, Ginny had disappeared out of the portrait hole, and when she had returned she had slapped Ron a cracker on the cheek and told him he was a disgusting piece of shit.

No one knew exactly what Neville’s role in this could be – the suggestion that it wasn’t a love triangle but a foursome gone wrong had met with hoots of laughter, and one fifth year had been met with derision when she suggested that she thought Neville Longbottom was hot.

Knowing all of this, Seamus managed to keep an absolutely straight face and say,” I’m afraid I’ve no idea, Professor McGonagall. Perhaps Hermione is in the library and Neville in the greenhouses? They both tend to get carried away, don’t they, Ma’am?”

“I knew I shouldn’t have asked you, Mr Finnegan. You’ve obviously kissed the Blarney stone! Ginevra Weasley,” she said, moving down the table, ”why is your brother not at supper?”

Ginny looked up and her eyes were hard. “He’s probably scared of me. I slapped him around the face earlier,” she said defiantly.

“Miss Weasley, however you behave around your siblings at home, we do not condone violence in this school. You may see me for detention tomorrow. I take it you have no intention of telling me what this matter is about?” Minerva knew enough about Weasleys to write a book. Years of experience had taught her that even when they were mad at each other, which appeared to be an occurrence far too frequent for the peace of mind of anyone in charge of them, they closed ranks against outsiders. There was no point wasting time on a lost battle, and at least she had gleaned that the boy’s mottled countenance was not the result of illness.

“No Professor,” Ginny agreed.

“Very well. I hope none of you are hiding anything of importance: if anyone is hurt because of the information you are withholding I will hold you all responsible.”

The table had fallen silent, shifting guiltily, but no one broke ranks. Draco was impressed. Just as he was about to sidle away the professor turned to him.

“And what do you know of these matters, Mr Malfoy, that you are lurking listening?”

Draco straightened. “I didn’t wish to interrupt you, Professor. Granger left this book behind. I thought I’d do her the favour of returning it,” he said coolly.

“Indeed? I would have a greater belief in your noble offering had you managed to address Miss Granger properly, Mr Malfoy. Why is it you have her book?” and she held out her hand for it.

Draco cursed.

His own monogram was on the inside page.

“We left Potions in a hurry after the accident to Mr Potter,” he emphasised the honorific with his trademark sneer. “I was last out and saw it had fallen under her desk.”

Professor McGonagall was looking at the inside page now. Draco’s heart was thumping.

“I have no wish to carry around heavy books at the moment,” she said, handing it back to him. “Kindly return it to Miss Granger when you next see her.”

Draco tried to look annoyed; he didn’t find it difficult, though he was surprised.

“Yes, Professor, of course,” and he went back to his table to report that the old trout was too lazy to carry it herself and had insisted Draco do it.

It would, of course, give him another excuse to go to Gryffindor Tower.

Professor McGonagall returned to the High Table. Dumbledore had finished and awaited her.

“Thick as thieves,” she snorted. “I’ll head up and find out what is going on.”

“I’ll join you,” Albus said, standing. Minerva raised an eyebrow, but was pleased.

Moments later they had flooed into the common room. A couple of students who had left dinner early scrambled to their feet, but were waved back to their game of gobstones by Dumbledore.

“I’ll check Miss Granger’s room,” Minerva said.

“And I’ll do the boys’. Meet me there.”

Miss Granger’s room gave no clues to her whereabouts. It was neat and tidy, although books and papers were piled everywhere.

Albus was talking to a house elf outside Potter’s room. Dobby was reluctant to let even the Headmaster in, but finally consented to do so, having thoroughly berated the Headmaster for not having taken greater care of his young mage.

“For even though he has power so great, Sir, he is needing someone to guide him, and you is not doing it,” the elf said sternly. Dumbledore looked at the elf, who was biting his fingers and grimacing with pain, having dared to be critical. Despite the self inflicted pain, elves did do what they thought needed to be done, Dumbledore thought. Had he neglected the boy? But he had so much power...and he had also asked Dumbledore explicitly for advice and counsel, the elderly wizard remembered.

“You are right, Dobby,” the Headmaster said. “Please stop punishing yourself. I will attend to the matter just as soon as Harry is well.”

“Dobby is thanking you, Sir,” the elf said. “I is very happy to be caring for Harry Potter, of course, but he shouldn’t have been needing me for this!”

Dumbledore stood over the boy, listening to his breathing. Such a small figure. He slipped back out of the room, satisfied.

“Dobby, have you seen Mr Weasley?”

Dobby looked furious. “Harry Potter’s Wheezy was a very bad boy! He came banging and banging on the door and it was a very good thing Dobby had given Harry Potter a sleeping draught. Dobby told him to go away and not come back!”

“Did Mr Weasley say why he wanted Harry?”

“He didn’t want him at all!” Dobby said, outraged. “Wheezy was shouting for Mistress Granger. As if she would be in Harry Potter’s bed! Harry Potter doesn’t even like witches!” Dobby finished triumphantly.

Minerva McGonagall choked.

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “Quite, Dobby. Thank you for your help.”

“Dobby be getting back to Mr Harry, then,” said the little elf, and with a little bow to both, disappeared.

“Albus, did you know – ?“ Minerva was giggling.

“Yes, and you look like a prudish schoolgirl like that, which I know for a fact you aren’t,” Dumbledore looked down at her, smiling.

“It is rather embarrassing when you come here to teach and realise how much information is available to the staff,” Minerva blushed.

Albus chuckled.

“It sounds as if Potter is not in this at all, and Mr Weasley and Miss Granger have had a lover’s tiff. Mr Longbottom, I expect, is comforting one or the other. I do not think we need worry any further about this, Minerva, though please let me know whether they are in the Tower by curfew.”

“Should we not just check Mr Longbottom’s room whilst we are here?” Minerva asked. “I take it you’ve already looked in Weasley’s?”

“Yes. Messy but empty. Very well.”

It was a good decision. Dumbledore was surprised by the strength of the wards, but broke them and stepped in. He could sense at once a feeling that a strong piece of magic had been cast. The room, however, looked peaceful, the plants looking lush, the bed tidy.

“The chair is missing,” McGonagall said, her voice surprised.

Dumbledore clicked his fingers, and a house elf appeared. “Minty, can you bring me Miss Padma Patil? As quickly as you can?”

“Yes, Headmaster Dumbledore, at once, Sir.”

Several minutes later, Padma appeared at the door, a third year having brought her up the stairs.

“Headmaster? Professor McGonagall? You wanted to see me?” she said, voice curious.

“Miss Patil, thank you for coming so quickly. I believe you have recently discovered a gift?”

Padma blushed, and nodded.

“Can you tell me what spell has happened in this room?”

She walked into the room. Her nose twitched. She opened her mouth and shut it.

“Yes?” Dumbledore said.

“Well, it feels like – but that can’t be right – but- “

“Do just spit it out,” Professor McGonagall had lost her patience.

“It feels like –“

“Apparition,” a male voice joined Padma’s uncertain one.

Neville stood at the door.

“Good evening, Professors, Padma, and apologies,” he added. “I take it we’ve caused you to worry. I’m so sorry. Hermione and I are back now, and I apologise for not getting a pass.”

“You apparated from this room?” said McGonagall, trying not to screech. That would be very undignified.

“Yes, I’m very sorry,” Neville apologised again. “I really think we need to look at the wards. Though they wouldn’t let us in, which is, of course, the most important thing.”

There was always a moment when a child you had taught turned into an adult. It was happening now. Nevertheless, Mr Longbottom was a pupil.

“I trust Miss Granger is well?”

“She has been better,” Neville said cautiously.

“I’m led to believe that she may have fallen out with Mr Weasley?” Dumbledore commented.

Not knowing what had passed in their absence, Neville simply said, “Yes, Sir.”

“It cannot excuse leaving the school without permission,” Professor McGonagall said. “You will both see me tomorrow for detention.”

“Yes, Professor,” Neville agreed equably.

Professor McGonagall bustled out, taking Padma with her. Padma cast a shy smile at Neville, who returned it. Dumbledore brought up the rear.

At the door, he turned and looked at Neville. “I take it you went somewhere safe, Mr Longbottom?”

“Yes, Sir,” Neville answered.

Dumbledore was dying to ask, but held back. He didn’t go, though.

Neville laughed. “Australia, Sir.”

“Ah yes. Nice and warm at this time of year, I believe.”

Neville grinned.

Albus returned to his room and helped himself to a small glass of port. Firewhisky was all very well, but sometimes you needed something mellow.

He was almost relieved that Mr Weasley and Miss Granger had had a normal thing in their life: so many of their adventures had been so dangerous, and there would undoubtedly be more to come. Whatever had occurred would either bring them closer together or not, but he believed that the vagaries of love did a great deal to build character. Pain was a great developer of inner strength, and love – or rather the loss of it - did it without physical damage, at least.

The twin brother of the gargoyle defending downstairs informed him that Severus Snape was on his way up.

Dumbledore got out a second glass.

Severus knocked and stepped in.

“May I have a word, Headmaster?” Severus’ voice was at its most colourless.

“Of course, Severus. Would you like a glass of port to go with it?”

“No thank you. I merely came to inform you that I would not be staying in the castle over the Christmas break.”

“No? Are you spending it with Alex?” Dumbledore said brightly. It was the first time in many years that Severus had spent the season out of the castle.

“I will not be spending Christmas with Harry Potter, no, Headmaster,” Snape said icily.

“Ah.”

“Indeed. Excuse me,” Severus swept to the door.

“Sit down, please, Severus,” Dumbledore said, rising.

Snape looked down his nose at him.

“Do you wish to discuss school business with me, Headmaster?”

“I wish to discuss your relationship with Harry –“

“Then I’m afraid we are at odds. I have no wish to discuss it with you.”

“Severus. Of course you are angry, but think how hard it must be for him to have told you –“

“You have obviously been misinformed. I found out quite by chance, when there was a potions’ accident today.”

“Oh dear! But Harry had intended telling you, Severus, I assure you. He could not until you had your magic and until it was withheld from Voldemort.”

“How very convenient. I am afraid I have little confidence in your assurances anymore, however. If you wish me to speak this is all I have to say: I had thought we had friendship and trust between us, but it appears I was grossly mistaken. I will take up your time no further.”

“Severus! What did you expect me to say?”

“Expect? I did not expect you to condone a member of staff having sexual relations with a pupil! And I made perfectly clear it was a sexual relationship!” Snape practically shrieked.

“And I made perfectly clear that I did not approve. I told you I thought you would both be hurt. And you said that you were old enough to make your own decisions,” Albus argued back.

“Without all the information!”

“You knew he was someone in disguise. He told you himself.”

“How in hell was I expected to think it would be Harry bloody Potter?!”

Dumbledore sat down. Severus, shaking, was prancing round the study. But at least he was talking.

“You said you thought the relationship had potential,” Dumbledore said calmly.

“Potential? He’s seventeen, Albus! I’m not a child molester!”

“And Harry Potter is most certainly not a child. Did you ever feel you were with a child? Did you?”

Severus turned away, not answering. He walked over to the fireplace and stood leaning on the mantle, poking ends of log with his boot.

“You knew I couldn’t stand him,” he whispered. “You must have been laughing your head off.”

“No. You may acquit me of that, at least. I was cross with Harry for putting me in the position in which I now find myself, and which I knew was inevitable from the moment I supported his identity. However, he was right. I had not considered your happiness –“

“My happiness!” Snape snorted.

“Your chance to have relationships, then,” Dumbledore corrected. “And Severus, you were sparking off each other! I had never - never - seen you like that before. Was I really supposed to tell you you could not have that relationship? What would you have said?”

“I would have thanked you for saving me from the folly of anything with Potter!”

Dumbledore sat silently.

“A student, Albus!” Snape said again. “How could you?”

“As to that, you are his student as much as he is yours. And you are therefore both staff. Relationships among staff are not forbidden.”

“Oh honestly! That is the weakest drivel I have ever heard!”

“Then consider this, my boy,” Dumbledore said, his voice hard. “He is a mage. A mage, Severus! And he chose you! “

“He liked being sucked off by his greasy old potions master!” Snape snapped.

“Now you are being crude.”

“Now we are getting at the truth.”

“I am sorry, but you cannot believe that. You have been together – what? – nearly four months? No one has a relationship for four months with someone they hate.”

“You are wrong, Headmaster. Apparently, I do. It is over, however.”

“At least talk to Harry –“

“I will not. And if you attempt to wrangle me into it I will leave. As it is, I give you notice that when the war is over, in the remote possibility that I survive, I will be leaving. I do not find that Hogwarts has the moral standing that I expect. Goodnight, Professor Dumbledore.”

Severus swept from the room.

“That could have gone better, dear,” said the portrait of Dilys Derwent, Headmistress from 1741-1768. “Young love, it’s always so fraught, isn’t it? They’ll kiss and make up, I’m sure.”

Dumbledore regretted his earlier thoughts on the pain of lost love being good for the character. Some people had had too much pain already, or too little love. Or both. He did not share Dilys’ optimism.

Chapter Text

Hermione and Neville had actually attempted the apparition back into Neville’s room, if only because of the issue of what to do with the chair otherwise. After the unsuccessful attempt (and the weird feeling of being bounced back, which meant that they returned all the way back to Australia) Hermione showed her practical streak by shrinking said chair and popping it in Neville’s pocket.

The final return, with Neville yet again providing all the power (Hermione feeling as rough as she did, it did not seem the best time to attempt to apparate when her previous longest distance had been less than fifteen miles) was smooth and unproblematic. They landed outside the gates and walked hurriedly up to the school, the wind bitter and the frost already settling in. It was a stark contrast with their Antipodean interval. They reached Gryffindor Tower without trouble.

“Alright?” Neville asked, before they passed through the portrait hole.

“No, but I’ll survive,” Hermione said grimly.

And she knew she would. Her life had changed in half a day, the tantalising glimpses of her future life had dissipated like steam over a cauldron, but she would survive.

Ron had been waiting on the stairs to the dorms, and leapt up as they arrived.

All the usual talk evaporated, leaving a tense silence and an expectant audience of fellow Gryffindors just back from supper.

Neville and Hermione walked over to the stairs.

“Ron, if you wish to speak to me, we’ll do it in private,” Hermione said authoritatively. “Otherwise, I’m going to bed. I’m rather tired.”

The wind taken out of his sails, Ron nodded agreement.

“The Room of Requirement?” Ron suggested.

“The Library,” Hermione corrected, dashing any hopes that Ron might have harboured that he could use physical means to soften Hermione up.

“Sure you’re alright with this?” Neville checked, hand on Hermione’s arm.

She nodded. “Thank you, Neville,” she said, and quickly leant forward and pecked him on the cheek.

Neville’s hand went to the spot, and with a slight smile he nodded and went up the stairs.

Hermione turned and made her way out of the room, Ron at her heels.

They could hear the buzz of gossip before they had even shut the portrait door.

“I take it the whole of the House knows?” Hermione said, tight-lipped.

Ron, red in the face, stuttered. “No! Yes – well, more or less. I – I was getting frantic looking for you. And Li – Lisa left. And Ginny thumped me one in front of everyone.”

“Wonderful.”

Ron didn’t know what to say. “Hermione –“

“Not yet,” she said coolly.

The Library at this hour held only a few regulars – all familiar to Hermione. She received one or two glances and smiles, and ascertained that the news hadn’t yet spread out of the House; did that mean that Lisa had kept her mouth shut? Hermione turned the corner to the alcove where she liked best to study: this was her territory, her safe ground.

She sat down, and Ron sat at the angle of the table, next to her.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for this, Ron,” she said simply. “What did you want to say?”

Her hands folded in her lap, she waited.

Now Ron had found her, he was stuck for words.

He put his hand out towards her, but Hermione’s stony face froze it off.

“I’m really sorry I hurt you,” he said at last.

“Thank you,” she nodded.

Ron looked startled.

“I think that’s the most important thing,” Hermione said.

“Wha-? Do you forgive me, then?” he asked with relief.

Hermione gave a harsh laugh. “I expect I will, eventually,” she answered.

“Oh.” Ron looked a bit downcast, then brightened. “So, so you’ll still go out with me?”

“I said I’d forgive, Ron. Not forget.”

“What? But Hermione, we love each other!”

“Yes, we do. But obviously not enough, and maybe not in the right way.”

“What?”

“Ron, did you give it even a second thought before you whisked her up to your room?”

“I didn’t come on to her!”

“I didn’t ask if you did.”

Ron couldn’t meet Hermione’s eyes. “You know what I’m like,” he said.

“I do, Ron.”

“I’m impulsive, and - and- “

“Your brain shrivels every time your dick takes an interest. Which is frequently.”

“I think it’s the genes. The twins talk about sex all the time, and Charlie’s always got a hot –“

“And Bill’s attracted a Veela and your Mum and Dad –“ Hermione began sarcastically.

“Alright, alright! Now you’re going too far!”

“Yeah, well you shouldn’t have used your family as an excuse.”

Ron hung his head. “Okay. I think about sex all the time and it’s my fault, no one else’s. There! I admit it!”

“Bully for you. Were there any others?”

“What?! No! Hermione – please! Of course not!”

“There’s no ‘of course’ about it. It was the first time, then?”

Ron nodded.

“And what would you have done afterwards?”

Ron opened his mouth, paused, and shut it again.

“What am I supposed to say?” he said at last.

“That depends if you were going to lie or tell the truth. But I expect it’s somewhere between feeling awfully guilty and just thinking about it all the time, to feeling awfully guilty but going and doing it again. And maybe then there’d be others – “

“No!”

Hermione just looked at Ron, who shifted under her gaze.

“I really didn’t mean to hurt you, Hermione,” he said again, as if he couldn’t think of what else to say.

And what else was there to say?

“I know. But you did,” she whispered.

Ron suddenly felt tears springing into the corners of his eyes, horribly shocking, unexpected. It was as if the tension of the last few hours, the fears, had all come to a head: the arousal, the unfinished sexual pleasure, the heart-stopping horror of discovery. The frantic search to find Hermione – the relief now she was here. She hadn’t hit him or any of the things he knew he deserved. Just this awful painful admission that he had hurt her.

He scrubbed his hand across his cheek, trying to force the tears away by willpower: he had no right to cry.

“Ron,” Hermione said, and her voice was shaky, “I’m sorry, but I’m not who I thought I was, maybe.”

He looked at her, not understanding.

“I’m not strong or cool the way I thought I was. I don’t like feeling jealous. I don’t want to be thinking of what you might be doing every time we aren’t together –“

“I won’t do it again, Mione –“

“You can’t promise that, Ron. And I’ll always have it in the back of my mind that it’s a possibility. We’ve got too much on our plates to have a lack of trust going on. All I can see is we need to take this out of the equation. We’ve got lots of work we need to achieve together. We can’t let Harry face Voldemort without us right behind him – and I’m not laying this at Harry’s feet – it’s just there isn’t space for me to be full of seething anger or jealousy. I don’t want to be that person, even if there wasn’t a war going on. I’m – I’m going to miss you – miss you,” she faltered, “but – “

“You’re finishing with me,” he said resignedly. “I know I deserve it, but I hoped – I love you – I know I haven’t shown it -“

“It’s not about deserving it, Ron,” Hermione said impatiently. “Since when have I been vindictive?” she demanded.

“I – of course you’re not, but –“

“Look. I didn’t come back knowing I was going to say this, alright? But I’m sitting here looking at you and how I like how long and lean you are and then I just think of her hands on your body, and I don’twant to! I don’t own you, I know that. But this jealousy – and – and it makes me feel – inadequate, not good enough to keep you, and –“

“Oh Hermione, It’s not like that at all! You’re gorgeous! You know how much I fancy you!”

“Well, maybe, but I used to feel special, Ron. Now I just feel convenient.”

Ron stood up. His chair scraped on the floor, and the student across the way glanced up. Ron ignored her. At least Madam Pince appeared to be absent. He took three paces before the bookcase was in front of him, and turned round, leaning his back against it in a weary gesture.

“Never that, Mione. It took all my courage to ask you out,” he tried to smile.

Hermione’s eyes drank him in, as if she’d never look at him again. Long, long legs sticking out, slim hips and waist, and shoulders broadening out. Thick lovely hair. Dear face.

She shook her head. “I think we both have to have courage, now, Ron, and finish it,” she said quietly.

“For ever?” he gulped.

“I’d like to be friends again,” Hermione said. “We should be able to do that, shouldn’t we? After all these years?”

“Always,” Ron nodded. The tears were back threatening again. He stood up. “I’ll go now,” he said awkwardly.

Hermione nodded.

And he was gone.

Hermione sat there, feeling so very odd. Her head felt empty, as if Ron took up a large part in there which had been extracted.

This morning, she had been somebody loved.

Now, she was just plain old Hermione Granger the bookworm again.

How simple it was for your life to just change like that!

How could that be? No wailing banshees or tantrums or throwing of things.

Nothing to mark that now she was not the person she had been 24 hours ago.

Draco was sat in the Slytherin common room, lounging in one of the armchairs by the fire. It was Greg Goyle’s 18th birthday and his father had sent a crate of wizarding beer and his mother a birthday cake and an expanding basket full of other foods. Everyone had been happy to dive in and there was a hubbub of laughter going on. Snape had appeared briefly and wished Goyle a happy birthday, warning that only the sixth formers were allowed to drink the alcohol. A house elf had appeared with non-intoxicating beverages for the others. He had given Goyle a small gift as was customary for their last birthday in the school. It was a tradition that they were never opened in front of the House, and Draco wondered what Snape had given him.

He had felt relief when his Head of House had appeared. First impressions suggested that he was his normal self, but Draco knew Severus better than his housemates, and could see the tension in his body. Had he been sanctioned for Potter getting injured in his lesson? For stripping him in front of his classmates? It would be absurd to do the latter – Severus had acted exactly as he should to remove the contaminated clothes and then cast the privacy spell, surely the Headmaster could see that? No one died of embarrassment, but a toxic potion could be fatal in moments.

Draco wanted very much to ask Severus if Potter was alright, but the notion of showing - even feeling – any concern for the Gryffindor hero, here in front of the Slytherins was absurd, he knew.

Snape had stayed only moments, but that wasn’t unusual.

He looked around now at his colleagues. The younger students would be sent to bed soon, and then the party would really begin. He could feel that transitional stage like a palpable entity – the lull when the initial flush of the party and the eating was tailing off and the alcohol was kicking in and loosening up their inhibitions. Soon there would be dancing and smooching and all the rest of it. Snape had taken a surprising tack on these events. At the start of sixth year, all Slytherins had been taught how to brew Hangover Cure and Contraceptus: Snape would not accept any Slytherin letting the House down by appearing inebriated in front of the other members of the school. He gave a stern lecture on sexual activity too: he accepted that it happened, but outlined the effects that such behaviour could have on their magic, both positive and negative, and on their standing in the wizarding world should a child be conceived, responsibility for which was not an issue as a paternity spell would easily settle that matter, and each parent would suffer the repercussions, varying from a forced marriage or being outcast, depending on their family.

Draco wondered at the way Snape treated his Slytherins, given what he now knew. How could he treat them with the care that he did? Knowing that many would leave school and take the Dark Mark? Be his enemies? But most of them – from the old families – knew that Snape had been a Death Eater and had got off being sent to Azkaban after the fall of Voldemort. That certainly wasn’t held against him – it was a Slytherin success story. Although the Dark Lord was never openly discussed in the House – caution having been bred into them - most of them assumed that he was a Death Eater still: after all, he kept company with Draco’s father, and Avery and Rookwood.

And all this time he had been a traitor in their midst.

Draco was in awe. The courage! And he had chosen to do it – without the knowledge that they had a mage on their side – how bad was that, anyway? To find you had a mage heading your ranks, only to know it was a person you had reviled and hated for the best part of seven years.

That must be - Merlin – horrendous! To have played your cards and have them turn out so badly.

And yet, Potter had taught Severus. Seen the power within him and given it to him. Bloody Gryffindor!

Pansy suddenly dumped herself in his lap and slid her hand over his chest.

“Draco! You’re miles away! Gonna dance with me?” she pressed her body against him, her small breasts thrusting against his ribs. “Horizontally or vertically, either way,” she purred.

Draco resisted the urge to shove the tart off his lap. He hated lack of subtlety. Not that he hadn’t partaken of the goods, back in the heady days of fourth year when he was less picky. When doing it with anyone was a good thing. Now, he hated the slight smell of sweat as she slung her arm around his neck and tried to nuzzle his chin.

“Pans. Fuck off,” he growled.

Not the slightest bit put out, the girl slid off his lap, making sure to rub against every part along the way.

“You’re such a bore these days, Malfoy,” she sneered, as she prowled across the room and sought out another victim. Ha! Eb Frazier from the year below. No seventh year was interested any more. Everyone had been there, even Crabbe and Goyle. They’d done her once, together, to ‘try it out’ as Goyle so eloquently described it to him, before deciding that women were exactly as Pans had described him: boring. They might be the two meatiest bruisers in the school, but Greg and Vince were perfectly happy with each other’s company, thank you very much. One look at the hulking size of them and no-one was exactly likely to object.

Not that anyone else fancied them anyway. Their relationship was a sigh of relief for everyone. None of the girls had to worry that either of them would ask them out, or even worse, ask for a betrothal. Their fathers being solid servants of the Dark Lord, many of their parents would be very happy for their daughters to marry into their families.

Draco had actually been quite impressed with them. They never kissed or groped in public, and it was only by accident that Draco had even realised that they were more than friendly. The two had known each other from childhood, and when Crabbe had had horrible nightmares in first year, Goyle had started taking care of him at night, much to the relief of the others in the dormitory. They had got used to seeing Goyle in Crabbe’s bed in the morning. It was only in third year, when the noises emanating from the bed had stopped sounding like nightmares and started sounding like something else altogether more familiar, that Draco and Zabini had shared a startled look, and with a shrug, taught them a silencing charm.

The relationship had held fast.

Draco wondered what would happen when they left school: both boys’ families would expect them to marry and produce heirs, and both sets were so simple Draco could not see that they would understand that their sons wouldn’t want to follow the norm. He was pretty sure the boys had stuck with him because of his casual acceptance of their relationship. It was no skin off Draco’s nose: more girls for him.

Only he didn’t feel like sex right now, or even the groping in the name of dance that was going on. He didn’t feel part of his House anymore, as if his decision had cut him off from everyone else.

Although Snape was Head of his House, and he didn’t support Voldemort.

And probably, quite a lot of the others didn’t, but just never showed their hand, tried to get through without ever committing their political views to open discussion. Slytherin wasn’t really a place for open debate anyway – people held things close to their chests, for fear it would be used against them later. Potter’s classes, with open discussion and his little scraps of paper games, were a revelation.

The holidays were in a week. Draco had decided that he wasn’t going home. It was too new for him, too dangerous in case he should give his attitude away unintentionally. He wasn’t ready for it. He was going to ask if he could stay back and work on that research project he was supposed to be doing with Granger. He knew he could spin that one off – his father knew of his keen interest in Potions (though had none himself) and would not think it odd that he had been given the honour of a specialist research task. However, if Draco said that the Granger girl had also been given it, he was pretty sure that his father would almost suggest that he stay at the school even before he asked: there was no way his father would accept the shame of a Mudblood doing better than him on something like that.

Draco looked around the room. The lights were low, and students were dancing, or sitting in small groups, some on each other’s laps. He realised that he was alone, here by the fire. Glancing round, he saw Greg and Vince playing gobstones off to the side.

He wondered if any of these people, people he had known for years, would want to know him if they knew he had defected. Which of them would happily hand him over to the Dark Lord?

Nott and Pans would probably hand him over without a thought. They were both ardent supporters, he knew, and more to the point, both very ambitious.

Who would he miss? Zabini, definitely. The man was funny and clever. And – he would miss Greg and Vince. He wondered whether he might be called on to kill any of the people in the room.

That was a thought he couldn’t handle right now. He got to his feet and made his way to the door. Greg looked up and lumbered across.

“Need us?”

That simple loyalty had become addictive. It was the idiot’s birthday!

“Nah, I’m going up to the library for a bit.”

“Got a headache? I’ve got a potion my mum sent. “

“Thanks, Greg,” Draco said, surprising his – friend? “I’m okay. Just don’t fancy Pans feeling me up all night,” he prevaricated.

Goyle laughed.

“Want some cake to take with you?”

“Pince’d have a fit,” Draco shook his head. “Thank your Mum though. Your elf’s a good cook.”

“Will do, Draco,” Goyle smiled and wandered back through the couples to his partner and his game.

Draco wondered if he could save them. They were too innocent for this rubbish.

And now I’m getting a bloody hero complex, he thought to himself. Bloody Potter!

He strolled into the library and headed to the corner where Granger usually sat.

Sure enough, there she was, her head bent over a thick tome.

“Thanks, Granger,” he said sarcastically. “Might have known I’d be foolish to expect courtesy from a Mudblood.”

Hermione looked up.

“What?” her face looked strangely bemused. And she was pale and blotchy. Not a good look for her. And she hadn’t risen to the bait. Was Potter really ill, then?

He pulled the book from under her hand to see what she was reading. Not a medical text. Potions.

The research, rather than a ‘save Potter’ thing, then.

“I realise Potter’s welfare has hardly been my major interest over the years, but you did say earlier you would get a message to me,” he gritted, disgusted with himself even as he spoke that he had even asked.

“What? Oh. Oh! Oh, I’m sorry!” she flustered.

“Yeah, I bet.”

“No, I’m sorry Draco, I completely forgot –“

“Thanks.”

“Some – something –“ her voice shook and she looked away – “came up.”

“What, Weasley’s dick?” he quipped.

Hermione choked, her face still looking away.

How could she be that much of a prude? Draco thought in astonishment. They’d been shagging for months, he was sure. They had that intimacy feel written all over them. Not that Potter wasn’t always touching Granger – he used to wonder if they had threesomes, a thought he found embarrassingly hot – before Potter had thrown out that he was as queer as a wingless snitch. Mind you, he and Weasley could still get it on whilst - he dragged his thoughts quickly away from that scenario.

“Grow up,” he growled. “Is Potter ok or is the wizarding world coming to an end?”

Hermione looked at him sharply. Did Draco know? That quip about Ron – and now this – her world had certainly upended today.

She shut the book with a bang and stood up, shoving it in her bag.

“You’re an absolute bastard, Malfoy,” she hissed, “Fuck off!”

And she stormed out, disregarding the shock on Madam Pince’s face.

Which was pretty much the same as the look on Draco Malfoy’s visage too.

Two thoughts were in his mind. Potter must be really ill. And who knew the Mudblood had a mouth like that?

Draco meandered back down to Slytherin. On an impulse, he went along to Snape’s chambers and knocked on the door. It was a long time before the door opened and Draco wondered if Snape was entertaining his man friend again. Lover. Whatever. He lounged against the opposite wall. He was in no hurry to return to the common room, and he would have to go through it to get to his room. Finally, the door opened.

“Mr Malfoy. What do you want?” Snape said, his usual cordial self strangely absent. Yeah, right! Nevertheless, Draco was not often the recipient of such a curt tone from the man.

“Do you have a moment, Sir?” he asked politely, straightening up.

“Is it important?” Snape demanded.

Everything urged him to leave it at that. Snape was obviously still in a foul mood. But if Potter was seriously injured, maybe he could help.

“Yes, I think so, Sir.”

“In.” Snape held the door open.

There was a two thirds empty bottle of whiskey and a tumbler on the table by the fire. The room felt chill despite the flames.

“Well? I don’t have all evening, Mr Malfoy,” Snape said peremptorily.

“How is Potter?”

Snape stared at him.

Draco felt more than the stirrings of intimidation. Maybe he had made a misjudgement.

“I wondered if Potter was hurt in the potions' accident, Sir. He wasn’t at supper.”

“And why in the seven hells would you think I would know or care?” Snape demanded.

Draco was floundering. “Uh, it was your lesson, Sir? Madam Pomfrey said he hadn’t gone to the infirmary but I thought you might have checked –“

“You thought wrong, Mr Malfoy, and I have wasted an entirely good level of inebriation to talk to you!” snapped Snape, thrusting a potions' bottle in his face.
A Sobering Solution.

Draco glanced at the whiskey bottle.

“Yes, Mr Malfoy. I would like to return to it. Why don’t you return to the party? I’m sure Miss Parkinson will be delighted.”

God, he was a bastard tonight! He knew what Draco thought of Pansy in-your-pants Parkinson.

“Goodnight, Sir,” he turned and left with as much dignity as he could muster.

The door slammed shut behind him.

Bugger them all! Why the fuck should he care?! He stormed through the common room, avoiding Pansy’s move towards him, shook his head at Crabbe who had started to rise, and slammed his own door with a resounding and satisfying bang.

He supposed he ought to be grateful, he thought half an hour later, showered and lying musing in bed.

He had thought the Light Side bunch would be horribly sweet and sickening.

Instead, they appeared to be as foul-mouthed and as obnoxious as the most curmudgeonly bastard could wish.

Harry woke with a start.

Dobby was there, on the bed in front of him, even as his heart was racing and his hand reaching for his wand.

“Harry Potter, Sir! You is awake!” squealed the elf gleefully.

“God, you made me jump! What time is it, Dobby?” he said, reaching for his glasses and noticing the dark outside the frosty window.

“It is being about eight o’clock, Sir,” Dobby said cheerfully. “You has had a very good sleep, and now Dobby will get you some supper.”

“Thanks Dobby, but I need to go and see –,” Harry started, putting his feet over the side of the bed.

Dobby jumped into his lap, making him almost fall back on the bed.

“Harry Potter! You is not going anywhere without eating after sleeping for 30 hours! Winky has a nice chicken soup at the ready –“

“Thirty hours?” Harry squawked. “I can’t have slept for thirty hours!”

“Yes, you did, and Harry Potter was needing it very much,” said the elf, wafting a bowl of very tempting brew in front of him.

Harry just stared at it, and at Dobby, who stood there waiting patiently.

“It’s Friday night?” he croaked at last.

“Yes, and the weekend tomorrow and Harry Potter can get lots of rest. Dobby told Professor Dumbledore that he was a very naughty wizard for not watching over Harry Potter’s magic and –“ he shoved a spoonful at Harry’s face so fast that Harry had opened his mouth and swallowed it without thinking, “and he agrees that he will not be so naughty in future!”

Harry goggled at the thought of Dobby telling off the Headmaster, and Dobby took the opportunity to get another spoonful in.

Harry took the bowl and spoon, knowing he was going to get nowhere until he had eaten it. With a day lost, the urgency had gone anyway. And he smelt. He needed to shower.

“Master Longbottom is wanting to be told when you is awake,” Dobby said. “Dobby will get him while you is in the shower.”

Harry was about to put him off when he realised that Neville undoubtedly understood what had happened, and might well have news for him.

“Thank you, Dobby,” he nodded, and headed into the bathroom.

Neville was sitting in his armchair when Harry returned, a towel around his waist.

“Neville! How is he? Any news? How does he look?”

“What? Ron?” Neville’s brow furrowed.

“Ron? What’s up with Ron? Snape, of course!”

“Ah. He’s not been to meals and I gather he is his usual bastard self in class. The fourth years said he took a hundred points in their lesson today. But I didn’t come to talk to you about that.”

“Oh? Can it wait, then? I really must get down there and see –“ Harry grabbed a pair of trousers and shucked them on.

Still commando, then, Neville noted; he had heard the story.

“No it can’t wait,” he said impatiently as Harry grabbed a shirt. “It’s Hermione.”

Harry spun round. His heart started to thump erratically. He sat down quickly. “What’s happened?”

“She and Ron have broken up.”

Harry just stared. It was like someone saying men had never walked on the moon. It couldn’t be true. But...

“They’ve had an argument? They’re always arguing. It’s nothing -”

Neville snorted. “More than that. It’s over.”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t believe that. Anyone can see they love each other.”

“Well, Hermione didn’t take too kindly to seeing Ron and Lisa –“

“Ron and Lisa? Turpin? But it was Hermione that said Lisa fancied him! She knows they work together on Divinations sometimes. I can’t believe she was jealous.”

“Harry, Lisa was in Ron’s room –“

“Well, Hermione’s in mine often enough. It doesn’t mean anything – “

“Will you just shut up for a minute!” Neville exploded, shocking Harry to the core.

He held up his hands and made a zipping motion across his mouth.

“Piss off,” Neville said without rancour. He leant forward. “Harry, I was there. It was after we’d come to check on you. Dobby told us to bugger off. Hermione came to my room for a cup of tea – “

“See?” Harry began, but Neville stared him down. “Sorry, sorry, go on.”

“She called in on Ron on the way back. He’s usually in the gym Thursday afternoons, right?”

Harry nodded.

“Yeah, well he was working out with Lisa Turpin.”

“What? What do you mean? Ron was snogging her?”

Neville gave him a look. “They were naked, Harry. Ron was –was – inside her,” Neville blushed, picturing the exact angle of Ron’s body and that wet noise as he withdrew.

“Oh, holy shit!” Harry gasped. “Oh god! Poor Hermione! How is she? Who’s with her? I mean Ginny’s her friend, but –“

“Exactly. Actually, Ginny cracked Ron a whopper round the face. All the House are giving him the silent treatment.”

“Well, he bloody deserves it,” Harry said, even as he remembered how painful it was to be ostracized like that.

“Yeah, he’s an absolute idiot. He had the nicest, cleverest witch in the school and blows it for Lisa Turpin.”

Harry looked at Neville in surprise. “Do you fancy Hermione?” he asked, curious.

“What has that got to do with anything?” Neville said angrily. “I’ve never even thought of Hermione like that. Of course I’ve admired her – how could you not? But she’s always been Ron’s girl, always. Long before they went out, hasn’t she?”

Harry touched Neville’s arm quickly in apology. “Yeah, “he agreed quietly, “I always thought so.”

“You need to see her,” Neville said. “She’s gone all – organised. Like nothing is wrong, you know?”

Harry did know how Hermione went when she was hurt.

“Where is she?”

“Library.”

Harry nodded.

He called Dobby and thanked him for his help, much to the delight of the little elf, and then headed off to the library.

What could he say to Hermione?

What could he say to Severus?

He found Mione in her usual nook, scribbling notes. He sat down beside her, pulling the chair close, giving her a warm smile as she looked up.

“Harry!” her face lit up for a moment, and she hugged him tight. Harry held on, stroking her back.

She pulled away. “You know,” she stated. “Who was the one to spread the gossip?” she said bitterly.

“Actually, Nev came to see me to stop me putting my foot in it,” Harry said. “I couldn’t believe it.”

“It was a bit of a shock to my system too,” Hermione agreed.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry whispered. “He’s such a prat. I don’t know what else to say. I’m sure he loves you –“ he floundered.

Hermione nodded. “Yes, I think he does. But I can’t live with worrying about who he’s getting off with behind my back. I – I ended it. Jealousy feels awful, Harry. I had no idea.”

“Did you row?”

“No, it all came out calmly. Sort of slithered out. I hadn’t even meant to say it then. I was going to be all calm and listen to him and go away and think about it, because - well, I love him and logically, it seemed silly to throw that away because he was tempted once,” she said, looking down at her hands.

Harry sat leaning towards her, hands hanging between his knees. “But?” he prompted.

“But I looked at him and it hurt so bad,” she whispered. “I looked at Ron and I just saw them at it again. I couldn’t stand the thought of that going on and on, me getting to be a crabby, suspicious bitch. We need to trust him for the fight. And I know I can trust him in everything else,” she said hollowly. “It just seemed the only option. To take any right to feel jealous out of the equation.”

“Are you regretting it?” Harry asked.

Mione gave him a sad smile. “Yes and no. I know it was the right decision. I sort of feel relief already that I won’t have to be worrying about what – who – he’s doing. But it hurts that he did it. Really hurts,” she whispered. “And - and I feel so lonely,” she added. She saw Harry open his mouth, and got in first. “I know I’ve got you. And Neville. And hopefully Ron as a friend again one day, but –“

“Yeah,” Harry said, thinking of Severus. “I know.”

Harry stood outside Snape’s chambers and knocked on the door. His heart had thumped all the way down the flights of stairs. He was struggling with guilt too – he had felt guilty all the time he was talking to Hermione because half his mind was on what he was going to say to Severus, and yet guilty because talking to Hermione had put off talking to Severus and that was a relief too, to put it off for another few minutes.

But he was here now.

He knew Severus could see him in the mirror, and although his presence in the dungeons was unusual he had no doubt that the story of Snape spell-stripping him in class had made the rounds of the school. People would think he was there either to berate or thank the Potions Master.

He waited.

And waited.

Eventually the door opened.

“Mr Potter.” Snape looked at his most severe. Black, pale, expressionless.

“May I speak with you?” Harry said quietly.

Snape waved his hand for Harry to proceed.

“Inside?”

“No.”

Harry gulped. He had had the tiniest hope that Snape might have understood, having had a day to cool off.

“I came to apologise –“

“Well done.” Snape went to shut the door. Harry put his foot in it, and looked around the corridor. No one was about.

“I had intended to tell you tonight –“

“Oh please! “

“I did!” Harry insisted.

“Mr Potter,” Snape sneered, ”has it not occurred to you that when I found out would be entirely irrelevant? My reaction would be the same. Goodbye, Mr Potter.”

And he forced Harry back with a burst of wandless magic, the sound of the door shutting echoing down the corridor.

Harry made his way back to his room, and sat down at his desk to write to Severus.

He tried not to let his spirits plummet completely. He had known Snape would be angry – he would have felt just the same if their positions had been reversed, wouldn’t he? He needed to think exactly what to say to make Severus understand. He had avoided it the whole of their relationship. The time had come.

He had completed five bunched up drafts when there was a quiet knock at the door.

Shoving them in the bin and hiding the current attempt, Harry pulled out a parchment and wrote ‘Potions Assignment’ on the top, then called, “Come!”

Ron’s head appeared. Harry put the pen down and looked at his friend hovering on the threshold.

“Come in, Ron,” he said exasperatedly. “There’s a bloody draught.”

“Oh, sorry, mate! Are you still feeling rough?”

“Much less tired than I was,” Harry answered. He felt like shit, but it wasn’t physical.

Ron still hovered.

“Sit down, I’ll get a crick in my neck.”

“Wasn’t sure if you’d want to see me,” Ron mumbled, turning red as he slumped onto Harry’s bed.

“’Cos you’re an idiot?” Harry asked. “What’s new?”

Ron didn’t laugh. “I hurt Mione,” he said.

Harry sighed. “Yes, you did, you great pillock. What possessed you?”

Ron shook his head. Shrugged his shoulders. Started a gesture with his hands, and dropped them.

Harry waited.

“I never meant to hurt her,” Ron said at last. “It’s just – just –“

Harry kept quiet.

Ron went red. It was a horrible contrast with his hair. He looked like a weather-roughened Young Farmer. “It was flattering, you know?” he said at last. “After Hermione said – you know –“

“That Lisa fancied you?”

“Yeah. I started noticing her looking at me. And – and I suppose I smiled back, I don’t know. Alright, I did,” he admitted. “It felt really good. To know that someone wanted me.”

“Hermione wanted you,” Harry said.

“Yeah.” Ron looked away.

“Alright, go on,” Harry prompted. If Ron wanted to spill his soul he might as well let it all out. But Harry didn’t think there was a nice easy return after speaking to Hermione, and he was hoping Ron wasn’t expecting him to try and persuade Mione otherwise.

“It was – exciting. I mean, it’s not as if it’s not with Mione, but –well, we’ve known each other for ever, right? So we were all comfortable. Lisa – the thing with Lisa – it felt all edgy and exciting. But I wasn’t intending to do anything! Really, I wasn’t, Harry!”

“So what happened?” Harry wanted to be a good friend. He wanted to listen and help. But he was cross with Ron for wasting what he’d had, for hurting Hermione and for making them all uncomfortable, and he wanted to write to Severus. He supposed he was selfish too.

“Lisa asked for a book I had in my room. I was going to go and get it but she said she’d come with me to save me the journey back. It all sort of happened from there,” Ron said miserably.

“Ron. Are you lying to me or to yourself? Are you really expecting me to believe you didn’t even think anything might happen if she came into your room? Come on!”

Ron shrugged. “You’re probably right,” he mumbled.

They sat in silence for a bit. Harry was rephrasing yet again in his mind.

“What can I do?” Ron muttered.

“Not a lot. Move on.”

“That’s harsh!” Ron said, looking up.

“Realistic,” Harry said firmly. “You can’t expect Hermione to trust you. You were her first lover, Ron! She committed totally to you!”

“She was my first!” Ron protested.

“But not your last,” Harry said. “Look, did you see yourselves settling down to marriage and kids and the rest?”

“Yeah,” Ron nodded.

“And didn’t ever think you might be missing out on not having been with anyone else?”

Ron looked away.

“Look, you don’t have to feel guilty about thinking that,” Harry said, his voice gentle. “I should have thought you’d be pretty odd if you didn’t. It’s a pity you hadn’t slept with others before Mione, that’s all. Maybe you would have worked it out of your system.”

Ron flopped back on Harry’s bed, hands behind his head.

Harry wished he wasn’t thinking that Ron looked like he had settled in for the long haul.

“You’re good to talk to,” Ron said. “Everyone else is treating me like a leper.”

“Even Dean and Seamus?”

“Well, they’ve spoken to me. But I don’t want to talk to them – not properly, you know. And Neville and Ginny are furious with me. Gin can’t have told Mum yet – there’s bound to be a Howler when she hears,” Ron said glumly.

“Maybe Ginny won’t go into details,” Harry said. “And your Mum must have dealt with lots of boyfriends and girlfriends coming and going over the years.”

“True. But she really likes Hermione. I think she was looking forward to teaching her all the household stuff that Mione doesn’t know.”

Harry laughed. “If you can manage to keep her as a friend, I expect Mione will still be glad to learn from your mother. And who knows, if you can manage to do that, maybe in the future you’ll find each other again.”

In the early hours of the morning, Harry had completed his letter to Snape. He didn’t know if the man would still be awake, but sent a school owl with it telling it it had to wait until Severus was awake, and hand it to him only.

Half an hour later, as Harry was brushing his teeth ready to catch a few more hours sleep, the owl tapped on the window-pane. Heart jumping hopefully, Harry opened the casement and let the creature in, the cold air blasting him as it did so. The owl shook her wings out, snowflakes flicking in the air and melting as they fell. She held out her leg, a letter tied to it.

Harry’s excited bubble burst.

It was his own letter.

Returned.

Unopened.

On the outside of the parchment, Snape had written:

I thought I had made my position clear. Do not write or attempt to contact me in any way. Future missives will be burnt without removing them from the carrier’s leg.

Harry, Hermione and Ron all lay in their beds, awake, hearing the muffled wind hitting the castle, seeing the soft fall of snow in the dark night.

It was Friday night, but there were no warm arms around them, no bodies snug up against their own.

The bleak winter had set in.

Chapter Text

The weekend felt the loneliest Harry had ever experienced. He didn’t know why – he had been alone many times in his life. He had been alone after his relationship with Derek had broken up, although he supposed that wasn’t strictly true – he had continued to live in the same flat.

Having ascertained that Hermione had buried herself in her potions' work, and Ron was off playing quidditch – the team were practicing and needed him, even if they didn’t talk to him – Harry went off to his cottage. He changed visage. It was unexpectedly painful looking in the mirror, knowing this was the face that Severus had found acceptable, whilst he hated his real one. He nearly gave up and went straight back to Hogwarts, but he didn’t really want to be there either. Maybe Snape would come and look up Alex.

Talk it out with him.

He walked to the market, chatted to the stall-holders, bought food – for two, just in case.

He went back and sat in front of the fire. The snow had settled, and everything looked very pretty. But cold. He felt his internal temperature was dropping too.

He checked on his magic – it was back up to full strength. He tried some exercises, testing what he could do. He cooked supper. He read. He went to bed. It was cold, and too big.

He slept badly and somehow ended up getting up late because he had finally dozed off just as he was thinking about getting up. His body felt funny, and then he realised that usually, here, his night was full of touching and sucking and coming, and none of that had happened. No aching muscles, sore throat, overworked jaw.

He slumped down at the kitchen table cradling a steaming mug of tea. He and Severus had – on the –

He couldn’t think about that. Shouldn’t. Couldn’t stop himself.

He got up and dressed, and wandered again into the village, leaving a note on the door to say that he would only be gone for an hour.

Just in case.

He bumped into Sebastian Flight, the financial advisor he had met at Lucius Malfoy’s. They had a drink in The Tufted Duck. Following the conversation at Malfoy Manor, Sebastian Flight had offered to manage Harry’s wizarding investments. Harry had made several, and kept up a correspondence with the man. The unexpected meeting was useful, though Harry thought it was sad that such a meeting proved to be the highlight of his day.

He returned to Hogwarts that night feeling utterly lost.

The common room had returned to its usual buzz. Harry noted Ron playing chess with Dean, and Hermione on the sofa with a book. With a nod to Ron, he flopped down next to Hermione.

She smiled absentmindedly at him.

“What’s going on?” Harry whispered.

“I got fed up with people shutting up and then starting talking the minute I passed,” she said. “I asked Ron to come and be normal in here. They can’t gossip if we’re both here, and once they realize we’re ok it’ll all stop.”

"Are you ok?” Harry asked, taking in her pale cheeks and slightly drawn expression.

“Not really. Sort of. Sounds stupid, doesn’t it? I mean,” Hermione lowered her voice even more, “he’s still Ron. Still the person who’s been my friend ever since I’ve been here, give or take the first term. But it feels odd too. Lonely. I said that before,” she shrugged. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to whinge.”

“Hey, first, you’ve got a right to whinge – for a bit anyway –“ he cowered, grinning, as Hermione mock hit him. “Second – well, it’s new, isn’t it? Anyway, I want you to talk to me. I’ll tell you if you get maudlin.”

Hermione smiled. “You had a good weekend?” she asked, attempting to change the subject. “Been with your mystery lover?”

“Unfortunately not,” Harry said. He stood up. “I’d better talk to Ron – make it all seem normal. That I’m not taking sides.”

Hermione nodded and he walked over to Ron, pulling up a chair to watch the game for a few minutes.

He could almost feel the collective sigh of relief from the students that they were all apparently on good terms.

Tuesday came round and his after school lesson. Harry had spent a lot of time working on it, fearful of how to handle Severus, of how to cope with his absence.

He had walked beside Ron to the meeting, Padma, who had been visiting Parvati, with Hermione. Harry was aware of Ron trying to follow what Hermione and Padma were talking about the whole journey. Neville was coming straight from the greenhouses, and was already there when they arrived, with Ernie and Eloise.

Harry was just wondering nervously about his Slytherin contingent when Draco walked in.

“Ah, you are here,” Draco said, in his supercilious manner.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve only seen you in the Great Hall the last day or so – I thought maybe you were still recovering.”

“That was embarrassing, Harry,” Eloise said. “Were you badly burnt?”

Harry shook his head. “No, but I learnt a lesson. I’d overused my magic. I’d done pretty heavy magic over the weekend and then in the week as well, and I was just knackered, basically. Made me sloppy.”

“What else were you up to?” Ernie asked.

Severus wasn’t there, and appeared to have sent no apologies via Draco. It wasn’t his place to comment on the removal of the Mark.

And – God! He was so selfish! He hadn’t really thought whether Snape had fully recovered – hadn’t asked him, hadn’t – God! No wonder the man hated him. He’d practically killed him and not spoken to him since, just shown what a dreadful person he was.

“Harry?”

“Sorry,” he started.

“We went to China on Wednesday night,” Neville volunteered.

“China! Why?” Ernie asked.

“I was after a plant and thought Harry might like to come along for a bit of fun.”

Even Draco had to stop himself from gawking. “You apparated to China? And back? In one day?”

“He took me to Australia on Thursday,” Hermione smothered a giggle.

“What!” Ron burst out.

“Harry?” Padma said. “No wonder he was finished!”

“Neville,” Hermione corrected.

All eyes turned to the shy young man.

“Let’s get this straight, you apparated to China – and back – on Wednesday, and then Australia – and back – on Thursday?”

“Actually, he did the Australia bit twice in each direction – and took me along each time. I’ve only ever apparated little skips before.”

“Holy shit!” Ernie muttered.

“I think it’s just one of those things,” Neville said humbly. “You know, like Draco can do potions just like that, whereas the whole business terrifies me. Apparating just feels – natural, I suppose, to me. I don’t know where the hard bit is,” he confessed.

“Neville, you are the man!” said Ernie, giving him a high five. Red and grinning, Neville returned it.

“Okay, to work,” Harry said. “Hermione and Draco, would you like to update each other on your potions’ research? I’ve got some group tasks later. Neville, listen in, would you? I know you don’t like potions, but I just want you to consider what they’re discussing and see whether any of the weird and wonderful plants you’ve come across have any potential to be useful.” He gave instructions to the others, and turned to Ron. “It doesn’t look like Sn –Severus – is coming. Do you want to stay or go?”

“Malfoy? Snape not coming?” Ron called across the room.

Draco looked up. “That’s Severus and Draco in here, Ron, follow the rules like the rest of us,” Malfoy complained.

“Yeah, well is he coming?”

“No idea.”

“He’s your Head of House –“

“Yes, and if you fancy asking him anything in the mood he’s been in lately then go right ahead.” Malfoy’s sneering tone changed abruptly. He got up and walked over. “Can I have a word, Harry?”

Ron stood, waiting.

“Buzz off, Ron,” he said impatiently.

Ron looked at Harry. “I’ll go and listen in with Padma’s group, alright?”

Harry nodded and looked at Draco.

“Much as I don’t want to, do you think I ought to suggest to Severus that I look him over? Only he’s been as grumpy as sin. Maybe something needs tweaking.”

Harry didn’t know how to answer. He was pretty sure Snape was grumpy because of him, and not from any problems caused by the downgrading of the link, but he hadn’t checked out Severus’ post-operative state at all. And he would bet his bottom dollar that there was no way Snape would allow him anywhere near him now.

“Do you think you can check on it without me?” he asked.

“Why?”

Straight to the point.

“Because I almost killed him?”

“You did not,” Draco said with a laugh, and then looked hard at Harry. “Shit! You really thought that! Idiot! He was alright. It’s just your power is enormous – it feels huge being alongside it – actually having it in you – well, it was a shock to his system, I think. Once you were out he was back to normal in no time.”

“But he was in a coma or something.”

Draco shook his head. “Not because of that especially. I think the whole closing down the link would have left him sleeping anyway – it had been established for years, and it was hard to wrench away.”

Harry nodded. “So he should be alright.”

“He should, but now I think of his behaviour, I’m concerned.”

“I don’t think it will help at all to have me involved again,” Harry said carefully. “My own magic has just gone haywire and I don’t think it would be wise to enter someone’s body in that state.”

“That’s a good point,” Draco said. He thought for a minute. “I still want to do it. I’ll ask Dumbledore. Perhaps if he or Madam Pomfrey supervise me...”

“Do you want to go now?”

Draco shook his head. “I could hear him yelling at some kids in detention as I came. And I need to talk over some of this stuff with Gra – Hermione. I’m planning on staying here for the holidays and working on this, so I want to talk some ideas through.”

Later that evening, Draco made his way to Dumbledore’s office. He was becoming a regular visitor, he thought sourly, having visited over the weekend to ask for permission to stay during the break.

He wondered what was up with everybody. Granger had been surprisingly quiet. Not that she ever shouted or anything. He tried to put his finger on it, but couldn’t.

Maybe she was embarrassed by her outburst the other night.

Potter had been – what? Organised for a start. Not that the lessons weren’t usually productive, they were always good, he had to admit. It was just that Potter had notes. His usual spontaneity was missing. Maybe now that he had got them where he wanted them, more or less, he was working on previous plans. Who knew? The man had kept the mage thing to himself, for Merlin’s sake! There was more depth to Potter than he had seen, and that made him edgy. He had misjudged Potter, and Severus. His views of his own abilities were shaken, and he didn’t like not feeling sure of himself.

Up in the Headmaster’s office, Draco sat waiting patiently, a cup of coffee steaming in his hand, whilst Dumbledore finished off a letter.

Draco wondered to whom he was writing.

The coffee was excellent; they rarely had coffee at Hogwarts, for some reason, though it was his favourite drink at home. The brief thought occurred to him, and was discarded, that Dumbledore had somehow known this and had deliberately provided a ‘home comfort’.

Dumbledore had called an owl, tied the letter on and sent it, then turned and gave Draco his full attention.

“Thank you for being so patient, Mr Malfoy. What can I do for you?”

Draco put his cup down. He needed to be tactful, but he could feel something gnawing at him – maybe Healer’s had instincts, or something – and he needed to act.

“I’m a little worried about Professor Snape,” he began.

Dumbledore leaned back. Draco could almost feel the old man closing off, though his face remained benign.

“And why is that, Mr Malfoy?” he asked pleasantly.

“Without meaning to be rude, Sir, Professor Snape has been – particularly – short-tempered?” he chose his words with caution.

“I don’t believe it is the place for students to comment on their teachers’ deportment, Mr Malfoy,” Dumbledore said coldly, “- unless you believe any student is at risk of harm?” he added, eyebrow raised.

Draco shook his head. “It’s not that, Sir, and I wouldn’t normally comment, obviously, it’s just that – well, it seems to have developed after our work on tying down his link, and I’m a little worried in case I did something wrong, missed something.”

“Ah.” Dumbledore’s demeanour changed.

“It’s just that I think maybe he ought to be checked over – that I ought to just see – and maybe Madam Pomfrey should supervise – “

“I don’t think that will be necessary, Draco,” the older man replied.

Draco looked at him curiously. “Something’s obviously wrong, Sir. Surely it would be a good idea to check it out? I don’t want to cause the Professor any damage. It seems stupid that we went in at all, but of course it was necessary –“

Dumbledore nodded. “Yes. I don’t have any doubts about what you and Harry did. But I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go back in –“

“Not both of us, Sir!” Draco interrupted, thinking Dumbledore was worried for Potter’s health. Of course he’d put his Golden Gryffindor’s needs before Snape’s. Well, he wasn’t having that! “I’ve talked to Harry and we’ve agreed that it wouldn’t be appropriate for him to assist with his magic a bit shaky, but I just want to check. It would just be me, Sir,” he said earnestly.

Dumbledore looked at the young man in front of him, actually caring about someone else enough to argue with him.

“Draco, do you feel this matter can wait?” he asked, his tone genuine.

Draco opened his mouth to say no, but instead “Why?” came out.

“If you truly feel that something has gone wrong, after further observation, then I would prefer your return into Severus be assisted by an experienced Healer, rather than Madam Pomfrey or I. I will not risk Severus and if you consider there is truly something wrong....”

Draco sat back and thought. To call in a Healer was only done in the direst circumstances, as there were so few, and most mediwitches and wizards could deal with all the banal injuries. He was obviously wrong about Dumbledore’s attitude to Professor Snape. And he was asking him for a professional judgement.

“I think it would be alright to observe for a day or two,” Draco said cautiously. “He appears strong and healthy, it’s just his –“ he faltered.

“His temper, yes. Well, Draco, come back to me at once if your concern deepens, and I will arrange a consultation immediately. Professor Snape has many aspects to his life that may cause his temper to – shall we say fray? – a little at times.”

Draco thought about that, about Snape’s secret role. No wonder he was grouchy at times! He had mentioned being tortured to Draco – and yet Draco could never remember the man ever missing a class until last week. He was perhaps misjudging again.

“Yes, thank you, Sir,” Draco said, standing. “I hope I haven’t wasted your time.”

“I would never regard concern for another human being to be a waste of time, Mr Malfoy. I am always at your disposal in such matters,” and surprisingly, he leant over his desk and extended his hand to Draco. Draco took it and shook it, more pleased than he could believe.

The week rolled on. Harry’s Thursday Potions class loomed. He had seen Snape in the Great Hall, but the man ignored him. And this was the tack that Snape took in class.

Harry had been ready for derision, for Snape’s vitriolic tongue.

Instead, the whole two-hour class passed as if Harry were not there. Snape did not address him, or look at him, or even loom over his cauldron to look at his work. He lectured much as he always had, his tone surprisingly even given the tales of how vile Snape was being in his other classes.

Harry felt more wrung out than he could believe possible, a cold clammy sweat leaving a trail down his spine as they headed up the stairs afterwards.

“Well, that was weird,” Hermione said. “Do you realise, Harry, that Snape didn’t say one sarcastic thing to you?”

Oh, Harry realised it.

“He was probably embarrassed about the stripping you thing,” Eloise chipped in from behind. “Maybe he got into trouble.”

Hermione turned round. “You’re probably right,” she nodded, “but he had to do it, of course. You must have been really off, Harry, not to have whipped them off yourself.”

Harry gave a mumbled agreement.

Eloise patted Harry on the shoulder. “Never mind, Harry. Hottest Potions lesson ever! And you’ve got a really nice body, nothing to be ashamed of at all! Coming to Arithmancy, Hermione?” and the two girls peeled off up a different staircase, Hermione looking back to smile sympathetically at her friend.

There wasn’t exactly a Yule Ball that year, but there was a disco in the Main Hall, with a student band playing as well as The Wands, an up-and-coming mostly male group who were known for their sex appeal. Fortunately they also had a single female, their lead guitarist, who was getting a reputation for her skimpy costumes as well as her guitar skills. The students were going wild.

They would all be leaving in the morning, and were letting their hair down with friends in the meantime.

Draco sat at a table half-way down one side of the Hall and watched the world go by. He knew he looked good. He had slim cream trousers on that moulded his body tightly, and a navy short sleeved shirt, which he knew brought out the colour of his hair. He eyed up the girls dancing around. Crabbe and Goyle sat next to him. He wondered if they would like to dance together. Wizarding society accepted homosexuality, but basically didn’t like it flaunted, he thought. He knew of several gay wizards, but he had never seen any dance together, or show public acts of affection.

Draco leant over. “Why don’t you dance?” he asked.

The boys looked at him and each other as if he’d grown a second head.

“Don’t fancy anyone,” Greg said, looking at the masses gyrating nearby.

“I don’t mean with that lot,” Draco said impatiently, “with each other.”

The boys looked at each other, and then at Draco.

“You feeling alright, Draco?” Vince asked.

“Yes, of course I am! Why shouldn’t you dance?” he demanded.

Vince looked at Greg, a silent communication.

“Don’t like dancing,” Vince said simply.

Draco thumped his head on the table. And looked up, surprised.

Ron Weasley was dancing with some bint in a tight skirt and skinny rib vest. Which would be alright if he didn’t have his hand right on her arse, practically rocking against her.

Draco looked around surreptitiously.

He could see no sign of Granger. He hated to think of that woman pissed at him, he knew she could give a right mouthful. Weasley would be in for it later.

He watched Weasley’s hand manoeuvre all over the girl’s arse, up her back and round to the side...it was indecent! He was about to grope her breast here in front of everyone. He always knew the man had no class, but really!

The girl knocked Weasley’s hand away.

About time too!

But the next moment she was dragging him off the dance floor, and they slipped out of the room together.

Draco felt surprisingly outraged.

“Did you see that?” he asked Greg. “Weasley making a disgusting display of himself?”

“Yeah, I suppose he’s spreading his oats now he’s free,” Goyle answered.

“What? What about Granger?”

“Split up last week,” Vince said. “She caught him in the act screwing some Ravenclaw.”

“What?! No way!”

“It’s true,” Greg agreed. “Heard it from Johnson. His sister’s in Ravenclaw and she’s best friends with Turpin.”

“Lisa Turpin?”

“Yeah, she was the one having it away with Weasley. Said she thought he’d already broken up with Granger. Like anyone would believe that! She’s as bad as Pans,” Vince said.

“How come no-one told me?” Draco demanded.

“Thought you’d know, mate,” Goyle said. “People were talking about it at my birthday party. Oh. Maybe it was after you left that Johnson came in?”

Where had he gone? To the library. Where Granger – oh bollocks! He quickly recalled the conversation. God, he had even mentioned Weasley’s dick – whatever had possessed him to even think of that organ – but no wonder she had told him to fuck off. She must have thought he was having a go. Which in the past, he would have, and just like that too. No wonder she had been frosty ever since.

Well. Who would have believed it? That had looked like a relationship that would have ended in hundreds of red-headed little brain-boxes running around. Granger had had a lucky escape.

An owl suddenly swooped low, and with a frisson of anxiety Draco recognised his father’s owl, Archimedes. He cleared an area of table and it landed, holding out its foot. Draco took the missive and Goyle held out a strip of salmon from one of the appetizers, which Archimedes ate with obvious pleasure, sticking his head forward for more. Draco quickly read the letter.

Draco

I have spoken to Severus this evening and discovered he is not intending to stay at Hogwarts over the break.

Pray tell me who is supervising your research project? If there is indeed any such endeavour. The owl will await your return letter, and I assume I will see you at home tomorrow.

I am very disappointed in you.

Father.

Draco stood up nervously.

“Bad news?” Goyle asked.

“A misunderstanding,” Draco answered after only a moment’s hesitation. “I must speak to Dumbledore.”

He wound his way through the tables. Hermione Granger was sitting at one, next to Ginny Weasley. Draco could see the tension in her shoulders even from across the room. But he had no time for that.

He found the Headmaster, talking to a huddle of other teachers and a stranger. He waited patiently to be seen.

Dumbledore was nudged, and turned to him.

“Mr Malfoy!” he smiled, very convivially, then seemed to assess Draco’s face.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Sir, but may I have a word?” He gestured slightly with the letter.

“Of course, dear boy. Do excuse me,” he said to the others.

He led Draco to a small side room that Draco could never remember having noticed before.

“I’ve had a letter from my father, Sir,” he said, handing it over. “I had no idea Professor Snape would not be here – I thought he always stayed at Hogwarts over the breaks,” he added curiously.

“Well, well,” Dumbledore said, “I think this is all pulling together quite well. Do come and meet my friend Cuthbert,” he said, taking Draco’s arm and leading him back into the ball.

“But Sir –“

“Yes, yes, all in good time! Cuthbert!” he called, and an elderly wizard who must have at least equalled Dumbledore’s age turned round. He was simply and elegantly dressed, in a lilac satin robe with neat edging. It screamed class, Draco thought. So unlike Dumbledore’s lime green with flashing snowflakes that he was sporting today.

“Cuthbert, let me introduce the young man I was telling you about! This is Draco Malfoy. Draco, this is Cuthbert Entwhistle.”

Draco knew that name.

“Healer Entwhistle?” he asked, looking the man over with growing respect.

“That’s me,” the man smiled, shaking Draco’s hand. “Albus has been telling me about your recent adventures.”

“And you’ve come to help?” Draco said, worried suddenly. If Dumbledore was so concerned about Snape that he’d called a Healer in, why were they wasting time socialising?

“More than that, dear boy,” Dumbledore said, a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “Cuthbert had been promising to come for Christmas for years. And finally, I was able to give him the perfect reason to do so: I have asked him to do some initial assessment and tutoring with you, Draco. If you find yourselves compatible, Cuthbert is willing to consider offering you an apprenticeship, and should he have faith in your abilities but you don’t mesh, he will be able to recommend you to another Healer that might more suit your disposition.”

Draco stared in awe at the Headmaster.

“Thank you, Sir,” he gulped, “Thank you both,” he said, turning to Healer Entwhistle.

“I am looking forward to it,” the Healer said. “I understand that you have already intervened twice?”

Draco nodded, anxiously. “Yes. I – I know it seems foolhardy now, but –“

“Calm yourself, young man. Most Healers discover their skill when an event arises and they cannot help but act. And it is hard for a Healer to do damage – the learning is in how much more it is possible to achieve, with guidance.”

“Thank you,” Draco whispered, surprisingly relieved.

“Now, Mr Malfoy, why don’t you write back to your father and tell him of your true Christmas plans?” Dumbledore asked.

“I’m to tell him?”

“He’ll have to know. And he will appreciate the honour of Cuthbert’s visit,” Dumbledore added.

Draco sat in his room and composed the letter, the owl waiting patiently on the perch in the corner.

Finally, he felt reasonably happy with it.

Father

I am indeed conducting a research project, in which I have been partnered with Granger. All the initial research has been left in our hands and Severus has agreed to assess the project in the new term, and provide assistance only at that point. Granger has already changed her holiday plans, having heard I was staying, so that I wouldn’t get ahead of her.

However, you were right to assume that there was more to it than that.

I was not sure how to tell you the following news, because although it is a great honour I know you will have reservations about it, and I did not wish to upset you.

I have recently discovered that I am a Healer. Now you will understand. Professor Dumbledore has arranged for Cuthbert Entwhistle to spend the holidays at Hogwarts to assess me, and to consider whether he would be willing to take me as an apprentice. I know, despite your misgivings, you will appreciate the great honour it is to even be considered by him. I met the man tonight and he is the absolute epitome of refinement and elegance. I had hoped to know the results of his assessment before I told you of my discovery, as I had hoped that the additional honour of his patronage might make the situation more acceptable to you.

Whilst appreciating your concerns about the type of people I must treat – indeed, the whole thing is terrifying to me, Father, I assure you – I have a further research project in mind. I believe, from my initial impressions of entering within another’s body, that I will be able to discreetly research the differences between Purebloods and Mudbloods, and this research, with the authority of a Healer behind it, will provide conclusive and unarguable proof that may be of use in ending the current conflict to the satisfaction of us all.

Therefore, I am sure you will understand that I will not be returning tomorrow. Please give my love to Mother – I will write to her separately but you are, of course, at liberty to tell her my news.

Draco.

Lucius Malfoy, sitting before the study fire in the early hours of the morning, read the letter over yet again. Narcissa had long ago retired, and after all, she did not know that he had written to Draco earlier. He was amused by the Slytherin nature of his son’s approach. Not only to telling his father of this news, but also in seeing the possibilities of using the unpleasant aspects to further their cause. He was very impressed with the boy. And the tone – polite, but firm. He obviously had no intention of forgoing the opportunity he had been given, and that was wise too. And he made no bones about saying it – just the facts, and that he would not be home.

His son was turning into a man. And a man he could be proud of.

He poured himself a last brandy.

Perhaps he and Narcissa would go skiing for Christmas. She always adored the après-ski, and he the challenge of the slopes. He fire-called their elves at their chalet in Austria.

Hermione spent Christmas with her parents, enjoying their love and even the contact with aunts and cousins that she so rarely saw. Ron would not have spent Christmas with her here anyway, so his absence was not so profound a loss as it might have been. Her parents were comforting, appreciating the pain of first love lost. She was whisked to the pictures to see the latest movie blockbuster and to neighbours' houses for drinks and awkward conversations about how she was getting on at school and what her favourite subjects were.

She returned to Hogwarts the day after Boxing Day, feeling that she had somehow drawn a line under the Hermione who was Ron’s girlfriend and was now just Hermione. There were few people in the castle – Harry had disappeared away as he did every holiday, and Hermione realised with a start that she didn’t actually know where he had spent Christmas.

There was one thing she could say for Draco Malfoy and that was that he worked hard. He had done loads of work in her absence and even though he was spending considerable parts of the day with Healer Entwhistle, he still came to work in the library till late at night.

He had taken the wind out of her sails the first time they met up by apologising for the meeting that Thursday evening – he hadn’t known that she had split from Ron. She accepted it with grace and they didn’t mention it again. She had rather expected merciless teasing, and she really didn’t feel she could face it. The ease with which Ron had fallen into bed with Lisa, and started groping that Miranda at the disco, had not done her confidence any good.

One evening at supper, Healer Entwhistle had asked for volunteers for Draco to explore. Most of the staff and students present had agreed, much to Hermione’s surprise. She had actually mentioned it to Professor McGonagall, who had looked at her curiously, before saying, ”The thing is, Hermione, it’s an honour. Healers are very rare, you know. And they don’t cause any harm going in for a look – indeed, if there is any misalignment in your magic they will come out and tell you rather than act without your permission. They are very highly respected in the magical world, I assure you.”

“But – Draco Malfoy?” she twitched her nose.

Minerva sat down. “He can’t hurt you, you know, or use what he finds against you. It’s almost like a binding on Healers. They can only act for the best.”

Hermione wasn’t sure, but as the other members in the castle seemed to talk about it at every mealtime, on the last day of the holidays her feet found their way up to the infirmary.

She knocked on the door and stepped quietly in, not wanting to disturb anything.

Healer Entwhistle, Draco and Madam Pomfrey were seated at a table together, having tea and arguing in a friendly way.

Madam Pomfrey looked round and came over.

“Hello, Hermione, dear. Do you need me?”

Hermione shook her head. “I didn’t know if Draco needed any more test subjects, but I’ll go away if –“

“Come over, come over,” Entwhistle called. “I heard that! Another subject! Excellent.”

Draco looked rather askance at Hermione.

“I’ll go if you’d rather not,” she said briskly.

“Sit down, child, do,” Entwhistle smiled encouragingly.

“Why did you come?” Draco asked.

Hermione blushed. “Curiosity, I guess. Everyone’s talking about how it felt and I - well, you know I like knowing things,” she added.

“What an excellent reason,” Entwhistle said. “Now, your name, child?”

“Hermione Granger.”

“Set up a record chart, then, Draco. All the usual details.”

Hermione sat, feeling awkward, as Draco went through a list of questions. He stumbled at one.

“No point feeling embarrassed, either of you,“ Entwhistle said gently. “All perfectly natural. Go ahead, Draco.”

Draco glanced up at Hermione, and then back down at the chart. “Have you used any form of contraception in the last three months, and if so, which method?” His cheeks were fiery.

Hermione, red too, wished with her whole heart she hadn’t come. A thought suddenly struck her.

“You’re not going to do a physical exam, are you?” she asked, “because I don’t think –“

“Certainly not,” Madam Pomfrey interjected. She smiled encouragingly at Hermione. “You need a great deal of training and certification to be able to do physical examinations,” she said. “Healing, on the other hand, is an intuitive skill. Draco knows how to do it. The only physical contact is the touch of his hands. The stomach is the usual place. He and Healer Entwhistle will both enter at the same time, and I will be here throughout. You need only to unfasten a few buttons on your shirt – no need to undress. Alright?”

The thought of Malfoy putting his hands on her stomach was an unwelcome one. She kicked herself for not having found out more information before she started, but she’d look a right prude if she pulled out now; no wonder Draco had looked surprised.

“Okay. Sorry,” she mumbled.

“Not at all,” Entwhistle said. “I was entirely at fault for not having told you what to expect from the beginning. I rather thought the others had told you, but Draco, learn from this: never make assumptions about the patient’s prior knowledge.”

“Yes sir.” He looked back at Hermione. “About the question –“

Trying not to quaver, Hermione said, “The answer is yes. I brew my own Contraceptus.”

“It’s always a good idea to use condoms or a barrier charm as well, dear,” Madam Pomfrey said practically.

Hermione, not wanting to go into explanations that they had both been virgins – after all, Ron could have got something from Lisa and passed it on had she not found out – just nodded. “Yes, Madam.”

There were several more questions and then Hermione found herself hopping onto a high gurney. Madam Pomfrey was placing a blanket over her hips and asking her to undo her shirt. Hermione felt a ridiculous sense of relief that she had one of her prettiest bras on, and decided instantly to throw out the comfortable but greying one that she often wore. She felt horribly exposed as Draco and Entwhistle came to stand on either side of her.

“Can you just lower your skirt a bit, Hermione?” Entwhistle asked, his voice neutral and pleasant. “With two of us and you so petite we need a little more space.”

Hermione sat up and twisted round to undo the button and lower the zip.

Draco looked away quickly as the flash of a surprisingly voluptuous cleavage slid past his gaze as she bent over. He tried to control his breathing.

Hermione lay back again, shoving her skirt down.

Draco looked at the expanse of creamy stomach, the dip of belly button and the jut of hip bones just appearing at the top of her skirt. Her belly was rising up and down with her rapid breaths and it looked incredibly erotic. His blood seemed to rush into his groin so fast that he felt dizzy. His hand gripped the side of the table to steady himself.

Entwhistle looked at him sympathetically. “Now, Mr Malfoy, use the focussing skills we’ve been working on,” he said smoothly, “breathing first, then shut your eyes and focus before touching the patient. Nod when you are ready and I will place our hands.”

Draco nodded. This wasn’t exactly their normal approach and he was embarrassed that Entwhistle knew he had a problem. There was no condemnation in his tone however, and nothing to give away this was not the way they always did it. He followed instructions, and after a few moments the desire slipped away and he nodded.

Entwhistle’s warm hands enfolded his and the next minute they were touching cool flesh. His mind pushed, and then there was the incredible feeling of being inside someone. They explored. Hermione was fit and her magic strong. He felt the pulse of it, suffusing her being. He was shocked to feel the sadness in her. She said nothing and acted as if the Weasley thing was all over and dealt with, but here, he could feel the pain of it edging her every nerve. He felt Entwhistle move to withdraw, but kept his hand steady; his mentor waited. He looked carefully, exploring the magic from every angle. At last, he withdrew, coming out to see Entwhistle looking at him with interest.

Draco gave his head the tiniest of shakes.

Entwhistle helped Hermione sit up, and Draco turned his back as she rebuttoned her clothes.

“Well, Miss Granger, how did you find the experience?” the Healer asked as he helped her hop down.

“Not at all as I expected – well, I don’t know what I expected,” she added with a smile. “Am I fighting fit?”

“Very healthy,” he confirmed, “thank you so much for your assistance.”

“Yes, thank you, Hermione,” Draco added.

Hermione nodded, and left. Madam Pomfrey excused herself and retired to her office.

“Well? What were you looking for?” Entwhistle asked.

Draco wasn’t sure what to say. He was supposed to be totally honest with his mentor, but he felt rather dirty about what he had done.

“Let me guess. You’re surprised to find that Muggle-borns have exactly the same type of magic as every other witch or wizard.”

Draco stared at him, and Entwhistle laughed. “Draco, it’s the first thing every Healer wonders!”

“Oh. And they’re all the same? No difference at all?”

“I’ve yet to find any differences in the quality of magic. Of course, you come to recognise the differences between individuals, but it is not something that you could judge their heritage by.”

“But – but then why –“ he found it hard to continue.

“Why do so many believe Voldemort’s nonsense?”

“Why haven’t Healers just made it clear?”

“A Healer’s purpose is not politics, Draco. It is the individual. And you will find, people believe what they wish, despite the evidence. Voldemort is of mixed parentage himself, and yet still believes in the supremacy of Purebloods. Do not look for logic in the motivations of man.”

Entwhistle began to tidy things away. “Finish up the chart, Draco. And do not be embarrassed by your arousal. She was a very attractive girl.”

“I don’t fancy her!” Draco squawked.

“Really? I did.”

Draco’s eyes practically fell out.

“Draco,” Entwhistle said with exasperation, ”just because I am old does not mean I don’t have eyes. Just because I am a Healer, does not mean I am not a man. However, whatever feelings a patient provokes, the Healer’s duty is to acknowledge and then ignore his own response.”

Draco nodded, still feeling a bit shell-shocked at this man fancying Hermione. He was about a century and a half older than her, for a start.

“Anyway,” Entwhistle went on, “it’s quite common to get an erection even if you do prefer men. Part of the general heightened awareness, I think. Don’t worry about it, my lad!”

And he was gone, leaving Draco gawping.

Harry had spent the worst Christmas of his life, and that was truly saying something. He had secluded himself in his cottage and refused even the invitation to Christmas dinner at the school: Snape usually attended, as far as he knew, and he wasn’t prepared to do anything to make Snape any more uncomfortable in his own home. He did not know that Severus had left the castle.

He had slowly, slowly come to the conclusion of how much he must have hurt Severus. He hadn’t really appreciated the man’s strict morality, not given his history and his frequent nastiness. But he had spoken once to Dumbledore. Albus had been very unhappy about the situation. He had told him that Snape had been mortified by discovering that he had slept with a student, let alone Harry Potter, and had tendered his resignation for after the war.

Harry realised that not only had he compromised the man’s morals, made him sleep with someone he hated and generally made him feel abused and cheated, he had caused a major rift between Snape and his mentor.

He knew that he should have known these things already. He knew that, partly, he did. But he had loved the relationship, and spent the whole time not thinking about what he was doing to Snape, just enjoying his company and hoping with a ridiculous optimism that Snape would care about him enough that it would all come out all right in the end. He had come to realise that this awful pain and misery that sat in his chest day after day was not just loss, but grief because he had hurt Snape.

He understood, finally, that his behaviour must be unforgivable to the other man.

And he realised at last, that the feeling he had had in Snape’s company, the warmth with which he looked forward to their meetings, thought how Snape would react to this or that – it was love.

Harry had written to Hermione a great deal, and once to Ron to wish him a Happy Christmas. Hermione was surprisingly open and honest in her letters, without Ron looking over her shoulder as she wrote. He knew and sympathised with the emotions she wrote about, but he couldn’t visit – he knew she would know something was wrong, and he couldn’t talk about it. It wasn’t fair to Severus.

Severus went to a conference in Italy for the break. He learnt very little that he didn’t already know, but fucked four petite black-haired Italians (two at the same time) and definitely didn’t think of or miss Harry Potter at all.

Ronald Weasley spent Christmas at the Burrow. He had sex with four different women (two at a party at Fred and George’s flat, one of whom had slapped him afterwards), and felt very pleased with his widened experience. He admitted (to himself) that he missed the cuddling bit with Hermione, but no doubt she would soon be back to cuddling him anyway, as long as he worked hard to rebuild their friendship. Life was good.

Chapter Text

Harry arrived at the castle shortly before the Express was due to pull in, and having settled back into his room, he made his way up to the library. To his surprise, Mione wasn’t there, although there was a pile of books on the table in her usual nook. He looked for Madam Pince, and asked the stiff witch if she knew where her most regular customer was.

“Gone to the greenhouses, I believe,” the witch said sourly, as if Hermione were entering a brothel. “That Longbottom came to find her.”

Harry hadn’t known that Neville had returned early, feeling a stirring of guilt that he had not done so himself.

He meandered down the stairs and out into the gardens, seeing the students arriving in the distance as he did.

Harry found not only Hermione and Neville, but also Draco, all three of them sitting on some straw covered in sacking, reading a book and looking at the leaves of a plant Neville was carefully holding.

Mione shoved the book at Draco and leapt to her feet when she saw him, giving him a big hug.

It was the first physical contact he had had with another human being since he was last at school.

He pulled back at last, reluctantly.

“I hope you don’t expect that from all of us,” Draco drawled.

“If you feel like hugging me, Draco, I don’t mind giving it a whirl,” Harry said, holding his arms out wide, and watching with amusement at the look of horror on Draco’s face. “Of course, I’m not prepared to take it any further, you understand. No offence, but you already know you’re not my type.”

“And you’re already taken,” Hermione piped up. It was a sensitive point as far as she was concerned.

“You’ve got a boyfriend? Uugh, you been shagging all Christmas?” Draco recoiled.

Harry was horribly aware of Neville. Now was not the time for details, if it ever would be.

“My heart is already taken,” he sighed dramatically, holding his hand over said organ. Well, it was given, if not taken. “Unfortunately, the answer to your second question is no. You got something against queers, Malfoy?” he asked, actually curious. Had he never seen his father around other men? Not that that could be a very easy thought. He still had a mother after all.

“No, just glad you haven’t been getting your jollies whilst Granger and I slave away here,” he said.

Harry’s eyes sharpened. “Have you found something?”

Hermione grinned. “We think so. We found this old text, and this recipe that seemed to have potential, but we couldn’t identify three of the plants – the names just didn’t seem to exist any more. Nev’s helped us from the descriptions of the bits that you use in the potions, but one of them was stumping us. We think this might be it. Neville got it from Egypt.”

“Don’t get too excited, Potter,” Draco drawled. “We need to brew it, test it, refine it – “

“Yes but – well done! This is excellent! Have you talked to Professor Snape yet?”

“He’s away,” Hermione said off-handedly, “but we’ll talk to him later, see if he can see anything wrong with it.”

“He’s gone away when the students are just coming back?” Harry asked, and then wondered if Severus had been Called. Could Voldemort tell that the link had been tampered with? His anxiety was building just as Draco said, “He’s been away all holiday. Some conference, I think. I expect he’s in heaven.”

Right.

Harry tried to get his thoughts together. It was no good falling apart every time Snape’s name came up.

“How long do you think it will take you to brew?” Harry asked.

“Only a few hours, but it has to ferment for three weeks before use,” Hermione explained.

“The sooner the better, then,” Harry said. “Can you spend extra time on it? Not just do it in class? I hate to ask, but –“

“Idiot!” Hermione shook her head at him. “We’ve been working on this for hours and hours every day. Don’t you think we want to get going with it?”

Harry looked suitably chastened. “Sorry, sorry. And thanks!” he grinned sheepishly. A thought occurred. “Do we have all the ingredients? If it needs anything expensive that’s no problem, I’ve got the money.”

Draco nodded at Neville. “He’s the supplier of the rare ingredients. As well as all the indecipherable ones, there’s a whole host of other peculiarities.”

“I can handle that, Harry. One of them might be tricky if we need to make large quantities, though. It only flowers every 45 years, and of course the recipe is asking for the stamens.”

“I’ll pretend that I understand all that entails, “Harry said, making Draco bark a laugh.

“How you ended up being - what you are,” Draco said discreetly, just in case their conversation could be overheard, “when your basic knowledge is so minimal, I don’t know. It’s a travesty, Potter!”

Harry grinned. “I know. Doesn’t it make you mad, Malfoy!”

Ron sat down next to Harry and opposite Hermione at supper. “How’s things, mate? Good Christmas?”

“So-so,” Harry said, non-comitally. “You?”

“Excellent!”

They both heard Hermione choke.

Harry looked at her sympathetically, whilst Ron reddened.

“Sorry, Mione! I open my mouth and put my foot in it, you know me,” he apologised.

“What did you do?” Hermione asked, trying to be polite, to be the new Mione who didn’t care.

Ron reddened even more.

God, could he be more transparent? Hermione thought.

“Well, Christmas was normal sort of Burrow stuff,” Ron floundered. “My Mum’s sister Janet came with her son and his girlfriend,” (who I had in the garden shed, Ron thought, but didn’t say). “And the twins had a brilliant party. Angelina Johnson, Oliver Wood, Katie, Alicia – all the old team and loads of others. I got stonking drunk and it was brilliant! Not the next morning of course, but the twins have developed this excellent hangover cure, works at once and tastes great – not like the usual stuff that makes you want to puke before it works. They’ll be able to sell gallons of it once they work out how to stop it making your skin turn blue.”

Dean laughed, having been listening in. Ron grinned at him, and took up his tale of pleasure. “Then some neighbours had a party and I got drunk again.” (And laid Emily, their daughter.) “So, I’m sorry if I enjoyed myself, but it was really good – you know, when I was expecting to be all sad and everything,” he added.

Harry just glared at him.

“Sounds good,” Hermione said carefully, not thinking of all the things that she knew Ron’s words meant but hadn’t said. For a start, no evening would count as brilliant without some form of sexual activity, she was sure. Well, he’d wasted no time! And she felt how ridiculous she was that she had to restrain herself from asking when he had found time to do his homework – it really wasn’t her business any longer, was it?

She turned to Dean, keeping her voice cheerful. “What about you, Dean? Anything exciting happen in your break?”

Later than evening, Hermione, Neville and Draco knocked on the door of Snape’s classroom.

“Come!”

They went inside, where Severus was busy setting up the room for the following day. He glanced over at them.

“To what do I owe this honour?” he sneered, looking them all over, then turning to Neville. “Mr Longbottom, I thought it would be a cold day in hell before you ventured in here again. In fact, I’d prayed it would be so.”

To the amazement of them all, Neville grinned at him, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I come under duress, I assure you,” he smiled. “If it will make you feel easier, I promise wholeheartedly not to even attempt to touch a stirring stick, let alone think of brewing anything.”

“My heart can beat again,” Snape drawled. Who knew Longbottom had it in him? The boy had always been a terrified rabbit the moment he’d set foot in this room. “Well?”

Draco turned and silently asked for permission to ward the room. With sharp eyes and a nod, Snape did it himself.

“Thank you, Sir,” Draco said. “I think we’ve found something,” he continued without preamble, “and would like your views on it.”

“Indeed?” he said, but his eyes were interested.

There was a sudden rapid knocking on the door, and the sound of someone turning the handle.

Snape strode over to it, using the door to block the sight of those within. They could hear the sounds of panic.

He shut the door and turned to them. “I must go. Bring it to me tomorrow.”

“Will you be at Remedial Magic?” Hermione asked. “We can go over it then.”

Snape’s back stiffened infinitesimally. “Very well,” he said, and swept out.

Snape walked into Remedial Magic the next day, his face composed. He had not intended to attend a single lesson more, but if the class was now being used as a driving machine towards the war effort, he had no choice but to participate. Once the Dark Lord was gone, either he would be too, or he would be free to leave this place once and for all. His time at the conference had shown him that there were plenty of opportunities out there for a skilled Potions Master, in more ways than one.

And he had no intention of letting that little bastard Potter feel that he was in any way concerned about being around him. The boy had done all he could to humiliate him, but no longer! He looked around for reactions from the others. Granger and Weasley were in the room, though they weren’t talking to each other – well, he had heard all about their shenanigans. Maybe it had taken the edge off of laughing at the slimy old potions master having sexual relations with his most hated student without knowing it.

Yes. Granger was looking at him with a smile on her face. Maybe she considered them to be in the same boat – both betrayed by their lovers –that was the type of maudlin sentiment the bint might believe. How disgusting. He could not see her approving of Potter’s behaviour –she was too tied up in rules and regulations to approve of a relationship between staff and students, he was sure.

He carefully did not notice Potter, who was sitting with his back to him, talking to McMillan and Midgen. They were touching hands under the table. How well suited the little love-birds were. Saccharine sweet. Vile.

He did not notice the muscular breadth of Potter’s back, or the way his robe strained over it, or wonder whether the black hair felt softer than Alex’ curls.

“We’re all here, Harry,” Hermione said.

The little shit turned round quickly, and met his eyes head on.

They looked –raw – Snape thought, before they shuttered and the boy took a breath before addressing them all.

“Right, welcome back, everyone. I hope you’ve all been practicing a bit as well as enjoying your break?” There were some mumbles and grunts. “I’ll take that as an occasionally,” he grinned. “I’ve been attempting to do some thinking over the hols – yes, I appreciate that you all understand what an effort it was for me,“ he added, to chuckles of laughter; he studiously avoided looking at Snape. “And I’m afraid that I’m no longer going to be able to work with you on pure magical development.”

“What?” Padma squeaked, “but we’ve only just got going!”

“I need to concentrate on defeating Voldemort,” he said. “I’ve made pretty clear all along that this is my objective, but it’s now time to step up the game. I want him dead before the end of the year and then you can all go on and lead normal lives, not have this threat and fear hanging over you. You all know I welcome your assistance, but I will not expect it. From now on, all the work here will have the ultimate goal of the defeat of Voldemort. I quite understand if you’d rather pull out – and I won’t assume that you’re a follower of the Dark Lord or anything like that. You may just wish to devote time to your other studies, or prefer to keep out of the nasty stuff. If you wish to leave, please do so now. No-one here can say anything against you to anyone else, and I for one won’t think the worst of you for having made what is a very sensible decision.”

There was silence, and no movement.

“I’m not going anywhere, Harry,” Ernie said into the quiet.

“Nor me,” Eloise added, gripping Ernie’s hand.

“Harry, we’re all behind you for good or bad. Can you just pass on this boring stuff and get onto the good bits?” Draco whinged, to laughter and nods of agreement.

Snape sat still, just watching, Harry noted, and tried not to be spooked. His spine tingled just being so close to the man.

“Okay, thanks everyone. I want us all to throw in some ideas on the following. I think it’s a really important development and any ideas are valid at this stage, alright, so don’t worry if they sound stupid. Mine usually do, as you all well know,” he grinned, and continued, “Mione and Draco have done some amazing research over the holidays – not a holiday for them, at all, from the look of it – “ he smiled his thanks at the two of them – “and have come up with a possible potion for increasing my strength.”

“You don’t think you have enough power already, Harry?” Snape drawled. “What sort of megalomaniac are you?”

“I am powerful, but Voldemort is drawing power from all his followers, which must be in the hundreds at the very least. I’ve got to overcome that. So, one way seems to be to increase my power.”

“What about tackling it from the other end?” Ron suggested. They all looked round, and Ron went red, but continued, “cutting his followers’ power off from Voldemort?”

“Can that be done?” Padma asked, furrowing her brow.

“It can,” Snape said after a pause. “Draco and Harry have already narrowed down my own link to the Dark Lord.”

“You have the Dark Mark?” Padma squeaked.

Snape sighed. “Do you not know your history at all, you young people? I took the Dark Mark when I was as young and foolish as some of you appear to be. I have recanted. Nevertheless, the Dark Lord has been able to draw on my power. Draco and Harry have been able to deal with it.”

“To cut it off completely?” Hermione asked, her eyes glowing with interest.

“That would not best serve our purposes, would it?” Snape responded.

“What does that mean?” Ernie frowned.

“It means, leaving a hint of access open allows me to know when he is calling his followers,” Snape said. This group may be protected by Potter’s spells, but the more people that knew a man was a spy, the less his life span, Snape thought sourly.

“I take it that only works for a voluntary closure of the connection?” Hermione asked.

“There’d be no practical way of doing it to large numbers, anyway,” Draco said.

“It’s an interesting idea, though,” Padma commented, surprising everyone. She was usually pretty negative.

“I agree,” Harry said. “Would you, Padma, Eli, Ernie and Ron do a brainstorm on that in a minute? Thanks. First though, let’s have a look at the potion notion.”

Ernie groaned.

Harry grinned. “Fire away, Draco, Hermione.”

With a quick glance at each other, Draco started. “Harry asked us to find a potion to increase his powers. I’m not going to bore you with the details; suffice it to say that we’ve found something potentially interesting. Have a look and see what you think.”

He handed them all a parchment with the potion recipe on, and there was a few moment’s silence whilst they read. Harry had not yet seen it. It didn’t make a lot of sense to him, but he picked up on the translation of the purpose of the potion.

“This should double my powers?” he asked.

Hermione nodded. “In theory.”

“So how would you go about tripling or quadrupling them?”

Draco humphed. “Give him a twig and he wants the whole broomstick...”

“Actually, it’s an interesting task, that,” Hermione began. “Would increasing the active components work, and if so would it be in a direct progression? Or would there be an exponential increase in the rate of –“

“I believe it would be foolhardy to try to increase the potency at the first attempt,” Snape said coolly.

“But it takes forever to ferment – “ Harry began.

“Yeh, but you don’t even know if it works, Harry,” Ron argued.

“And he may be allergic to one of the ingredients, or the combination,” Draco commented. “It’d be important to see that you can tolerate the constituents,” he continued. “Some of these are so rare that you’re unlikely to have ingested them before, and therefore you may not have any tolerance for them.”

“Does it keep?” Padma asked.

They all looked at her, and she shrank back a little, but Snape looked over the ingredients again. “I can see no reason why it should loose efficacy if correctly stored.”

“Then why not make two batches – or three, or more, of different strengths – then if Harry’s okay with the first you can just try the next.”

Silence met this proposal.

“Now that is why I like brainstorming,” Harry said. “It sounds a good idea to me. Are there any reasons not to do that?” he asked.

“Limitations on the ingredients, I’m afraid,” Neville said. “Also, we’re jumping too far ahead: a couple of the plants used are only tentative identifications. We may have to try other alternatives, so it would be pointless to waste the really rare ingredients if we’re barking up the wrong tree with some of the others.”

Snape nodded. “As incredible as it is to find myself agreeing with you, Neville, on a potions’ matter, I believe you are correct. We ought to make one batch first, and see if it works.”

“Can you start on that now, or is it too late?” Harry asked.

“Where’s the fire?” Ernie grinned.

“The fire is Voldemort, and he’s going to burn us up,” Harry said tightly. “Seriously, I don’t want to waste a moment. He could attack at any time, and the more advantages we have under our belts the better. I’d rather be in a position that we can attack, to suit us, than be caught on the defensive. I’m sorry if that sounds grim, but people will die, and if we can prevent it, we must.”

There was a moment of painful silence.

Neville broke it. “Actually, Harry, we need to make it in daylight. Some of the plant ingredients require it.”

“Oh. Fair enough, then.”

“Do you have all the ingredients, then?” Ernie asked, “if they’re as rare as you say?”

Snape looked at Draco and Hermione.

“We were wondering if we could get the base ones from your stores, Severus – we’ll pay, of course.”

“It isn’t a matter of payment. Schools do not use the best quality ingredients – they’re wasted on - well, I need say no more. I have most of these in my private stores, but I will need to order some iridium and antimony – “

“Oh, I have those,” Hermione said carelessly.

“Indeed? What have you been up to, Miss Granger?” Snape said silkily.

“A little research,” Hermione blushed.

“My mind is boggling already at what required that combination –“

“They were in different potions,” she interrupted.

“I see. Or rather, I do not. Nevertheless, we ought to use only the finest –“

“They are.”

At his disbelieving look, Hermione sighed, and added, “it would help if you could occasionally trust my word. I ordered them direct from Beresford’s.”

“In South Africa?” Snape’s eyebrows were in his hairline. Almost.

“I wasn’t aware there was another branch,” Hermione retorted.

“Well, Miss Granger –“

“Hermione,” Harry corrected. “Can we get to the point? Are the anti-whatsit and the rainbow-thing ok or are they going to kill me?”

“They surely would kill you in sufficient quantity, Harry, but at least it won’t be from impurities, given the source,” Snape conceded. “However, these plants, if correct – am I to assume you have access to all of these, Neville?”

“I have. But we’ll have to be careful. I’ve been working on forcing the eridacia purplura into flower, since Draco and Mione asked me about the plants in the recipe, but it will only do it once, and so the stamens are going to be a big sticking point.”

“Can’t you find another plant wherever you got that one?” Eloise asked.

“I could, but apparently the only place in the world where they grow is the home of a flock of hippogriffs,” Neville said. “They were not pleased to have one of their nesting sites invaded, and I can tell you, Draco’s arm back in whatever year it was was nothing compared to what they did to my back and…and…elsewhere.”

Padma giggled, and Neville grinned sheepishly.

“I find that very hard to believe,” Draco drawled, “I was almost mortally injured.”

“Yeah, right,” Ron snorted. “Bloody wuss.”

“Hey! I still have the scar!” Draco rolled up his shirt sleeve to show the thin line along his arm.

“What’s with that, Malfoy? Kept the scar as evidence?” Ron was taunting.

Harry was just about to shut Ron up, but at the same time Eloise had said to Neville, “Let’s see your scar then, Neville!”

And to the surprise of them all, Neville turned his back on them and after a moment’s fumbling, peeled his robe and shirt down.

“Holy shit!” Draco said, leaping up to have a look.

Padma and Eloise had gasped.

“Mate, when did they happen? Why didn’t you get Madam Pomfrey to sort them out?” Ron asked, tracing his finger just above the line of one of the long, red furrows on Neville’s back.

“I’ve put stingwood sap on them,” Neville said, turning round and shrugging his shirt and robe back up with a wince. “They’ll go down in the end with that. No point bothering Madam Pomfrey.”

“How did you reach?” Hermione asked, practically, then blushed.

“Spell on my back, hands on my arse,” Neville said, and then blushed horribly. “Oh Merlin, that sounded way wrong!”

Ernie laughed. “I’m surprised you can even sit down if they go much below the waist,” he commented.

“Have you taken a pain potion?” Snape spoke at last.

“Nah, I’ll be alright.”

“Mr Longbottom, unless you are a masochist, I can see no earthly reason to suffer. If we are done here, I must go. I will send you a potion by owl,” he nodded at Neville.

“Hold on!” Hermione said, and went red at speaking to Snape like that. “Are we meeting Saturday, then?”

“Do you wish me to be involved in the brewing?” Snape asked.

“YES!!” Hermione and Draco both answered.

“Then I suggest my private workroom at ten on Saturday morning, if that will have allowed adequate light for the plants?” he asked Neville, who nodded.

“Pray excuse me, then, but I have matters to attend to,” and he was gone.

Saturday came, and Hermione and Neville made their way down to Snape’s office, as they weren’t sure where the private workroom was. Draco was waiting outside it, and took them along.

They worked remarkably efficiently together, Snape ignoring Neville who sat on a stool and watched, pointing out which plant was which of the rare specimens, and which parts were easy to get more of and which required the greatest care.

“Have you catalogued these, Mr Longbottom?” he asked.

Neville nodded. “I asked Colin Creevey to photograph them for me from every angle. I keep a record book,“ he explained.

“Good. I would be very grateful if you would be kind enough to allow Mr Creevey to make me some copies.”

“Sure,” Neville said. “I’m sorry, I should have thought of that.”

“Not at all. The honour is mine. It is very useful for a Potions Master to have a reference when dealing with such rare ingredients.”

He was looking very carefully at the scales which contained one of the pieces that Neville had brought.

“We need a fraction more of this, I am afraid. With the leaf bud removed, the shoot weight is 9 drams short.”

“Okay, you’ll be able to get on with the other things?” Neville asked. “Hold on, best check all the weights so I’m not running hither and thither.”

“A sensible suggestion.”

The remaining plant elements were weighed and were satisfactory.

“I’ll be 40 minutes or so,” Neville said – don’t start if that’s going to be a problem.”

“40 minutes to go to the greenhouse?” Draco scoffed. “Bring me back a bun if you’re stopping off at the kitchens, I’m starving.”

Neville blushed. “I’m not going to the kitchens,” he said with dignity, “nor the greenhouses.”

Draco looked up from his measuring.

“This isn’t another quick trip to China, or Australia, is it?”

Neville shook his head, walking to the door.

“No, it’s not far,” he said.

Snape’s head shot up. Everything clicked into place. He strode over to the door, and followed Neville out, shutting it firmly behind him.

“Do you know what that’s all about?” Draco asked.

“Not a clue,” Hermione said.

Outside the door, Snape threw up a privacy ward and loomed over Neville.

“You knew all the time,” he said, his voice deadly quiet.

Neville stuck his chin out and tried to stop his legs quaking.

“Yes.”

“You – you saw –“ Snape’s voice was strangled.

“Two men enjoying each other? Yes. I admit it was a shock to see you in that – that situation. I’m sure we’d both have preferred it if I had not. But you knew I’d seen that weeks ago.”

“It was bad enough that you should see your professor in any intimate situation! With a student - ”

“I didn’t know if you knew it was Harry or not,” Neville commented. “Either way, it wasn’t my business. It seemed consensual enough.”

“What is it with you Gryffindors?” Snape said in disgust. “You appear to have no morals at all.”

Still terrified, Neville drew himself up. “I believe you are wrong, Sir. Harry was wrong not to have told you of his identity – I don’t know any of the details of why that happened. But I trust Harry; he’s not malicious and would never deliberately hurt someone – Voldemort apart, of course. He was happier last term than I’ve ever seen him. If you are asking do I think relations between staff and students are wrong? I would probably have said yes, months ago. But Harry’s of age, whatever that means – sometimes he’s so innocent he’s a baby, and sometimes he seems older than Dumbledore. But I know he wasn’t a virgin, and that you weren’t taking advantage of him – “

“How can you know that?” Snape snapped.

“With the sounds he was making?” Neville blurted out. “Oh, hell.”

Two spots of colour flagged Severus’ cheeks.

“So. You were really there to spy on me. No doubt the common room was in stitches at the thought of the Potions Master taking an interest in the boy who hated him.”

Something snapped in Neville. He pointed his finger into Snape’s chest. “You recommended me for the job there! I had no idea who I was going to work for, till I got there! And yes, I recognised Harry, but I assumed he knew what he was doing acting as someone else, and treating me as if he didn’t know me. And I didn’t even know you were seeing him then! And as for discussion in the common room – yes, we all guessed Harry had someone, because he was away a lot, but he never mentioned a name, ever, and we all assumed it was a Muggle, because, frankly, who can he date in the wizarding world?”

“Half the population, I would have thought,” Snape came straight back.

“Right. Like Harry is going to put anyone at risk like that. But you? You’re already at risk. And Harry was in disguise. And I suspect he was paying you the compliment of believing you were pretty much able to defend yourself anyway. But this is all guesswork. Harry never mentioned or hinted at your name. And neither did I, not even to Harry. And I resent the assumption that I would have done so.”

“Very noble, Mr Longbottom, but tell me this: if Mr Potter didn’t take up with me to amuse his friends, why did he do so?”

Neville stared at him, shook his head sadly, and turned to walk away.

“Exactly. There is no alternative you can think of,” Snape sneered.

Neville whipped round and came back. “Alternatives? I can think of plenty! But do you want to hear them?” he gritted.

“I don’t believe you could come up with a single one. Go and get the wretched plant. I have had enough.”

Neville lifted a hand and counted off on his fingers. “One: how about, maybe, just maybe, he enjoys your company? Why, I can’t imagine. Two: he’s lonely; maybe anyone would have done, and it just happened to be you, he was that desperate. I don’t believe that he’d be desperate enough to choose someone he didn’t like, though: Harry’s not a masochist, even if you think I’m one. Three: sex. Obviously no argument there. Four: you look hot half-naked. If I can think so, I’m sure Harry does. Five: he’s an idiot. There can be no other explanation. Now, I’m going to get the plant, which by the way, I’ve been growing at Harry’s request especially for you. Not that either of us knew it would happen to be in this potion, he just asked for plants for your potions and especially anything rare. Exactly the sort of thing a man does for someone he wants to laugh at behind their back!” and Neville stormed off down the corridor.

The next three weeks crawled by. Harry worked out more rigorously than ever, and ran farther. He had done a lot of running over the break, seeking the calm it brought.

It was hard seeing Snape, and only ever seeing indifference on his face, or disgust. Harry did not know which was worse. Snape continued to completely ignore Harry in Potions class, until the Friday of the third week.

Seventh year Potions was grouped in two blocks, on a Thursday afternoon after lunch and first thing on Friday. Snape had no classes after the Thursday session, which meant any students who were free could continue working, and that any Potions with a long brewing period could be left up and running overnight.

Snape had bustled in a moment late, which was so rare for him that Harry had allowed himself a good look at the man to check if he was alright. Snape had a slightly wind-blown air about him, as if he had been outside, and as the man walked past Harry, strolling down the aisle ignoring him as usual, Harry could sense the outside chill, and noted the damp edge to his shoes. Had Snape been Called and only just returned? Had he taken a walk, out in the cold January air?

Snape inspected all the cauldrons, speaking with each student as they moved to the next stage of the process, assessing and directing. Finally reaching Harry’s, he was prepared for his teacher to walk past, but instead Snape stepped up, and looked in. Harry’s body tightened at the closeness of the man now invading his body space. Was this a new punishment tactic? The cold feel had gone off Snape, and his body scent was coming through. Snape brushed against his arm as he leaned in, and Harry could not help take a swift intake of breath. He could smell Snape’s shampoo – the scent faint, as if he had washed his hair the previous night rather than this morning, and another smell – tobacco? But Snape didn’t smoke. And – sandalwood? Snape didn’t use sandalwood – he said it interfered with - and then the faint undertones of a familiar scent just caught Harry’s senses. Earthy, musky, delicious – and then it hit him.

Snape had had sex. He had had sex and hadn’t washed and stood here reeking of another man and was deliberately standing close to Harry for the first time in six weeks.

“Your technique is still entirely inadequate,” Snape sneered.

So shocked and hurt that he felt frozen, Harry said nothing. He had no right to care that Snape had slept with someone else: but he did care, and the pain was like a twisting rod of steel in his chest. And Snape had deliberately done this, deliberately hurt him, deliberately shown him that he had moved on, that Harry was nothing to him. He knew he ought to feel glad for Snape, glad the man had someone.

But he found he couldn’t feel glad.

Not when it wasn’t him.

Snape’s eyes met his, mocking, knowing, and then he swept back to the front of the class.

Hermione looked across at Harry and gave a sympathetic shrug.

Hermione was getting concerned about Harry.

He could always be secretive – she knew he kept things bottled up, but they usually came out in the end. Like the mage thing. That was just typical of Harry. But as she came out of her own blinkered pain, she had begun to realise that all was not well with her friend.

He still seemed to go away at the weekends, but he also came back earlier and didn’t have that joie de vivre about him that had been in evidence so much last term.

Hermione had tackled him in the common room only two nights before. It was late, and they had both been reading, curled up at either end of the big sofa in the common room. Ron was still out somewhere, and somehow, Hermione was getting used to seeing him chatting up girls left, right and centre. Now that they were no longer a couple, other people had stopped looking with pity on her. Somehow the Christmas break had drawn a line under it for everyone else, and although Hermione knew that student relationships changed as quickly as the scores at a quidditch match, somehow she had never put her own in that category. But obviously everyone else did.

And to be fair to Ron, he was working hard at being friendly and was obviously having a great time. Which was just proof that he wasn’t ready for a long term relationship, so it was better to have happened now rather than later.

And she had to admit, quietly to herself, that she had been surprised to notice how muscular Neville’s back had been when he had stripped off his shirt in Remedial Magic. Surprised that she had noticed, as well as surprised at Neville’s body. He had always been just Neville. She had, of course, realised that his shape had changed - that his face was more angular and that he needed to shave more often than most of the other boys. She just hadn’t really linked this to the fact that he was now a man. So maybe things were looking up for her.

Harry though, was a different matter. As far as she knew, he had never had a real relationship in school, but she knew he’d had one or two relationships at least, and had dabbled in the Muggle gay scene. She knew his first lover had been a Muggle called Derek and that Harry still saw him, had remained friends with him and his new lover. It had certainly helped her a bit to believe that she and Ron could retain a friendship through all this.

But Harry hadn’t talked about his most recent paramour. Hermione had supposed it was another Muggle that Harry had become involved with over the summer, as he had come back from the holidays glowing and happy, and had been going away every weekend since. His departures had caused a lot of jealousy in the common room, and mutters of ‘special treatment’, but as no one else had had anyone outside that they were missing, and that if anyone was to be given a privilege it was a bonus at least that it was a Gryffindor, the comments had soon stopped.

Now though, Harry was looking - what? Hermione considered. He looked fit and strong, she acknowledged, but there was – something off. He was studying all the time for a start. Not school books, but advanced magic books that he had had owl-delivered, or that Dumbledore had given him.

“You going to tell me what’s up, or keep it to yourself?”

Harry, blinking up from his book, mumbled, “What?”

“Well, I know I’ve been blind the last few weeks, but there’s something off about you.”

Harry sniffed his armpits. “Thanks,” he said sarcastically. “I’ll take a shower when I’m done.”

Hermione swatted his arm. “Prat. Keep your secrets, then. I’m here when you need me. I haven’t thanked you for being so good to me since –“

“Rubbish,” Harry stopped her. “I’m your friend.”

“Well, I’m yours. Doesn’t mean you have to tell me anything though. I can cope with the curiosity.”

Harry snorted, and settled his head back on the sofa, then twisted his neck round to look at Hermione.

“I did something really stupid, and I hurt someone.”

Oh. Can you be more specific?”

“Not really,” Harry sighed. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Alright.” Hermione took a breath. “Tell me what you’re reading, then.”

Harry choked a laugh. “I’m glad I’ve got you, Mione,” he gave a small smile.

She crept along the sofa and hugged him.

“Always,” she whispered.

Now, in the Potions class, she was looking at Harry’s frozen face. He must be really in a worse way than she thought. Snape might not have spoken to him for weeks, but the comment he had made had been minor compared to the invective in the past, and yet Harry looked gutted. It really must be hard for Snape to know how to treat him, a mage in his class; nevertheless Hermione thought he had taken the wrong tack in saying nothing to Harry in lessons since Harry had helped him get his full magic and sealed down his Dark Mark. Alright, he wasn’t showering him with praise, but even the lack of his normal snide comments was noticeable, and he was probably right to start back on it if Harry wanted to keep his powers under wraps.

She’d talk to Harry about it later.

Over the weeks Dumbledore had been giving him twice weekly private lessons on gently stretching his magic and learning how to both conserve and to replenish it, and situations where using his staff, wand, or indeed both wands might be advantageous. Practical classes were interspersed with discussion.

On the Tuesday night of the third week, in his session with the Headmaster after his Remedial Magic class, Harry had asked Dumbledore the exact purpose of the Order of the Phoenix. He had been at a couple of poorly attended meetings the previous year, at Dumbledore’s suggestion, though his presence had obviously made the others uncomfortable, and he hadn’t felt that much was being achieved either.

“Ah yes. I wanted to discuss this with you,” the older wizard said, settling into an armchair beside the fire in his study. Harry took the opposite one, and tea and sandwiches had appeared.

“The Order has been established for several centuries. Its prime purpose is ensuring the security and harmony of the wizarding world.”

“Security and harmony? Those are rather vague objectives,” Harry said, his brow furrowing.

“Yes, I agree. Very open to interpretation, aren’t they? And I think that is a good thing. Each generation faces a different crisis, and has to decide what is important given the times.”

“How is that decision made? Do the members have voting rights?”

“They do, though the final say is with the Leader.”

“Isn’t that rather dangerous?”

“The Leader is elected by the other members, so in some ways it just means things actually get done. Otherwise the discussions would be endless, frankly, as I rather think you saw. I feel at this point I ought to stand down. With a mage in our midst, it is quite likely the members will wish to vote you in as the Leader.”

To Dumbledore’s surprise, Harry didn’t answer at once. He had expected an instant rejection of the idea, or at least the suggestion that the membership remain in the dark about his powers.

“I think it works better if you continue in Chair,” Harry said. “I do have some ideas, though. But as I’ve said before, I need your guidance and advice, and people may be too silly to realise that being a mage doesn’t make me a fount of all knowledge and just follow any suggestions I make, and that would be a very bad thing,” he smiled.

“Very well, although you must expect the membership to bring it up. I’m assuming that you are planning to reveal that you are a mage, Harry?”

“Yes, I think it’s necessary,” Harry said, putting his cup down and picking up another curried chicken sandwich. “I’d like the members to come at the weekend and test whether the potion works. And I’d like to propose that the members of my Remedial Magic class, including Ron and Hermione, join up.”

“They’re very young,” Dumbledore said cautiously.

“And expected to put their lives on the line as much as I,” Harry argued.

“I don’t think their parents would approve –“

“They’re all wizarding adults, Albus,” Harry used his mentor’s first name, although he had only just begun to do so. He could see that it equalized their footing, though, and he needed that at this moment. “Hermione and Ron have been with me through thick and thin already. I don’t want them hurt any more than you do, but these are all strong witches and wizards, they’ve chosen to be involved, and frankly, we need them.”

Albus felt his age. Harry was right, of course, but these young people...he wanted so very much to protect them.

“I don’t offer them lightly,” Harry said, as if reading his thoughts. “I’ll do my all to protect them, I promise. But the more they know, the safer they’ll be. I know you’ve felt the other way round is better, but I’ve been on the end of it, and it isn’t,” Harry said firmly.

“Very well,” Albus said. “I’ll call a meeting for this weekend, and ask the members then, but I don’t think they’ll agree.”

Harry leaned forward. “This is important, Albus. If they fuss, call me in. I’ll be waiting. And the others will be waiting too, because I want them to join in the testing.”

“What do you have in mind?” Albus inquired.

I want to have everyone on the quidditch pitch. Neville and I can apparate everyone onto the pitch, and I want to hold an invisibility and a disturb-me-not spell the whole time. Can you be ready to take those over if I falter? I don’t want any hint of what we are doing to get out.”

“Very well,” Albus nodded, curious.

“Then, I’ll attempt to create a defensive shield to withstand curses.”

“What curses?”

“The curses I want everyone to be throwing at me. That’s why I want my class there. Apart from Severus, they won’t have used any before – or nothing much, anyway. The practice will be good for them. Then, when we find my breaking point, I’ll take the potion, and we’ll retest.”

“If we test to breaking, you could be injured.”

“Draco will be there, and I can go to Madam Pomfrey if it’s minor. I’m not going to stand and suffer, I’ll call it off the minute we hit that point, don’t worry!”

Chapter Text

Please be warned, you may find this a difficult chapter, but it is essential. If you wish to have an outline before/instead of reading it, please contact me.

Severus Snape stood on the quidditch pitch, glad of the warming spell on his cloak and robes. The weather had turned frosty again, after several days of rain, and despite the fact that it was now mid-morning, the ground underfoot was still crunchy and white, whilst the air felt heavy with crispy particles of suspended rain.

He had already spent an hour at Grimmauld Place, listening to the shock and awe of the other members as they discovered that Harry Potter was a mage. It disgusted him. It was as if they now believed the boy could do anything, that they were safe and everything would be alright. And therefore there was certainly no need for the younger generation to join the order. Only the four Weasley brothers present had said otherwise.

He was even more disgusted when Potter joined them, and they all fell to their knees when he came in. Only he and Albus were left in their seats. And it pissed him off that Potter wouldn’t have it, and was so bloody humble and noble. And then Potter took them to task and told them exactly what he’d been thinking, that the little shit couldn’t do it on his own, and he needed the others, and of course they had all consented like bleeding lemmings.

And all the while Snape couldn’t help but notice how impassioned he was, vibrant and electric. He was pissed off with himself for noticing, because Harry Potter was nothing to him. The boy was respectfully dressed in wizarding robes but he’d worn them open, and the muscles on his thighs bulged against the tight fabric of his denims underneath as he sat on the edge of the table and his robe fell away. No hint of spare flesh spilled over his waistband, his body looking lean and taut. Not that he bloody gave a fuck!

Except that the little shit was driving him mad.

He’d thought he’d exorcised his demons in Italy.

And then one glance at the bastard and his traitorous body decided otherwise.

Every time he saw him his bloody body reacted against his will, like he was some sodding teenager himself. His libido was in overdrive and every night he had hideously erotic dreams featuring some cross between Potter and Alex in which he was taking his anger out on him in extremely bizarre ways which always ended in glorious, angry sex where he pounded Potter into the wall or floor or any bloody where, and they both were blown out of their fucking minds.

He woke up with dried come and anger until he’d finally told Dumbledore he was leaving the castle on Thursday night and he’d picked up some muscular stud in a bar because small dark men obviously did not do it for him. They’d fucked half the night and he was late for class because he’d had the bloody dream again anyway, so he pounded the man whose name he didn’t even know into the mattress to get rid of the images before dashing back for school.

And it hadn’t been planned, but it had given him immense satisfaction to see that bloody shocked look on Potter’s face when the bastard had smelt him, and known.

And now here they all were, and Potter’s power was so incredible that even he had to acknowledge it, much as he begrudged doing so. All the kiddies were throwing hexes and curses at him, and even though most of them were using trifling juvenile stuff, there wasn’t a flicker in the wards that Potter had set, nor a hint of a curse hitting home. The adults were just now joining in, and despite the stronger stuff being cast, Potter was still impregnable.

And he had just apparated a whole group of them long distance from London straight through the wards as well, a feat which Longbottom also appeared able to manage with ease, whilst the Headmaster had declined, saying he thought it best that one of them stayed at full strength.

He hated to admit it, but Longbottom looked like he was turning out to be a pretty competent wizard.

Moody suddenly threw an Imperious at Potter, and his shield cracked. He held off the spell, but Potter allowed the shield to drop, still holding up the wards.

Really, twenty spells at once! As if that wasn’t enough!

They all clustered round. Potter flapped his robe, sweat on his forehead.

“Phew! Who knew magic generated so much heat?” he grinned.

“Are you alright, Harry?” Molly Weasley asked in a worried voice.

“Fine,” Harry smiled back, a hand on her arm. “This is excellent.”

“Well it seems very odd to me.”

“Shouldn’t you be using curses yourself, rather than just defending?” Kingsley Shacklebolt asked. “Surely that will be the real test? Not that I want to be on the receiving end,” he added.

“Not necessary. There’s only one curse I need to use,” Potter said quietly. “I just need to get near enough to Voldemort to do it.”

And Snape was furious again, because that was precisely his view. Voldemort mucked around torturing and taunting people. But Potter had only one objective, and he was focussed on achieving it.

Hermione stepped up and handed Harry the potion. “Ready to try it?”

Harry nodded, and downed it in one go.

“God, that was as bad as anything Sn – Madam Pomfey’s ever given me,” he grimaced. “How long does it take to work?”

“It should kick in within two or three minutes, then increase in efficiency over the next twenty. Then, hopefully, it should hold at that for a couple of hours and tail off as your body metabolizes it.”

“Right. Well, we might as well start, then. Why don’t you lot try using some of the curses the others come up with?” he said to the other students. “You’ve got to have a go at the nasty stuff- that’s what the Death Eaters will be doing. I’d avoid the Unforgivables, though.” He grinned at Moody. “Leave those to the experts.”

“I’ve got a copy of your consent slip in my pocket,” Moody said, tapping it firmly. “Don’t often get the chance to practice. Very enjoyable day, lad.”

Potter put up his shield again, and they once more started throwing curses at him, increasing in severity. Severus held back, listening to the burbles of praise pouring out of people’s mouths as the boy continued to hold off. Fucking Potter. If they knew what a nasty, mean little prick he was.....Severus felt his anger rising in him like a volcano bubbling up. Their damned saviour stood there looking magnificent, wielding his magic and looking so sodding innocent. He had used Snape. For the first time in years – in forever, it felt like, Snape had allowed himself to get close to someone, and had had it thrown back in his face. Potter had made him lust after him even in his Potter face, Snape at last acknowledging the times when he had found the boy attractive, provocative, arousing. And all the time, whilst he was trying to tamp down this inappropriate desire, the boy knew. How he must have laughed, whatever Longbottom said to the contrary. His anger was like a force inside him now.

“All together! Throw your curses all at once!” Moody shouted, “I can’t believe it, but I think this damn potion is going to do the trick!”

Of course the bloody potion would work first time. Everything worked for Harry fucking Potter.

Well fuck you! Severus thought, flinging out his hand.

In the centre of the pitch, Harry fell to his knees.

“The wards, Albus!” he croaked.

“Stop! Stop everyone!” Arthur Weasley was yelling quite unnecessarily, because everyone was running towards the boy, who was white in the face, swaying on his knees.

“I’ve got them,” Albus said quietly, a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

The boy nodded.

Draco dropped to his knees in front of Harry.

“Harry? What spell was it? Are you alright? Can I help?” His hand extended to Harry’s chest.

“No!” Harry almost shouted, making Draco rock back.

He stuck a hand on Draco’s shoulder, the grip biting into the other boy. “I’ll be fine in a moment,” he gritted.

What spell was it?”

“Was it the combination?”

“Is he ok?”

The voices were muttering.

Harry’s eyes, wild with – what? – swept around.

And met Snape’s, over Draco’s shoulder, across the expanse of frozen grass.

Snape felt a jolt hit him in the gut.

Had he -?

What had –?

He couldn’t have –

Harry’s head turned away.

Snape began to slowly walk forward.

Harry seemed to shake himself, though stayed perfectly still on his knees.

“Well done, everyone,” he said quietly. “Draco, Hermione, good work. Brilliant. Can you work on increasing the power?”

“We’ll be straight on it,” Draco said.

Harry nodded, and turned his head, searching. His throat worked, as if it was a struggle. “Nev? Can you get everyone back that needs to go?”

“Sure. Need any help yourself, Harry?” he asked gently.

Harry shook his head. “Just shaken up. I’ll see you all later.”

And he apparated.

“Can’t be too bad if he can apparate,” Tonks said cheerfully. “That was bloomin’ impressive, wasn’t it? Can’t lose now, can we?”

Everyone seemed to be in good spirits.

Neville began to herd people together, and took them off, a group at a time, to their individual destinations.

Snape reached the centre.

“That was lucky,” Hermione said to him.

“What?” Snape said. His brain was reeling.

“The potion working first time! I was sure we’d have to try several other plants before we were successful. The recipe was very unclear.”

Snape nodded absently, and looked at the ground where Potter had been kneeling.

The frosty grass was indented where his knees had hit the turf; behind, the silvering had been melted off by Harry’s feet during the session.

He was about to go when he spotted the small dark blob.

Hermione had turned to talk to Mrs Weasley, who was saying how much she missed her, and Draco was being grilled by Moody. Severus bent down and touched his finger to it.

Blood.

He straightened, then ignoring the others, strode off into the castle.

His heart was pounding in his chest, and on automatic pilot he reached his private workroom and began sorting through his stores. He picked up several vials and a salve, then made his way along to the common room.

The room was full of students, the dull weather failing to entice anyone to leave the cosy interior, but the hubbub dropped as they noticed their Head of House at the door. Blaise Zabini looked up from his seat by the fire, where he was obviously working on some homework, and came over to Snape.

“All well, Sir. No problems at all.”

“Good. I’m afraid, however, that I must ask you to remain in charge a little longer: does that inconvenience your plans? Miss Parkinson could –“

“No problem, Sir, I’ve plenty of prep to get on with.”

“Thank you.”

Severus swept out, collected his cloak, left a brief but indeterminate message for Albus, and made his way down the drive.

Harry landed on the floor in the middle of his sitting room in Hogsmeade and slumped forward onto the coffee table. His breath came in pants. After a couple of tortured minutes, he slipped off his robe and carefully felt behind him, though he knew what he would find.

Blood.

He tried to stand, but the pain that lanced through him was agonising, and he dropped to his knees again. He thought about apparating himself up the stairs but didn’t know if he could manage. It had taken every last bit of the extra magic to get home. He wondered if splinching could leave him any less damaged than he felt right now. His breaths rasping, he dragged himself across the floor on his hands and knees, and hoisted himself slowly, slowly, up the stairs. He had to pause on the landing, his head hanging between his shoulders, dizziness blurring his vision, before he could make his way to his bedside drawers, where he knew he had a pain potion.

He pulled out the bottle and drank the lot, a triple dose. He slumped his top half over the bed, waiting for it to take effect. He could feel the blood trickling down his legs. The house must be a mess. He’d have to deal with it later. Eventually he felt the medication begin to kick in, and carefully knelt up again. Every movement was painful, but he could feel the sharp edges had been numbed by the potion. He undid his trouser button and released the zip, then carefully pushed them down. Using the bedside cabinet, he levered himself to standing and let the jeans slide down to his feet. Just lifting a leg to get them off was still agony, but he moved slowly and eventually was free of them.

He thought of his lessons with Albus, trying to recall something useful:

When injured, wizards’ bodies expend magic trying to speed up the healing process.

Try to avoid the use of magic when injured.

When under pressure, use your brain: consider the use of the smallest amount of magic for the biggest effect.

His brain wasn’t working very well, but he knew what he needed. Still holding on with one hand, he raised the other and summoned his staff. Its own magic and its intrinsic attachment to him meant that very little effort was required. He heard it clattering through the house, hitting the banister as it came up the stairs, and then it was in his hand.

It wasn’t the use he would have envisaged for his mage’s staff, but leaning heavily on it, he made his way the few paces to the bathroom. He turned the shower on and stepped in, letting the warm water wash the blood and muck from his legs. He didn’t dare turn it to hot, it was already excruciating. The water swirling down the drain was pink, pink, pink.

After several minutes, he braced himself against the tiles and leant forward. His hand was shaking as it made its way between his cheeks, and withdrew quickly as he felt the wrongness of the arrangement of flesh. His stomach clenched, and he thought he might vomit. He took several deep breaths, trying to control it. He wouldn’t be able to get to the toilet, and he couldn’t bear the thought of vomiting in the shower on top of everything else.

His hand returned. The pain and feedback from his fingertips confirmed what he already knew.

Severus must hate him so much to have done this to him.

He leant his head against the tile, tears slipping down his face under the running water.

Severus Snape stood at the door of Alex Johnson’s cottage and knocked.

He waited.

Knocked again.

Would the wards still let him in?

He turned the handle and stepped in, shutting the door behind him.

He saw the robe pooled by the coffee table.

The trail of blood across the floor.

Up the stairs.

Heard the shower.

He headed up the stairs, avoiding the bright red smears that screamed accusation at him.

In the bedroom, he took in the potion bottle, the trousers –

Oh god.

His stomach heaving, he flicked his wand, cleaning the place, banishing the clothes. He took the few paces and knocked on the open bathroom door. The shower water still pounded.

He stood in front of the shower curtain.

“Potter!”

Nothing.

His stomach in his throat, he wrenched back the curtain.

Potter stood with his back to him, head against the tiles, the water cascading over him.

He was so relieved that his fear came out in anger.

“Potter! Your wards let me in! Anyone could’ve come in and killed you, you idiot!”

The shoulders straightened but the boy stayed where he was.

“I knew it was you. Have you come to kill me, and finish the job?”

Severus grabbed his arm and swung him round to face him.

The pain that shot across Harry’s face shocked him, but not as much as the tears still sliding down the pale cheeks.

“You’re hurt,” he said stupidly. His eyes suddenly noticed the pink water still trickling down the boy’s legs.

A choked laugh escaped Harry’s mouth. He leant back against the tile. He felt unable to support his own weight without the help, too shaky.

Snape couldn’t stop staring. The body he was familiar with, had touched and kissed and – he dragged his mind away. It didn’t seem such a shock to see Potter’s head on top of it as it had in the class. What was a shock was the utter defeat in the boy’s stature.

He pulled himself together.

“How badly are you injured?” he asked, voice brusque. He would not allow any emotion to show.

“If your objective was to make sure I never enjoyed being fucked again, you succeeded,” Harry said shortly.

Severus controlled the wince.

“You need to get out of there. You’re in shock,” he said calmly.

“What the fuck do you care?” the boy snarled. “Either finish me or get out. You’ve made your feelings perfectly clear.”

Severus couldn’t process it. Couldn’t deal with it. He stayed on the practical instead. “You need to see Madam Pomfrey.”

Harry snorted, his head rolling against the tiles. “You think I’m going to ask Madam Pomfrey to look at my arse?”

“She’s a medical professional –“

“Right. And when she sees that my arsehole is split open like a pear with a fist through it, how am I supposed to explain that?”

Severus did wince this time. So his spell had taken him literally.

“Is the injury purely external or -?”

“How the fuck should I know? I can’t bear to touch it.”

“I – I brought some numbing salve.”

“You’re too kind,” Harry ground out sarcastically.

“How much pain potion have you had?”

Instead of arguing, Harry just said, “Triple dose.”

“Anything else?”

“Not yet.”

“Right. I’ll go and make some stronger healing salve. Apply the numbing salve now, whilst the pain potion is working. It’ll start to kick in and by the time I get back you’ll be able to apply the healing salve.”

Harry just stood there. The water had run cold and he was shivering. Snape pulled him out of the shower, trying to ignore the groan that the boy tried to muffle. He gently placed a towel around his shoulders, and left.

When he returned, the boy was face down on the bed, the covers over him.

He started to sit on the edge, but even that movement made the boy gasp, so he knelt at the side.

“Harry, I’ve been thinking, and it really would be best if your saw Madam Pomfrey,” he said.

“Go to hell,” Harry mumbled. His face was turned away from Snape. “Or not. You don’t want to see me, and I’m already there.”

“Look, I’m not sure how bad the injury is, but you really need to have this ointment properly applied.”

“How?”

Snape took a breath. “Now, tonight and tomorrow morning, the numbing salve needs to be applied and half an hour later the ointment. By tomorrow evening, your external injuries should be sufficiently healed - ”

“Thank god for that!” Harry breathed.

“ – for the ointment to be inserted so that you can be sure that any internal damage is healed.”

“Inserted,” Harry said flatly.

“Madam Pomfrey shouldn’t need to use any equipment. Her fingers –“

“Sodding hell! You think I’m letting Madam Pomfrey do any of that? I’ll manage.”

Snape was silent a moment.

“Harry,” he said tentatively, “you need to be sure it’s done thoroughly or you could get ill. I could –“

“No! No fucking way!”

Silence.

“Without meaning to sound crude, I have had my fingers in your arse before.”

Harry turned his head on the pillow to face Severus.

“No. You had your fingers in Alex Johnson’s arse. You’ve made quite clear you wouldn’t have gone near Harry Potter’s with a bargepole – and that is an image that feels far too close to reality.” He took a deep breath, and continued, “I’m very grateful for the ointment. Please go.”

Snape stood up.

“You are being foolish.”

“Yeah, well you don’t have to worry about my stupidity any more. Now please, GO.”

Severus clinked the jar down on the bedside table.

“Snape.”

“Yes?”

“What was the spell you used?”

Severus was silent for a moment, and then said, wearily, “It was wandless, wordless magic.”

“And?” Harry whispered.

Snape turned and faced the door. “I said ‘Fuck you’.”

There was a moment of silence and then a sound suspiciously like a sob, half hysterical, making Snape look back.

“What?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. It’s just that I spent nearly four months looking forward to you doing that, but I got more than I bargained for, didn’t I?”

“I - I am sorry –“ Snape faltered.

“No. You meant it. You couldn’t have done it if you hadn’t. Not with wordless.”

Harry seemed to shift into himself, pulling the cover tighter around himself.

Snape moved reluctantly to the door.

“Snape,” the boy called again. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I knew you didn’t like Harry Potter, and I was selfish. But I really liked the Snape Alex met in The Leaky Cauldron, and I didn’t want it to end. I thought you might grow to like me too. Stupid or what?” His hand crept up and rubbed over his cheek. His voice was faint as he continued. “I didn’t realise how much your morality meant to you, and I’m so sorry for – for compromising you.” He gulped, and turned his face away again.

Snape was turned away, his hand on the doorframe. He barely heard the last words.

“I didn’t realise how much you really hated me. But now I know.”

Snape’s grip on the frame tightened, then, without looking back, he was gone.

Chapter Text

The next morning Harry was determined to go to school.

Neville had come the previous afternoon to check that he was alright. Harry had woken from sleep to find Neville sitting in a chair in the corner of his bedroom, quietly reading.

He was never more grateful for his friend’s quiet, non-judgemental care. Neville asked nothing that he didn’t want to answer, just got Harry some soup and a drink, and then conjured a bottle so Harry could pee when he saw how much he was hurting just to turn on his side.

He helped Harry take some more pain potion, and stayed as he drifted off again.

Neville might not have asked questions, but he had looked at and smelt the medications on the beside table. He knew Harry must have some sort of injury. He also understood that Harry had seen enough of the infirmary to last a life-time. He didn’t know what had happened, but Snape had obviously cared enough to come and bring him potions and stuff, even if he hadn’t stayed.

Neville went back to school; Hermione and Draco were in the lab with Snape, discussing ways to improve the potion. Neville wasn’t sure what to make of anything at the moment. He was pretty sure that they didn’t know about Snape and Harry and therefore Snape wouldn’t be in a position to tell them Harry was ok. He was a little surprised Hermione wasn’t panicking about her friend.

They all looked up as he entered.

“Have you bought some more spindificus aroratea?” Hermione asked eagerly.

“No, I got delayed and it’s too dark to harvest it,” he said, noting the steel grey sky of the winter afternoon, the light fading fast into an early night, skipping twilight.

“But you knew we were hoping to work on the potion!” she said, her voice miffed.

“I thought you were discussing it today,” he said calmly. “I checked on Harry instead, and got delayed.”

“Is he alright?” Draco said sharply.

Neville noticed Snape’s eyes watching him whilst he flicked through a book.

“He was sleeping. I stayed to make him eat some soup when he woke up.”

“Oh, well done Neville! All that magic must have burned up loads of energy. He must have been starving! We’ll have to take the tiredness into account, though, “ Hermione considered. “The potion needs to last longer. It won’t be much good if it doesn’t last long enough and then he conks out asleep. He’ll have no protection at all then.”

“I don’t think you need to take that into account,” Neville said quietly. “I expect the pain potion had sent him to sleep.”

“Pain potion?” Hermione squawked. “But – was he hurt? I thought he was just overloaded!”

“He’s a little – sore, I think. Stiff, maybe. He went back to sleep anyway.”

“Well thank goodness he has someone to take care of him,” Hermione exclaimed. She looked at Neville sharply. “I didn’t know you knew where he lived at the weekends. Don’t tell me – it’s somewhere like New York, or San Francisco? Too far for any of the rest of us to think of apparating, where he can be Muggle and no-one knows him. Have you met his - friend, then?” she asked, carefully choosing her words and looking intently at Neville so that he didn’t mention Harry was gay in front of the Potions Master.

Deliberately not looking at Snape, Neville said, “I did meet his partner, but I don’t know if Harry is still seeing them. He was alone.”

“I knew something was wrong!” Hermione said, standing up. “Blast! He didn’t even tell me! I’ll give him the third degree when he gets back.”

“Well, I think he’ll be sleeping over tonight.”

Hermione nodded. “It would be silly to apparate a long way if his magic is run down. But he should have someone with him – Neville, can you take me there?”

Neville shook his head. “I’ve told him I’m going back,” he lied, though he had planned to go anyway. If Harry hadn’t invited Hermione to his house, it wasn’t his place to take her. “His wards won’t be set to accept you,” he added, seeing her about to protest, “and if he’s asleep I’m not waking him up just for that. And he shouldn’t be working unnecessary magic.”

“Ok, that makes sense, but tell him I wanted to come and mother him, won’t you?”

Draco snorted, but Snape was strangely silent, still rifling through the spellbook, ignoring the conversation.

“Sure thing,” Neville agreed.

“Right, can you wait whilst I go and get his hot water bottle?”

“His what?” Draco asked.

Hermione grinned. “Hot water bottle. It’s a Muggle thing – good for aches and pains. You put boiling water in, so it’s not worth the danger of transfiguring one. I got him one for Christmas one year after he tried mine out. Don’t look at me as if I’ve grown two heads! Loads of Muggle women use them for relief of period pains; they’re a well known non-chemical muscle relaxant.”

Neville got up. “I’ll come up with you, I want to collect some clothes for us both.”

“Oh, good. And will you be able to get the plant samples tomorrow?”

“Yes, I’ll go at lunch.”

“Fine. Draco, Professor, is that ok? To work on it tomorrow afternoon? I’ve last period off so I can start on the preparation.”

The two men nodded, and Hermione preceded Neville out of the room.

Draco looked at Snape.

“Doesn’t she know Potter’s gay?”

Neville, who had caught the comment, stuck his head back around the door. “She does. She just didn’t know that Severus knew, so she was protecting her friend’s privacy,” and with a sharp look at Snape, he left.

The next morning, Harry’s careful explorations of his injuries as he applied the salve showed that his body really had healed a great deal in the twenty hours since the curse. He was able to stand and walk stiffly, though he still needed the pain relief potion, and was grateful that Snape had left him extra supplies, although they had had a brief note attached to say that he could only use double the normal dosage if he wished to take it more than twice a day.

Deciding that solid food was not advisable, he knew nevertheless that he needed to eat to rebuild his strength after the outpouring of magic.

Whilst Harry was fiddling painfully in the bathroom, Neville made him a mug of warm milk infused with honey and herbs from the garden, which was surprisingly delicious, and helped stop the shaking he was experiencing.

“Are you fit to go to school?” Neville said worriedly. “Don’t you think you ought to stay in bed?”

“I’d like to,” Harry said honestly, “but I really need to show my face. I don’t want the Headmaster turning up checking up on me, for starters.”

“Do a half day then,” Neville suggested. “If you seem ok but then say you’re tired, you’ll have covered all bases. I expect you must be knackered anyway after using all that energy.”

“Too drained to feel knackered, “Harry grinned. “It’s a plan, Nev. You’ve been a really good friend – thanks.”

“You’d do the same for me,” Neville shrugged off the comment. “Anyway, it was nice to get out of school. Hermione thinks we’re in the States.”

“What?!”

Neville explained, making Harry laugh.

“I must ask her and Ron round,” he said. “It’s just – it was sort of private for me and Severus, before, but now...”

“Maybe he’s softening,” Neville suggested.

At Harry’s scoff he went on, “I recognised his handwriting on your potions.”

Harry turned away, hobbling across the room to get his cloak. “No,” he said. “You can be sure that Snape does not have any tender feelings towards Harry Potter. We’d better go.”

“I’m going to apparate us both in,” Neville said firmly. “Conserve your magic, Harry; you know I don’t find it hard. And if you need me to shift you about during the day, get your elf friend to come and get me, alright?”

Neville’s idea turned out to be sensible. Harry barely got through till lunch break.

They had apparated right into the castle, into a small empty room just near the Great Hall. Harry gave Neville a look.

“The wards are fine – I strengthened them a bit, actually,” Neville admitted sheepishly, “it’s just the castle seems to like me. I sort of talked to it after it bounced me when I tried to return from Australia.”

Harry grinned back. “I did the same. I ‘d wondered if being told it wasn’t possible to apparate was the protection, that people just didn’t even try, but they do feel firm, don’t they? Just that you can feel the castle, and it responds...”

Neville nodded. “Yeah. Even though I can apparate in and out now, it somehow makes me feel much more safe and secure than I ever did before.”

They walked into the Great Hall, where the tail end of breakfast was going on. Harry noticed the collective relief as the Order members at the staff table noticed him. Albus inclined his head and gave him a smile. Snape, he noted, returned to his tea after one glance.

At the Gryffindor table Ron shifted to make some space.

“Nah, mate, I’ll stand,” Harry said. There was no way he was going to be able to swing his leg over the bench. “I only want some pumpkin juice anyway. Had some breakfast already.”

“Are you alright, Harry?” Hermione asked, her face worried. “Are you still stiff?”

Perfect!

“Yeah, my back’s really tight.”

“You overdone it on the weights?” Dean asked.

The gym was open to all the students, and Dean was a frequent user. He had fixed up a magical version of his Walkman, and used it as he worked away, often singing odd bits at the top of his voice, to the amusement of the other Muggle-borns and the bafflement of the Purebloods.

“Did something, anyway,” Harry prevaricated, giving his back a rub.

“I’ll give you a massage, Harry!” one of Ginny Weasley’s friends offered, to a gaggle of giggles.

Ron rolled his eyes at his friend.

“Uh, thanks, but – no thanks?” Harry smiled at the girl.

“Spoilsport,” one of the other girls chirruped.

Ron grabbed a last piece of toast and stood up.

“Let’s get out of here. Some people don’t think of anything but sex,” he said loudly, glaring at the girls

There was a moment’s silence, and then Seamus said, “Well if that ain’t the pot calling the kettle black...”

There was an eruption of laughter. Ron turned bright red, and then suddenly began to grin too. He met Hermione’s eyes across the table, and even she was smiling, and suddenly, just like that, it was alright between them, and they were friends again.

Unfortunately, that was the most successful part of the day. Harry had Transfiguration first. After fifteen minutes of sitting perched on one cheek on the edge of his seat, he pleaded a stiff back and asked to stand. McGonagall, looking at him sharply, agreed in her usual curt manner. By the end of the lesson Harry was aching all over, and exhausted, but not prepared to give in. He took a pain potion top-up out in the corridor. Hermione and Ron looked at him with concern, whilst Neville, thank god, just said, “You staying for Herbology?”

“I want to do at least lunch break,” Harry gritted.

“Okay. I’ll whizz you down,” Neville said, and with Hermione and Ron keeping watch, he apparated Harry down to the quiet potting area at the end of Greenhouse 5.

“Good gracious!” Madam Sprout said, spilling her mid-morning tea.

“Sorry, Pomona,” Neville said cheerfully. Although not a member of the Order, Pomona Sprout knew Neville very well indeed. Hours and hours spent together over the years, and their shared love of the plant world, had fostered a relationship between them that yielded benefits for both sides. Pomona, recognising that whilst a lovely witch when you got to know her, Minerva McGonagall had the same severe manner as the intrepid Mrs Longbottom, was happy to offer a softer mentor to the shy young boy with such a keen interest in her subject. As Neville had grown up into the fine young man who now stood before her, she had come to appreciate his skills and opinions, knowing that his abilities were far beyond her own.

Standing as he was with Harry Potter, she had no idea which of them had apparated them within the grounds; she trusted Neville enough to know that whatever the reason, he would not have done so just to show off.

“Harry’s a bit under the weather but wanted to come to class,” he smiled apologetically.

“Does Professor Dumbledore know you can do that?” she asked, wiggling a hand in their direction as she topped up her cup.

“He does,” Harry said. “But it’s pretty much under wraps.” He looked at Professor Sprout with some anxiety.

“You don’t need to worry about Pomona, she’s completely trustworthy,” Neville said, touching his arm.

“Thank you, dear,” she said. She cocked her head. “I am on Albus’ side, you know,” she told Harry. “Same as you. I may not be the strongest of witches, but if I can help, you have only to ask.”

“Thank you,” Harry said. “I didn’t mean to be offensive –“

“Not at all. I remember the war – all the ‘loose talk costs lives’ posters the Muggles had everywhere. And too true too! But is there a problem with Hogwarts security, if you can do that? What does Albus say?”

“Don’t worry about the wards, Neville and I have both strengthened them.”

“Have you?” she said, looking at them over the rim of her glasses.

She took a sip and then said, “There’s three minutes before the rest of the class arrive. Help yourself to a cup if you want.”

Harry found the hot brew, added to the pain potion kicking in, helped revive him. Unfortunately, he was jostled in all the moving around in the class, so that by lunch time he was on his last legs. Neville whipped him across to the little room by the Great Hall again.

Lunchtime was rather like breakfast, a more relaxed and flexible meal than supper, which started at a set time. Students came in and took what they wanted from the steaming containers on the table, without having to wait for the High Table party, and could eat over a two hour range, so those with free periods before lunch could start early if they wanted.

The Hall had a smattering of students, but it was easy for Harry and Neville to take seats at the very end of the table nearest the doors, so that Harry didn’t have to walk far and was able to perch on the end of the bench.

Harry, who was feeling slightly sick, managed to swallow down some soup and have his presence witnessed by Draco and a clutch of Slytherins before the main tranch of students appeared. Professor McGonagall and Severus had come in, chatting.

Ron and Hermione ambled in, chatting like it was the old days, and slid into seats beside them.

“You look a bit better,” Hermione said, looking carefully at Harry. “I wonder why it made your back hurt? Do you think one of the curses got through? We ought to ask Padma –“

“No! No need,” Harry said, getting up quickly, wondering with horror if Padma did know what spell had done him in. At least she wouldn’t know who had done it, and hopefully, with so many spells flying, it had all been too muddled.

“Have a rest, mate,” Ron advised. “I’ll wake you up for supper.”

“From food to food,” Hermione sighed. “We all know what’s important in your life, Ron.”

There was a moment of awkward silence.

“Alright, alright! All the appetites, I know, I know! I’m over it, move on,” she said, and selecting a hefty sausage, cut it into neat slices on her plate.

There was wincing and laughter, and Harry slipped out with Neville, who apparated him up to his room, handed him some pain potion and left him to it.

Snape, at the High Table, wondered sourly whether Longbottom was moving in on Harry, now that he was out of the picture.

By lunchtime on Tuesday, Harry felt less stiff, and was able to sit. He had continued with the treatments, having used the ointment internally as well, as Snape had told him to do. The first time he had been terrified to even attempt to insert a finger, but his torn flesh at his entrance had already healed over, as Severus had predicted, and it had been bearable, if not full of the pleasurable sensations such explorations had aroused in the past.

He wondered at a wizard’s capacity to heal. He was sure it was faster than a normal human’s, though how much was the potions and how much his wizard nature he did not know. It would have been useful if his extra powers had enabled him to be able to heal himself, but it appeared that wasn’t the case, more’s the pity. His stomach had felt odd that morning, and he was terrified that despite his liquid diet he would need to use the loo. A moment’s reflection had led him to use the pre-sex cleaning spell that was a boon to gay wizards everywhere, and he had felt a great deal lighter and better afterwards.

Unfortunately, by that evening the stomach ache was back; he used the spell again, and it helped, but he still felt tender. He had reduced the pain potion in the day, but had obviously moved too fast.

He cancelled his Remedial Magic class.

By Wednesday evening, Harry was feeling really rough. His head ached, he felt a bit sick and hot, and his stomach hurt at the slightest touch. He took himself to bed early, applied the numbing potion and ointment with special care, took a triple dose of pain potion and went to sleep.

“Harry! Wake up! You’ll be late for breakfast!”

Ron’s touch catapulted Harry from deepest sleep to the horridest reality in a fraction of an aeon.

Harry leant over the side of the bed and threw up.

“Uuugh!” Ron exclaimed, leaping back.

He pointed his wand at the curtains to draw them so he could get a look at his friend in the light. Harry was still retching.

Ron shoved the waste paper bin in the target range and vanished the existing sick in one go.

“Alright there, Harry?” he said, gently placing a hand on Harry’s back as he squatted down beside the bed.

“You’re dripping in sweat, mate,” he frowned, feeling the soaked pyjama top.

He went into the bathroom and ran Harry’s flannel under the cold water, rung it out and came back. Harry had turned over in the bed, his arm over his face.

Ron carefully moved the arm away and wiped the cloth over the sweaty brow, shoving it into Harry’s hand. Harry wiped his cheeks, the cloth cooling him beautifully.

“Thanks Ron,” he croaked, his mouth vile from the vomit.

Ron went back into the bathroom and filled him a glass of water.

“Sip this,” he said. “Don’t drink it all or it’ll come straight back up. Right, you stay there and I’ll go and get Madam Pomfrey.”

“No!”

“Don’t be daft, you’re obviously rough, mate. She can give you some anti-nausea stuff. It’s going round. She’s already been along to a clutch of girls in Ginny’s dormitory and dosed them all up, and Ernie was saying last night when we played chess that some Hufflepuffs had been chucking up too.”

Harry, in a haze of fever, breathed a sigh of relief. “Can you just go get the potion off her then?” he asked. “Tell her I’ll come and see her later if I’m still bad. No point bothering her if she’s overloaded.”

So Harry took yet another potion, and having missed breakfast (for which he had no desire anyway) he made it along to his morning classes. It was Potions that afternoon, and he was determined to go, to show Severus that he wasn’t sulking or childish and that he could move on from what had happened between them.

By lunchtime, though, he was feeling much worse. Ron looked at him as Harry sat at the table, sipping some water.

“Didn’t that nausea potion work? “

Ginny looked up. “Have you had the bug too, Harry? I’ve just checked on Gwen and Felicity and they’re absolutely fine now, just using it as an excuse to have a day of fun in the dorm.”

“Maybe you should have stayed in bed,” Ron said.

Mione and Neville walked in with Dean, and came and sat down.

“Wassup?” Dean asked, helping himself to casserole.

Even the smell made Harry’s stomach roll, but he couldn’t even bear to touch it. He could feel the sweat dripping down his back. He needed some more pain potion.

“Harry’s had that chucking bug,” Ron said, his mouth stuffed full of potato.

Neville and Hermione both looked sharply at him.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” Hermione scolded.

“You should see Madam Pomfrey,” Neville said, looking at Harry carefully. “You look like you’ve got a temperature.”

“Yeah, he was disgusting in bed this morning,” Ron agreed.

“Good thing I know you’re as straight as a ruler, Ron, or a man could take that the wrong way,” Dean laughed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ron rolled his eyes. “Shove us over that casserole, it looks good.”

“Harry,” Hermione cut across them, “why don’t you go back to bed?”

“I’ll go after Potions.”

“Shit, Harry,” Dean exclaimed, “what’s up with you? You have a real excuse to miss your least favourite subject and you still want to go? Don’t be daft, man!”

“Maybe you didn’t have enough nausea potion,” Ginny suggested. “I’m sure you should be fine by now.”

Harry very carefully got himself up. The pain was excruciating. “Loo,” he said, as they looked at him, and walked carefully out.

“I’ll just check him,” Neville said, getting up.

“I’ll be in Potions and keep my eye on him,“ Hermione said. “Then we make sure he goes to bed.”

Harry took a triple dose, then splashed his face with cold water.

He looked up from the sinks to see Neville waiting patiently.

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it? It’s not just a bug. ”

“Yeah, I think so,” Harry whispered.

“You need some help. Let me take you to Madam Pomfrey.”

I’ll go after Potions,” Harry said doggedly. “I’ve got to face Severus, Nev.”

Neville sighed.

Harry breathed in deeply. The pain potion was taking affect and he stood up straighter. “See? Better already.”

“Right,” Neville said, disbelievingly. “Shall I get you down there?”

Harry shook his head. There was no safe hidden place to apparate to, and Neville knew it too.

Hermione was waiting along the corridor though, and they both walked with Harry, Neville peeling off to go to History of Magic, which for some reason he was still taking.

“I’ll come and pick you up outside the class, alright? Wait for me,” Neville called suddenly, across the entrance hall.

“Fine,” Harry nodded.

Snape, coming out of the Great Hall, stiffened. Longbottom wasted no time, did he?

Half an hour into the lesson Harry knew he had made a mistake. Despite the potion, he was feeling appalling. It hurt to move, and he felt sick and dizzy. His hands shook as he tried to cut up his ingredients, and he kept his back turned to Snape.

He looked at the recipe. Next was the pickled grindylow brains. He’d have to walk by Severus’ desk to get them.

Bracing himself, he was relieved when Hermione shoved a jar into his hands.

He looked at it with relief, and mouthed his thanks at his friend.

“No communication in class, Potter!” Snape barked. “You are expected to work alone and not seek the assistance of your colleagues. Five points from Gryffindor.”

Harry turned away. So Snape was back to picking him up on every minor misdemeanour, was he?

He opened the jar and the smell made him reel back.

His hand grasped over his mouth.

“I don’t expect final year students to be exhibiting juvenile behaviour, Potter,” Snape drawled sarcastically. “Another five points.”

Snape admitted that the pickling solution actually smelt vile – and just wait till the boy chopped the brains, he thought maliciously. He was angry again with Potter – angry that he seemed to have dismissed what had happened at the weekend, despite the appalling thing he had done to him, angry that he seemed to be already cosying up with Longbottom, who was fit and powerful and dammit, kind; angry that despite what Potter had said, he seemed to have dismissed him. And angry that it made him angry.

The next moment Potter was throwing up.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, boy,” Snape snarled, going over.

“Leave him alone!” Hermione snapped, to a shocked (and gleeful) exclamation from the classmates. She went over to Harry, who was leaning holding onto the desk, head bent over, gasping.

“He’s got that stomach bug! He threw up this morning, but the nausea potion doesn’t seem to have worked,” she explained more calmly.

Draco was watching intently, and most of the students had lowered the flames on their cauldrons so that they could watch the byplay.

Hermione vanished the vomit, and put a hand on Harry’s heaving shoulders. She could feel the heat rolling off him even through his robes.

“Harry!” she said sharply. She slid a hand along the back of his neck. “You’re burning up!”

Snape strode forward and pushed her out of the way, lifting Harry’s chin with a forceful hand.

Harry couldn’t suppress the groan at the sudden movement. His head was reeling and he thought he might –

“Sick,” he got out, as he turned his head away and retched again.

“Eeew, not again!” someone called out.

“Merlin, you’re disgusting, Potter,” Pansy Parkinson jeered.

“People can’t help being ill,” Draco snapped at her, making her gasp in surprise.

“Hey, it’s Potter. He’s not a person,” she retorted.

“Silence! Get on with your work!” Snape barked.

Potter seemed to have finished. There was obviously very little in his stomach. Granger had ignored him and was holding onto Potter’s arm, offering him support.

Severus took hold of his shoulders and turned the boy to face him. Potter’s head lolled back on his shoulders and his eyes were glazed. Severus could feel the heat radiating from him.

Everything snapped into place.

“You stupid idiot!” he gritted. He turned to Granger. “Get him up to Madam Pomfrey at once.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Hermione accompanied Harry from the class. Out in the corridor, Harry leant against the wall. His breathing was too fast, his stomach was on fire from the pain of the muscle spasms of retching. Even the brush of his robes seemed to hurt it.

“Shall I go and get Neville to help you?” Hermione asked gently.

Harry tried to get his mind around what he needed to do.

“What time is it?”

“Nearly three. He won’t mind missing a bit of Binns, Harry. Will you be okay here if I run up and get him?”

Harry took a few breaths.

“I’ll apparate myself,” he said. He quickly bent forward and kissed Hermione’s cheek.

“Sorry, “he said. “Sick kiss – yuck - didn’t think –sorry.”

And apparated.

Hermione stood in the empty corridor, rubbing her cheek gently. She couldn’t return to Potions. Harry obviously didn’t want her holding his hand in the infirmary. He always hated a fuss. She decided to go to the library; she wasn’t sure that the first batch of increased strength potion they had brewed had the ingredients in the right proportions; she was sure she had read a text somewhere about...and she would visit Harry in the infirmary a little later, when Madam Pomfrey had had time to make him comfortable.

In the classroom, Snape was pacing. His heart was thumping heavily in his chest and his fists were clenched. He looked angry as hell, Draco thought.

Snape was angry, but the most overpowering emotion he was feeling was fear.

Coming to a decision, he spoke up in a crisp voice, “Mr Malfoy, Miss Parkinson, I am leaving you in charge of the class. Pray make sure everyone finishes the assignments and leaves the class in pristine condition.”

“Where can we find you if there’s a problem, Professor?” Pansy asked.

“I am trusting you sufficiently that there shouldn’t be any, Miss Parkinson,” Snape said severely. “However, should you need me, I will be in my workroom. Madam Pomfrey informed me at breakfast that she had dealt with a number of cases of sickness in the last twenty four hours, but the cases up to that point had not developed fever. We have insufficient stocks of Fever Reducing Potion for a major outbreak; I will brew some more directly, before we have half the school throwing up in classrooms and making spectacles of themselves,” he said disdainfully.

“I could assist you with that, Sir,” Pansy offered quickly.

She never fails to take advantage of any opportunity to ingratiate herself, Draco thought sourly. She wasn’t even particularly good at Potions.

“Kind though your offer is, Miss Parkinson, you need to complete your own potion to obtain the marks required to pass this course, and as I am sure you are all aware from having brewed it in fifth year, Fever Reducing Potion is extremely simple, merely time consuming.”

And with that dismissal, he left.

An hour or so later, Neville hovered outside the class for Harry. He was a moment or two late, and the stream of students were already heading down the corridor in the other direction from the back entrance he had used.

Eventually there was no one left. Where were Harry and Hermione? And he hadn’t noticed Draco’s blond head in the rabble.

He could hear voices. He popped his head around the door, to see Pansy Parkinson cleaning the blackboard and Draco sitting at Snape’s desk writing something.

Pansy looked round. “Longbottom,” she sneered. “What are you doing here? Don’t touch anything! It’s likely to explode, knowing you.”

“I was looking for Harry and Mione,” he said calmly.

“Potter was sick,” Draco said, giving Neville a quick glance.

“He threw up everywhere. It was disgusting,” Pansy pulled a face.

“Where is he now?” Neville asked sharply.

“Don’t take that tone with me,” Pansy snapped. "Where do you think he is, stupid?”

“Snape sent Granger to the infirmary with him,” Draco said coolly. “He left his bag behind. Take it, will you? Professor Snape wants this room sparkling.”

“Where is Snape?” Neville’s brows drew together.

“Mind your own business,” Pansy retorted. “Fuck off, Longbottom, you’re not wanted down here.”

Draco gave Neville a quick glance, before Neville strode off.

“Do you have to be so fucking hostile all the time, Pans?” he grated.

“What? It’s a bloody Gryffindor – and the most stupid berk in the school. Even Greg and Vince have more magic than him.”

Draco laughed.

Severus stepped through the floo into the infirmary, carrying a special potions basket.

“Severus! More Anti-Nausea Potion? Excellent! I’ve had fifteen cases now,” Madam Pomfrey said chattily from behind her desk.

“I’ll bring you some more of that later. This is Fever Reducing Potion and a very potent Infection Annihilator Potion.”

Poppy swung round in her seat as Severus began to unload the basket.

“I’m always grateful for everything you make, Severus, as you know, but – why those, now? I’m over-run with vomiting and diarrhoea!”

Severus turned quickly to face the mediwitch.

“What did you diagnose Potter with?” he demanded. “You’re usually on the ball.”

Poppy’s eyebrows drew together. “Harry? I sent him an Anti-Nausea Potion this morning. Ron Weasley took it, I was inundated then. He said he’d contact me if it wasn’t strong enough. Why? Has he developed a fever?”

“He didn’t come to you? I sent him up from my lesson.” Severus’ voice was urgent.

Neville walked in.

“Is he ok?” Snape demanded.

“What?” Neville looked bewildered.

“Potter! Is he worse?”

“I haven’t seen him – I’ve just come from your class. I was due to meet him after –“

“Your love life is no concern of mine!” Snape snapped. “Potter was ill in my lesson, and I sent him here with Granger. They did not arrive, apparently.”

Neville said with quiet dignity, “Harry’s not been right all week. I was due to bring him to see Madam Pomfrey after class. He wasn’t keen to come. I’ll check the Tower. He may be in bed in his room.” He turned to walk away.

“Longbottom! It’s urgent,” Snape said.

Neville took one look at him, and apparated to his own room, then ran down the corridor to Harry’s. There was no sign of him, or that he’d been there. Neville shot down the stairs.

“Anyone seen Hermione or Harry?”

“I’ve been here all afternoon and they’ve not been through,” a girl in pyjamas and a dressing gown piped up. Neville recognised her as the sick Gwen, friend of Ginny.

“Thanks.” He ran out of the portrait hole and up the corridors to the library. He couldn’t risk apparating there.

Hermione was in her usual place.

“Hermione? Where’s Harry?” he gasped from the running.

“Oh, Neville, I’m sorry! I forgot you were coming to pick him up! He was sick in class and I had to take him to the infirmary.”

“But you never went there!”

“Harry apparated from the corridor,” Hermione said. “He didn’t arrive?” her mind was quickly assessing the unspoken.

Neville shook his head.

“His room?”

“No, I’ve just checked.”

“Shit!”

“I need to get back to the infirmary. Snape’s really worried,” he whispered.

Hermione took his hand and dragged him over to Madam Pince.

“We need to get to the infirmary. It’s urgent.”

The old witch’s sharp eyes took them in, the urgency about them, and she nodded. They tumbled out of the floo into the mediwitch’s office.

“Well?” Snape was in Neville’s face before he’d even straightened.

“He’s not there.”

“Where is he, Miss Granger? I left him in your care!”

“He apparated,” Hermione said, flushing. “I thought he was too ill to walk. I was going to come up once Madam Pomfrey had the chance to settle him.”

“His house,” Neville suggested.

Snape turned quickly. “Yes.” He grabbed a couple of bottles. “Take me there now, Mr Longbottom,” he demanded.

Neville looked at him. “I don’t know if he wants –“

“This isn’t a matter of wanting. This is a matter of life and death. Now, please!”

“What on earth is going on?” Poppy demanded.

“There isn’t time to explain. Be prepared for a patient with a high fever and severe infection. We’ll bring him straight back.”

Neville held Snape’s biceps, and apparated them both.

Chapter Text

Derek Summers turned the key in the lock and he and Andy fell through.

“God! Want you so much!” Andy groaned, his mouth reaching up for Derek’s.

They kissed long and hard, before Andy slithered down to his knees, his fingers at Derek’s zip.

He took a deep breath. He loved the smell of Derek.

His nose twitched. He turned his head to the side, and sniffed.

”Derek? Can you smell something?” his voice was quiet, his hand suddenly tense on his lover’s thigh.

The bigger man leant against the wall, about to make a comment about having been out all day and he thought his lover liked him natural anyway, when his brain took in the disquiet in Andy’s voice. He sniffed, trying to do it quietly.

And then wondered why he was being so cautious.

He pulled Andy up, put him behind him, and switched on the light.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

Keeping Andy behind him, he walked quietly towards the kitchen, on the right, and flicked the light switch.

The usual clean tiling and neat order confronted him.

Tension easing a fraction, he walked ahead and switched on the sitting room light.

“Shit!”

“Alex?”

Their friend was lying on his side on the sofa, fast asleep. There was vomit on the upholstery and around his mouth. He appeared to be wrapped in a black rug.

“It’s not like Alex to get drunk,” Andy said, as they headed towards the sofa.

Derek squatted down beside the young man, and shook him.

“Alex! Wake up! Welcome home, man, but did you have to chuck on the new sofa?” he infused the warmth he felt for the young man, and exasperation for his actions, into his tone.

Alex rolled back, but didn’t wake.

“Alex!”

Andy touched a hand to the blotchy forehead. Alex was boiling hot, and dry as a bone.

Andy shook him, urgently. The body just flopped at his touch.

“Dial 999! Derek, quick!”

“What?”

Andy was already checking Alex’s vitals.

“Do it!”

Andy was an ambulance driver, so Derek didn’t hesitate.

Whilst they were waiting for it to arrive, and Andy was stripping open Alex’ clothes and running a cooling cloth over him, he explained, ”He’s burning up and unconscious. We haven’t seen him for months and he turns up sick as a parrot. He wanted us to help him. We’re back later than usual – we would have been in hours ago if we hadn’t gone to the flicks on the way home. God, I hope he’s going to be alright!”

“Is it bad?” Derek asked, panicking.

He’d got another tea towel and was helping cool the burning, dry skin.

“His temperature’s off the scale, I should think. Dehydrated. His stomach’s tense, I can feel it. There’s something really bad going on here.”

In Hogsmeade, Neville and Snape landed in Harry’s back garden. Neville put his hand to the door and it let him in. They both rushed up to the bedroom.

There was no sign of Harry. It took only a couple more minutes to check the whole house and the garden.

“He didn’t come here,” Severus said blankly.

“No sign of it,” Neville agreed.

“Would he have gone to St Mungo’s?” Snape pondered.

“I think we need facts, Professor Snape, however unpleasant. It’s gone outside the school now. We need to involve the Headmaster.”

Severus looked at the stern young man in front of him.

He took a deep breath, and nodded.

“There’s no time to waste,” he said quietly.

“We’d better collect Hermione. She might have some idea of where Harry might have gone. Maybe Madam Pomfrey.”

Snape just nodded, and moments later they were back in the infirmary.

“He’s not there,” Neville said, pre-empting the questions. “We need to see Professor Dumbledore.”

Ron Weasley had also joined the party, having heard about Harry being taken ill in class and come up to the infirmary himself to see what was going on.

Poppy went straight to the floo and moments later they were all in the Headmaster’s office.

“Harry’s missing,” Neville said, still taking charge. “Professor Snape thinks he may be very ill.”

Dumbledore’s brows drew together. “Poppy?”

“I haven’t seen him, Albus, I’ve no idea what’s going on. Mr Weasley here informed me he was sick this morning and asked for an Anti-Nausea Potion; I gave it to him without seeing Harry, because it’s going round the school and he’s a sensible boy; he was at lunch, so –“

“He’s not been right all week,” Hermione cut in. “I don’t think it had anything to do with the bug.”

“Miss Granger is right,” Severus said. “We do not have time to waste here! I believe he is critically ill. Can we please check St Mungo’s at once!”

“Of course, Severus, but why should you think that? What do you imagine is wrong with him?”

Severus drew himself up, and took a deep breath. “The curse I used during the testing of the potion hit home.”

“But he must be alright. He never came to me,” Poppy said, bewildered. She knew that something had been going on and had been on standby all Sunday.

“He didn’t want to see you. I made him the necessary treatments. I am led to believe by today’s situation that they were incorrectly applied.”

“But Severus,” Poppy protested, “if there was a possibility of incorrect procedure why would you leave it in a student’s hands? I know you don’t like Harry much, but –“

Snape made a horrible sound that had all eyes turning back to him.

“Severus, what was the curse?” Albus asked quietly.

Snape turned away. “It was wandless, wordless, not a known curse,” he said. “It is the outcome that is at issue. If my belief is correct, Potter is mortally injured. We must find him!”

“What the fuck!” Ron roared.

Poppy strode to the fire. “I’ll contact St Mungo’s.”

“Wait!” Dumbledore ordered. “If you enquire about Harry Potter it will hit the press within the hour, confidentiality clauses or not, that 'The Saviour of the Wizarding World' is seriously ill. Voldemort may well take his chance. Is he likely to have gone in his own face?”

Severus sighed. “He may well be using his glamour, if he has strength enough to do so.” He rubbed his hand over his face.

“Why don’t you tell me what you expect is wrong?” Poppy asked. “I have friends there, and can ask if anyone has been admitted with those symptoms in the last hour or two.”

Snape walked to the window. “I believe he may have a perforated bowel, with consequent infection.”

Poppy’s mouth was open in shock. “I’ll want more details in a moment. If you’re right, it could indeed be fatal.” She turned to the fire and put through the call, asking her friend to contact her back as a priority. She believed a student was very seriously at risk, and would have given a false name and potentially used a glamour. She indicated the probable condition. Irena Amaldini had known Poppy since they had trained together fifty years earlier, and appreciated the necessity for confidentiality in such a case, particularly occurring in a school. She would get back to her at once.

“What in hell did you do to him to cause that?” Pomfrey screeched, turning back to Severus.

For once, the man’s calm seemed to have deserted him. Hermione noted with surprise that the fingers he ran through his hair were trembling.

“The words I used acted – literally,” Snape said haltingly, his head turned away. “I was angry,” he whispered.

“What the fuck did you say? Think?” Ron yelled.

Severus’ head came up. “Exactly what you said,” he snarled.

“What?”

“I thought, ‘Fuck you!’ And the spell did.”

A complete silence met this statement.

It was Hermione who lost it. One moment she was a statue, the next she was pounding Snape’s chest with her small fists.

“You bastard! You bastard!” she was sobbing, “How could you?”

It was Neville that dragged the termagant from Snape, who stood there, accepting the beating.

Ron was still standing with his mouth open, unable to believe what he was hearing or seeing.

“Stop it, Hermione!” Neville wrapped his arms around her from behind. “Stop it right now!” his voice was hard, another first, and the witch came to a grinding halt and pulled herself away from Neville.

“How can you take his side? After he’s done that? How can you? I knew he’d always hated Harry, but that...did you know Harry was gay?” She whipped round to look at Severus, “Is that why you did it? To stop him ever having any pleasure in his life? You despicable, vile –“

“Mione, that’s enough!” Neville snapped. “Snape had good reason –“

“Good reason to do that to Harry? Are you out of your mind?”

“No, but Harry must have been.”

“What are you on about? What has Harry ever done to Snape? Tell me that!”

“I will,” Neville said determinedly. “Harry met Snape wearing a glamour. He never told Snape. Snape found out by accident.”

“So he pulled a trick on him,” Ron said. “I can understand being pissed, but – but what he did,” he nodded at Snape “ – that was personal.”

“What Harry did to him was personal!” Neville retorted.

Severus looked at Neville. “Forget it, Mr Longbottom. Amazed as I am at your words, I have no honour to defend.” He turned and walked to the window, looking out over the quidditch pitch where this nightmare had begun.

“Explain.” Hermione said, arms crossing over her chest. “You can’t stop there.”

Neville looked to Snape, but he stood looking out with his back to them.

“Harry’s boyfriend? That he’s been seeing every weekend and Wednesdays and whatever?”

“What about him?”

Neville just glanced across at Snape.

Silence.

“No way!” Ron exploded.

“Harry was having a relationship with- with –you?” Hermione asked the Professor.

“I believed I was having a relationship with a man called Alex Johnson,” Snape said coldly.

“But he was a student,” Ron got out.

Severus turned round, eyes blazing. “Alex Johnson was not a student! He was a man I believed to be in his twenties, with his own house, a job, –“

“I compounded the difficulty,” Dumbledore admitted, “by vouching for Alex as a member of the Order.”

Hermione sat down suddenly.

The fire blazed to life.

No record of anyone with such injuries had entered St Mungo’s that day.

“Where could he be?” Snape gritted his teeth. “Poppy, he could have gone to a hospital abroad. Can you contact them all? Start with the nearest. I can’t believe he managed to apparate anywhere in that condition, but he obviously did.”

“What about a Muggle hospital or doctor?” Ron said quietly

Hermione looked up. “Yes, good idea!” Her face fell. “There are loads of them, though.”

“Surely he might have gone to his family?” Albus suggested. Despite what Harry had said at the start of term, family usually pulled their weight when it came to it.

“I don’t think so,” Hermione said, with finality.

“We need to narrow the search,” Ron said, applying himself to the problem. “Don’t Muggles have their own doctors? I thought you went to one once, Mione?”

“GPs, “she nodded. “That’d be near the Dursley’s. It should be on his school record, or medical notes,” she said hopefully, then added, “but I’d be surprised if he went there.”

Albus summoned a rather thick file from a cabinet behind him, and waved a quick spell over it.

“No GP listed, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll go and check my records,” Poppy said, “and contact the other Wizarding hospitals. What was that name again? That he’s been using with a glamour?”

“Alex Johnson,” Snape answered.

Poppy looked at him. “Whatever the provocation, Severus, I am horrified,” she said quietly. “I just hope you don’t have his death on your conscience.”

“How many Muggle hospitals are there, then?” Ron asked.

“Hundreds,” Hermione said.

“You’re kidding!”

She shook her head.

“Right. Really narrow the search.” Ron thought for a moment. “I suggest we check any near here first - it would be the least distance to apparate. Then London – that might be an option because of the anonymity. Then near the Dursley’s. And where did Harry live in the summers?”

“Brighton, but apart from the foreign wizarding hospitals that’s the furthest away.”

“He was on his knees,” Ron said worriedly. “Let’s do local first. Nev, can you apparate there?”

“I can, but I don’t know anything about Muggle hospitals or medicine, " Neville said anxiously. "I can take Hermione, though,” he added.

“Good plan,” Ron said approvingly.

“No, it’ll take too long. We need to use a phone.”

“Albus, you have a phone,” Snape said.

“It’s only linked to the Muggle government, I’m afraid,” the old man shook his head.

Hermione looked at Neville. “There’s public ones in all the Muggle towns and cities. And internet cafes – I can look up hospitals there. Can you take me to Edinburgh, or somewhere?”

“Cafes? Cafes? “ Snape practically shouted. “How can you think of cafes at a time like this?”

“It’s not what you think,” Hermione said calmly. “They’re a Muggle place to get information fast.”

Poppy’s head came back through the fire.

“No record of a GP here either,” she reported.

“I suggest you go to the hospital in Edinburgh, and if you have no success, use one of the cafes,” Albus suggested. “I will, in the meantime, see if I can rustle up a telephone here.”

Hermione nodded. “Ron, why don’t you ask Dean. He’s got a mobile with him even though it won’t work here. He’s been able to get his Walkman to go, so maybe the phone will work, but you’ll need to do something to allow the signal through.”

“I didn’t understand a word of that, apart from Dean has something,” Ron looked anxiously at her.

“Look, we can’t waste time! Tell Dean the Headmaster is seeing whether the use of mobiles might be permissible here – he’ll lend it to you. Take it to Eloise Midgen. She’s brilliant in Arithmancy and might have the right sort of brain to help. Then Professor Dumbledore can check whether it’s ok to use in Hogwarts or not, ok? Right, Neville, let’s go.”

“I’m coming with you,” Snape said firmly.

Neville took hold of them both, and apparated them into Edinburgh.

Derek and Andy sat holding hands in the Accident and Emergency waiting area. The post-eleven rush had been and gone – the minor accidents that occurred under the influence of alcohol – a woman who had tripped down a curb in her high heels and sprained her ankle, a youth who had to have his stomach pumped, a flurry of people injured in a car accident when the driver hadn’t allowed for the icy weather after coming out of the warm pub.

They were both in shock.

Derek had ridden in the ambulance, with Andy following on his motor bike. As the ambulance had arrived at the hospital, Alex’s heart had stopped.

Their last sight of him had been with a whole crew around him, defibrillators charging his chest, as the trolley was rushed into the crash area. From there he had been taken to theatre.

A triage nurse had come to take details – they had told her all they could, patchy as it was.

They were cradling the warmth of Styrofoam cups containing tasteless coffee from the machine, when a receptionist came over, and said that the doctor would like a word.

Hearts pounding, they were taken into a small room, and a few minutes later a sandy haired doctor came in.

“How is he?” Derek asked, rising to his feet.

“He’s in recovery,” the man, who introduced himself as Dr Matthews, said. “I need to ask you a few questions.”

“But he’s going to be alright?” Andy asked.

“He is very poorly, but we are hopeful that we can get the infection under control.”

“What’s wrong with him? What sort of infection?” Andy went on.

“If you’ll answer some questions for me, we might get there,” the Doctor said seriously.

“Sorry,” Derek said, “we were just worried sick when we saw him like that.”

The doctor nodded in acknowledgement, although his manner was rather cold. “I’m afraid the questions I need to ask are very personal,” he began.

“We’ll answer whatever we can, but I don’t know if we’ll be able to help,” Derek said, looking perplexedly at Andy.

“I saw you holding hands, so am I correct in assuming you are in a gay relationship?”

“Yes,” Derek said firmly. “What’s that got to do with Alex?”

“Is Alex gay too?”

“Is this some sort of HIV thing?” Andy said in shock. “But Alex is a real believer in safe sex.”

“He is a sexual partner of yours, then?” the doctor said stiffly.

“Not for what – fifteen, sixteen months?” Derek said, looking to Andy.

“Longer. I met you at the end of August the year before last and that was the end of your relationship with Alex.” He turned to the doctor. “But he’s still a really good friend. He has a room in our flat, though he’s away most of the year. We haven’t seen him since the end of last August. We expected him for Christmas, but he said he couldn’t make it.”

The doctor seemed to soften considerably. “I hate to ask this of you, but do you know if Alex was into violent sex?”

Derek leant forward. “Look, just because I’m six feet five and he’s a little thing, doesn’t mean he wanted rough sex. He didn’t. I didn’t. Why would you ask that?”

“I was trying to determine whether Alex’ condition was the result of some rough sex gone wrong, or whether he had been raped.”

“What?”

“Oh god, no!”

“I’m sorry to tell you like this. You obviously care for him, and usually men don’t want their family to be asked this sort of question.”

“He hasn’t got any family – not parents anyway, only an aunt he doesn’t get on with,” Derek said.

“We really ought to inform his next of kin,” the doctor said gently.

“I don’t know the address,” Derek shrugged.

“Why do you think he’s been raped?” Andy whispered.

“His infection was caused by a perforated bowel. There’s evidence that his anus was severely damaged, but that it has very recently healed. He –“ he paused, looking away. Derek wondered how much worse it could be, to embarrass the man after all he’d already said. “He may have been penetrated with some sort of blunt instrument, to have caused the sort of damage we encountered. Whatever it was, it must have been violently done. And we can’t quite work out the timelines – the external healing feels much too fast for the state of his internal organs. Nevertheless, he’s very lucky to be alive, frankly.”

“Dear god,” Derek groaned again. “The poor little sod!” He turned to Andy. “He did come to us for help.”

“Did you find any – forensic evidence?” Andy asked.

The doctor shook his head. “I believe he had tried to clean out anything. The bowel was surprisingly empty. He must have been in a very great deal of pain,” the doctor continued. “Was he able to tell you anything?”

Derek shook his head. “He was unconscious when we found him.”

“Well, at least he wasn’t suffering in that state,” the doctor said, “and you got him here in time. When he is able to talk to you, you might want to discuss whether he wants to talk to the police about this. Male rape is just as unacceptable as female rape.”

“I don’t know if you’d find a jury who believed that,” Andy snorted. “Gay guys – we’re all asking for it, aren’t we?” he said sarcastically.

“Look, I’m sorry if I implied that –“

Derek put his hand on Andy’s arm to hold him back. “You weren’t to know. I know I look a rough sort. Thank you for all you’ve done for him. Can we see him now?”

“You can, but he’s unconscious. We’re going to put him into a side ward – a room on his own. He doesn’t want to be having to answer questions from all the other patients.”

“Thank you, Doctor. How long is he likely to be in here?”

“Two or three weeks? Possibly more? Unfortunately, we’ve had to perform a temporary colostomy –“

“A what?” Derek asked.

“It’s a bag on his stomach,” Andy said.

“What? Oh god, no! No, no, no!”

“Look, he’ll need your support with this,” Doctor Matthews said. “Try not to act shocked about it. It is temporary, we hope – just until the infected part of his colon heals. Then we’ll be able to reconnect it and he’ll just have a small scar. Actually, his tattoo hides it quite well.”

“Oh god,” Derek groaned again.

Severus and Neville had watched in amazement as Hermione had pulled up hospital addresses and phone numbers for all their search areas. Edinburgh alone had a vast swathe of hospitals. Hermione had eliminated a number of them –the specialist ones in dental care, orthopaedic work, etc, but there were still too many to visit. Hermione used a card from her purse to use the pay phone, and began to work down the list. It was extremely time consuming. Hospitals were reluctant to give out information and Hermione honed her lies until she had a smooth patter.

Snape would never have believed it of her. Neville had departed back to Hogwarts as, if they weren’t apparating anywhere, there was little he could do. He was to return every half hour.

After the seventh call, Hermione rested her head against the phone booth.

“We’re doing this wrong,” she said.

“What!” Snape burst out. “But I thought that machine had given you all the information –“

“Yes, but that’s not the point. If Harry’s in a hospital, we don’t have to worry. Not desperately. It’s if he hasn’t made it to one that we need to be panicking. I should have thought of this earlier,” she sighed. She turned to Snape. “Wherever it is you spent your time when you were together, did you have other friends that Harry might have gone to see?”

Snape was silent, and then said, “I don’t think Harry will be seeking refuge with Lucius Malfoy, somehow.”

Hermione jerked round. “You took – Harry went –“

“He is a foolhardy idiot,” snapped Snape.

“You’re not kidding!” Hermione gasped. After a moment’s contemplation, she added, “there’s no one, no where else? You’ve checked his home thoroughly?”

“No, and yes.”

Hermione looked at her list of hospitals. “I’m going to jump London and try the Brighton ones. I know Harry lived there in his holidays, but I don’t know his address - he used a post box number for security,” she explained.

The phone calls to the two Brighton hospitals yielded no results.

Hermione was not to know that due to the time Harry spent comatose in the flat, her earlier phone calls had all been wasted, and that just as she was phoning to enquire about the possible admission of a man with a fever and potential pelvic infection, a young man was at that very moment being admitted. His name was not known to the receptionist at that point, and when, later, the name of Johnson rang a bell, she noted on the card that the patient was the victim of a cardiac arrest, and thought no more of it.

Neville returned them to Hogwarts an hour later, when Professor Flitwick, Eloise, Neville and Dumbledore between them had been able to make the mobile phone work without disrupting the wards.

Revived by some tea, Hermione sat in the Headmaster’s office and continued ringing hospital after hospital. Snape paced around the room, whilst Albus sat at his desk. Hermione had sheets of paper from the computer printouts spread in front of her, and ticked off each hospital, logging the time of call as she did so.

Ron was dozing. Neville sat quietly, hands held between his knees.

Poppy had come up blank with all the major wizarding hospitals.

In the small hours of the morning, they had exhausted their lists.

Hermione’s throat was sore from talking, her mind from the constant act she employed. She had tried several tactics – outright asking whether Alex Johnson had been admitted, to the more subtle ‘could the operator please check which ward Alex Johnson was on, she’d forgotten to write it down’. She’d noted which tack she had taken against each hospital.

“I can start again,” she said. “Ask to be put straight through to the medical ward, and ask them if Alex Johnson is up for visiting. Or I could ask them all about Harry Potter.”

The decision had been taken that it was too risky to use Harry’s name – that Harry himself had used a false name and glamour for getting on for two years and would be especially likely to protect his identity when he was weakened. The fact that he could have chosen any name, and may well have done so to elude them, was a further anxiety.

Dumbledore looked at them wearily. “I believe we have done all we can. I won’t put Harry further at risk. It may be that Severus’ fears are unfounded, after all.”

“Then why would he have disappeared?” Snape demanded.

“Perhaps vomiting in front of you was the final humiliation?” Dumbledore said with a steely voice. “The lad may only wish to have a little privacy to nurse his wounds.”

“His wounds are real, not metaphorical, Albus!” Snape almost shouted.

“I am sure they are both,” Albus said. “Nevertheless, we have a school to run in just a few hours. I do not want any hint that anything is amiss with Harry, apart from the fact that he appears to be resistant to the Anti-Nausea Potion for the current tummy bug, and is therefore spending another day in his chambers. I will leave Dobby on guard. When he is ready to contact us, he will.”

Snape slammed the door as he left the room.

“He’s worried sick,” Neville said, into the silence.

Ron, who had been woken up by the heated voices, said, “Yeah, well, killing off the Boy-Who-Lived is not going to go down well with the Wizengamot, is it?”

Neville stood up. “I think that is the least of his worries,” he said quietly. “I’m off to bed, then. Professor,” he addressed Dumbledore,”if you need me to go anywhere, wake me at once, please.”

“I will, Mr Longbottom, thank you.”

They trudged silently to Gryffindor Tower with heavy hearts.

It was late that afternoon when Harry finally came round.

“Alex,” Derek smiled warmly at him, rubbing his hand gently.

Harry looked around, trying to make sense of where he was.

“You’re in hospital. You’re going to be ok. We found you on our sofa unconscious. You’ll be feeling woozy from the anaesthetic, and the drugs, but you’re in good hands here, don’t worry, love.”

“Brighton?” Harry mumbled behind the oxygen mask.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” Derek stroked his brow, leaning over him. “You came to us for help.”

Harry nodded, and drifted off again. His eyes opened again a few moments later. “Derek?” his voice croaked.

“That’s right,” the man said softly, “I’m here. We’ll take care of you now, don’t you worry about anything.”

“Water?” Harry asked, his tongue moistening chapped lips.

A nurse came bustling up – Derek had pressed the call button.

“Ah, awake at last, Alex,” he smiled.

“He’s thirsty,” Derek said, still holding the small hand.

The nurse slipped off the mask and held Harry whilst putting some ice chips into his mouth.

The cool fluid soothed its way round his mouth, down his dry throat.

Carefully settling him back again, the nurse said, “I’m John. How’re you feeling, Alex?”

Harry didn’t know how he felt. Hardly there and too solid all at once, somehow.

“Muddled,” he whispered. “My throat’s sore.”

“You’ve had a tube down it, that’s why, it’ll ease up soon. I’ll get the doctor to prescribe some pain meds in a moment. Do you know if you are allergic to any drugs?”

Harry tried to shake his head, but the tiniest movement made him feel - “Sick!” he got out.

The nurse had been there before. The kidney shaped dish was under his chin catching the small amount of water as it came back up.

Harry felt tears sting his eyes, out of nowhere.

He tried to turn his head away, slowly.

“Hey, don’t you worry about those,” Derek said, carefully wiping the tears away. “You cry your heart out if you want, love. You’ve had a very rough time, I know,” his voice choked.

Harry wallowed in the care of his first lover, uncomplicated and warm, and let the tears flow.

The nurse moved quietly in the background, checking the heart monitor, catheter, etc, then taking Harry’s temperature, inserting the instrument gently into his ear. He went away to tell the doctor the patient was awake and give the update.

“Andy?” Harry asked.

“He was here. I’ve sent him home for a sleep, he has to work tonight. He didn’t want to, but they’re really short-staffed at the moment. He was here all night.”

“What day is it?”

“Friday afternoon. You’ve been here since yesterday evening.”

Harry lay there, trying to take everything in. At least the pain in his stomach seemed to have gone. His hand slid carefully to touch.

And encountered –

His eyes shot to Derek’s, his pulse rate shooting up.

“No, don’t panic, mate,” Derek said quickly. “It’s temporary, to help. Look, here’s the doctor, he’ll explain.”

Although the doctor talked to Harry, Harry found it harder and harder to grasp. Mid- sentence, he slid back into sleep.

The next time he woke, it was very quiet, and the lights dim. He looked around carefully. A camp bed had been set up in the room. He could tell it was Derek, by the amount of feet and leg hanging over the end.

He tried to collect his thoughts, but his brain felt odd. He was in hospital, in Brighton. He was alive. He’s had an operation. They’d – he had a bag on his stomach. God! Had they sewn up his arse? Would he never have sex again? There seemed to be lots of tubes and equipment attached to him. He recognised the heart monitor – was that standard procedure after operations?

He was alive, which he supposed was what mattered. He wondered what day it was – Derek had said Friday. Was it still Friday?

A nurse – female this time, came in.

“You’re awake,” she said in a bright whisper, trying not to disturb Derek. “I’ve come to check you over,” she added, sticking the thermometer in his ear again. “How are you feeling? Any pain? Hungry? Thirsty?”

“Thirsty,” Harry nodded, and realised the oxygen mask had gone.

The nurse helped him sip through a straw.

Harry couldn’t believe what an effort everything was.

“Your friend’s a sweetie, isn’t he?” the nurse chatted. “He hasn’t left once, you know. Your other friend has been back and brought him a change of clothes, but he won’t leave you. This is the first time he’s slept, so I’m trying not to wake him.”

“Didn’t succeed,” said a gruff voice.

Harry’s eyes smiled at the nurse.

There was a boinging noise, a “Bugger!” and then Derek looking very tousled was standing there smiling at him.

“Sorry,” Derek said to the nurse, “I don’t think that bed is designed for seventeen stone.”

She laughed. “I won’t tell Sister if you won’t.”

“Deal,” he smiled. “Hey, how’re you doing?” he asked Harry.

“Much better, I think,” Harry smiled. “Got a quarter of my brain back.”

“Blimey, mate, you don’t want to go using all of that! Put the rest of us to shame!” Derek joked.

Harry realised for the first time that Derek was a bit like Hagrid – a giant man, with a giant heart. Not that he fancied Hagrid, he thought with a shudder.

“You cold? I’m sure there’s more blankets –“

“No, just a thought,” Harry whispered. It was late and dark, his throat still rough: whispering felt part of how it should be.

“Well, don’t go having too many of those.”

The nurse checked Harry’s medication and slipped out.

“You’re wonderful, Derek,” Harry gripped his friend’s hand. “Thank you.”

“Don’t be daft. We’re glad you came to us.”

“You should be at home with Andy. I’m fine now.”

“He’s on the nightshift. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Well, you’d better go home tomorrow. Is it Saturday tomorrow? You’ve missed work!”

“Bugger that! There’s got to be an advantage to being your own boss, eh?”

“Yes, you’ve more to lose if you don’t go in.”

“Stop fussing. It’s the weekend now anyway.”

“You’ve always worked Saturdays.”

“Shut it. Think I’d leave you alone? You nearly died!”

“I did?”

“Had a bleedin’ heart attack!”

“What!”

“No, no, don’t panic! Just a little one, when they were bringing you in. Scared the shit out of me though. You’ll be fine, they said, young man like you.”

Harry gripped Derek’s hand, realising what an absolute idiot he had been. He’d nearly died. He’d pushed his body way beyond its limits, and he’d known something was wrong. Just to show Severus.

Severus! Shit! Hogwarts.

How to get in touch?

He thought.

“Derek, I need to contact some friends, they’ll be wondering where I am. Have you got your mobile?”

“Not allowed to use it in here, love, they set off the equipment, apparently. And Andy took it home for me to charge it.”

“Oh. Would you mind going and using the payphone for me, then? Except I haven’t even got any money....”

“Right. Like I give a shit. Give me the number and I’ll go ring.”

“Thanks.” Harry gave him the number. “It’s a Mr and Mrs Granger – they’re the parents of my friend Hermione – I’ve mentioned her.”

“Brainy lass? Got an article printed in some scientific journal?”

“Yeah, that’s her. Can you ask her parents to let her know that Harry’s alright?”

“Harry?”

“She thought my face looked like Prince Harry at one point,” Harry lied. “It sort of stuck. She’ll know it’s really me though if you say that.”

“Why don’t you ring her direct?”

“You can’t always get through, but her parents are dentists and have an answerphone.”

“She teach with you?”

“How did you work that out, clever clogs?”

“She’s had an article published and you teach - Andy said that black cloth you were wrapped up in was some university gown, or something. You want me to call a woman rather than a man,” Derek grinned, “so I assume she’s a colleague.”

“Yeah, but she’s a really good friend too,” Harry said. “Known her for seven years. Trust her with my life.”

Derek looked serious. “You didn’t trust her with this, though, did you? You came to us. Who hurt you, love? Someone you know, or was it a stranger?”

Harry looked away.

“I’m not going to judge you, Alex, just want to help. The doctor asked me if you liked rough sex.”

Harry’s head whipped back, a motion which he regretted.

“He thought it was that or rape. Wants me to ask you whether you want to call in the police.”

“God no. Isn’t this bad enough?”

“I know, love. But – if there’s someone out there doing this to gays....”

Harry turned his head away again. “I don’t want the police. Please.”

“Ok, don’t even think about it, alright? I’m going to go and ring this number for you, and I’ll be right back.”

It was unfortunate for Harry’s anxious friends that Mr and Mrs Granger were in Paris, celebrating their wedding anniversary, and didn’t get the message till their return on Sunday evening.

“Where’s Harry?” Seamus asked Ron at breakfast Monday morning in the Great Hall.

“Mmmph?” Ron said, round a mouthful of bacon and scrambled egg. Anxious he might be, but a boy still needed to eat.

“Isn’t he back from his weekend?” Dean whispered. “He’ll be in deep shit with McGonagall.”

Ron looked to Hermione, not knowing how to answer. How long could they keep up the idea that Harry still had a tummy bug? The dorm obviously thought he had recovered and moved on already.

At that moment, the post arrived, a large owl from the postal office at Hogsmeade presenting its leg to Hermione. She untied the letter, whilst Ron gave the bird a bit of his bacon.

“That’s your Mum’s writing, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes – oh shit, it was their wedding anniversary and I forgot to send a card! They’re probably checking I’m alright.”

Hermione opened the letter and after a quick read shoved it at Ron.

Dear Hermione

We do hope you are well. Don’t worry about forgetting our wedding anniversary – it wasn’t a big one! We had a lovely weekend in Paris. When we came back there was a rather odd message from a man called Derek Summers. It’s a bit peculiar so I’ll quote; he said, ‘Alex says to tell Hermione that Harry is alright.’ I hope this makes sense to you and that poor boy hasn’t been getting himself into trouble again.

Do let us know you are fine – of course I don’t mind you not sending a card but it just made me a little worried because normally you are so good at remembering.

Much love

Mum (and Dad sends his love too, of course) xxxx

Hermione looked across at Neville whilst Ron was reading it. “Mum’s found that whatsit I lost,” she commented casually, then took the letter back from Ron and stood up.

“I need a word with Professor Dumbledore, meet me in five?” she looked at the two of them, then strode to the High Table.

“Miss Granger?” the Headmaster said, looking at her sharply.

Conscious that the students nearest the High Table could hear, Hermione said, “I’m sorry to trouble you, Sir, but I’ve just had a letter from my parents, and I need to get in touch with them,” and she handed him the letter.

Dumbledore read it quickly.

“Of course, Miss Granger. Do come with me.”

He was halfway across the platform to the side door when he turned back and said casually, “Oh, Severus, I forgot! If you have a moment when you’ve finished, could I have a word about the fourth year curriculum? I’ve received an interesting suggestion from a parent.”

Severus took one look at Hermione and said, with his normal sarcasm, within hearing of his Slytherins, “I’m always open to suggestions on how to teach my classes, of course, Sir. I will come to your office directly.” And he returned to drinking his tea.

Several young Slytherins sniggered.

Draco Malfoy looked from Granger to Dumbledore to Snape, and got very little information. However, back at the Gryffindor table, Weasley and Longbottom were also getting up to leave. And Potter was still absent. Something was going on.

Five minutes later, Snape, Hermione, Ron and Neville were all in the Headmaster’s office, and had looked at the letter.

Severus sat down heavily in one of the armchairs.

It was the closest to an admission of relief that Hermione had ever seen.

“Is the mobile still working, Sir? If I ring my parents on their mobile, there’s a slight chance that they can trace the number of this call. Probably unlikely if there’s been others in since.”

Dumbledore reached in his drawer and handed her the phone.

Rather embarrassed, Hermione rang her mother’s mobile.

“Mum? It’s Hermione – yes, I’m fine. Yes, I’m at school – no, this phone has been set up specially. Can you do something urgently? Was the message about Harry the last? Yes? Oh, Mum, can you do a last number check quick? It’s really important. Yes, I’ll wait.”

There was a pause. Everyone remained silent. “Oh, Mum, you’re wonderful. Look, I’ll write tonight. I’m fine, ok? Don’t worry! Yes, love you too – no, really nothing to worry about. Bye!”

She looked at the others, held up a finger and dialled the number. It rang and rang.

“Hello? Is that Derek Summers?” she asked urgently. “Oh.”

She shook her head at everyone, feeling everyone’s hopes droop.

“It’s where? The Royal Sussex County Hospital? Can you tell me the ward – oh, thank you so much! Yes, yes, sorry to have bothered you, but thank you!”

She looked up at the others. “I think we’ve got him! Hold on, where are my lists?”

Dumbledore handed her the lists, which had been in the drawer with the phone. She dialled again.

“Oh, good morning. Could you put me through to Netherfield Ward, please? Thank you.” There was a silence, then, “Oh, good morning. I’m sorry to trouble you so early; could you tell me how Alex Johnson is this morning, please? Yes, I’m his sister Hermione, I’m afraid I’ve been away and Derek Summer’s message has only just reached me....What?” Hermione grasped the chair arm, and sank into it. The tension in the room rose instantly. “But – have you got the right person? He’s only young – oh god. He’s alright? Yes, yes I would like to speak to the doctor, thank you very much...hello? Oh, hello, Doctor. Yes, Alex is an orphan, your records are right – there must be a mix up, Derek left me a message on my answerphone – he probably thought next of kin was parents, partner – yes, I appreciate patient confidentiality – look, can I visit? I’ll come at once. Yes, thank you. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

She put the phone down, and swallowed.

“Can I have a cup of tea?” she asked Dumbledore.

“What’s wrong?” Snape snapped. “Tell us at once, for Merlin’s sake!”

Hermione looked up, her eyes huge.

“He’s had a heart attack,” she whispered.

Dumbledore shoved a cup into her hands. They shook so much that the tea spilled in the saucer. Hermione bent her head and sipped it.

“The nurse said it, but then the doctor wouldn’t talk – they’re supposed to keep patients’ information confidential, unless the patient had given you as their contact person or something. Oh god. Can I go and see him now?” she asked.

“I’ll take you,” Neville said at once.

The Headmaster looked at the people in the room: Ronald Weasley, kicking a log aggressively into the fire, fists clenched; Neville Longbottom, who had surprisingly moved to stand beside Hermione, a hand on her shoulder; and Severus, his face a mask, staring out of the window.

“Professor Snape will take Miss Granger,” he said firmly, and hoped that he had made the right decision.

“No way!” Ron shouted. “He almost killed Harry!”

“Miss Granger cannot go without the escort of a member of staff. No other staff are aware of the situation and I’m sure Harry does not want the details known – he was not even prepared to have Madam Pomfrey treat him. Severus, you will not make your presence known to Mr Potter unless he specifically makes such a wish clear to Miss Granger. Are we understood?”

The atmosphere was tense. Snape said not a word.

Neville stood up, and said, “Come on, Ron. Mione, let us know how he is as soon as you get back? And give him our best wishes.”

“Neville –“ Ron started, “you can’t think this is right? He hurt Harry.”

“Harry can look after himself,” Neville said surprisingly. “Let’s go, or we’ll be late for Transfigurations. If we’re all absent from classes there’ll be even more speculation. We’re cover, Ron.”

With a nod, Neville opened the door for his disgruntled friend, and they exited.

Hermione looked at Professor Snape. “Professor Dumbledore is right. I don’t know if you’re sorry for what you’ve done, whether you felt it was justified, or what. Harry’s had a heart attack. No stress for him. If he doesn’t want to see you, you stay out.”

“I am at your command, Miss Granger,” Snape said, with not a hint of mockery.

They made their way along the corridors, Snape’s nose twitching at the smell of antiseptic and strong cleaners.

As they approached the ward, Hermione said, “I’ll go in first, ok? You stay outside unless Harry says otherwise.”

Snape merely nodded.

Hermione made her way, Snape behind her, and asked for Alex at the nurses' station.

“You are?” the Sister asked.

“His sister. I spoke to someone this morning.”

“Oh yes. I’m sorry if we were abrupt, but we have to take confidentiality seriously. I’ve told Alex you phoned and he seemed very pleased. Has Derek told you anything?” she asked carefully.

“No, I just got a message on the answerphone.”

“Ah.” The woman looked at Snape. “And this is?”

“A work colleague.”

“Well, Alex might not be strong enough to see you both,” she said tactfully. “He’s been very poorly and still is. Perhaps you’d like to go in first, dear. If he wants to see you,” she looked at Snape, “for a few minutes, that must be his decision. Please don’t be disappointed if he’s not up to it.”

They both walked along the corridor and Hermione peeped through the glass in the door and stepped in.

There was a large – no, enormous – man sitting next to the bed holding the hand of a young man, with black curly hair. It was not Harry’s face. She looked to Snape, who peered in, and nodded in confirmation. This was Alex Johnson. He was asleep. Hermione was shocked with how tiny and frail he looked. Was that really Harry’s body?

The man rose to his feet, carefully putting down Harry’s hand. Harry stirred, but didn’t open his eyes.

“Derek?”

The man nodded.

“Hermione? I’m so glad you’re here at last.”

He motioned her to the chair he had been sitting in, and pulled up a plastic chair for himself.

Hermione gently stroked fingers down Harry’s arm, looking carefully at her friend.

Severus watched through the door.

Who was the damn giant, holding Harry’s hand?

“I only got your message this morning,” Hermione explained in a whisper. “My parents were on holiday.”

“Ah. Alex was fretting a bit that you’d be worried.”

“I’ve been worried sick – we all have,” she said. Her head turned towards the door.

She thought it would be alright for Snape to come in whilst Harry was asleep.

Derek looked round. “Who’s that?”

“Severus. He and Harry – they used to be –“

“Ah. Why doesn’t he come in then?”

“Nurse wasn’t sure about too many people.”

Derek got up and opened the door, inviting Severus in.

“He’s asleep,” he said quietly. "Can’t tire him out, can we?”

Derek motioned to another plastic chair, but Severus shook his head, and stood leaning against the wall. Like Hermione, he was horrified at how frail Harry looked. His skin appeared paper thin, and he looked so small...

“He’s slept a lot,” Derek said. “I think it’s the painkillers, or the anaesthetic, or something.”

“Anaesthetic?” Hermione’s brow crunched. “They’ve had to operate?”

Derek looked at her carefully, then at Severus.

“Do you know what happened?”

“A little. He’s been ill for a few days Couldn’t they get the infection under control? It was an infection, wasn’t it?”

“He’s having intravenous antibiotics,” Derek nodded towards the drip. “It seems to be working. Do you know...why..what...god, I don’t know what to say here,” he wiped a hand over his face, embarrassed.

“We know Harry very well,” she said gently. “And we’re not blabbermouths.”

“They think...they think...he’s been raped,” he choked. “Maybe with some sort of – god, I can’t say this,” he stumbled. He took a breath. “With some sort of thing.”

Snape stood, still as a statue, against the wall.

“They asked me if he enjoyed violent sex,” Derek continued. “Can you believe it? Dear heaven, who would want to be ripped up like that! I told them of course he didn’t, he’s a sweet and lovely – just because I’m so big, they jumped to these awful conclusions...”

This man was Harry’s lover? Snape thought. This giant? This man Harry had run to? Had Harry spent Christmas with him?

“He won’t talk about it,” Derek went on. “They wanted to call the police, but he won’t have it. It makes me think it must be someone he knows, not a stranger. Do you have any idea who it could be?”

Not knowing what to say, Hermione floundered, “If he’d wanted the police to know, surely –“

“Fuck the police! “ Derek snarled. “If I find the bastard who did this I’m going to twist his nuts off with my bare hands and shove them down his fucking throat!”

Harry stirred.

Derek subsided into the chair, and Hermione moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Harry?”

His eyelashes fluttered.

“Mione?”

“Yup, that’s me,” she said cheerily.

Harry squeezed her hand, and tried to sit up. Derek was behind him giving a hand in two seconds flat, settling Harry against the pillows.

“Drink, love?”

“Snape.” Harry saw the man against the wall.

Derek passed him the water, which he could now manage without a straw. His eyes stayed on the potions master.

Derek took the glass from him, and slid his hand down Harry’s cheek, smiling.

“Temperature’s stayed down, I think,” he said encouragingly.

“How are you feeling?” Hermione asked. She had resumed holding Harry’s hand.

Bloody people pawing him, Snape thought irritably.

“Truth?”

She nodded.

“Weak as a kitten.” He glanced at Snape. “Nice not to want to throw up, though.”

“Are you eating?”

“Not much. I’ve not been hungry. And – and-“

“You’re worried about it coming out of the other end?” she said sympathetically.

Harry’s hand slid to the bag on his stomach. “Not any more,” he said bitterly, turning his face away.

Derek slipped his hand under the blanket and placed his on top of Harry’s on the bag, showing his young friend his acceptance of everything Alex was.

What in fuck was that man doing having his hand on Harry under the covers! Snape thought angrily. How dare they! Harry was deliberately taunting him, after he’d been worried sick....

“It’s only temporary, chicken,” Derek said. He looked at Hermione, checking with a glance at Harry.

“He’s got a bag.”

“A catheter bag? That’s pretty common –“

Harry turned to his friend, ignoring Snape. “Oh, I had one of them too. They took it out this morning, thank god. They’ve done a colostomy,” he added.

“A – oh Harry!”

“Come on, love. Soon as you’re all healed they’ll sew you back together. And the doctor said this morning he can’t believe how fast you’re healing. Give it another couple of weeks or so and it will all be over.”

“A couple of weeks?” Severus said in astonishment. He couldn’t understand the words that he was hearing. He knew the etymology of the language, but couldn’t see what it would actually mean. What had they done to Harry’s colon?

Hermione turned round. “I suspect that’s pretty fast for that sort of surgery,” she said the latter word heavily.

She looked at Harry. “Do you want Severus to go?” she asked quietly but clearly.

Harry looked at the man. He hadn’t said anything, apart from the scoff about Muggle timescales. Well, he could see Harry was alive. He could stop worrying about the consequences, both personal and in the bigger picture. He looked away.

“Yes.”

Snape stood straight and walked out of the door.

Derek looked at the strained young man, and at Hermione. But his heart also felt for the severe chap outside. He could understand Alex being embarrassed, but it would be easier if his friends knew. And he sympathised with Severus, who appeared to be shocked past words. Which was exactly how he had felt at first, but Alex had been unconscious so he didn’t need to say anything. He had had time to adjust.

He got up. “I’m going to get a coffee. Shall I bring you one back?” he asked Hermione.

Realising a deliberate move to give them privacy, Hermione accepted and thanked Derek.

Alone at last, she leant up and gave Harry a little hug.

“Idiot,” she said gently. “We've been out of our minds trying to work out where you went. Why didn’t you tell us what was wrong?”

“Embarrassing, wasn’t it?”

His brain tried to draw all the strands together. Last time he saw Hermione, she hadn’t known about Snape.

“How did you find out? About Snape?”

“Snape was worried sick about you –“

Harry snorted.

“He was –“

“Right. That’s why he was shouting at me again in class.”

“The minute he realised you hadn’t gone to the infirmary he went ballistic. Said it was a matter of life and death. When you couldn’t be found he spilled the beans about what he’d done to you straight away. I tried to beat him up -”

“What?” Harry grinned.

Hermione blushed. “Er, yes. Right in front of Professor Dumbledore too. He let me as well. Then Neville dragged me off and said that – that Snape had been your boyfr– lover - all this time and no wonder he was pissed off, because he hadn’t known it was you. And I couldn’t believe it, but I could because it all made twisted sense.”

Harry sank even deeper into the pillows. “It’s true. True that I’m the biggest idiot in the world.”

Hermione was quiet. “You care about him.”

Harry turned away, tears welling in his eyes again. “Yeah. And now he hates me for me rather than my father.”

Derek had scooped Severus, who was sitting in a chair in the corridor, head leaning back against the wall, along to the coffee lounge at the end of the ward.

There weren’t many men who made Snape feel small, but this man was one of them: he was wide as well as tall, all solid muscle. The thought of Harry lying beneath this man made his blood boil. Nevertheless, he went. He had spent 20 years getting to know every detail about his greatest enemy, to find his weaknesses. He was not going to pass up the opportunity closer to home.

Severus was still furious with Harry, but ever since his curse has laid into the man, he had had to admit one thing: he cared. He was angry because he cared; he had lost control because he cared; he was terrified because he cared; and when Harry disappeared....

He had not expected another lover on the scene. The thought of Harry going straight to this man lit the fire of his anger again. The sane part of his brain told him this man might be a former, rather than recent lover – but Harry had turned to him, and the man obviously still doted on Harry.

Derek set the kettle to boil, and reached for milk from the fridge; He popped a couple of coins into the cup for donations, and then coffee into two clean cups. The room could be used by patients or visitors, but usually it was empty; he and Andy preferred to get a drink here rather than the cafeteria, as he didn’t like to leave Alex.

He sat down on one of the rather scruffy armchairs, and pushed a coffee across the low table to Severus.

“Get that inside you. Want some sugar? You look like you could do with something for the shock.”

Snape looked sharply at him. Was the man trying to be kind? To him?

Apparently he was.

“I couldn’t speak either, at first. When I knew what had happened,” Derek said. “Hits you right in the guts, doesn’t it?”

Snape nodded, but couldn’t say anything.

He had done a lot of unpleasant things as a Death Eater, but sitting here talking to this man who did not know that he was talking to the person who had done those terrible things was......

He grimaced.

“Yeah, the coffee’s rough, I know, but at least it’s hot,” Derek rambled on, trying to make this rather severe man comfortable. Alex obviously liked older guys.

“I’m sorry,” Severus said at last, “I didn’t understand about the surgery.”

“The colostomy? Right mouthful that word, isn’t it? A nightmare for anyone, but for a gay guy – but it’s temporary, they say, if he heals properly.”

Severus looked at him, allowing his incomprehension to show.

Derek leant forward to explain. “His colon – you know – in his bowels – was split, or torn, or damaged, or something. I didn’t really ask for details. That caused the infection – stuff leaks into your stomach cavity. They were surprised at how clean it was, actually, but it was enough for an infection. And then obviously you’ve got lots of bugs up your arse, so it’s hard to get the damaged bit to heal, especially once the infection had set in. Anyway, they’ve cut off his colon above the damaged bit and brought it out through his stomach. It all goes into a bag. Horrible. I’ve been trying to make him feel alright about it, but you can understand why he’d be upset, can’t you, poor sod.”

Snape was in shock.

Horrified.

“He let them do that to him?”

“Didn’t have any choice, did he? He was unconscious when we found him and they had to do it to save his life.”

Andy walked along the corridor, a couple of sandwiches in his hand. He was on an early lunch, and had come along to spend it with Alex and Derek. He peeped through the pane in the door in case Alex was in the middle of any medical business, but smiled when he saw a young woman in with their friend. Hermione had got the message then. He expected Derek was down in the coffee lounge, giving them a bit of privacy. He was about to pop his head round the door to say hello, when he caught the emotional tone of Alex’s voice, and paused.

“He’ll get over it,” Hermione soothed, although she was not at all certain of that herself.

“No. Severus couldn’t have done this to me if he didn’t hate me,” Alex whispered, “and it’s my fault. I’m so stupid.”

Andy heard the sob, and the shift of cloth and murmuring. A quick glance confirmed that the young woman was comforting him. Alex must really trust her, to have told her all this. Maybe it was because she was a woman. But he had a name now.

He went down the corridor to find Derek, and was not surprised to see him chatting to another man. Derek would talk to anyone: relatives of other patients, doctors, nurses.

He came in and went to hand a sandwich over to his lover.

“Andy!” Derek’s face lit with pleasure at seeing him. “This is a friend of Alex’s.”

Severus stood to shake the offered hand.

“Severus, this is Andy.”

Andy’s fist sliced under Severus’ jaw and the blow knocked him back, Severus tumbling over the chair.

“Andy! What the hell?” Derek began.

Severus was getting himself up.

“It’s him! He’s the fucking wanker that hurt Alex!”

“What’s going on in here?” The Charge Nurse stood in the doorway, looking every bit as fierce as anyone who had ever watched a Carry On movie knew Matron Hattie Jacques could be.

A stony silence followed.

“He slipped,” Derek said. “Sorry for the noise, Sister. We’ll just go outside.”

One huge white man and a shorter but even more muscular black guy marched either side of Snape down the corridor.

Hermione heard the footsteps and something about their rhythm had her running to the door. She bolted into the corridor and stood in their way, blocking their path.

Snape had a split lip, and blood was oozing down his pale face.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing, Hermione. Just going to talk to Severus outside,” Derek said.

“I think not,” Hermione responded, drawing herself up to her whole five feet four.

A light bulb seemed to click in Derek’s head. “Did you know? Did you know and you still brought him here?” his voice was thunderous.

“Step out of the way, Miss Granger,” Snape said in his normal authoritative tone.

“To let you men go and fight in the yard, like brawling school boys? Certainly not.”

“Stop it,” a quiet voice said.

Harry was standing by his door, holding on to the drip stand, his face white but determined. He was wearing only trousers, and the stickers from the heart monitor were visible on his chest, and the marks from the defibrillator; the needle for the IV line was plastered to his arm.

“For god’s sake, what are you doing out of bed?” Derek stepped forward.

“Stopping a murder, I imagine. A wrongful one,” Harry said severely.

“Let’s get you back into bed,” Derek said quickly.

Two nurses had appeared. “Alex Johnson! What are you doing? Back into bed at once! You’ve set the alarms off in the nurses’ station, you know –“

They tried to hustle Harry back to bed, but the diminutive man stood firm.

“One moment,” he said firmly.

“You don’t need any stress,” one of the nurses said. “I think it’s time all your friends left you to sleep.”

“I’ll have more stress if I don’t sort this out.” He looked at Derek and Severus.

“Come in. Please. I’m too tired to stand here, but I will if I have to.”

That galvanised them.

Derek shoved Severus in in front of him, and Harry allowed himself to be led to the bed. He lay back, exhausted, as the nurses rearranged him, checked his vitals and reattached the heart monitor ‘just in case’.

“Five minutes, and they go,” one said fiercely. “Even you, Derek,” she said, looking disapprovingly at the man who hadn’t left Alex’ side.

Harry could hardly find the strength to talk, but knew he must.

“Andy overheard something,” he said at last.

“I was going to pop my head in but you were talking. And crying,” Andy said, staring aggressively at Snape.

“I’m too knackered to go into it,” Harry said quietly. “You misunderstood, alright? Please take my word for it,” he asked the two men.

Derek came over and took his hand again. “I’m sorry, love, but I don’t trust him. You’re covering something up.”

Harry laughed. It hurt his chest and he curled forward, holding his hands against his heart.

“Jesus!” Derek paled. “I’ll get the nurse –“

“Stop fussing,” Harry hissed. “It’s just the laughing.”

Nevertheless, Harry’s pain stopped them all in their tracks.

“There’s lots about me you don’t know, and I’ve done some really stupid things,” he said quietly to Derek. “But Severus has spent years getting me out of trouble, and I trust him with my life, alright?”

“Alright,” Derek agreed, rubbing Harry’s hand gently.

“Good. Bugger off then. Go to work. No point me investing in a business if the boss is always dossing,” Harry smiled at him. He looked across at Andy. “Good to see you, Andy. But now, I just want a quick word with Severus before you all go and I sleep the day away. No, don’t fuss,” he interrupted Derek.

Andy came and gave him a quick kiss, and stroked his hand down Harry’s cheek.

“I’ll be outside,” Derek said pointedly, as he stood, looking at Severus.

“Derek.” Harry called. He took the man’s hand and pulled him close, then whispered in his ear, “Don’t even think of hurting him, please?”

Derek looked at the young face beseeching him. Oh shit! Alex cared about the bastard!

“Sure,” Derek said, and he and Andy left the room.

“Give us a minute, Hermione,” Harry said. “Thanks for coming.”

She gave him a quick hug and kiss on the cheek, and left.

Alone in the room at last, Snape looked at Harry. He was full of mixed feelings. Horror at the condition the boy was in. Anger that Harry had let himself get into this state, and had then sought Muggle help when their methods were so primitive.

Anger with himself for not watching more closely to check that the boy was recovering properly. Disgust with himself that he had done this. And more immediately, he was angry at the way Harry had let that man paw him, had whispered in his ear; Harry had so obviously placed his trust in him. And where the hell did the other guy fit into the scheme of things?

“Thank you for coming, Professor,” Harry said, and his voice sounded as if he was a hundred. And he was calling him Professor.

“I am glad that you are alive, if not yet well,” Severus said. What did the boy want to talk to him about?

“Yeah, would have messed up the kill-Voldemort problem, wouldn’t it?” Harry snorted harshly.

“Potter –“

Harry turned to look at him. “I don’t know if you do,” he cut Snape off, “but just in case, don’t feel guilty about this. As usual, I was stupid. I’m the only one to blame for me being here.”

“It was my curse,” Snape said.

“Yeah, but if I hadn’t been a wuss about seeing Madam Pomfrey I wouldn’t be here. Now I have strange men and women looking at my arse and – “ he faltered. “Anyway, more embarrassment than any man likes to deal with. So you’ll be glad I had my comeuppance.”

Snape opened his mouth.

“Don’t. I’m too tired. I just wanted to say I’m sorry. Sorry for what I did in the first place and sorry if this stupidity of mine has brought more trouble down on your head. And I wanted you to know – I mean, you hated having had sex with a school boy - but I wasn’t innocent. Derek – outside – was my first lover. And he‘s with Andy now, but he met Andy when we had a threesome together. So don’t go feeling guilty for seducing an innocent. You didn’t. I wasn’t. Now, when I come back, can we draw a line under this? I know you’ll always hate me, I understand that now, but we both want to defeat Voldemort and we need to focus on that.”

A male nurse came in with the meds trolley. “You need to leave, now, Sir,” he said to Snape. “Charge Nurse’s orders.”

“I’m done," Harry said. “Goodbye, Professor.”

And he shut his eyes, settling on to his side, small hands pulling the cover over himself, even as the nurse checked the drip and bustled around him.

Snape left the room, his mind reeling.

There was no sign of anyone. He walked to the lifts.

As he rounded the corner, he was grabbed and pinned to the wall by Derek.

“Alex wants me to leave you alone,” he ground out in Snape’s face, “and I won’t upset him. But if I ever find you’ve hurt him again you’ll be buried in concrete underneath the foundations of a fifteen storey block of flats and I don’t give a fuck whether anyone ever finds your sorry arse or not!”

Chapter Text

The next day Madam Pomfrey visited Harry.

She did not change her usual garb, and the regular staff gawped as she sailed down the corridor, the wings of her hat flapping. But Mr Humphries, the consultant on the ward, who was nearing retirement age, was transported back to the early days of his studies, and charmed by her matter-of-fact approach and her acute enquiries about her patient. The young man obviously knew her well, and was delighted to see her, though embarrassed when she scolded him for all the fuss he had caused, whilst at the same time making him comfortable and assessing him so swiftly that she demanded to know why his sodium had been allowed to drop to a level where his proper cell activity was destabilized.

He agreed Alex could be relinquished into her care at the specialist facility she represented the following day, given a whole list of provisos. He even asked for her personal phone number, so that he could ascertain that all was well; Madam Pomfrey told him he was a cheeky young man, and she knew his game, much to the awe of the team of house doctors whose ward rounds she had interrupted.

Mr Humphries was delighted to receive, several days later, a letter on deliciously heavy parchment in a beautiful hand that looked just as if it could have been written with a quill, thanking him for his services to her young colleague, who was mending well, and wondering whether he enjoyed the opera, as she happened to have two seats to a forthcoming performance of Aida. She was unable to receive his response, but should he be interested, she would be at the Royal Opera House on said date wearing a ruby-coloured gown, and would be delighted to share the enjoyment of the occasion with him.

Mr Humphries, who had been widowed seven years earlier, had spend a great deal of time thinking about the elusive lady, and had decided that she was working for a secret military hospital, as he had seen staff in a naval hospital wearing starched and old fashioned uniforms in recent years himself. Her letter confirmed this assumption, and he treated himself to a new white silk bow tie for the occasion.

Derek and Andy were not at all pleased, later that day, to find that Alex was being moved. Andy wanted to know what ambulance service was doing the run, and whether he could come along as extra crew. How long was the journey? Why was he going?

Derek looked sternly at Alex and asked if that shit Severus was going to be at the place he was going to.

But mostly they were concerned that he was not well enough to be transferred anywhere.

Alex wondered what he could tell his friends. They had saved his life, and cared about him, yet he had kept so much from them. Could he tell them? Should he? Would they believe him? Would it put them at risk?

“Look,” he said quietly, “the place where I teach – it’s not a normal sort of place. I can’t really discuss it. But they have medical stuff that can really help me that isn’t available elsewhere.”

Derek took his hand and nodded at him.

“Is it dangerous?” he asked, his eyes down, just looking at the hand he was rubbing.

“What?”

“The life you lead. Is it dangerous?”

Harry reached out a hand and stroked Derek’s hair. He loved this man, both of them, in the way that he loved Hermione – friends that were absolutely solid. “Yeah. Not all the time, but it has been, and unfortunately there’s more to come. I have to be ready for it.”

Derek nodded again. “We’re always here for you,” he whispered. “You know, if you need to get away. Don’t have to tell us nothing. Just come.”

Harry blinked away tears, and hugged the big man tight. “Thanks,” he whispered into his neck. Andy patted his shoulder, and Harry squeezed his hand, meeting his worried eyes.

“Thank you for everything. Saving me – being there.”

“Ah, shut it! You can pay for the cleaning bill next time you come, though – chucking up on our brand new sofa! Couldn’t find a bucket, could you?”

Harry laughed and apologised, knowing the ribbing for what it was. He promised to visit as soon as he could.

Three days later, Harry’s first class back was Friday morning Potions.

“Mr Potter,” Snape drawled, “how good of you to grace us with your presence. Do try to restrain yourself from any more projectile vomiting, if you please.”

Pansy Parkinson sniggered, but Harry was pleased that Snape at least acknowledged his presence. In fact, although he employed his normal sarcastic manner, Snape indicated what Harry needed to do to catch up, and then left him to it. Harry felt it was almost an offer of truce.

Harry had spent two days in the infirmary before being allowed back into the swing of things. Madam Pomfrey had soon sorted his internal injuries and reattached his colon.

She had given him a muscle repair potion to correct any damage to his heart.

She had sat beside his bed and had very firm words with him about the fact that the service she provided was utterly confidential, and that she was thoroughly trained to deal with sexual matters. She was disappointed that he hadn’t felt able to come to her, although she could understand why. However, she had treated many gay wizards and witches, both in her career before she had come to Hogwarts and at the school, and also had had some small experience of working with victims of domestic violence. She hoped that he wouldn’t feel reluctant to approach her in future, whoever his partner was and whatever his problem was. Although Professor Snape had brewed the muscle repair potion on this occasion, as he was in this instance aware of Harry’s difficulties, in future, unless Harry specified otherwise, she would maintain his confidentiality by seeking any unusual treatments from other suppliers outside of the school.

And lastly, she gave him the name and direction of a mediwizard whom she held in the highest regard, should he prefer to seek treatment elsewhere.

Harry’s Gryffindor housemates accepted Harry’s week-long absence from the common room with their usual aplomb – welcoming him back and teasing him for getting out of classes.

Ron and Draco both presented Harry with difficulties, although not at the same time. And in the end, both were far easier to deal with than Harry had expected.

Harry’s first day back in classes was a Friday, and with no reason to go to his home in Hogsmeade for the weekend, Harry found himself playing several games of chess with a distracted Ron.

After his fifth defeat, Harry said, with a smile, “I think that’s enough losses for my fragile spirit to bear. I suppose I’ll have to give in and catch up on my homework.”

Ron looked out of the window. “The weather’s not bad – we could fly if you like.”

A moment’s thrill at the prospect was replaced by more practical thoughts. “Nah, I don’t think my arse is up to it yet. Maybe next week?”

Ron went bright red.

Harry leant forward. The common room was quite quiet as the weather had indeed induced a number of the younger students outside to burn off some energy.

“Ron, are you embarrassed about me being gay? I thought you were alright with it – what with Charlie and all.”

“It’s not that – exactly,” Ron mumbled.

“What then?”

Ron looked up at Harry, then around the room. No-one was within ear-shot.

“It’s just – him,” he got out. “I keep thinking about it. About you two together. Eeeww! I just don’t understand.”

Harry sat back and thought about it.

“Do you need to?”

“What?”

“Understand. I don’t understand how you can fancy Millicent Bulstode, but apparently you do.”

“Did, mate, did! Once was enough, I can tell you.”

“Don’t tell me! I really, really don’t want to know. And that’s the point, isn’t it? You don’t have to understand. Even if we were still together. But anyway, it’s over. Move on. I have to.”

Ron looked at him.

“Yeah, alright mate.”

And that was it.

Draco approached him in the library, where he was working with Hermione catching up on missed work. Snape had set Hermione and Draco an authentic joint project in Potions class, which provided cover for them to be seen together working.

Malfoy slung his bag down and threw himself into a chair.

“Had a good holiday?” he asked Harry sarcastically.

“Wish it was,” Harry retorted.

Draco looked at him.

“Were you in St Mungo’s?”

“No.”

Draco reached down and got a book out of his bag and buried his nose in it. “Fair enough. You don’t trust me. I can understand that a Malfoy oath of allegiance counts for nothing.”

Harry’s eyes met Hermione’s over Draco’s head.

He sighed. “I didn’t trust anyone in the wizarding world, Draco. I’ve been in a Muggle hospital.”

Draco’s head shot up. “Why on earth didn’t you come to me?” he said, contradicting his earlier statement.

“Look, I was too embarrassed to go to anyone I knew, right?”

“Why? Because the hero of the wizarding world threw up?”

“Because I had a problem with my arse, alright?”

“What?”

“You heard.”

Draco thought back. “Snape knew.”

“Yeah, he guessed, but there was no way I was going to Madam Pomfrey –“

“She’s tough but she’s alright –“

“Draco, would you want her putting her fingers up your arse? And commenting on your sex life?”

Draco opened his mouth, and then shut it again. “Good point.”

“Thank you. We get there at last.”

“Perhaps I could’ve helped you –“

“Yeah, right. I couldn’t bring myself to even say what the problem was. If the cure had meant that you had to – do that – I don’t think either of us would have wanted to go there. Unless you feel differently about me than I thought, sweetie,” he batted his eyelashes at the blond.

“How very right you were to seek treatment elsewhere, Potter,” Draco glanced at Hermione, and saw her grinning. He gave in, and smirked too.

The next couple of weeks were deliciously peaceful. Severus attended Harry’s class, confirming the sense of truce. The potions project was heading towards testing stage again, and it was decided that Neville would be the object of it this time, as Madam Pomfrey put her foot down at the first wind of hearing that Harry might be putting himself at risk so soon.

Rather than defence, Neville chose to grow things. He took a cutting of the rare plant that only flowered every 45 years, and concentrated his magic on enhancing it, then took the potion and tried again.

“It’s definitely made a difference,” he said, pleased. “I know it’s not exactly a proper test without a decent control frame, but it was more useful. Didn’t get it as far as I would have liked, though. We’ve got enough to make one more batch, quadruple strength. I’ll keep trying to enhance this with my own magic, but I have to say it’s very resistant.”

Harry was quietly thrilled that he had, more than once, caught Severus looking at him. And it wasn’t necessarily a disgusted look. It wasn’t exactly warm, or even lustful either, more assessing. It gave Harry a tiny spark of hope in the desolation of his interior landscape that Severus might not entirely hate him.

The experiences had not cooled Harry’s feelings for Snape at all. He had, in fact, been forced to examine them. Snape was an extremely complex man, contradictory even, but all the more intriguing because of it.

Two weeks after his return Harry felt that it was time his group did something less focussed and more developmental. Eloise and Ernie had been finding that their combined magic not only was more powerful than their individual magics, but appeared to have different qualities. Harry wondered what would happen if you tried to link a larger group. It might not be at all successful – Neville had seen a compatibility in Eli and Ernie’s magic - but it could be interesting to see the effects of trying to combine other types.

He had been out for a fly with the Gryffindor team; he didn’t play for them anymore, but they often had a fun session after practice and he liked joining in. He was heading back from the pitch with Ron, to whom he’d already outlined the idea, when he saw Malfoy coming from the greenhouses.

“I’ll meet you upstairs, Ron. I’ll see if Draco’s free this weekend.”

Ron tolerated Malfoy but had no desire to spend any extra time with him. He knew the Slytherin was no longer a threat to Harry, so nodded, and headed up.

“Malfoy, I wanted to do another special event this weekend,” Harry began.

“And you expect me to just say yes? After being chained to the wall? Having to pee in a hole? No food or water? Dangerous animals–“

“Yeah, yeah, you loved it, admit it.”

“Potter, I would ask what they did to you in the Muggle hospital but – hey! – your brain was fried before then! Are you barking?”

“Come on! No nasty stuff this time. I don’t think, anyway,” Harry added honestly.

“Well, that does sound promising, but unfortunately I have to decline.”

“Since when was cowardice a Slytherin trait – oh, I forgot – whenever it was expeditious?”

“Potter, have you consumed a dictionary? I bet Granger told you that word.”

“She did. Or rather, she used it, and then had to explain it to me,” Harry grinned. He rather enjoyed taking the wind out of Malfoy’s sails.

“Well, pretentious vocabulary or not, I’m afraid I have a prior engagement.”

“A date? All weekend?” Harry said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Sadly, not. It’s the Malfoy Hilary Ball. It would really arouse suspicion if I failed to attend, especially after not going home at Christmas.”

Harry frowned. “What about the danger?” he asked seriously, as they made their way up the front steps. “Who’s going to be there?”

“Well, the Dark Lord has never yet put in an appearance in evening dress, but you never know. But yes, there will be a whole gamut of my father’s intimate friends, of all political persuasions.”

“I’m worried for you,” Harry said frankly as they entered the front hall.

Draco stopped and looked at him in surprise. The glib words he was about to say died in is throat. Instead, he went for a more practical approach. “There’ll be several hundred people there. Not to mention my mother. And Severus always comes – I hope he brings his partner; I know Father’s invited him – he said he was a very interesting young man, which means he likes him. I’m dying to see him!”

Lordy, lordy, thought Harry. Interesting indeed! If he went – if- how would Lucius act around him with his son there? And did he dare go? Draco said he was invited – which meant that Severus hadn’t told Lucius that their relationship had ended – it perhaps hadn’t come up, or Severus hadn’t seen Malfoy, he reminded himself so he didn’t get his hopes up. And the financial advisor Sebastian Flight was likely to be there, and Harry was keen to build on the relationship with him, not to mention the opportunity for listening in to all sorts of conversations, and just getting the tone of feeling among this community in a way that he had no other opportunity to do. He would not have to act as if he was with Severus if Severus didn’t want him to, it sounded like he was invited anyway....

“Right, well, have a good time, then,” Harry said. “Maybe we’ll have a longer session Tuesday evening if people can make it.”

“I can do that,” Draco nodded, and headed off to the dungeons.

Draco had found life easier than he had expected – various teachers had set joint projects this term, and as all the classes were mixed, most Slytherins found themselves paired with members from other houses at times. There was surprisingly little complaint about this in the common room, and as his housemates’ search for amorous encounters also extended beyond the incestuous feeling of having relationships with people who had been close friends for seven years, there was considerably more inter-house mingling than ever before, and Draco’s chats with other houses' members passed without comment, on the whole.

Draco also suspected that some of the other Slytherins were also considering their futures out of school, and that included considering whether they wished to support Voldemort or not. Many of them were watching Potter, he knew, and although, to his disappointment, Harry had not come out and announced that he was a mage, there was a quiet confidence about his use of magic that had not been there before, and that was obvious to anyone who looked. In fact, Potter had been very serious since before the Christmas break, and his demeanour perhaps spooked some of his peers. He was obviously shaping up to be a powerful and assured wizard, as everyone had always expected him to be; he could almost feel the vacillation amongst the other students whose families he knew to be supporters of Voldemort.

He found himself wishing that he could reveal Potter’s true abilities to Greg and Vince, who might not be bright but who had been undeniably loyal to him throughout: they deserved his help in return. He needed to think about that, and perhaps broach it with Harry. Blaise Zabini was another person who he’d hate to see go down, and who could be very useful to them. Pans, he knew, was an ardent supporter, and so was Theo; he had no hope of ‘saving’ them – and when had he ever cared about ‘saving’ people? But Potter was planning on finishing it, and it hurt to think of what this would mean to people he had known. And as for his father...his father was clever. If he could get out of any trouble, Draco didn’t doubt that he would. And he would vouch for his mother, himself.

Harry apparated the next evening into the grounds of Malfoy Manor, to the same spot he had come with Severus before.

Even the gardens were swarming with people. Sparkling lights had been placed in the trees, and a warming charm set on the area as people queued for admission on the grand staircase leading up to the Manor’s main entrance. Two elves wearing elaborate livery were checking the invitations and casting revealing spells over the arrivals; Harry wondered whether the uniforms were regarded as furniture or some such, and not as clothes.

And speaking of clothes, to Harry’s amazement the guests were all wearing Muggle style white tie evening dress. Harry, who had put on his best formal wizarding robes, and assumed he would be properly attired, decided to brazen it out. The other guests appeared to be far too posh to stare.

Unfortunately, this was not the reaction of the liveried elves.

Having reached the front of the queue, the elf asked for his invitation.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have it with me. You can check with Lucius that I’m invited.”

The elf looked him up and down over his long curled nose. He nudged his compatriot, and they both obviously came to the same conclusion, moving together to block his path.

“You obviously didn’t gets one, or you be knowing how to dress,” the elf scoffed.

“And if Sir’d ever been to the Hilary Ball,” the other muttered.

“I didn’t see the invitation because it was sent to my partner,” Harry reasoned. He hadn’t wanted to bring Snape into it, but it looked like he’d have to.

“And who woulds that be being?” the older of the two elves sneered. The people behind were beginning to murmur about the delay.

“Severus Snape.”

“Professor Snape is being here already, and he never be mentioning anyone else just turning up,” said the younger elf triumphantly. “Clears you off, now, before Twiggle and me’s - ”

“Please check with Mr Malfoy,” Harry interrupted firmly, and the authority in his voice made the elf pause a fraction, before he shook it off and said, “Mr Malfoy is having better things to do than dealing with wicked time wasters.”

“Is there a problem?” Lucius Malfoy’s cool tones slid down the steps, followed by the man himself looking exceedingly suave.

“Lucius. Your door-elves are offended by my robes and my lack of invitation. I was insisting that you would be pleased to see me,” Harry said, his voice smooth and slightly suggestive.

Malfoy nodded a greeting at the people waiting behind him and the elves let them through at once. He then stood, a step above Harry, and looked down at the young man.

“I wouldn’t normally dream of mentioning it, but you are rather – underdressed - for a white tie affair,” he drawled in amusement. “I’m surprised you didn’t transfigure your robe into a formal jacket,” he raised an eyebrow inquiringly.

Harry leant in a little, his breath stroking Lucius ear. “I could have done, of course, but I didn’t want to shock your guests. I’m – traditionally dressed,” Harry purred.

As in naked under his robe.

Harry could see Lucius’ eyes widen and then darken at the realisation.

Harry looked to the side, where stone urns along the wide banisters were overflowing with alternating white and red roses.

He plucked a white rose bud, slid it under his nose to enjoy the scent, all the time with his eyes on Lucius, and then, passing his hand over the velvety petals, transfigured it wandlessly into a white silk bow tie.

“A nice little display,” Lucius murmured, eyes watching every move.

Harry undid his top two robe buttons, revealing bare skin, and slid the silk around his neck.

“I’ve only one problem,” he looked up through his lashes at Malfoy. “I’m not very good at tying them.”

Lucius stepped closer, his body brushing against Harry’s, and took hold of the ends.

It was really a vulnerable position for Harry, but what he actually felt was a huge sense of power. And he had seen something else...

Severus was at the top of the steps, having stepped outside with Narcissa who was looking for her husband.

The long blond hair was easy to spot – and –damn him! How dare he?

How dare he!

The stupid boy! And he was – more than flirting with Lucius! Well, if he thought that he was going to winkle information out of Lucius Malfoy through a bit of – he was not!

He felt Narcissa stiffen beside him.

And there was no way he was going to allow Narcissa to be upset.

Certainly not!

“Severus, don’t – “ she felt him stiffen.

“Oh, I will! He’s teasing me, Ciss, and he’s not bloody well going to get away with it!”

He stormed down the steps.

“Lucius, you must be busy with your guests. Let me,” and he literally pulled the tie ends out of Lucius’ hands, and pulled Alex towards him.

Harry’s heart was pounding as he looked up into the dark and enraged eyes.

And the next moment, Severus had yanked him forward with the ends, and was kissing him furiously.

Harry felt the world disappear. There was only Snape, Snape’s mouth tasting of alcohol and heat, the smell of Snape in his nostrils, and the fierce urgency of Snape’s taut body against him.

God, it was heaven!

He moaned into Snape’s mouth, and his body curved itself into the other man. One of Severus’ hands dropped from the bow tie to the small of his back, sliding him against him.

Harry was wild with want and need.

“Severus, dear, do you think you could let our guests past? And perhaps introduce us?” Narcissa’s amused voice cut through the haze.

Reluctantly Harry let Severus withdraw, unable to stop his tongue chasing after the other’s, tip touching in the cold air even as it left his mouth.

Severus was looking down at him, from what seemed a long way above, as Severus was a step higher.

Acceptance passed between them.

Harry felt his knees go weak with delight and relief and hope.

Severus turned him and pulled him onto the same step, so that he was in the circle of his arms, back to Severus’ front, as the potions master said, ”Ciss, may I introduce Alex Johnson? Alex,” his hand slid down his hip, holding him possessively against his body, ”allow me the honour of introducing Narcissa Malfoy.”

Harry shook the delicate hand extended to him. Lucius stood at his wife’s side, her arm linked through his.

“Delighted to meet you at last,” Harry said, and he was very pleased. But also rather distracted.

Because Severus was subtly rocking against him. And he was hard. Gloriously, deliciously hard. Harry had to fight the urge to shut his eyes and press back into that wonderful length. He had to work just to will away his own desire.

“Severus, you naughty thing!” You never even mentioned that Alex would be coming!”

Coming? Oh please, yes! Harry thought, but what he said was,”It’s my fault, and I do beg your pardon. Here I am, unexpected and in the wrong dress! I thought I wouldn’t be able to get here, but at the last moment I was able to get away. I hope it’s alright?”

“Of course it is,” Narcissa smiled at him, “I’m delighted to welcome anyone who can have such an effect on Severus. He’s normally so shy.”

Harry turned his head to look into the dark eyes, feeling Severus thrust against him just a fraction of an inch. ”I’m sorry if we embarrassed you,” he said, not looking away from Severus. “I’ve missed him,” he whispered.

“Well, you’ll have to restrain yourselves for a little longer. Do come and join the party,” Narcissa smiled. “Lucius, I came to find you. Minister Baskins wanted a word.”

“Then let us all repair to the ballroom,” Lucius murmured, apparently unruffled.

Upstairs, Harry was stunned by the crush of people.

“Good lord, is this normal?” he asked Severus, as they tried to move through the throng.

“For a Malfoy function? Certainly.”

Severus had taken hold of his hand to pull him through. Harry delighted in it.

A waiter passed with drinks – a rather beautiful young man this time, although he was wearing the same livery – and Harry looked at Snape before helping them both to a glass.

“I don’t think it’s doctored,” Snape murmured, hot in his ear, “no point at an event like this. Alcohol alone will loosen tongues. Don’t have more than two.”

Harry nodded. He didn’t know where they were going, but they had bumped into someone who knew Snape; he was introduced, and they conversed for several minutes.

This happened several more times; they met Sebastian Flight enough to say hello, and Catismore.

Eventually they washed up against a column, a slight protection from the swill of humanity. They had deposited their glasses some time back on a passing tray.

“I ought to take you home and spank you,” Severus growled, but his body was right in Harry’s personal space and there was only tension, not aggression, in his tone.

Harry moved a fraction closer. He leaned in. “I definitely like the idea of being spread out over your lap,” he murmured, voice low. “Not sure about the spanking. Can we save that for another time?”

He felt the intake of Severus’ breath, and felt utterly intoxicated with the man. His head was muzzy with desire.

“How long do we need to stay?” he got out.

Severus laughed, a deep rumble.

“Impatient,” he teased.

“Yes,” Harry admitted.

Severus’ face grew taut with want. “We could –“

He was distracted by something across the room.

“What?” Harry asked, starting to turn round.

Severus reached out a hand and pulled him into his body, preventing it.

Harry revelled in the touch, despite the adrenalin that was starting to pump. He trusted Snape to deal with whatever had aroused his interest.

“We’re going to make our way across the room,” Severus whispered in his ear, nipping the lobe to add to the picture of intimacy. Harry knew he should feel used, but the pleasure was too much. He bent his head into Snape’s neck.

“Lucius, Rookwood and the Minister are heading somewhere - Lucius’ study, I should think,” Snape said into his ear. “Come on.”

He kept hold of Harry’s hand, taking him round the other side of the column. The crush thinned as they made their way out of the ballroom and along the corridor. Severus carefully turned the handle of a door and they slipped inside. It appeared to be a surprisingly small sitting room, though it was dark, only a small fire in the grate giving any illumination.

Severus laid a finger over his lips in warning not to speak, and slipped quietly across the room, Harry following.

A closed doorway obviously led to another room. Leaning down to the keyhole, Severus listened.

Harry stood above him. He could just hear the voices. He wished he had Extendable Ears with him, and then rethought. With a wordless spell, the sound waves were amplified and they could hear.

Severus just looked at him and rose to his feet. They stood close, just listening.

“The Ministry is being ridiculous!” a voice snapped. Harry presumed it was Rookwood as it didn’t sound like Malfoy.

“Don’t you take that tone with me!” the Minister snapped.

“And why not?” Rookwood laughed. “What will you do, Baskins? It really isn’t the time to –fuss – you know, not when your daughter is so close to her delivery!”

“You leave my daughter out of it!”

“My dear Albert,” Rookwood sneered, “what sort of father-in-law would I be if I failed to be concerned about my poor daughter-in-law? Pregnancy really doesn’t suit her, you know. She looks as if a feather could – blow her away.”

“Is that a threat? If you so much as harm –“

Rookwood laughed. “Albert, really! As if I would touch a hair on her pretty little head. It’s hardly my fault that she has developed an unfortunate addiction to–“

“Gentlemen,” Lucius’ smooth voice cut in authoritatively, “enchanting as these family tales are, we have other matters to discuss. Mr Baskins, do let me get you a brandy. I believe you were about to tell us why the Ministry is objecting to Rookwood Industries’ research into -“

Harry and Snape had only been listening for a couple of minutes when someone opened the outer door, said, “Oops, not the cloakroom!”, and shut it again.

Severus and Harry looked at each other for a fraction of a second, as the silence from next door registered.

The next moment, Severus had dragged Harry to his feet and had him across the room, pinned to the door into the corridor, kissing him hard. Harry slung his arms around Severus’ neck and responded vigorously.

The quiet click of the inner door was the only warning that the inhabitants of the study were in the room.

Acting now was their only hope.

Thank Merlin it didn’t need much in the way of acting skills.

Severus thought better of having his back to Malfoy, and thrust Harry round again, his own back to the wall.

Harry might be between them, but he could see better over the smaller man than the other way round. And he could be ruthless if he needed to be; he didn’t know if Harry would hesitate. Malfoy hadn’t cursed them yet, although Severus knew he could be fast off the mark. The man was fascinated with Alex – he’d give him an eyeful, then. With a yank, he ripped open Alex’ robes, using a tiny hint of wandless magic to make sure it worked. The ripping sound was very satisfactory. His mouth still working on Harry’s, he thrust the robe over Harry’s biceps.

Harry slipped his arms out, not wanting to be hampered, and tightened them around Severus’ neck again. Despite the danger, the feel of Severus’ hands gliding down his naked back made him moan with pleasure, and he thrust his hips against Severus’ groin, groaning again as he felt Severus’ erection.

One of their watchers made the slightest of noises. Severus still had his eyes closed, looking oblivious, using his hearing alone.

The front of Harry’s robe was bunched between them, but at the back the robe was slipping dangerously low.

Malfoy, wand still raised, stood and watched the firelight play over the smooth muscles and flawless skin on Alex Johnson’s back. The minister had slipped out of the door into the corridor from his study and back to the party at the first hint of trouble, but Rookwood stood beside him.

He could almost smell the man’s arousal.

Severus and Alex were hot, there was no doubt about that. Severus had been a gifted lover even all those years ago, and he obviously had not lost his talents, to attract and keep this sensual young man. Lucius noted the thrust of the man’s hips, rubbing into Severus, and felt his own cock pulsing with desire. The robe hung low, and Alex was indeed traditionally dressed – completely naked under his robe. The swell of his firm buttocks and the hint of cleft made Lucius’ mouth water. Severus’ hand soothed down over the ridges of Alex’ spine and then a single finger played at the top of the cleft. Only Alex’s moan and shift of feet as he spread his legs and pressed further against the older man drowned the guttural sound that came from Rookwood’s throat.

Harry was wondering, through the fog of his desire, how far the floor show would have to go. He’d heard a grunt, and was pretty sure it wasn’t Lucius. Two on two were good odds, but he’d prefer to get out of this without coming to that.

Suddenly, Snape had curled a hand round his head, detached his mouth, and was pushing him down.

He stared into the shadowed face: did Severus really want him to suck him off with an audience?

The dark eyes said Trust me! and Harry did, slithering down Snape’s body and rubbing his cheek over the bulge in Severus’ trousers, loving the feel of him and inhaling the musky scent with delight.

Severus obviously had his audience worked out, because Rookwood groaned too loudly to ignore. Severus stilled, making a display of reaching for his wand; Harry, for good measure to end this, shoved against Snape as he scrabbled to his feet, knocking him into a small table. The vase on it wobbled, teetered, and crashed to the floor, smashing noisily on the oak boards.

“Fuck!” Harry exclaimed, leaping up.

Malfoy took charge, flaring the candles in their wall sconces into light with his wand.

“Fuck!” repeated Harry again, as if shocked to see them.

His hand had his robe clutched to his middle. Malfoy’s eyes slid briefly over his chest before Harry said, “’Scuse me!” and turned away to button his robe, using his wand very obviously pointed at himself to repair the damage.

“I apologise for disturbing you, Severus,” Malfoy drawled, watching his old friend carefully. “Rookwood and I were enjoying a brandy,” he held up the glass still in his hand in silent salute, ”and a moment’s quiet, and heard a noise. We have –what – thirty three guest rooms in the manor – you had only to ask, dear friend.”

Severus coolly brushed a hand down his front, picking a speck of lint off his clothes. He ignored the prominent erection tenting his evening trousers. “My sincere apologies, Lucius. I have not seen Alex for some time. We had hoped only to steal a kiss without causing offence to your guests.”

Malfoy had to admire his cool. The man was heavily aroused, had been caught in the most compromising of positions – and damn Rookwood for his lack of restraint! He would have thoroughly enjoyed seeing Alex’s mouth stretched around a thick shaft, even if it wasn’t his own on this occasion.

He could wait.

Alex obviously found him attractive; he merely needed to show him the advantages that a liaison with a Malfoy could bring. In the meantime, this little tableau had reminded him of the pleasures to be found with another hard body and hard cock. Narcissa was an attractive woman and very acceptable in bed, but sometimes one fancied something – more.

Alex, meanwhile, was looking every inch the young ingénue, his faced flushed and his eyes taking in the broken vase. He really was quite adorable, Malfoy thought. Not to mention that supple, lithe body....

“I’m so sorry,” Harry mumbled, and pointing his wand at the pieces, muttered,”Reparo!”

The vase shards flew together and melded again into a single entity, hovering in front of the young man. He plucked it out of the air. “Oh blast!” he said in surprise, “the surface is all cracked! Let me try again.”

Malfoy’s delighted laugh made him look up. It was utterly genuine, and for once Harry could see how hard it would be for Draco to give up his family.

“Dear boy, it’s taken seven centuries of aging to achieve that finish. Pray don’t attempt to ‘fix’ it!”

Rookwood laughed too, and Harry grinned sheepishly.

“I’m really sorry I broke it. Shall I see if I can find a replacement? Unbroken?”

“It’s a vase,” Malfoy dismissed the valuable piece. “When I was a child I always wondered if the crazing was because some wizard centuries ago had repaired it and not done a very good job. How very droll that you thought so too.”

It was odd to be sharing reminiscences with Lucius Malfoy.

Not as odd as nearly giving Snape a blow-job in front of him, of course.

“I think I ought to return to the party, before Narcissa demands to know why I am ignoring my guests,” Malfoy smiled apologetically. “You are most welcome to stay the night,” he invited Alex and Severus.

I have just the room; I haven’t used that two-way mirror since the Dark Lord came and I wanted to see what exactly his dependence on Nagini was. Not that that did me much good. He invited me in to see for myself. There are things one prefers to not know, after all.

“I rather think we must take our leave,” Severus said, straightening his cuffs.

“I will arrange another small soiree,” Malfoy said, bowing in acquiescence.

“Thank you for an enjoyable evening,” Alex smiled shyly at his host.

Malfoy laughed. “I don’t have to be a Diviner to guess that your enjoyment is only just beginning! Don’t bother finding Narcissa,” he said to Snape, “I will pass on your thanks. Get thee gone!”

With a smile and a bow, they left.

Rookwood took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

“Who knew Severus was like that? He looks so straight-laced,” he commented in a shocked voice. “Nearest bathroom, Malfoy?”

Harry and Snape made their way out of the Manor and down the steps to the apparition point. Harry stood in front of Snape. “My cottage?” he asked.

Snape nodded.

Harry took hold of his arms and apparated them both into his sitting room.

Snape looked at him, and moved away

Harry’s heart began to thump. Had everything been an act? It wasn’t – punishment, or retribution, was it?

“Make some coffee, if you have it,” Severus said, his hand on the mantel.

Harry lit the fire, and cast a warming charm. He hadn’t been in the house for a while.

And then went to put the kettle on.

Chapter Text

Snape’s first question was not what Harry had expected at all.

“What if there are others with Neville’s talent?”

However, it filled Harry with delighted hope, because eight words told him a whole armoury of things, but most importantly:

• Snape cared about him;
• Snape was considering future times of Harry in the Alex guise.

He handed Severus the steaming dark coffee that Severus liked, and watched as the other man sipped, before answering.

“That’s a possibility, I suppose, but in reality the likelihood is minimal: everyone has implied that it’s a very rare talent; very few people have Neville’s magical power – although I don’t know whether the power level is needed for the talent, or whether that’s irrelevant. And very few of the people I’m likely to meet as Alex have actually met Harry Potter, to recognise the same signature, and even if they did, you can just claim that you were fooled by the disguise, they’re bound to believe you, only the –“

“I’m not worried for myself!” Snape roared, slopping coffee.

And then there was silence.

Harry put his own cup down and stepped forward.

“I know there are risks,” he said quietly. “You take them all the time and I worry about you too.”

Snape stared at him, and then said, out of the blue, “The Dark Lord has been quiet for months. I thought it might be to do with my link being shut down, but I spoke to several reasonably favoured people at the party tonight, and none of them had been called either. There’s either something wrong, or something big going on that he doesn’t trust most of us with. That’s not necessarily new – he vacillates between boasting and keeping things close to his chest.”

Harry sat down. It was good to talk to Severus, even if that was all the other man was really willing to share with him.

“We need to be prepared to act at any time. But I’d rather we had a plan in place to attack, on our turf, rather than just react if he strikes first, as I’ve said before.”

Severus nodded. “The potion is the problem. I’ve been working on alternatives using more easily obtainable ingredients, but I am impressed with the work of Miss Granger, Draco and Neville.”

Harry beamed with pleasure, both at what Severus had been doing and at the praise. Interesting too that Snape used Neville’s first name as standard now. The praise for Hermione made Harry want to smile.

“No need to smirk, Mr Potter,” Snape drawled, “I taught them after all.”

Harry laughed.

“So you did,” he agreed. He so wanted to be there when Snape found out Hermione had had a paper published.

“I think we ought to call a meeting of the Order,” Harry said. “A policy meeting. How do you go about doing it?”

“Tell Albus. He will arrange it if he sees fit. I’m sure he will for you.”

Harry leaned back in his chair. “Does it bother you that I’m a mage?”

Severus looked at him briefly and looked away. “It did when Albus told me I ought to be honoured that you had chosen me.”

“What? ” Harry leapt up. “He didn’t!” He stared at Severus, whose mouth was twisting. “He did! The bastard! How could he?! When he knew how I felt about the continuum of magic. God, he’s a sod.”

Severus had straightened. “Do you want to explain what you mean about the continuum of magic?”

“Can we talk about this in bed?” the words came out of Harry’s mouth.

Severus’ head snapped up.

Face bright red, Harry said, “We always talked about stuff in bed. It felt good. Easy to talk. I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to offend you again. Sit down, please.” He hovered by a seat.

Snape stayed standing.

What had possessed him? Harry thought. But he missed Severus so much!

“I recall we always did the talking after a thorough bout of activity first. Or after. Or both,” Severus mused.

The husky depth of his voice went straight to Harry’s cock.

“Please don’t tease me,” he whispered.

Severus stood there looking at him for several moments, and then, as if coming to a decision, came to stand in front of Harry.

“But I like teasing you,” he said.

Harry shakily stood up straight. Snape didn’t move back.

“Please, Severus, don’t,” he got out.

“Don’t tease you? Don’t want you? Don’t touch you?” Severus’ body was almost touching his.

Harry gulped, his mouth dry, unable to find words.

“I’m afraid I find myself unable to stop wanting to do all of those, Mr Potter,” he said, dark eyes staring into Harry’s, but not a single part of their bodies touching.

“Please,” Harry whispered again.

“Please what? Please go away? Please stay? For one night? For the foreseeable future? I need to know what you want of me, Harry. I won’t go into this blinkered again.”

Harry’s heart was so loud in his chest he was sure Severus must be able to hear it. On impulse, he took Severus’ hand. “This is what you do to me,” he whispered, placing that hand over his heart. “I’ve missed you so much. My life feels a wasteland without you. The future is only duty without you. I can’t promise you years or even months. I don’t know what time I have – we have. All I know is that if I can have whatever time there is with you in it, that will be the best life I could possibly wish for.”

Severus looked at him seriously, and then bent down and brushed his lips across Harry’s, the gentlest stroke of soft, firm skin.

“Do you want this of me?” he murmured.

Harry’s head was craning forward for more.

“God, yes!”

Severus’ hands came to his face, holding it, his eyes locking with Harry’s before fluttering shut. His mouth came down again, still gentle, but this time his tongue slid along Harry’s lips, coaxing it open, just dipping inside.

Harry was panting with want.

“Do you want this of me?” Severus asked again.

“Oh, please, yes!” Harry begged.

Severus leant back a little.

“Take the glamour off.”

Surprised, but hopeful, Harry did so, and stood there in his own face, heart pounding, hoping Severus would not now change his mind.

Severus looked at him carefully, then brushed his cheek against Harry’s, feeling him.

“This is a more attractive face,” Severus admitted.

“You like it?” Harry asked hopefully.

“I daresay I could grow used to it.”

Severus slid a finger down his cheek, under his chin, down to the neck of his gown. He pulled at the silk tie. “Let’s get rid of this,” he demanded, pulling the ends and whipping the tie off, throwing it on the sofa.

“I find myself getting unexpectedly jealous," he commented, nipping under Harry’s jaw. “Endeavour to restrain your flirting.”

“I don’t want anyone else,” Harry gasped.

“Good. You’re not having them,” Severus said firmly.

Harry chuckled.

Severus leant back and held Harry by the arms. “I mean it,” he said. “If you want someone else, do me the courtesy of finishing with me first. I’ve no wish to be cuckolded. If you are tempted by an interesting activity, rather than person, however, ask me: I am open to your suggestions, Mr Potter.”

“Good! Can I suggest we go to bed, then? Now?” Harry said urgently.

“To discuss the magic continuum?”

“To do some practical magic,” Harry was at last touching Snape, his hands sliding up his chest, undoing the buttons of his waistcoat, sliding underneath.

“Really?” Snape purred, his fingers working at Harry’s buttons also.

“Yes. I want to see if I can send you to heaven and back. Willing to let me practice?”

“I hope your practical skills are better than your linguistic ones, Mr Potter,” Severus said, sliding the robe off Harry so that he stood there, naked in a puddle of cloth and boots. “That was dreadful.”

Harry vanished the lot away. “I’m distracted. And not good with words like you. I’m better at the physical stuff – I hope, anyway. At least, I’ll try very hard, I promise,” he offered, leaning in to take Snape’s nipple between his teeth through the fine linen of his shirt.

“I suppose I had better accommodate you, then,” Snape said with a hiss as Harry gave a tug.

Harry, naked, led Severus up the stairs.

It really was a most erotic sight, Snape thought. Despite recent events, Harry seemed to have filled out even more, smooth skin over broadening shoulders tapering down to narrow hips, and deliciously curved buttocks. His thigh and calf muscles shifted and bulged as he stepped up the treads.

On the top step Harry turned round, sliding his arms around Snape’s shoulders.

“I’m almost your height like this,” he gave a shy smile, and leant forward to kiss Severus.

The position reminded Snape of the first night they were together, on the stairs of the Leaky Cauldron. That night he had felt interest, and lust for the young man in front of him. The prospect of a one-night stand had been delicious. His feelings now were much more complex, but he felt no regret with this current development.

That feeling changed as they moved through the door into Harry’s room. Harry was behind him, tugging his snug-fitting jacket from his shoulders. He cast a quick lumos, but as the room came into view he remembed it with bloodstains spotting the carpet, Harry’s bloodstained trousers in a heap, the sight of Harry weeping in the shower.

He stopped abruptly.

Harry, feeling the stiffening of Severus’ body, looked past him and saw the bed.

With a sigh, his hand slid regretfully down Snape’s back.

“We don’t have to do anything. I’m sorry, I pushed it. I hadn’t meant to.”

Snape shrugged the jacket back up over his shoulders and walked into the room.

His hand rubbed wearily over his jaw.

Harry came and sat on the end of the bed. Despite the cool cloth brushing his backside, his erection began to wilt.

Severus turned from his contemplation of the wall to look at him.

So responsive. So naked. Harry’s thighs were spread, to allow room for his sensitive balls. Snape could see the dark flesh against the white of Harry’s counterpane, the dark wiry hair from which his cock rose, now beginning to curve down again. The intriguing tattoo. Taut stomach muscles, dark nipples, biceps braced as he leant back on his hands.

“Is it the student thing again?” Harry asked quietly.

Snape shook his head. “No. Unbelievably, I have come to accept Albus’ argument on that in the last couple of weeks.”

Harry quirked his head. “What argument?”

“He said we were both teachers. I laughed at him. But upon consideration, I have learnt more from you in a term that I suspect you have learnt from me in seven years. My conscience has found it expeditious to accept that argument.”

“You were furious about it before,” Harry said, and then wished he hadn’t.

Severus took a deep breath. “I was particularly angry because - ” he paused.

“What? You can say anything, Severus.” A horrid thought occurred to him. “Have you had a relationship with a student before?”

“No!” Snape exploded.

With a sigh, he came and sat next to Harry. The bed dipped, rolling Harry towards him, but Snape shuffled a little away. Harry was horribly conscious of being naked whilst Snape was fully dressed, and yet couldn’t help feeling there was something erotic about his naked thigh next to Snape’s trouser-clad one. His hand wanted to stretch out and run up that leg.

Harry turned and lit the fire in the grate, the glow instantly soothing, somehow.

“I have never had a relationship with a student – never considered it. That abuse of power – it is abhorrent to me. However, much as I do not wish to inflate your ego further,” Snape cast a look at Harry under his lashes, making Harry’s heart drum harder again, “since the start of this year, I had found myself noticing Harry Potter. In a sexual way. I was disgusted with myself. I wasn’t sure whether I was attracted to the power, which worried me – I already had two men that I had followed due to their power; or whether it was because, for the first time in many years, I was involved in a regular and –“ he gave Harry a slight smirk, “- active sexual relationship, and therefore was more alert to sexual nuances in others. Nevertheless, I was determined that it would not lead to anything, and I had no doubt that I would be able to control any such urges. Imagine my delight at discovering that I had been giving in to them all along,” he said bitterly.

Harry sat forward, hands on his knees, then summoned his dressing gown from the back of the bathroom door, which he put on quickly.

“This is the crux of everything, isn’t it? I don’t want to say the wrong thing, so – just hear me out, alright?”

Snape nodded.

Harry shifted so that he was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed. Snape had his back to him, but that was alright. You could tell a lot from Snape’s back.

“Firstly,” Harry said, “when I met you that night, in the Leaky Cauldron, it was – alright, not exactly like two strangers meeting. I knew who you were – but that’s the point, in a way – I didn’t. The Snape I met that night – he wasn’t the Snape I knew. Not the teacher who hated me. You were real, and funny, and so hot!”

He saw the twitch in Snape’s shoulders.

“I mean it. I was hard at that table, eating pudding and listening to your voice saying suggestive, sexual things. And no, I hadn’t had a school boy crush on you. I hadn’t drooled over you in Potions lessons. My sex life up until then had been purely with Muggles – I’d sort of dissociated my sex life from the wizarding world - in term time, there was only my right hand.”

“And in the holidays you slept with the giant and the muscle man.”

Harry laughed. “Derek was my first lover. And yes, he’s a big guy. Not as big as Andy, who is hung,” he grinned.

Snape’s head snapped round, and Harry nodded, and blushed. “Really. Derek was a wonderful first lover for me – patient, gentle – everything you could want. He made me feel safe, too, which at that point in my life - after Sirius had died, and Voldemort was back, and the events at the Ministry – well, I needed it. I was working for him, and he offered me a room in his flat, and it progressed from there.”

“He took advantage of you?” Snape asked sharply.

“No. I wanted it, and he was generous and kind. He introduced me to the scene in Brighton – it’s one of the biggest gay areas outside of London, I should think – and we met Andy at this club. We’d been exclusive for almost a couple of months – it was near the end of the summer holidays. Anyway, Andy came home with us. I’d never done a threesome before, but I was willing to try things - Derek and I liked each other, but it was never love. Anyway, it was – interesting. But Derek and Andy really hit it off, and they’ve been together ever since.”

“You still see them.”

“Yes. I love them both – as good friends. They’re good people. Derek had a business opportunity come up – he’s in the building trade – and he was remortgaging his flat to get money – anyway, to cut a long story short, I’ve got loads of dosh in Gringotts; I put up some money for the business and bought half the flat. So now I always have somewhere to stay, and also the business has actually been a good investment.”

“Andy doesn’t mind you in the flat?”

“No, I can cook, and they like it when I come, I think. I hope. We all get on really well, go out together. Usually I go every holidays, do labouring on the building site. I like physical work. And they’re like family for me. It’s good. And they don’t mind me bringing home other men. I’m not innocent, Severus, I told you that. So the sex thing – fancying a student? This year, I was aware of you – the man who drove me to distraction? Made me come harder than I’ve ever known? So, probably, you were picking up the vibes from me, because I was more sexually self conscious around you. You can’t blame yourself for that. And certainly not for abusing your power over a student. It just doesn’t fit the picture here, does it? The abuse was on my part,” he said quietly. “I was too selfish to give you up. To look and know that not only would you be angry with me when you found out that you’d been doing the dirty with Harry Potter, but angry with yourself. I hadn’t thought of that, so you’d be right about me being immature. I can’t say anything in my defence on that that won’t make it worse – only that I’m truly sorry; and forewarn you that however old I get I don’t doubt that I’ll still do stupid things, however much I wish otherwise.”

Snape snorted, and turned round to sit on the bed, cross-legged too.

“The power thing,” Harry said. “Maybe you are attracted to powerful wizards. Is that so terrible?” he quirked his head at Snape. “I mean, you’re hugely powerful yourself – much more powerful than Voldemort, if he wasn’t using all his followers, and equal to Albus. Maybe it’s just a like attracting like thing. You’re just putting yourself down because you’ve never valued yourself for the incredible wizard you are.”

“Flattering as you are being,” Snape said, “you are a mage. It is hardly the same.”

“We’re full circle to the magic continuum on that,” Harry said. “It’s like inappropriate excessive reverence. We all have magic – all wizarding folk. I have access to more. You have access to more than Flitwick. Do you despise him for having less? I hope not. The man has made real use of what he has and made excellent advances in Charms. Molly Weasley probably uses more magic in a day than me or you or Albus put together – have you ever seen her? - cooking, washing up, cleaning charms – she’s amazing. Her actual power level is average, but her knowledge of how to use it to best effect to enhance her life – wow! Most of the time none of us need to use a fraction of what we have. What will I need to use my magic for after I defeat Voldemort? I’m really happy working on that building site. If I hadn’t had my Hogwarts letter I could happily have lived as a Muggle building things all my life. Do you see what I mean? I’m no different from anyone else. I have the same basic needs, and wants. We all have things to offer in this life, we’re all special, or ordinary, depending on how you want to see it.”

“Most people would give their right arm for the power you have,” Snape commented.

“Look, I like having it,” Harry said, “don’t think it isn’t - incredible – fantastic. But having any sort of magic is. The day I learnt I was a wizard –when Hagrid told me just before I came here – it was the greatest gift. It still is. But it’s still the same thing. Not something separate – just the same magic other wizards feel.”

“Just more,” Severus smiled, copying his words.

Harry grinned. “Yes.” His hand reached out to Snape’s, waiting a moment to see if the older man would pull away. He didn’t.

Harry lifted the hand, and rubbed his cheek against the back.

“I can live without you, Severus,” he said quietly. “I know all about being alone; doing things alone. But I’d rather have you by my side.”

The older man stroked the hand down Harry’s cheek, then slowly trailed it across to Harry’s lips.

Harry’s breath caught, letting Severus lead this.

The finger brushed across the seam of his mouth again, and Harry couldn’t help parting them. His tongue went to moisten his lips, and met Severus’ finger tip.

Even that taste was enough to force the breath from Harry’s lungs.

Snape didn’t pull his finger away, and Harry tentatively reached out, stroking his tongue over it.

“So good,” he murmured quietly.

Severus slipped it into his mouth. Harry leaned closer to take it all in, lips closing around it, tongue stroking it.

Severus’ eyes had been on that finger, that mouth, but they now rose, dark and hot, to meet Harry’s.

Harry slid down the bed, still with the finger in his mouth, until his head rested on Severus’ thigh. Severus shifted, so that he was half reclining, one leg under Harry’s head and the other bent at right angles to his body. His hand tangled in Harry’s hair.

It was permission.

Harry shifted closer, his nose nuzzling into Severus’ groin. “You smell so good,” he said, his hand moving to the buttons of Severus’ trousers. He could feel Severus’ cock hardening against the back of his fingers as he popped then open, then he knelt up and pulled trousers and underwear down together. Severus’ shoes got in the way. Harry slid off the end of the bed and undid the laces, easing the silk socks off of Snape’s long thin feet. His fingers caressed the underside of the arch, causing Snape to shiver. Harry looked up at him and smiled, and pulled the trousers the rest of the way off.

Snape returned to his original position.

“You look incredibly decadent,” Harry grinned, taking in the tail coat, the undone waistcoat, the shirt with bow tie still in place, and the long, long naked legs. The ends of Severus’ shirt were parted, his dark erection rising through the gap, his heavy balls lying against his leg.

Harry licked his lips with pleasure.

He slid up between Snape’s legs, licking his inner thigh, his tongue leaving a hot then cool trail. He nuzzled the luscious balls, loving the musky scent, licking their crinkled texture before moving up to pay attention to the now rampant cock. He slid his lips up the side, before grasping the base and licking across the head, tasting the precome pooled in the slit.

“So delicious,” he murmured, before sliding the whole head into his mouth, lapping at the frenulum with his tongue.

They both groaned.

Harry spent several minutes worshipping that beautiful organ, his hands roving restlessly over Severus’ thighs, stomach, hips.

“Harry,” Snape’s guttural utterance a warning as he started to thrust.

Harry held him tighter, taking him as far into his throat as he could, and hummed.

Harry swallowed every drop as Severus pulsed into his throat, then slowly allowed the sensitized flesh to slip from his mouth. He licked his lips, collecting everything.

Severus pulled him up, held him tight against him, Harry’s face buried in his neck, his hand stroking Harry’s back. Then he pulled away a little, his eyes warm, and kissed Harry gently, tasting himself in Harry’s mouth.

His hand found the belt of Harry’s robe, pulling it open, tangling their naked legs together.

Slowly they took off their clothes, Harry drawing the silk bow tie from Severus’ neck and with a wicked look, tying it around his softened prick.

“Idiot,” Snape growled, but he hadn’t stopped him, and he looked incredible, lying there like that whilst Harry undid his shirt and slid his hands inside, fingers stroking over his nipples, tangling in the hair between.

Harry climbed over him, pulling Snape into kneeling up so that he could pull off the jacket, waistcoat and shirt, then slid his hand round Snape from behind, his hands roving over taut belly till they came down and undid the bow, sliding the silk over Severus as he removed it.

“Now whenever I see evening dress, I’m going to think of you like that,” Harry whispered into his ear.

“If it has the same effect on you that it has now,” Snape said, pressing back into the erection against his buttocks, “that might prove a little trying.”

“Worth it,” Harry smiled against his neck. “It’s bound to be some boring function. Much rather picture you looking so hot. Even if I do have to sneak off to the gents.”

“You don’t need to sneak off to the gents right now,” Snape said, pressing back again. “You could put that to more mutual use.”

Harry stilled. Snape couldn’t be suggesting –

“I presume you have lube as well as pain potions in your drawers?”

Harry’s hands tightened around Snape’s middle, and then he swung around in front of him.

“Severus? Are you serious? You want me to –“

“Are you averse to the idea?”

“God, no!”

Harry’s own penis had gone so hard it felt as if his skin could split.

“I always assumed – that is - if we ever –“

“Succinct as ever, I see,” Snape drawled. The very fact of it made Harry even more aroused. His head was buzzing with it. “I believe we were leaving this aspect until I knew your identity. And now I do.”

“But I thought –“

“If you wish me to bugger you and not the other way round, you will have to wait.”

Harry looked down at Snape’s groin. He might be older, but his interest was returning fast.

Snape caught his look. “It is not the physical aspect.” He looked away.

“Severus?” Harry said, turning the older man’s head towards him.

“I find myself anxious about – breeching you, given what I did – surely you cannot even contemplate it?”

Harry sat back on his heels, wilting a bit.

“I’m nervous,” he agreed.

Snape moved to the edge of the bed.

“This was probably not a good idea. Another lover –“

Harry slung himself across the bed and swung his legs around, trapping Severus as he straddled his lap.

“I don’t want another lover, idiot! I’m trying to be honest here – it feels all healed, but I’m – apprehensive, all right? Not because it’s you - it’s got to be you, okay? Just – just physically.” He rested his head on Severus’ shoulder.

Severus allowed his hand to come back up, to slowly stroke Harry’s back once more.

“Are you sure?” he swallowed.

Harry nodded into his collar bone.

“Do you ever bottom?” Harry asked.

“I have done.”

“You prefer to top?” Harry sought clarification.

“I am willing to try –“

“Severus.” Harry pulled his chin up and carefully kissed him. “I prefer to bottom. I enjoy topping too, just – there’s something about bottoming that makes me feel - cared for,“ he admitted.

Snape’s hand barely paused as he continued to sooth down the flexed spine.

“Then tonight let me care for you,” he said. “We will save penetrative sex for another day. For now – I think I can find something to do that you might like.”

And he did.

Oh, he did!

Chapter Text

Harry woke to the scents of sweaty armpit and sex, to the warmth of strong arms enclosing him, and several long inches pressed delightfully against his rear.

He snuggled back happily.

“Awake?” the deep voice rumbled in his ear.

“No, I’m having a lovely dream,” Harry smiled into his arm, wiggling some more.

“I could make it reality,” Severus said suggestively.

“Mmm. How would you go about that?” Harry invited.

Long lean fingers slid from his stomach, over his hip and along his thigh, then lifted said leg forward. Severus slid in even closer behind him; Harry felt the hand between them, and then Severus’ length sliding against his skin to nudge into his balls. Severus brought Harry’s leg back down, trapping his cock in the tight heat. He gave a gentle thrust.

“Oooh! Feels lovely,” Harry mumbled, turning his head. Severus leant forward to capture his mouth, rocking forward and backward slowly, mimicking the action with his tongue.

“Morning breath?” Harry gasped, as Severus pulled away for a moment.

“Who the fuck cares?” the older man growled, and Harry saw that he was reaching for the lubricant, which was now on the top of the bedside table. Severus knocked the lid off and slid his fingers in. Even that gollopy slurp was erotic, Harry thought. He brought his hand back, and without removing the one still under Harry, used his fingers to coat his palm, and then slid it under the covers, taking Harry’s erection in hand.

“Mmmmph,” Harry moaned; he turned his head into Severus’ arm, licking the salty taste.

They moved together slowly, languidly, Severus doing all the work, Harry just lying there and loving every minute. Severus said he would take care of him, and he had, making love to him for hours during the course of the night. He didn’t know if he had ever felt as happy as he did at this moment. Warm, content, aroused, cared for, fully giving himself over in trust to Severus.

Lying there in the aftermath some time later, head buried in Snape’s chest, he came suddenly to attention.

“Garden wards breeched,” he explained.

Severus was out of bed and at the window, wand in hand, in a second.

“Neville,” he said, relaxing.

Harry stretched.

Severus watched the feline movement appreciatively.

Harry slid to the edge of the bed and stood up.

“Shower?” he held out his hand invitingly.

Half an hour later, Alex stepped out into the garden.

“Morning Neville,” he said cheerfully. “Fancy some brunch?”

“Do you have enough?” Neville stood up, brushing his hands down his trousers.

“Just had a quick owl delivery sent in when I saw you,” Harry nodded.

Neville followed Harry into the kitchen, pausing only for the slightest moment on the threshold as he took in the sight of Severus Snape turning bacon rashers in a sizzling pan.

“Morning, Professor,” he said calmly, as he took off his boots. A quick glance at Harry was returned with a nod and a shy smile.

“If I’m to call you Neville, you may call me Severus whilst we are here,” Snape said. “How do you like your eggs?”

“Runny, please, Severus. Hey, there’s mushrooms in the garden – want me to get some?”

“As long as they’re not poisonous,” Harry said.

Neville gave him a look, strode over to slip his boots back on, and disappeared out.

Harry came up behind Snape and linked his arms round his stomach, kissing the side of his neck.

“This is nice,” he said.

“Me doing the cooking?” Snape raised an eyebrow.

Harry chuckled. “You know I don’t mind cooking. Just – being here – being open, casual with our friends about it. Well, friend.”

“I have developed a surprising respect for Mr Longbottom,” Snape said.

“That’s good to know,” Neville said, back at the door. “The feeling is mutual, especially now that I don’t have to do Potions anymore,“ he grinned.

Harry stepped away from Snape, and poured tea whilst Neville washed his own hands and rubbed the mushrooms, handing them to Snape.

“You don’t hold it against me - what I did to – Harry?”

“He was a prick,” Neville said, making Harry splutter the sip of tea he had just taken.

“Thanks, mate,” he gasped sarcastically, as Neville thumped him on the back to clear his lungs.

“Well, of course Severus was pissed,” Neville said. He looked at Snape. “I hope any future – retribution - will be less – violent - though,” he said seriously.

Snape nodded, serving up plates of food and putting them on the table.

“You need have no worries,” he said quietly.

Neville nodded, and Harry sat there, amazed at the bizarreness of Neville warning Snape off, and Snape accepting it.

Sunday evening found Harry sitting in the common room by the fire, flipping through a quidditch magazine that someone had abandoned. Neville was sitting in one of the armchairs, making notations in a seed catalogue, and Parvati and Padma were sitting across the room at a small table opposite each other, conjuring make-up effects and hairstyles, to much laughter from the group of girls around them.

The portrait door opened and Hermione came in, bag thumping against her side. She slung it on the floor and slumped down beside Harry.

Neville took one look at her and summoned a pot of tea and jug of milk, poured a cup, and handed it over to her, saying, “It’s not herbal, but you look like you need it. Want one, Harry?”

“Neville, you’re a darling,” Hermione sighed, slipping off her shoes, and with the cup held tightly, she turned sideways and stretched out on the sofa, her back to the arm and her feet in Harry’s lap.

“I fancied one anyway,” Neville said deprecatingly

“Whassup?” Harry asked, after they‘d allowed her to get half the cup inside her.

“Oh, I don’t know. I think I’m working too hard,” Hermione sighed.

Stunned silence met this observation. Harry and Neville exchanged glances. Harry leant forward and felt Hermione’s forehead.

“Yeah, yeah,” she grimaced at him, knocking his hand away.

Harry started massaging her feet.

“Ooh, that’s good,” she wiggled her toes.

Harry glanced at Neville and gave a slight shrug of bemusement. Hermione settled her head into the corner of the sofa.

“God, we’re a sad bunch,” she muttered.

“Hermione, do you need some chocolate, or something?” Harry said tentatively.

“Love some, but need – what – Harry Potter, a girl can have an opinion without it being because her hormones are getting her worked up!” she snapped, drawing her feet away and sitting with her legs hunched up, her robe wrapped around her legs for decency. “Honestly!”

“Sorry, sorry, but it’s not like you to be down,” Harry offered.

Hermione looked away from him, obviously still miffed, and looked around the room.

"Look at this place,” she commented. “Only us sad gits in here.”

Harry and Neville glanced round. The few older students present all looked happy and content.

“Is this about Ron?” Neville suggested bravely.

“No! Well, sort of,” Hermione agreed reluctantly.

“I thought you were over him? Just friends?” Harry put a tentative hand on Hermione’s knee.

“I am! It’s just – it’s just – well, here we are, sitting here all prim and proper, and he’s out there shagging yet another Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff or whatever, happy as Larry.”

Yet again Harry and Neville exchanged glances.

“What?” Hermione snapped, seeing the look.

“You’re jealous of Ron shagging those girls?” Harry said.

“I’m not jealous of Ron shagging those girls,” she said in exasperation, “I’m jealous of his shagging, alright? And don’t you dare exchange another look,” she hissed. ”I miss sex, ok?”

Harry and Neville couldn’t help but stare at each other.

“What? Just because I’m a girl I’m not allowed to feel sexual? Don’t tell me you don’t miss it, Harry.”

An electric silence fell when Harry and Neville definitely didn’t look at each other.

“What now?” She turned to Harry with dawning understanding. “Harry! Have you found someone else? Since when? You wicked little slut,” she grinned. “Spill.”

“No one new,” Harry mumbled, face red.

“What? What! Are you and –are you?” she demanded.

Harry nodded.

“But – holy shit! You lucky bastard.”

Neville nearly dropped his cup. They both stared at her.

“What? He’s hot! I bet you look hot togeth – that is, not that I’ve ever thought about it, of course!”

“Hermione Granger!” Harry laughed. “Look, keep it quiet, alright?”

“Of course I will. Nev knows, though?”

“I seem to make a habit of walking in on them,” Neville blushed.

“Oh my god! Tell me more! Not really, literally walked in –?“

“Nev, we were cooking breakfast! Nothing odd about that,” Harry said hastily.

Neville looked at Harry, his face still red.

“Oh my. There is more! Come on, Nev!”

“Certainly not,” Neville said, “I know how to keep secrets.”

“Bugger,” Hermione sank back. “Have you got some chocolate, then?” she asked Harry after a moment, when Neville was not forthcoming.

He fished some out of his bag. It was always useful for his class, because of the high energy drain of the magic.

They all munched some.

“So,” Hermione asked, dropping her voice, “talking of buggering, I take it everything is alright down there?” she nodded vaguely at Harry’s nether regions.

Harry choked on the chocolate.

“I am not discussing that! For heaven’s sake!” he got out at last, licking over his teeth to remove bits of the melted treat.

“Spoilsport,” Hermione commented. “Just wanted to check you were ok,” she added gently.

Harry looked away. “Gay men do do things apart from rampant arse sports, you know,” he said.

Hermione giggled at the term, but her hand touched his knee in a friendly way. “Sorry, Harry, I didn’t mean to pry. Well, I did,” she grinned, “but not if it makes you uncomfortable. You’re happy?”

Harry nodded. “Very.”

“Just you and me the sad losers, then, Nev,” Hermione said, popping another bit of chocolate in her mouth.

Neville looked at her a moment, and said quietly, “Why should you assume that? You’ve never asked me if there’s anyone in my life. I’ve always been that fat twerp Neville, and I still am, aren’t I? Neville who can’t possibly have had sex or sexual feelings.” He stood up. “I think I’ll go to bed. A nice quiet room and my right hand. What more could I hope for?” he said bitterly, and was up the stairs and out of sight in a second.

Hermione’s mouth was still open. Harry leant forward and shut her jaw with his finger.

“I – I never meant – “she began. “I upset Neville,” she said, horrified. He was always so even tempered. “Is he - is he seeing someone?”

Harry was frowning. “Not that he’s ever mentioned, or that I’ve seen,” he said. “I don’t know why, though. He’s really hot.”

Hermione spluttered.

“What?” Harry turned to look at her. “Have you looked at him recently, Hermione? His body is great. I was worried about – my partner – being interested in him.”

“Harry! Don’t be cruel,” Hermione grinned.

Harry looked hard at her. “No, I’m serious. He’s buff. And powerful, and nice. Some witch is going to be so bloody lucky, you know.”

“I – oh shit, I’ve really upset him, haven’t I? It’s just that he’s always been a friend, I haven’t thought of him like that.”

“Didn’t stop you with Ron,” Harry pointed out.

“No, you’re right,” Hermione agreed. “Oh, pigs’ bottoms! How am I going to make up for that? He’s been so great to me too, over Ron.”

“Apologise?” Harry suggested.

“Perhaps I could set him up with someone,” the wheels were whizzing in Hermione’s mind.

“Oh, holy shit, Hermione, don’t go there!” Harry looked appalled.

“Why not?”

“Because –“

The portrait door opened and Ron’s long legs came through.

He flung himself down in the vacated armchair.

“Whassup?” he asked.

Hermione and Harry changed the subject.

In Harry’s class on Tuesday, they worked on joined magic. It was an interesting experience. Eli and Ernie showed what they could do together as opposed to apart, and then Harry wrote some slips of paper and had everyone have a go in the randomly paired couples, then random threesomes, and then a go all together.

The latter seemed to produce highly unpredictable results, and did not reflect the combined power levels of those involved. He wondered what was happening to the magic that appeared not to be getting through to the spell, and asked the class to think about that for next week, before allowing them to work in pairs or groups of their own choosing. He wondered how his magic and Severus’ would work combined, and was disappointed but also relieved when Severus did not approach him.

The class were all in good spirits, and Harry had asked the house elves to provide them supper. They all sat around and talked and drank after the end of the session, and Harry was well pleased with the camaraderie. The appearance of the food reminded him that he had wanted to investigate house-elf magic, and he determined to speak to Dobby over the next few days.

Harry noticed that Neville had chatted quite a bit with Ernie and Eli, and even Draco. He had not in any way ignored Hermione, but Harry was not totally surprised when Draco lurked behind at the end of class.

Draco sat himself on a desk as Harry collected up the scraps of paper and righted the room.

“What’s going on with Neville and Granger?” he asked, swinging his legs.

“Hermione,” Harry corrected automatically.

Draco didn’t really use Hermione’s name. Although the rule in class was to use first names, he got round this by just not using any name, and had got by quite successfully. On the whole, people knew when you were talking to them. Outside, he called her Granger to keep up appearances, although the name did not hold the negative feel to him that it had in the past. It was just her name.

“Hermione,” he corrected himself now; the word felt strange in his mouth, the shapes it made as it moved through the syllables different. It was odd how that could change the feeling behind it.

“What do you mean?” Harry stalled.

“Oh, come on! Something’s up! Are they going out and trying to hide it badly, or something?”

“No,” Harry grinned at the blond. “Why? You interested?”

In which one? Came into Draco’s head, to his horror. “What, a Gryffindor? Please!” he sneered.

Harry looked at him carefully, and decided to chance saying what he thought. “You’re more bothered about her House than her heritage?”

Draco stood up. “I’ve signed up to your agenda, haven’t I?” he drawled. “In the fabulous new world you’re working towards, heritage is nothing, is it? I can adapt.”

“You don’t believe it, though?” Harry said, with some disappointment.

“She’s one of the cleverest people I know, and magically strong. I’d be a fool not to acknowledge that. But I have a thousand years of wizarding heritage that you’re expecting me to throw away, Potter – don’t expect me to do it lightly.”

Harry sat down. Draco stayed standing, but didn’t go.

“I’m probably an idiot,” Harry said, “but I don’t really understand the whole ‘my family goes back a thousand years’ thing. I mean, Muggles do that too. It’s not as if everyone else just appeared out of the blue a hundred years ago, or something. Everyone has ancestors, it’s just whether you’ve bothered keeping track of them, surely?”

Draco laughed. “I have to admit, you say the weirdest things. For wizards, it’s about our magical ancestry going back for ever. Of course, recording it is tied to wealth and status. All of which I will be leaving behind, for you.”

“No,” Harry said quietly, “I trust you are doing it for you, Draco. You’re not a blind follower, so don’t pretend otherwise. I’ve no objection to self interest – it’s a fact of life. Well, there’s a couple of things to say to that. What does it matter if your magical ancestry goes back pure as pure forever? It doesn’t necessarily make you more powerful magically. Look at Hermione. Or me. My relations aren’t all wizarding folk. I can’t believe everyone in the Malfoy line is either – it’s not natural. There must have been squibs somewhere.”

“Potter, I’m assuming you have no idea how insulting you are being –“ Malfoy drew himself up.

“I’m not,” Harry interrupted. “I’m not meaning to be insulting. This shouldn’t be insulting. The only way thousands of years of a family can have gone on without any variation – any squibs, or exceptional talent – would be by human intervention.”

“What on earth do you mean?” Draco looked down his nose at Harry.

Harry didn’t know whether to repeat the horrid thought that he had just had – the nasty place where his argument had led him unawares.

“Perhaps I’ve said enough –“

“Oh, don’t stop there, Potter, please,” Draco said sarcastically.

“Well, the next comment is offensive,” Harry said frankly. “I’ve really no wish to insult you, Draco.”

Draco looked at him, and came and quietly sat down. “What?”

Harry brushed a hand over his face. “I don’t know enough about wizarding culture,” he said.

Snape appeared around the door. “Ah, Draco!” he looked between the two. “Is something wrong?”

Harry looked across at Snape. “I’ve been mortally affronting Draco,” he said quietly. “I don’t know enough about wizarding culture.” He looked at Draco. “Can the Professor join us for a moment?” He deliberately gave Severus his title.

“Sure,” Draco nodded.

Severus sat down.

“What is the problem?”

“We’ve got into a convoluted discussion of wizarding heritage,” Harry explained. “And I was wondering – well, I was wondering whether infanticide was an acceptable wizarding practice.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, some nationalities have practised it and it’s been acceptable – for example, killing off daughters because sons are preferred. I wondered if wizarding houses kept their lines pure by killing off squibs.”

Draco was shaking. “How dare you!” he began. “How dare you! That is –“

“Certainly the Prince's have done so,” Severus said calmly.

“What!” Draco turned to him.

“Consider your family tree,” Severus said. “Are there members who have died in early infancy?”

“Well, of course there are!” Draco exclaimed, recalling his family tree. “Living conditions weren’t always so easy, you know!”

Snape shook his head. “Magic almost always has prevented wizards suffering from the disease and deprivation suffered by Muggles. It was common practice to weed out those whose magic failed to exhibit itself. I wonder whether the richer houses had access to people like Neville, in the past, who could assess magical signatures without the performance of magic. A study to see whether the richer houses had infant mortality at a younger stage than other houses would be interesting.”

Draco slowly sat down. Jacob Arameus Malfoy. D 1412, aged 2, he thought. Sebastian Lucius Malfoy, d 1693, aged 15 months. The names from his family tree taunted him. Could they really have been killed by their own parents?

“That’s disgusting,” he whispered.

There was a moment’s solemn silence. “What led to this erudite conversation?” Snape enquired.

“Oh –“ Draco thought back to his enquiry about Gr- Hermione - and Neville. “It doesn’t matter.” He stood up. “Were you after me or Harry, Sir?”

“A word with Mr Potter,” Severus said calmly. “Do you wish to wait? I’ll only be a moment. We could discuss this further – “

“That’s alright, Sir, I’ll head off,” Draco said quickly. His thoughts were unpleasant and he needed to think things through on his own.

He left.

Harry turned to Severus. “Have I done something terrible bringing that up?”

“Probably not,” Severus shook his head, warding the door quickly. “It will help him to understand the full implications of what the pureblood philosophy has led to. Killing Muggles has been one thing- to realise that it might lead to killing one’s own flesh and blood –“

“He’s right,” Harry said. “It is disgusting.”

He looked at Severus. “What did you come back for?”

“How welcoming,” Severus smirked at him.

Harry’s eyebrows rose. Severus was teasing Harry Potter. Not Alex, but Harry. He leant forward. “You’re always welcome, Severus.”

“I wondered if you wished to join me for a drink in my chambers,” Severus said.

Was that a hint of colour in his cheeks?

“You can’t make tomorrow?” Harry asked. They had agreed to see each other on Wednesdays, as before.

“I can.” Severus stood up. “I quite appreciate that that is enough for you,” he turned to go. “I am sorry to have –“

“Severus!” Harry had stepped in front of him. “Are you saying you’d like to see more of me? Now, as well as tomorrow?”

“It was a foolish thought on the spur of the moment –“

Harry kissed him hard.

Several moments later, panting and breathless, Harry said affectionately, “Silly bastard! Don’t you know I’d be in your bed every night if you wanted me? I’m going at your pace here – you’re in charge.”

“Mr Potter, kindly refrain from addressing your professors so. I offer you a drink and you jump to conclusions.”

Harry pulled back, contrite and embarrassed.

“I’m sorry –“

Severus reeled him back in, one hand at the base of Harry’s spine, the other smoothing his cheek. “I find your conclusions quite acceptable, however,” his voice had dropped to a husky murmur, and was having that effect on Harry again.

“Shall I apparate us?” Harry breathed.

“I’d better walk down in case I am seen. Apparate from your room. I will be waiting for you.”

Just the thought made Harry shiver and he kissed Severus passionately again, his hands rising to palm over his nipples, then pulling away as just the feel of the tight buds through the cloth of Severus’ robes was enough to make him moan.

He arrived in Severus’ sitting room not many minutes later. Severus was absent, although two drinks had been poured and sat invitingly on the side table, one level lower than the other. Harry took the fuller glass, deducing Severus had started on the first, and sipped the whisky, feeling it fire its way down his throat. Severus still didn’t appear. The bedroom door was open. Harry walked through, and could hear the shower.

Slipping off his clothes quickly, he walked into the bathroom. The shower was a big open area at one end, without a door or curtain – just the slope of the floor and magic keeping the rest of the bathroom dry.

Severus turned and saw him, hands gliding soap down the flat planes of his stomach. Harry gulped. His cock twitched.

The next moment he was under the hot spray with Severus, being thoroughly washed, soapy hands sliding slickly over every inch of him. It was wonderful.

“Turn around,” he said, taking the soap from the older man.

Severus braced one hand against the wall and did as Harry asked. He took the soap and slid his hands around Snape’s chest, leaning against his back and planting a kiss on his nape as he slicked his hands up. He pulled back, and slid his hands over Snape’s wide shoulders, the thick biceps; Harry’s cock loved them; one touch and it always jerked in response. He pressed himself against Snape’s arse, before pulling back to wash down his back. Even through the bubbles he could feel the scar lines where Snape had been whipped, and he bit back his ire, forcing himself to forget how they got there and accept them as part of the man he loved.

Loved.

His hand stilled where it lay, at the top of Severus’ curving derriere.

Snape turned to look at him, eyes warm and welcoming, giving Harry permission to do what he willed.

Harry slid under Snape’s arm in front of him, moulded himself to his body, and buried his face in his neck.

“Harry?” Snape said, concerned, fearful that the touch to his arse had sparked off bad memories for Harry, their recent conversations at the forefront of his mind, despite the activities they had indulged in. “Are you ok? We don’t have to do anything. You don’t have to be here,” he said gently.

“I do,” Harry said into his neck. “I do have to be here. I want to be here,” and he leant up and kissed Snape with all the delicate wonder that sang joyfully through his veins.

Chapter Text

Draco had meant to go straight to his chamber, but he was stopped in the Slytherin common room by Crabbe, who had received a parcel from home that morning and invited Draco to have some cake.

He threw himself into the chair in the corner with the two inseparable boys and accepted a slice.

He couldn’t help wondering whether Goyle and Crabbe’s families had killed off their squibs; Greg and Vince had little enough magic themselves – perhaps only just enough to avoid extermination.

The thought made the cake turn to sawdust in his mouth.

And what sort of people might their families have got rid of? Ones that had no magic but more than two brain cells to rub together? What good had pure blood selection done either of their families? Both fathers were heavily enslaved to Voldemort – and maybe that was logical, for them, thought Draco. What else did they have to offer the wizarding world except the purity of their blood?

“What are you planning on doing after Hogwarts?” he asked casually, taking another bite.

Greg and Vince exchanged glances.

“What?” Draco said.

There was a slight nod between the boys.

“We’re thinking of going to Canada,” Vince answered, his chin up as if expecting a rebuke.

Draco carefully put down his cake.

“Why?”

”We’re getting married,” Greg said proudly.

“They have wizarding gay marriage in Canada?” Draco queried, bemused.

Greg and Vince’s posture tensed.

“They have Muggle gay marriage,” Vince clarified.

“They have that in England, don’t they?” Draco frowned.

There was silence.

“We can be Muggles easier in Canada,” Greg explained. “When we don’t understand things, they’ll think it’s just because we’re English.”

“Let’s get this straight,” Draco leant forward, discretely checking that no-one was listening, “you’re planning on going to Canada and living as Muggles?”

“You know we haven’t got much magic anyway,” Vince shrugged, reflecting Draco's earlier thoughts. “Reckon we’ll be better off away from all this,” he said, waving his hand in a sweep as if to encompass all wizardom.

“You want to leave the wizarding world? Do your families know?”

”Come on, Draco, we may be stupid, but we’re not suicidal.”

“But how will you live?”

“I’ve got a bit of money from my Great-Aunt,” Vince said. “Enough to get us there and get started. Then we’ll find work.”

“Doing what? You’ll need qualifications and things,” Draco was absolutely gobsmacked, but not as much as he was moments later.

“We’ve been working on that,” Greg said.

“We’ve got a Muggle tutor,” Vince whispered. “We’ve done GCSE’s – that’s like Muggle OWLs – in English and Latin.”

“The Latin was really easy,” Greg grinned cheerfully, “I don’t think Muggles use it much. Vince has passed his Maths,” he said proudly, smiling at his partner. “I’m useless at it.”

“You’ll get there,” Vince nodded at him, giving him a solid smile in return. “You did better than me in French, and that’s going to be really useful.” He looked at Draco. “You know, the Goyle’s have that place in France, so Greg’s brilliant at it. And they speak it in Canada as well as English, so that should be a real help.”

“You’re nearly as good as me,” Greg commented, “you’ve been to the chateau every time with me for ever.”

Draco stared from one to the other. “You’ve been planning this for years? And didn’t tell me?”

“Only a couple,” Vince said. “We couldn’t tell you really, could we? What with your father and our dads and all. I’m trusting you to not split on us now.” Vince looked at him seriously.

Draco studied them, felt the tension in them. Admired the underhand activities they had been carrying out all this time. Was rather honoured that they were now trusting him.

“Why now? Why are you trusting me with this now?”

Vince looked at his friend.

“Guess we thought you might have been doing a bit of thinking of your own,” he said at last.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Draco said sharply.

“You’ve been seeing a lot of Hermione Granger,” Greg commented.

“What? We’ve been working on stuff together for Snape –“

“Yeah, but if you hated her like you used to, you wouldn’t be spending as much time with her as you do,” Greg said logically, “so we reckon you fancy her.”

Draco spluttered. “Fancy her! Oh come on! I know your straight radar must be out of tune, but really! She just a really clever witch –“

“Ha!” Vince pointed a finger.

“What? Just because she’s clever doesn’t mean I fancy her, for Merlin’s sake!”

“No, but in the past you’d never have admitted that she was clever – being a Mudblood and all.”

Draco sat back. “Don’t you care?” he exclaimed.

“What? That she’s clever or a Mudblood?”

“Either. That you think I fancy her.”

“It’s your business, mate. She’s got a nice body, for sure, and brains. Suit you nicely, I would have thought,” Greg said calmly.

Draco had to snap his jaw shut to stop it from hanging open.

“Don’t you mind that she’s not pureblood?” he hissed, leaning forward.

“It’s stupid, isn’t?” Vince said. “Look at us – as pureblooded as they come. We know we’re probably the stupidest people in the school. What sort of future have we got in the wizarding world? Everyone knows we’re thick – we’ll only get ratty jobs or have to live off our families’ wealth – well, I want more than that. Greg and I might not be the brightest buttons but we can do things, we’re going to do things, for ourselves. I’m not going to let Greg come home from a meeting with the Dark Lord all battered and tortured! Just ‘cos he’s angry – no way! You must’ve seen your Father come back knocked about? Or maybe not, maybe he’s been clever enough to avoid it. But my Dad has....Well, I’m not having that for Greg. Anyway, Potter’s going to beat the shit out of him, and then where will our families be? We’re going to get out of it,” he said, sitting back. “If you use your brain, you will too.”

“What makes you think Potter will win?” Draco asked, his head reeling.

“You’ve only to watch him,” Greg commented. “He sort of leaks confidence now, doesn’t he? He doesn’t make any fuss over anything, just quietly gets on with stuff. I’ve seen the Dark Lord. He’s as scary as shit, but I think he’s scared himself, always taking it out on other people. Potter will finish him,” he said firmly.

“Why don’t you side with Potter, then?” Draco asked.

“I might have to kill my Dad, or my cousins or uncles: I don’t think I could. I love them, you know.”

“So we’re going to get out of it,” Vince said.

“And come back when it’s all over?” Draco sneered.

“I reckon we’ll stay out there,” Vince said with quiet dignity. “It’s a new life for us. Maybe if we miss magic we’ll link up with the magical community out there.”

“You’d be very welcome to join us, Draco,” Greg offered. “Not – not in that way, of course,” he said suddenly, wondering if Draco might misunderstand. “You know, in our house. We’re worried about you.”

“You do me a great honour,” Draco said slowly. He had never appreciated these friends so much before; he would never underestimate them again. “My future is here, though,” he added.

Vince nodded. “Thought you’d say that. You’ll always be welcome, if you need somewhere, alright?”

“Thank you,” Draco inclined his head. He was aware that his friends had laid their cards on the table and he hadn’t shown his hand. His natural caution had held him back. But it was safer for them, as well as him, for them not to know.

Harry asked Dobby to come and see him, and to bring with him the most respected of the Hogwarts’ elves. He had no idea whether they had any sort of hierarchy, but Dobby seemed to him to be an elf rather out of the ordinary, so he also needed someone who could speak for the others. Both of them came to see him that evening. The senior elf was the most wizened creature Harry had ever seen, yet she had a quiet air of authority about her. Harry was pretty sure it was a her.

“Harry Potter, Sir,” Dobby bowed low, “this is Imi.”

Harry bent down to shake the old lady’s hand. “Thank you so much for coming, Imi,” Harry said, “do please take a seat.”

He had transfigured his desk chair and a book so that he had three chairs around his chamber fire.

The old elf regarded him with beady-eyed interest, shook rather awkwardly the hand (as if she was uncertain about the mechanics of it) and hopped into one of the chairs.

Dobby, looking rather stunned, but keeping unusually silent, took the other.

“I wanted to ask you some questions about a couple of things, but of course you don’t have to answer anything if you don’t want,” Harry said. “I’ve no wish to cause you offence at all.”

“How old is you?” the old lady demanded.

“Seventeen. May I ask how old you both are?” he added daringly.

“I is two hundred and seventy three. Dobby, is you one hundred and twenty seven?”

“One hundred and twenty eight,” Dobby corrected. “I is having my birthday last month.”

You should have said,” Harry smiled, “we could have had a cake, or a celebration –“

“Harry Potter is too kind –“ Dobby began.

“We is celebrating our own way,” Imi interrupted. “Now, your questions, Mr Harry Potter?”

“Well, I noticed how strong house elf magic was. I wondered if you had any limitations,” he asked.

Dobby had his head practically bowing over his knees, but Imi appeared to be made of sterner stuff.

“What is you meaning, exactly?” she asked.

“Well, I notice you don’t use a wand – or do you at times, and if so do you make your own, or buy them, or pass them on? And is it internal magic, or external? Does it work everywhere? Is it stronger in your home, or for doing certain things?”

“Mmmm. Why is you wanting to know, Harry Potter?” she screwed up her face, leaning forward to peer at him.

“Well, to be honest, partly because I’m nosy, and partly because I’m trying to understand magic better, and partly it’s tied in with the second reason I wanted to speak to you.”

“Harry Potter had better tell Imi what that is, then,” she invited.

“You know that some wizards are fighting others?” Harry said. “That wizards like Professor Dumbledore and myself disagree with the things Voldemort believes in, and don’t want the sort of world he wants?”

“Dobby knows all this,“ the elf said, jumping up, “that is why Dobby was trying to stop Harry Potter coming to Hogwarts, because bad Master Malfoy wanted to hurt Harry Potter for Voldemort.”

“Yes, and you was not behaving as a house elf should,” Imi said severely, making Dobby subside into the corner of the chair.

“Well, that’s a good point,” Harry said. “Why do house elves have to do what their master wants? You are obviously clever, intelligent beings. Why do you serve? And why can’t you make your own decisions?”

Imi hauled her round belly up over her legs, and settled herself at the back of the chair. “You is not understanding history, Harry Potter. Elves was living in the woods and not having families to look after. But when house elves discovered wizards living in houses, house elves liked it very much. House elves long ago struck bargains with the wizards to live in their houses, in return for looking after them. House elves is very fond of houses,” she said, as if that explained everything.

Harry thought about what she was not saying.

“So, are house elves tied to the houses themselves, or to the owners?”

“Ah! You is a clever wizard!” Imi nodded approvingly. “Many wizards is forgetting and thinking the elves is tied to them. Elves can forget too,” she said crossly.

“Hold on,” Harry said, “if Dobby is only tied to the house and not the Master, why was he not behaving as a house elf should in thwarting Mr Malfoy?”

“He was not in trouble for that,” Imi said impatiently. “He was endangering a wizard! That is a very bad thing! Very bad!”

“Oh,” said Harry. “Then if I asked if you’d be willing – of your own free will - to fight in the war with us, against Voldemort, you wouldn’t be able? Even if you wished?”

Imi sighed impatiently. She snapped her fingers and a tray of tea things appeared, hovering in the air in front of her. She pointed at the pot and it poured a cup for each, added appropriate milk (and a great deal of sugar for both elves, Harry noticed), and then flew the cups over to them.

“You wizards is very simple minded,” Imi said, having drunk half her cup with big slurping noises and her ears flapping as she drank. “Dobby put the wizard he was wanting to help into danger: that was very bad indeed! Especially jinxing Harry Potter's broom!” she glared at the elf, who sat looking cowed, curled up in the chair. He was trying to bang his head against the wings of the chair but the fabric was too cushioned to have any effect – especially as Harry had softened it wandlessy the minute Dobby started banging.

“So, you could fight if you wanted to?” Harry asked.

“We is not used to fighting,” Imi retrenched.

“But would you be willing to help defend?”

“House elves have been defending their houses for centuries,” Imi said proudly. “There is lots of defending things we can do!”

“And would Hogwarts elves be willing?”

“Dobby will do defending or attacking or anything Harry Potter asks! It would be a great honour for an elf to be asked to stand besides you, Harry Potter, sir,” the elf said fiercely.

“No, it would be my honour to have you there, Dobby, and any other elves that felt the same,” Harry said honestly. “I don’t want to put you in danger. I don’t know if elves would be any worse off if Voldemort won, so I don’t know what I can offer to induce you all to be on our side....”

“Indeed,” Imi said,” it is an honour that you should even talk of us so, Harry Potter. Most wizards prefers not to notice our existence.”

Harry looked at the elderly lady.

“I rather think elves often encourage that,” he suggested.

She chuckled. “You is right again! We is not wanting wizards interfering all the time!”

Harry grinned, and reached over to the pot, offering Imi and Dobby a second cup. “So now you know partly why, would you be willing to tell me about your magic?”

Hermione had gone out to the greenhouses. She could see Neville through the steamed up glass, and gave a small knock against the pane before slipping in, shutting the door firmly to keep in the heat. It had been snowing yet again, and flakes clung fat and white against her black cloak.

“Neville,” she said quietly, when he continued to work.

“A moment,” he answered calmly.

Hermione watched him repotting a plant, his deft fingers carefully untangling the roots, before tenderly placing it into a larger pot and trickling fresh compost around them. Once he had bedded it in and returned it to the huge tables under the charmed lights, he brushed his hands off on an old towel hung on a nail, and turned to Hermione.

“What’s up?” he asked, his voice friendly but distant.

Hermione found her mouth dry and her tongue cleaving to the roof of her mouth. “I wanted to apologise,” she began.

Neville snorted, and turned and picked up another plant. “No need to apologise for saying what everyone else is thinking.”

“Well, apparently not everyone does,” Hermione was stung by the brush off in his tone.

“Don’t tell me you fancy me, I don’t believe it,” Neville said flatly, easing the plant with contrasting carefulness from its container. The appearing root was a violent purple colour.

“Harry said you were hot, and he was worried about - his partner – fancying you.”

The plant slid free and the pot crashed to the floor.

“I think they have their hands quite full enough with each other,” Neville said, bright red. “Literally,” he added under his breath.

“I didn’t mean they were wanting you to join them,” Hermione felt heat flush up from her stomach and under her collar. Now that was a hot thought! Holy shit! And suddenly she found herself looking, for the first time despite what Harry had said, at Neville as a sexual being. And standing there, broad and muscular, legs clad in faded denim that clung over what were, she noticed, extraordinarily muscular thighs, shirt sleeves rolled up revealing strong arms covered in fine dark hair, neck open revealing more dark hair curling in the vee, she could see, like a slap in the face, what Harry was saying. Neville looked virile. Hermione was shocked to feel the familiar tingling as her nipples tightened, despite the heat in the greenhouse, and was glad of her concealing cloak. She tightened it around her, and pulled on the door handle, wanting to escape her thoughts as much as the hot and steamy atmosphere. “Well, I am sorry, and I was wrong,” she snapped, and disappeared.

Neville stood there, plant dangling from his fist, and kicked one of the broken shards of pot.

Was one supposed to ever understand women?

Later that night, in the privacy of her bed, Hermione wondered if she had made the wrong decision. What would have happened if she hadn’t been such a coward? If she had stepped up to Neville instead of leaving? If she had dared to kiss him? How would he have tasted? Smelt? Of earth, and outdoor scents? Of the hot steamy smell of damp compost? Of sweat and desire?

Ron was enjoying life more than he had ever done. His diet of ample food, quidditch and lots of sex seemed to agree very well with him. He had continued to shoot up and was now six feet three, and his muscles had become much more defined- he liked the gym Harry had had set up, and fitted in a couple of hours a week there too.

Actually, he quite liked the gym for thinking. His brain roved all over the place. Girls, strategy, even schoolwork. After the initial bizarreness of this, he found that thinking over school work was actually really useful. He no longer had Hermione nagging him to get on with it, and initially his marks had plummeted as he missed deadlines and just couldn’t be bothered. Now, he thought while he trained or ran, and found he could write his essays much better once he’d planned them in his head.

He’d also started up some weekly meetings on strategy with Snape, Shacklebolt and Hestia Jones. They met at 12 Grimmauld Place, and it felt very odd, the house shut down and just them in the kitchen bashing it out over the kitchen table. His ideas had been accepted and considered valid, however, which had been a huge burst to his confidence. Snape treated him with his usual disdain, but that was more than acceptable. He hadn’t known how he would cope with him after what he had done to Harry, and knowing that he and Harry had once been lovers – eeww! He wondered how Harry stood the sarky attitude – it was hard to believe that Snape would act any different around Harry, even if he did want sex – but why Harry put up with him – but maybe he was an amazing lover – and there he was again –eeww!

With Snape being his usual acerbic self he found he could forget about him and Harry, and concentrate on the matter in hand.

It was during one of these meetings that Severus suddenly clutched his arm.

“You’re being called?” Shacklebolt said, understanding at once.

“Yes,” Severus gritted. The pain felt a lot less intense than it had used to, but it had been so long since it had happened that the shock to his nerves had taken him unawares.

He had become complacent.

He spelled his clothes into Death Eater garb and looked to Ron.

“Tell - Professor Dumbledore - when you return, please,” he said calmly.

Ron shuddered at the sight of him in those clothes, but nodded. “I will, Sir.”

“How long are you likely to be gone, Severus?” Shacklebolt asked, and even Ron realised that the underlying question was ‘when should we start to worry if you haven’t returned?’

Severus gave a harsh laugh. “Who knows? He has never kept me longer than overnight on a school night, so that I can go straight on to teach and not arouse suspicion.”

“Take care,” Hestia said, touching his arm.

The regular words sounded so inadequate, absurd in the circumstances, but Snape nodded, and walked through the house, his footsteps echoing morosely across the hall.

They sat in silence until the noise of the front door closing resounded.

“Ask Professor Dumbledore to let us know he’s alright, please Ron,” Shacklebolt said quietly.

“Of course,” Ron agreed, though he was surprised at the level of concern he felt from the other two. Snape always seemed so disagreeable. It was hard to believe that anyone would care, really, though now, seeing him go off to face Voldemort face to face, to lie to him, Ron began to realise the enormity of what Snape had been doing all these years, the courage it must take. No wonder the bastard was so obnoxious if he had had to stand in front of his classes and teach after no sleep and a night in the company of Voldemort. Merlin knew what he had had to do on those nights. What had been done to him. Ron shuddered.

“It’s ugly,” Shacklebolt said, watching the young man and realising what he was thinking; he had seen too many young Auror recruits after their first contact with what Death Eaters did.

“How does he have the strength?” Ron asked.

Shacklebolt shook his head. “I couldn’t do it,” he said. “The permanent fear, the isolation, the disgust of everyone who deals with you...he is an incredible ally for us.”

Hestia Jones had made tea, and handed Ron a cup. He loaded in a couple of sugars and took comfort from the sweet warmth.

“What would happen to him if he was found out?”

“You don’t want to know. Crucio might be an Unforgivable, but there are plenty of other really nasty ways to make someone suffer. Severus has undoubtedly already experienced many of them.”

Ron sipped his tea to try and still the lurching of his stomach. “Does Voldemort suspect him, then?”

“He has no respect for anyone,” Hestia said quietly. “After his absence, he made a number of his Death Eaters’ families suffer for their failure to search for him or to continue his work.”

“But they still follow him?” Ron said in amazement.

“Fear and the belief that there is no alternative is an effective inducement,” she responded. “He tortured a family member of each Death Eater. In front of them. To show them that if they left him, he would hunt down their families and they would bear the brunt of his anger.”

“Merlin! But –“ wheels were turning in Ron’s brain, “does that mean that actually, they may be a lot less loyal than we had supposed? Could we not offer protection to the families? Cut his support base out from underneath him?”

“It’s an interesting idea.” Shacklebolt considered. “I don’t know, truthfully, if we have the resources to offer that level of protection to so many families. It wouldn’t just be against Voldemort’s wrath,” he explained. “There will be many ordinary wizarding folk who’ll be out for their blood. And of course, we can’t just ignore the crimes they have committed.”

“We do need to think if we can use that reduction in loyalty, though,” Ron said.

“Yes, I agree,” Hestia nodded. “Let’s think that one over and discuss it again next week. Something else just occurred to me – I don’t know why I haven’t thought of it before – I suppose I’ve never seen anyone respond to being Called by the bastard. But how does Snape know where to go? I’m presuming it isn’t the same place, or it’s unplottable, or he would have revealed this before.”

“We need to ask him,” Ron said, nodding, “that could be really important. If we can take the battle into his territory –“

“The problem with that is that it’s likely booby trapped, and they have the advantage of knowing the layout and so on. Those factors would probably outweigh the advantage of surprise.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed, slumping back in his chair. “Still worth knowing, though.”

Hestia stood up. “I think we’re about done here? I really need to get back.”

“Sure,” Shacklebolt agreed.

He saw them both to the floo, set the wards, and they all left.

Harry was doing some homework in the common room when Ron stepped through the portrait hole and came and threw himself down opposite him.

“You’re back early,” Harry commented.

“Just a bit,” Ron nodded. “Useful evening though. Lots of new ideas.”

“That’s good,” Harry smiled. He’d head down to Severus’ chambers in a moment.

“D’you want a cup of tea, or hot chocolate or anything?”

“Nah, Hestia made us a second cup. I’m swimming in it already: be pissing all night. What’ve you been up to?”

“Transfiguration homework, and that Charms essay,” Harry rolled his eyes.

“Why do you bother?” Ron asked. “I’m sure I wouldn’t give a shit if I was you.”

“If I survive Voldemort I’ll still need a job,” Harry shrugged his shoulders.

“Yeah, but surely you’re going to tell them, aren’t you?”

“Tell who what?” Seamus came up behind Ron, grinning.

Ron exchanged a startled look with Harry; he needed to be more careful of what he said where.

“Which of my secrets do you think I should spill, Ron?” Harry mused.

Seamus chucked himself into the seat, and grinned. “What you got, Harry? Tell ole Seamus all!”

Harry stretched his legs out, hands folded behind his head, and mused. “Well, Seamus,” I could tell you I’m going to kill off Voldemort,” he said.

“Nah, we know that, what’s new?” Seamus grinned. He took out a bag of Bertie Botts and offered them to them both.

“Gonna help?” Harry asked.

“What, me?” Seamus grinned.

“Yeah, you, Finnegan. Can’t do it all on my own. I’m going to do it soon. You a doer, a sitter on the fence, or with the other team?”

“You’re serious,” Seamus said suddenly, sitting forward.

“I am,” Harry brought his arms down and rested them on his knees, looking at the young man with whom he’d shared a dorm for six years. “I think we’d all like a future without having to factor in Voldemort. I know you came to the DA, but now we’re talking heavy stuff. I’d be glad to have you at our side. Think about it.”

Seamus stood up, and came and stood in front of Harry. “I don’t need to think about it. I’m in.” He saw Harry begin to speak. “My Dad’s a Muggle; he’s the most brilliant Dad in the world. It killed him to let me leave home and come here, he told me last hols. Don’t anyone tell me Muggles aren’t as good as wizards.” He stretched out his hand.

Harry shook it. “Thanks, Seamus. Don’t speak to anyone about timing or anything else that could help the other side, please, mate. It’s important.”

Seamus nodded. “You should speak to Dean; Neville too. We’re with you.”

“I’m glad, of that. I will speak to Dean. Neville’s already a definite.”

“Well, that’s good. You never know when you’ll need some new roses.”

Harry looked hard at him. “Don’t underestimate Neville,” he said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

Seamus looked at him.

“Seriously, mate,” Ron added in, “if it was Nev having to face Voldemort rather than Harry, I’d still be standing beside him.”

“Okay,” Seamus said dubiously, “I’ll bear that in mind.” He got up. “I’m off.” He stretched his arms over his head.

“Where’re you going?” Ron asked.

Seamus winked. “There’s the odd girl here who’s not into red hair,” he grinned, and headed for the portrait hole, slicking his own hair with his fingers as he went.

Harry laughed.

“What?” Ron asked, slinging a cushion at him.

“I just bet you’re wondering who it is and if you can make her like red after all,” Harry grinned.

“Hey, it’s not my hair colour they’re thinking about,” Ron smirked back.

Harry mock bowed. “I salute you, oh Gryffindor sex king,” he teased.

“Yeah, right. I just count my lucky stars –“ he looked round quickly to make sure they weren’t overheard this time – “that you bat for the other team. Not that I think we’d have the same choice in partners.” He scrunched up his nose. “I mean – uugh! Go for someone better next time, mate!”

Harry stiffened. “He’s a great guy,” he started.

“Hey, I don’t doubt that,” Ron put up a hand to stop Harry. He leant forward, checking round again. “I mean, he was Called tonight, and it made me think – I mean, bloody hell! How does he do that? I’d be shitting my pants every time!”

“He was Called?” Harry’s stomach lurched.

“Yeh. Transfigured his kit and was off cool as a cucumber. I can see why you’d be impressed by that, but - physically – well! You’re not bad looking, you know, and with your name you could have anyone. Get out there and find them. Don’t know why you’re not shagging yourself silly before the big whatever.”

“Like you are?” Harry said tightly.

Ron sat back. “Think I’d be doing it regardless, battle or no. I like sex,” he said, unoffended.

“Don’t you want more?” Harry asked curiously, letting the conversation meander. He wanted to ask about Severus, and although Hermione and Neville knew they were back together, he didn’t know if Snape would want it going any further.

“More girls? Yeh,” Ron grinned.

“Come on, Ron, you know what I mean. A relationship.”

“Been there, done that....I’m too young to settle, Hermione was right. It was great with her, but – well – I always noticed the others. Now I don’t have to feel guilty. And we’re still friends. Best of both worlds.”

Harry was shocked, really, that it was frankly all about sex to Ron. Maybe, coming from his large, close knit family, he’d had enough warmth and love to not worry about getting it from a partner, not needing someone special to care for him, to care for them in return: he’d always have his family to love him.

Harry loved Severus; loved caring about him; but right now that meant he was shit-scared with how he was, what he was doing at this very minute, whether Voldemort could feel the link was weakened, suspected Severus, was hurting Severus.

And even if that wasn’t the case, why had he Called him?

“Come upstairs,” Harry said suddenly.

“Wha -?” Ron said, but followed Harry.

Inside his room, Harry warded the chamber.

“Did he give any idea why he was Called?” he asked Ron as Ron flung himself comfortably across Harry’s bed.

“Snape?”

“Who else?” Harry said impatiently.

“Nah. Asked me to tell Dumbledore, which I did as soon as I got back.”

“What did Dumbledore say?”

“Thank you?” Ron grinned. He sat up. “Look, he knows what he’s doing –“

“Yes,” Harry said, “putting himself in danger once again.” He straightened. “With your strategist’s hat on, what do you think it could mean?”

Ron thought for a moment.

“Well, I suppose he either wanted to find out some information – which Snape may or may not be able to give him, so it could be a command to seek that information – or he could need him to do something – brew a potion, maybe – or he could be calling all his troops together to ready for a big push – but look, we should know soon enough. I mean, I can’t ever remembering him missing classes, so I expect he’ll be back by morning. Unless it is that they are going to attack, in which case we’ll all know rather sooner than we’d like. Or if he’s been found out, he’ll be dead soon enough, and a thousand students will be cheering at getting a new teacher.”

Harry snapped round. “God, Ron, that was nasty.”

“True, though.” He looked up suddenly. “Shit, Harry, you can’t still like the bastard! After what he did to you?”

“I deserved it,” Harry said.

“Hey!” Ron stood up, angry, and took Harry by the arms. “From what I gather, spell or no spell, it was a vicious rape! No one deserves that! Don’t dare believe otherwise!”

Harry shrugged him off and turned away, walking over to the fire, which had blossomed to life as they entered the room.

“Fair enough,” he said quietly. “Nevertheless, as you said, he is outstandingly brave and a big asset to our fight. I can’t accept you talking about him being killed as if it were a good thing. One day it could be me. Or you. Or -”

“Fine!” Ron threw up his hands. “I was too honest. Thousands of children who only know him as a snarky git would rejoice; anyone who knew the work he did would regret his absence. Will that do?”

“Perfect!” Harry snapped.

“Merlin!” Ron gritted. “Are we done here? I’ve pleasanter ways of finishing my evening.”

Holding his temper in as best he could, Harry nodded. “Thanks for your time,” he said sarcastically.

“Look,” Ron suggested, “it can’t all be about the war. There have to be good things in life to make it worth fighting for, you know. Go get yourself laid and out of that grouchy temper,” and he slammed the door as he left.

“Shit!” Harry thought. “Severus!” It felt worse than seeing Ron and Hermione tied underwater in the Triwizard tournament. At least he could do something about it then.

What would Snape need him to do?

He apparated into Snape’s room, and looked around. He lit the fire, made sure the whisky was out with glasses at the ready. He put a warming charm on the bed - he remembered how cold he had felt returning from the graveyard, and when the shock set in after the Department of Mysteries fiasco. Then he sat with a book, and waited.

And waited.

It was around two in the morning when Snape’s door creaked and he walked wearily in. He came to a halt as Harry stood up.

“Harry! What are you doing here?”

Never mind that Harry had spent every night with Severus since that Tuesday.

“Waiting for you?” Harry said, trying to inject a note of calm into his voice, rather than the fierce worry that he was feeling.

Severus walked towards the bathroom, skirting him. “I’m not up for sex tonight. Go back to your own room,” he said, back to Harry.

Full of fear of what that meant, Harry came towards him and reached his hand towards Severus’ arms.

“Don’t touch me!”

Harry jerked back instantly.

Was Severus hurt? Abused? His heart pounded.

Severus’ gaunt face softened a little. “I am not hurt, or – or anything else,” he said expressionlessly. “I - I just feel dirty. Let me go and shower and get out of these clothes.”

Harry nodded, and went and boiled the kettle. It might be late, but Severus loved coffee and even if he only enjoyed the smell it was worth making.

Severus spent a long time in the shower, but eventually appeared.

“Coffee? Whisky?” Harry asked.

“You don’t need to mother me, you know,” he said harshly, but he drank the whisky down in one and then nodded his head for the coffee, pouring another whisky as Harry did the honours on the hot drink.

“I’m taking this into bed,” he said quietly. “You should go.”

Harry stood up, and went over to Snape, not touching him, just close. Harry was relieved that he didn’t flinch.

“Of course I’ll go if you want me to, but if you just want company – no sex, definitely – then I’ll stay.”

“I am accustomed to dealing with the aftermath of my visits to that vile creature alone,” Snape said.

Harry nodded. “Fair enough. But what we are accustomed to isn’t always the best.”

“No,” Severus said slowly, “but I have not enough brain to think tonight. Join me for a quick breakfast in here,” he invited.

Harry nodded, knowing he was being dismissed.

It hurt.

But this wasn’t about him, it was about Severus.

He touched Severus’ arm, just a gentle stroke. “I’ll be there. And just know that however dirty you feel, however contaminated by him, I do understand a bit. I’ve seen what he does, and I’ve had him in my head. And however you are, I still want you, to be with you. Good night, love, and try and sleep.” And though it was the hardest thing to do, he left.

And Severus didn’t stop him.

Chapter Text

The next morning Harry apparated into Severus’ chamber. Severus was already seated at the table with a pot of coffee, toast and marmalade in front of him

Harry slid into his normal seat, and gave a tentative smile as he reached for toast.

“No warm greeting?” Snape asked.

Harry was up and round the table in a shot, his hand cupping the smooth, newly shaven cheek.

He found only warmth and welcome in the dark eyes, and bent forward, brushing a soft kiss across the thin lips.

Severus accepted it, his hand coming to rest on Harry’s hip.

Harry pulled away slowly, reluctantly.

“The bed was cold without you,” Snape said quietly, and all the worries that had tormented Harry all night – that he was not enough for Severus, that Severus didn’t think him mature enough to share his thoughts as well as his bed, flew out of the window, and his face was lit up by a beaming smile.

Severus’ eyes narrowed, and his hand tightened on his hip. “You were worried –“

“Of course I was!” Harry burst out.

Snape shook his head. “About us. Silly boy. You are more mature, then, than I thought, to have gone. I am grateful for it, Harry, though next time, I think I will be glad to find you in my bed when I return.”

“Good,” Harry said, sitting back down and slathering marmalade over the toast, suddenly hungry now that his equilibrium had been restored.

“I spoke to Albus last night,” Snape said quietly. “Neither of us knows the best course of action. Voldemort wishes to attack Miss Granger’s parents.”

Harry gulped around the mouthful he had just eaten.

“Oh shit. Who else was there? Would Voldemort know it was you if we removed them?”

“That is not all,” Severus continued. “He has asked me to discover their address.”

“Oh. Right. Now we’re up shit street.”

Severus drank his coffee.

“We need to talk to Hermione,” Harry said at last.

“And let her worry?”

“She’ll feel worse if she ever finds out we knew and didn’t give her the opportunity to do something about it,” Harry said.

“Are you sure?” Severus asked.

Harry nodded. “There’s nothing worse than being left out of the loop, and Hermione might have suggestions.”

“I will ask the Headmaster to see us all after lunch,” Severus acquiesced. He looked at the clock on the wall, now pointing at ‘Time to Teach’, and stood up. Harry popped the last segment of his orange into his mouth and got up too.

Severus picked up a basket of scrolls and walked over to Harry, kissing him gently, his tongue lapping in to taste the citrus sweetness.

The pain of last night seemed to have morphed somehow into an even greater closeness, and Harry rested his forehead for a moment on Severus’ chest before stepping back, and with a smile apparating to his own room, before heading down to the common room and class.

“It was bound to happen,” Hermione said flatly, surprising the others assembled in the Headmaster’s study - Harry, Snape and Professor McGonagall.

At the startled noise her Head of House made, Hermione said,”I’ve been expecting it for years. I’ve added extra wards to home and to their work, but it sounds like we need to do something more. But then Professor Snape will be implicated.” She chewed her nails, and then looked up. “Who was at the meeting with you, Professor? And why would Voldemort want to kill my parents now?”

“Lucius Malfoy, Wormtail and Rookwood were also present.”

“Are meetings usually that small?” Hermione asked in surprise.

“They can be,” Severus answered.

“And the purpose of it was to organise an attack on my parents?” she said, confused.

“Several targets were discussed – in effect, we were given the task of organising one each.”

“And that’s a regular thing for you?” Hermione said with distaste.

Severus straightened. “As it happens, no. I am usually required to work on potions, or to give information on Professor Dumbledore’s strategies.”

Hermione put her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry,” she said gently.

Severus had never been so surprised.

“The thing is,” she continued, “if it was unusual, that makes it more complicated, in a way, doesn’t it? I mean, he’s putting you in a no-win situation. If you succeed in getting the address, you are very likely to be a suspect with Dumbledore. If you do not, you face Voldemort’s wrath. Why would he choose to put you into that position?”

“I think you can’t appreciate how he thinks, Miss Granger,” Snape replied. “He has asked me to do many things that would cause Professor Dumbledore to doubt me should he suspect me of them. Voldemort has no time for failures: he expects me to succeed, and quickly too.”

“Miss Granger,” Professor McGonagall said, “can you tell us what wards you have used? We can consider best then what the risks are, and what more we can do.”

Hermione nodded, and proceeded to list half a dozen extremely powerful wards.

The staff looked at her in amazement.

“Who did you get to put those in place, Miss Granger?” Professor McGonagall asked.

“I did them, some in third year and more in fourth.”

“On your own?” Professor McGonagall’s voice was almost a screech.

“How can that be?” Severus said. “The laws restricting under-age magic - “

“Actually lists the classes of spells restricted; wards are not mentioned,” Hermione interrupted stoutly.

“You read through the laws?” Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling.

“Anyone can gain a pass to the Reading Room at the Ministry and ask to read legal books,” Hermione said. “I’ve spent many enjoyable days there.”

“How come you never told me about the specific restrictions?” Harry asked.

Hermione looked at him. “Because you would have got yourself into trouble,” she said severely.

Severus could be heard making a choking sound, which he turned into a slight cough when Harry mock-glared at him.

“I knew if you had a serious problem you’d use magic and face the consequences later,” she continued firmly.

Even Minerva McGonagall was trying to hide a smile behind her hand.

“Honestly, I’m not that bad!” Harry exclaimed.

“Flying cars, Mr Potter?” Severus suggested.

“Knight bus?” Hermione contributed.

“Huh!” Harry humphed, “and here I am insisting you aren’t kept in the dark!”

Hermione smiled at him. “And I thank you for it, Harry, really. But what’s happening here? It sounds like my parents may be a target chosen specifically to distract Harry, – someone close – at least connected – obviously acceptable to the Death Eaters, as opposed to, say, the pureblood Weasleys, and they’ll not be expecting wards as they will at the Dursley’s. And – and – they get the effect whether you tell us or not, Professor Snape! Having told us, we’re distracted earlier trying to prevent it. If the attack went ahead, we’ll all be distracted afterw – afterwards,” Hermione said the last words reluctantly. Simple words that meant her parents were dead.

“Will they be able to know who did the wards? When they went up?” Harry asked.

The others looked at him.

“Well, I can feel the wards at Hogwarts, feel that they’re centuries old, but that there’s new stuff bound in them. Would Death Eaters attacking Hermione’s know that the wards had been there ages? Could they recognise her signature? If they felt that, Severus would be in the clear. The question is, are they strong enough? And I’m sorry, Hermione, but what’s to stop them attacking when they aren’t in the home or at work?”

“I suspect most people would not be able to detect when the wards were placed, or who had done so,” Albus said, shaking his head. “The fact that you set them on your own home should make them stronger, however. I suggest that we have a look to see what can be done to improve them. All our Heads of Houses are skilled in wards, as they have a great deal of experience in setting both their House ones and Hogwarts ones. Minerva, would you be so kind as to accompany Miss Granger?”

“I would like to help,” Harry offered.

“You are strong, Harry, I know, but that may give the matter away,” Albus denied him.

“With respect, Albus,” Harry said, “I too have set extra wards here at Hogwarts, and I can use earth magic directly without a wand, which will be undetectable.”

“It could be a trap,” Severus said quietly. “It is not without possibility that Voldemort already knows where Miss Granger’s parents live: he has only to have had her owls tracked, or to have had her followed home at the end of term at some point. Should I be a spy, they would expect precisely what Mr Potter is suggesting – that he will plunge into the fray and go to reinforce them.”

“What are you suggesting, then?” Harry demanded.

Severus paced the room.

Suddenly he turned round. “Minerva, I’m afraid you are going to need to have a small but very public accident or illness – a fall down the stairs, or wizarding measles or some such.”

“Really, Severus? And why is that?” she said, drawing herself up.

“So that the Headmaster asks me to accompany Miss Granger home when her parents are involved in a – car –accident,” he said calmly.

“You can’t be planning on my parents really having an accident!” Hermione jumped up, fists clenched.

“A minor accident that requires your return home,” Severus nodded. “I am sure we can arrange something.”

“Where are you going with this, Severus?” Dumbledore asked.

“I will accompany Miss Granger and strengthen the wards. I can use wandless magic, and it is unlikely to be traceable as such,” he said.

“I’ll go with you,” Harry said.

“You can’t be seen, Harry,” Professor McGonagall shook her head.

“I know. I won’t be.”

Hermione looked at them all. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Harry got up and gave her a quick hug.

“Is this the right thing to do, though?” she asked over his shoulder.

“Because they’re still at risk?” Harry asked.

She nodded.

Harry looked at the older people in the room. “Are there any protection spells I could use?”

“A personal protection against everything is almost impossible,” Dumbledore said quietly. “With this combination, Severus could suggest he was responsible for the accident – “

“The Dark Lord will not be pleased if I have acted without his permission,” Severus commented.

“It’s a fall-back, Severus,” Minerva suggested.

He nodded. “Yes. I would still be pu- “ he looked at Hermione, and changed tack. “That might work, should I have need of it.”

“You are a good man, Professor Snape,” she smiled her thanks, eyes glistening.

“You have the wrong man, Miss Granger,” he said.

They thrashed out the details.

As it happened, things did not go according to plan.

Minerva certainly had an accident. Fate, however, took a hand to ensure that the outcome was entirely unexpected. Albus had been in charge of this element, without the knowledge of the others, so that true surprise would ensue. Unfortunately, his charm to make Minerva slip down the stairs (which he had pre-cushioned on the treads and at the bottom) in front of everyone as she led the Gryffindors down to watch the quidditch match between Slytherin and Ravenclaw, was foiled by a second year Hufflepuff, who had knocked against the banister and broken the bottle of butter beer that they were attempting to conceal under their robes. Minerva skidded on the slimy butterbeer (having been wearing her slipperiest shoes for several days, not knowing Albus’ plan), and instead of falling conveniently down the stairs, went head first over the banisters, a spectacular incident accompanied by the screams of the students and an impressive mid-air transfiguration into cat form.

Students for years afterwards debated violently on whether the Professor had really been wearing purple bloomers with pink lace edging, seen (apparently) as her robes flew around as she pitched forward, or (as was another school of thought) was actually seen completely naked momentarily as she transformed. Whatever the truth, her landing met with a resounding round of applause, but unfortunately hairline fractures to several bones in her feet and arms, the pain of which caused the professor to be unable to transform back, instead lying in a yowling heap licking delicately at her limbs.

“Don’t touch her!” screamed Hermione, racing down the stairs, not sure if this was a real or false set-up, but her love of felines (and not to mention her fondness of her Head of House) leading her to charge down the stairs yelling at everyone. As all the Gryffindors knew Hermione had Crookshanks and that Hermione knew everything about everything anyway, they obeyed, as did the Hufflepuffs at the bottom of the stairs who were wanting to pick up the poor kitty.

“Run for Madam Pomfrey!” Hermione shouted at a startled first year, who, flush with pride at the task, shot off to find the Mediwitch.

“Sure you don’t want Hagrid?” Pansy Parkinson sneered, having witnessed the fall as she came up from the dungeons.

“Piss off, Pansy!” Hermione snarled, to “oohs” of delighted shock at the Head Girl’s language.

Hermione knelt down carefully by the cat, Ron and Harry at her side. It was hard to judge what was wrong – there was no blood, or protruding bones, thank goodness.

Fortunately Professor Sprout appeared, and quickly took charge, shooing everyone away.

“I hope she isn’t seriously hurt,” Hermione worried as they made their way down to the pitch. “That was awful!”

“Tremendous transfiguration, though,” Parvati said, who was in a cluster of students nearby. “Now that really makes sense of being an animagus.”

That evening the Gryffindor students were informed that their Head of House would be out of action for several days whilst her bones healed. They were informed that Professor Hooch would deal with any problems, should they have any, and the prefects were asked to be a first port of call for the younger students.

Hermione spent the night badly, worrying about Professor McGonagall and then the car crash that her parents would suffer. How could she be sure that they wouldn’t be seriously hurt?

It was at breakfast the next morning that the plan was put into action. There was a flurry of activity at the top table, with Dumbledore being called away and then returning to speak to Professor Hooch, who shook her head firmly. Dumbledore turned to Snape, who obviously protested, but then wearily acquiesced. The little drama attracted even more attention when Professor Snape strolled down to Hermione Granger and spoke to her.

“Miss Granger. The Headmaster would like you to accompany me,” he ordered.

Hermione stood up. “Yes, Sir. Where to, Sir?”

Snape flicked his eyes over the eager faces watching them and ears listening. “I don’t believe it is of any concern to anyone else,” he said shortly. “Do stop dawdling.”

Ron and Harry stood too.

Snape glared at them. “And where do you two think you are going? Is Miss Granger unable to walk without your support? Finish your meal.”

Hermione heaved up her bag.

“You may leave that to your helpful colleagues,” he sneered.

Hermione followed Snape out of the hall.

“Summon your cloak,” Snape said coldly, doing the same himself.

Hermione did so, fear and anxiety in her chest.

Their cloaks flew towards them and Hermione hugged hers over her shoulders.

Snape led her to the doors, holding it open wide in an elaborate flourish.

They walked down the path.

“I’m here,” Harry said quietly. “Good thing they’ve cleared the path or my footsteps would show.”

“Damn!” Snape said.

The reason was eminently clear.

Lucius Malfoy was walking up the path.

“It’s good, isn’t it? We have everything set up – “ Hermione said, looking straight ahead.

“Unfortunately not,” Snape snapped. “Mundungus Fletcher managed to get stopped for speeding in the car he acquired. He was then found to be lacking some essential documents and was apprehended. The incident involving your parents has not yet taken place. Nevertheless, Albus and I decided we could not waste Professor McGonagall’s situation, and to proceed, with the accident to occur shortly. Now we have a problem, should Malfoy check or follow.”

Hermione was silent. “Leave this to me, Professor, please,” she said.

He stared down at her. “What stupid scheme - ?”

“Trust her, Severus,” Harry added quietly.

“Look furious,” Hermione said.

“That won’t be difficult,” Snape bit out, lifting his head to an aggrieved angle.

“Mr Malfoy,” he said formally, in acknowledgement of Hermione’s presence. “What brings you to Hogwarts?”

Lucius Malfoy stood there, twirling his cane, looking as resplendent as ever. His cloak was made of finest cashmere, a rich deep blue which made his hair glow, and his grey eyes look preternaturally pale.

“I wished to have a word with the Headmaster about my son’s future studies. I am sorry to see that you are leaving, Severus. And in such –unexpected - company.” He raised his eyebrows, looking from one to the other.

Severus twitched his brows tighter, and hoped in the name of magic that trusting the young woman beside him was not a big, big mistake.

“Professor Snape is forcing me to take him to see Leonard Dimblethwaite,” Hermione said angrily, her face fierce.

“Indeed?” Malfoy said arrogantly. “I don’t believe I was addressing you, young woman.”

“Well, I’ve no desire to be addressing you, either,” she retorted. “Pray let us pass and get this business cleared up.”

“I will not accept rudeness from school children, Miss Granger, on top of the rest of this nonsense. Apologise to Mr Malfoy at once,” Snape demanded. The chit was giving him clues. Leonard Dimblethwaite? Editor-in-chief of Practical Potions Monthly? Why on earth should she be taking him there?

“But he does not wish me to address him, Sir,” Hermione said cheekily.

“This is the problem with allowing such – riff raff – into the school,” Malfoy said to Snape. “They have no concept of manners whatsoever.”

Hermione lifted her chin. “Respect is about giving it where it is due,” she said calmly. “I wrote the article under the pseudonym Herbert Greystoke precisely because of the antiquated notions of outdated wizards like yourselves. I can assure you, the reactions of the readers of Practical Potions Monthly have been very positive. Had I submitted the article as a young witch – a Muggle-born witch – “ she looked at Malfoy disdainfully – “I doubt whether the reception would have been the same.”

Severus turned to look her in the face, eyes dark with fury. “And your conceit to think that you can claim the work of a respected member of the Potions community astounds me, Miss Granger! Expulsion will be the least of your problems when the Headmaster has confirmation of your appalling lies! In the absence of your Head of House, I will have great pleasure in returning you to the bosom of your family. Maybe Muggles find such lies acceptable.”

He glanced up at Malfoy during this little tirade, and found the other man’s mouth quirking. Good. He had reeled him in a little with the mention of taking Hermione to her home. Though what had possessed her to come up with this nonsense he had no idea.

“Draco always said that your head was a great deal too large: it seems you have exceeded expectations, Miss Granger. How very droll. Severus, do tell me, is Minerva McGonagall on a leave of absence?”

“She had an unfortunate slip yesterday. Over the banisters,” Severus smirked.

“Dear me, what is Hogwarts coming to?” Malfoy returned. “I may well remove Draco early. But we will discuss that another day. Do not let me keep you, Severus,” and he swept off up the drive.

Harry carefully kept his feet walking at the same pace as Hermione’s, turning to see Malfoy disappear into the school.

“He’s gone,” he whispered.

“What in the name of all that’s holy led you to make up a story like that?” Snape barked. “For Merlin’s sake! I thought you had something decent! We would have been better to risk the original tale!”

Harry chuckled, then muffled it.

“Severus, why do you think I was reading Practical Potions when we met?”

“Were you, Harry?” Hermione grinned.

“I conversed very ably on Herbert Greystoke’s thesis,” Harry retorted, a laugh in his voice.

Snape turned on the spot.

Hermione’s arm bumped against his, and Harry lurched into Severus’ back.

“Oomph! Give a man some warning!” he said, pulling away.

Snape ignored him, and pulled Hermione behind one of the ivy-clad pillars on which the gates were hung.

“Are you telling me you really are Herbert Greystoke?” he demanded.

Hermione gave a slight bow. “At your service. I kept the initials,” she added.

Severus stared at her for a long moment, and then gave a slight bow himself. “I have to admit to being impressed, Miss Granger,” he said at last.

“Thank you,” she said demurely.

They walked a few steps further to the apparition point. “And Leonard Dimblethwaite knows?”

“He didn’t before he published, but after – yes.”

They apparated, landing in Hermione’s front room.

Severus laughed. “You have an unexpected Slytherin side. I am astonished.”

“And unfortunately wrong. It was Harry’s Slytherin side that came up with the idea,” she grinned.

“We’ll need to go to see Dimblethwaite: Lucius may check.”

Hermione nodded. “Can we do the wards first?”

“Certainly,” Severus agreed.

Harry had thrown off his cloak and the two of them moved to stand opposite each other, then shut their eyes, feeling out, to detect what Hermione had put in place.

After several long moments, Snape opened his eyes. He watched Harry, who still stood there, motionless and sensing. His hair was mussed from being under the cloak – not that it looked much different from usual – his body loose and relaxed as he allowed his magic to work.

Snape felt a sudden sense of knowing. This was a man he could look at when Harry was old and grey and gnarled, and Severus would still enjoy the sight before him. Would Harry still want him all those years into the future?

He rather thought he might. Harry liked constancy. He had kept the same friends throughout his seven years at Hogwarts, just added more to the mix. He still visited Hagrid regularly – he had no high notions about himself – quite the opposite. He knew he ought to let Harry go, should he want to, but he wanted him; he would not let him leave without putting up a fight!

Harry’s eyes opened, big and green and filling instantly with pleasure at seeing him, and Severus’ heart gave the strangest little leap in his chest. Harry’s hand came out automatically towards him, and before he knew it, Severus had taken it.

Hermione smiled behind her hand.

Severus was leaning in to kiss Harry when the brightness of their surroundings struck him, and he suddenly realised where they were and that they had an audience.

Hermione was extremely disappointed when Snape moved away from Harry and turned to her.

“It is difficult to concede twice in so short a space of time, but again, I am impressed.”

“The wards are excellent,” Harry agreed. “I could add some top up, but it’s hardly necessary.”

“Would you, please, Harry,” Hermione asked. “The more protection the better. And even if someone can feel it, even sense who did it, if it’s you they won’t be surprised.”

“You’d rather I didn’t help?” Severus asked.

“If you’re sure they’re strong enough, I’d rather not endanger you,” Hermione said softly.

Severus was not used to people considering his needs. He was unexpectedly touched.

Harry sat down in the middle of the floor and worked on the wards. Hermione and Severus looked around the house, checking the Muggle protections – locks to windows and doors, bolts, etc. The house was overflowing with books everywhere, which he found very welcoming. No wonder Miss Granger had arrived as a fully fledged know-it-all.

“Would your parents not consider coming into the protection of Hogwarts?” Snape asked quietly, as they stood in her father’s upstairs study. “I am sure Professor Dumbledore would be happy to make arrangements.”

“No.” Hermione shook her head. “They know there are dangers. They’ve suggested I leave the wizarding world - at least until things change. They don’t really understand that I need to be involved in that change – that Harry has to do it, and that he needs all the support he can get. I won’t abandon him, but I can’t expect them to abandon their lives either.” She looked up at him. “I’ve researched potions for personal protection, but there doesn’t seem to be anything long-acting that could be used.” Her voice was a question, and Severus realised she was asking him to share his knowledge, to help if he could.

“I am sorry,” he said gently. “I have researched the area thoroughly, and tried to brew such a potion many times, but I have had no success.”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

Harry appeared at the door, eating chocolate.

“I presume you brought that with you,” Hermione said.

“Yeah, want some?”

She shook her head. “You need it. My figure doesn’t.”

Harry and Severus both looked over her figure, then looked at each other. Hermione flushed with embarrassment.

“Looking good, girl,” Harry grinned.

“Well, I want to keep it that way,” she smiled, tossing her hair.

Harry laughed. “What now? Dimbledumble, or whatever his name is?”

Severus nodded. “Indeed. I plan on being outraged. This is turning into a pleasant morning.”

“What will happen about my parents?” Hermione said quietly.

“I’m afraid the plan will go ahead. Hopefully, someone with more sense than Fletcher has been put in charge. We will have to return here, quite openly, so that we are seen, I fear.”

“You fear?” Hermione queried.

”He’ll have to wear Muggle clothes,” Harry leant over and whispered in her ear, grinning, pleased to distract her from her worry.

“Don’t you like them?” Hermione asked, with interest.

“If you’re used to dressing in traditional wizard dress, they feel a bit – constricting,” Harry commented.

“What? Why? You’re usually all done up with a million buttons,“ Hermione commented bravely, looking at the Professor.

“Harry –“ Severus warned, just as Harry said, “Remember that old wizard when we were queuing for water at the World Cup?”

Hermione’s eyes widened as the comment registered, and her glance shot down Severus’ body. She could see only his boots, no hint of ankle.

“Thank you, Mr Potter,” Snape growled. “Wizards spell their robes to prevent anyone peering at uncovered elements of the body, Miss Granger.”

“What? No one told me that!” Harry said.

“I noticed,” Severus smirked.

“You bastard!” Harry exploded, throwing himself into Severus’ arms.

The wizard held him tight, restraining him. Hermione was laughing.

“Turn around, Miss Granger,” Snape ordered.

Hermione did, and Severus kissed Harry hard and long.

The mirror across the landing was really very well placed, Hermione thought, unashamedly enjoying the show. There was no doubt about the passion as well as the warmth in their relationship, and she felt thrilled for Harry. Snape really was ideal for him. Strong, passionate, and would brook no nonsense from anyone. A protector for someone who didn’t know they needed protection.

Harry reluctantly gave up Severus’ mouth as his lover drew back. He felt so – wanted.

“We had better go,” Severus said, hands smoothing over Harry’s back into the gentle curve of his buttocks.

“Are you coming, Harry?” Hermione asked, turning round.

“I could make a rude comment, but I won’t,” Harry grinned. “May I?” he asked Severus.

“I am glad to see you developing some restraint at last,” Snape said, and ignored Harry’s snort. Well, he did rather like him unrestrained. “I think you should return. Your absence may be noted – yes, I know you had a couple of free periods, but you should get back for your classes, and be seen beforehand. Meet someone in the library, knock over a pile of books and annoy Madam Pince. I’m sure I don’t need to advise you on how to be clumsy,” he smirked down at Harry.

“Hey! I mended that vase!” Harry grinned.

“What vase was that?” Hermione said, heading down the stairs.

“Some Ming thing of Malfoy’s,” Harry said nonchalantly.

Hermione choked, then turned to grin at him. “Way to go! How did you manage that?”

“We will not go into that,” Severus said severely. “Now or later,” he added, seeing the sparkle in Harry’s eye.

“Spoilsport,” Hermione amazed herself by retorting.

“It is indeed my pleasure,” Severus bowed.

Harry returned to Hogwarts, whilst Hermione and Snape enjoyed tea and cakes with Leonard Dimblethwaite. After Snape burst in and ranted for several minutes, of course, and was then soothed by the editor who praised Snape’s excellent teaching in producing such an outstanding student. Hermione had to hold in her laughter. Whilst they were enjoying a slightly stilted discussion of a new theory, Snape still in his aggrieved but slightly mollified mode, an owl flew in for Severus.

He scanned the note quickly, and then turned, with a severe face, to Hermione.

“Miss Granger, I’m afraid that this missive brings bad news. Your parents have been involved in a – a - car – accident on the way to work this morning –“

Hermione allowed her cup to slip out of her hand and crash onto the floor. She’d noted earlier that, whilst pretty, the china was serviceable rather than valuable. And definitely not Ming.

“Are they hurt?” she gasped, a hand to her throat.

Although she knew this was going to happen, it was actually rather odd, part of her needing to act surprised and the other part in real fear for them. Wizards did not understand how frail Muggles were.

“They have been discharged from hospital –“

“Hospital?” Hermione croaked. She dashed over. “Let me read it, Professor, please!”

Snape handed over the note. It was from Albus, saying that an owl had reached Hogwarts not long after they left. It said little more than he had already mentioned, apart from the suggestion that Snape take her to visit her parents, who were recovering at home.

“Oh, Sir, Professor Dumbledore says you may take me to see them! Please, I beg of you!”

“Miss Granger, I have classes –“

“But Professor Dumbledore gives you permission! Please, Sir! You know Professor McGonagall can’t bring me! Please!”

“My dear, I’m so sorry,” Dimblethwaite said. “Severus, do take the young lady! She must be worried sick! It will do Albus good to take your classes for an hour or two.”

“An hour, Miss Granger,” Severus intoned, his voice indicating that he was severely put upon.

“Thank you! Thank you both!” Hermione hugged the elderly editor, who turned pink and rubbed her back briskly.

“There there, dear, I’m sure they must be fine if they have been fixed up already. Severus, you could make them some chamomile tea for the shock, perhaps? I’m sure my secretary has some to hand – for our more volatile clients, you know –“

“Leonard, I am not a maidservant, nor a house elf,” Snape said severely. “I am sorry to have troubled you. Come Miss Granger, we have only fifty five minutes remaining.”

Hermione looked apologetically at Mr Dimblethwaite. “Thank you. So sorry about the china –“ she began, as Snape took her elbow and led her to the stairs.

Hermione was hugely relieved to find that neither parent had sustained any broken bones. The air bags had both released on impact; the car, apparently, was a write-off, but apart from whiplash and a severely bruised finger (which would be inconvenient for her mother’s work), both parents were in good spirits.

Severus, dressed in a dark suit with white shirt and dark tie, hair restrained in a ponytail, looked stunning. Hermione appreciated Harry’s disappointment in not being allowed to stay. Snape wasn’t handsome, but imposing, memorable – definitely. The moment they were through the door he was an ambassador for the wizarding world, charming and attentive. He held her mother’s hand whilst he anointed the bruised and swollen digit with a potion from a tiny bottle which he produced from inside his jacket, and Hermione felt warmed to know that he had come prepared to help her parents.

“I would advise keeping the bandage on, however, Mrs Granger,” he said apologetically. “It’s best to keep up appearances. If you will allow me to use a hint of this oil on your necks, it should help with the discomfort there. I’m afraid I’m only going to use the merest drop – it would be best if there is some indication of the problem for the next few days, and you play on it as much as possible.”

The doorbell rang.

Hermione peeped out of the window.

“Mrs Jones from over the road. I expect she’s come to see why you’re home at this time of day with a bandage.” She turned to Severus. “She’s a real gossip.”

“Good,” Snape nodded. He pocketed the bottle and sat back.

Hermione went to the door and the sound of explanations and Mrs Jones’ shocked responses resounded in the hallway.

Even as she sat and fussed the bell rang again. Another neighbour arrived.

Snape ostentatiously twisted his wrist to see his watch.

“Hermione, Professor, you’ll miss your train!” Mrs Granger said quickly. “Come and give me a kiss, love.”

“How on earth did you get here so fast?” Mandy Baker from next door said.

“By strange coincidence,” Professor Snape spoke, and you could almost see the two new women swoon at his rich voice, “I had accompanied Miss Granger to see an editor – she has had worked published in my subject, I have recently discovered - when I was contacted by the school who had received the message of the accident.”

“Well!” Mrs Jones exclaimed, “For all we complain about mobile phones, they do make a difference in a case like this, don’t they? Just think, Hermione, ten years ago you would have got back on that train not knowing your parents were hurt! Not that they are hurt, not too much, thank God –“she rambled.

Snape rose to his feet, towering over them all. Hermione fetched their coats, then kissed and hugged her parents.

“Take care of her, please, Professor,” her father said, rising too.

“I will, Mr Granger,” Severus shook his hand, meeting the concerned eyes.

Hermione gave her mother a last kiss, and they left.

Severus walked her down the road.

Hermione had not realised how tall he was – there seemed to be miles of leg in those Muggle trousers.

“Alright, Miss Granger?” he asked quietly, looking straight ahead.

“Yes, thank you.” She tried not to sniff. She felt ridiculously emotional. It was relief, she knew. “What happens now?”

“We won’t discuss that here,” Severus answered coolly.

She nodded. She knew that they could be being watched or overheard. The cold tones braced her. She lifted her head, gave her eyes a surreptitious scrub, and followed him.

“Professor?” she said, as they entered the school once more.

“Miss Granger?”

“Thank you once again. And –“ she paused, blushed, and then said very quickly, “I’m sure your friend would love to see you in those clothes.”

And she dashed off to classes, leaving a musing Snape five minutes to prepare himself for the delights of teaching third Year Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw Potions.

Chapter Text

“You’re still here, then?” Draco said, as Hermione slid onto her chair in the library that evening.

“Where else should I be?” she asked.

“Thought you might have been expelled,” he said nonchalantly.

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“Father said Severus had it in for you. You’d taken credit for someone else’s work.”

He sat there, watching her. How much, months ago, he would have loved this moment! Now, he knew what depths there were to Hermione’s character, and took nothing for granted.

“Professor Snape was perfectly satisfied, after our meeting with Leonard Dimblethwaite, that I had not been lying,” Hermione said primly.

Draco looked at her keenly. “Granger, are you telling me you’ve had an article published?”

“Precisely.”

“What article?”

“Do you read Practical Potions Monthly?”

Draco leant down to his bag and threw the latest edition on the table. “I have a subscription.”

Hermione’s eyes lit with fun. “Want to guess?”

Draco sprawled back in his chair, studying the witch. She looked surprisingly attractive with her face sparkling with mischief.

“Narrow the search. Which month?”

Hermione thought about that. “Fair enough. August.”

Draco got up and went over to the periodicals section, returning with the magazine and leafing through.

“A letter or an article?” he asked.

“An article,” Hermione confirmed. “Come on, I’ve practically given it away.”

Draco flipped the pages. “Well, I’m assuming you weren’t posing as Snape, or he would have gone ballistic ages ago.”

“Correct. Can you imagine?” Hermione grinned.

Draco’s lips twitched.

“Professor Matthilde Heidleburg’s Essences of Rejuvenation?” he suggested.

“Oh please! As if I’m interested in beauty products! I’m surprised they allow that sort of article in.”

“It attracts women readers.”

“That is so sexist. I bet you use more slap that I do,” Hermione studied the flawless skin and the fine, clean hair.

“Most people don’t see that as a negative,” Draco said coolly.

“You are so vain!” Hermione choked out, laughing.

“But with good cause,” Draco drawled. He suddenly stopped page turning. “No! Not – oh, bloody hell! Even the initials! Herbert Greystoke, I presume?” He mock-bowed over the table at Hermione.

“The very one. What did you think of the article?”

“Damn and blast, I have to confess it had – points of merit,” Draco said, not mentioning that he had actually brewed one of the variants Hermione had theorised on at home, and spent several hours working on it. “Did you not think to try -?”

They got into an intense discussion lasting a good half hour. At last it began to wane.

“So what did your father want?” Hermione asked.

Draco looked at her. “To discuss my future. For me to test you to prove that Muggleborns are inferior.”

Hermione drew in a breath. “You didn’t tell him that you’ve already done so?”

“I don’t think he’d like the results,” Draco said under his breath.

Hermione regarded him with interest. “Going to tell me what you found?”

I found really nice breasts and beautiful skin, thought Draco, but he said, “A scientific survey is not complete with just a dozen studies.”

“Good one,” Hermione leant back, then added quickly, ”Is that what you told your father?”

“I told him that it would take years to conduct a formal study, and without solid research the results would not have any validity in the scientific community, or anywhere else.”

“Good for you! How did he take that?”

“He would like some initial results to pass on to the Dark Lord. As proof of my – good intent. He doesn’t think the wider community gives a toss about validity either.”

“Oh, Draco! What did you say?”

“I told him research was not about good intent; that I had the honour of being a Healer and had no intention of ruining the Malfoy name by acting as a charlatan.”

Hermione had her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide with astonishment. She was a very good audience, not like Pansy who always had to have her say, or even Greg or Vince, who didn’t always understand the implications of things without it being spelt out to them.

Hermione leant over the table and took his face between her hands; they were small and soft, yet the touch seemed to tingle down Draco’s spine. She turned his head side to side. He couldn’t believe he was letting her do it.

She let go and leant back.

“Where is it? What did he do?” she asked quietly.

“Where’s what?”

“He doesn’t appear to have hit you, unless you’ve healed it yourself – can you do that?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he answered in surprise at the question. Another thing to explore. “Of course he didn’t hit me.”

“Why of course? He hits house elves.”

“I rather think my father sees some slight difference between his heir and a house elf,” he said disdainfully.

“Get off your high horse,” Hermione retorted. “If he’s able to hit a house elf it was more than possible that he had kept you in line with violence too.”

“Granger, he’s a wizard. Wizards punish their children with magic.”

“I could ask a lot about that, but what I really want to know is if you’re hurt,” she said quietly.

“I am not,” he answered coolly.

Hermione looked at him. “If you say so,” she said at last.

“Merlin, you’re persistent!” Draco snorted. “I think he respected me a little for standing up to him. That was before he told me that he had found another Healer to take me in hand – a rare creature who will not work with Mudbloods or squibs.”

Draco’s voice was neutral.

“How do you feel about that?” Hermione asked. The Draco she had thought she had known in the past would have jumped at the chance.

“It’s a missed opportunity, isn’t it?”

“To find out whether Muggleborns and Purebloods really are different?” Hermione said, keeping her voice neutral too.

“Yes.”

Hermione sat back, trying to hide her disappointment.

“And whether wizards are different from witches, centaurs different from humans, giants different –“

Hermione threw a scroll at him. “Bastard.”

“I assure you I’m not,” he grinned.

“That could be really interesting,” Hermione sat forward, resting her chin on her palm.

“Yes. I don’t know if it’s been done, I need to do some research.”

“If you need a hand –“

Draco looked carefully at her. “There’s nothing much here on Healers,” Draco said.

“Well, there wouldn’t be, really, would there? I mean, you’re so rare –“

“Thank you –“

“Shut it, it’s an observation, not a compliment. How about St. Mungo’s Research Library? And of course the Ministry.”

“Why the Ministry?” Draco’s brow drew into a line.

“Well, there’s a Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, isn’t there, as you knew when you were trying to get Buckbeak put down,” she scowled at him. “Any knowledge about their magic would obviously pertain to the department’s work, so if there is anything, they may have a copy. I could go and check it out probably more discretely than you, they’re used to seeing me in the Reading Room and asking for all sorts.”

“I presume you can’t take books out?” Draco mused, not rejecting her offer instantly, Hermione was pleased to see.

“No, but I pay an annual subscription for a copying licence.”

“Then I may well take you up on your offer, Miss Granger,” Draco smirked.

“Well that’s very kind of you,” she retorted with saccharine sweetness.

Hermione started reading her text book, and Draco picked up his quill again and began to continue working on a scroll.

“Draco? What will you tell your father? About the Healer?”

“He was talking about taking me out of Hogwarts, but Dumbledore persuaded him that as we’re so close to finishing it would be best to let me get my NEWTS, so I’ve got a bit of time. Hopefully, after Hogwarts –“ he shrugged.

Hermione understood. Hopefully everything would be different. Harry had said it would be over. It was weird to think of life without this threat hanging over them. And yet, Harry’s words had the feel of a promise.

“Was your Dad serious about taking you out? I mean, why would he, when there’s only a few months to go?”

Draco looked around, checking their privacy. “I don’t know. It’s –unexpected - isn’t it? I mean, I know he wants to assert his authority, but he’s always been so adamant that I get top marks, work hard, yada yada.”

Hermione too looked round. “You don’t think - you don’t think they’re thinking of attacking Hogwarts and he wants you safe?”

“If they were going to attack, I’d be more inclined to think that he’d want me here to help from the inside,” Draco said thoughtfully.

Hermione didn’t know what to say. She could see the logic of it, of course, but surely Lucius Malfoy would be worried for his own son’s safety?

There was a sudden kerfuffle across the room. Hermione looked up. Pansy Parkinson and Theodore Nott had come in, ties loose, Nott’s shirt hanging out, Pansy’s skirt so short that she’d obviously rolled it over at the top. Several times.

Draco sighed, and pushed the book in front of him so that it was in between them.

“She has got nice legs,” Hermione commented.

Draco grunted.

“Don’t you think so?” Hermione asked, surprised.

“Sure,” Draco said, not looking up.

“Are you jealous that she’s with Nott?” Hermione queried, taken aback by his tone.

Draco snorted. “No, Granger.”

“Sure?”

He looked up. “If I wanted her, she’d be here like a shot.”

“Right,” Hermione grinned.

Draco sighed. “Pans!” he called.

Madam Pince was obviously off for the evening, and only a few of the younger kids looked round in awe at breaking the silence taboo.

Pansy strolled over, thrusting her hips with every step.

“What’re you doing with her, Draco?” she sneered, perching herself on the edge of the table, back to Hermione, one thigh at an angle along the edge, so that Draco was between her legs.

Hermione blinked. He must be able to see right up to her knickers.

“Project,” Draco said shortly, wafting his hand at the book in the middle. “Seeing where Snape took her this morning.”

Pansy glanced round at Hermione, grinning unpleasantly. This second reason was much more valid than the first. “Spill,” she turned back to Draco, her knee rubbing against his side.

“Maybe later,” Draco said, lowering his voice seductively.

“Mmmm,” said Pansy, stroking Draco’s quill over her lips.

“Fuck off, then,” Draco said.

Pansy got up, laughing. She trailed the quill down Draco’s cheek, then dropped it on the table, glancing at Hermione. “Bet you’re a straight-laced little bitch,” she scoffed.

“You’ll never know,” Hermione said, putting her nose back into her book and cutting Pansy off.

The Slytherin tossed her hair and sauntered away, wiggling her bottom.

“Told you so,” Draco said.

“Could you see her knickers?” Hermione demanded, outraged.

“No.”

“Oh.”

“She wasn’t wearing any.”

Draco laughed as Hermione spluttered.

“In a skirt that short? And waving herself in your face? Has she no pride?”

“None at all,” Draco commented. “She was wafting odour de Nott at me, too.”

“Oh, that is disgusting!”

“Now you know why I am not interested in her lovely legs. Everyone has been between them, myself included when I was a young and guileless thing.”

“And any bike would do.”

“Well, as you say, she does have nice legs,” Draco said. “At 14, who was I to complain?”

“And now you’re more discriminating?”

“Wouldn’t you be?”

Hermione laughed.

“It’s sad, isn’t it? I mean, I know I miss sex, but to be that – trollope-y,” she shuddered.

Granger missed sex.

The words, so casual, so unaffected, shot straight to Draco’s groin, in a way that Pansy’s promiscuous flirting did not. He had flashing thoughts of that creamy skin, that delicious concave belly heaving in the throes of – he clamped down on the thoughts, trying not to shift in his chair. The fabric of his trousers brushed his balls, suddenly hyper-sensitive. How would those small hands feel -? He dragged his thoughts away again, but already his cock was thoroughly interested. He forced himself to note what else Hermione had said. Pans. Yes. That certainly had a depressive effect on his system.

“She’ll be married off as soon as she leaves school,” Draco said. “She’s just getting in all the fun she can while she can.”

“Doesn’t she have a choice?” Hermione said, shocked.

“With her parents? No way.”

“She’s not been betrothed to you since birth, or something, has she?” she asked.

Draco snorted. “My father can’t stand her Dad. Regards him as an arse-licking social climber. He’s found some Romanian Count or something for Pansy to marry.”

“Really? What does Pansy think? Obviously not keen, if she’s getting about as much as she can beforehand.”

“Would you want to be married to a hundred year old man who you’ve met twice and doesn’t even speak your language?”

“You’re not serious?”

Draco nodded.

Hermione considered. She couldn’t imagine being forced by her parents to have to do something so awful – and to be committed for your whole life to a complete stranger.

“Poor thing,” she whispered.

“I wouldn’t feel too sorry for her,” Draco said. “She’ll make the best of it. She’ll like the status, have lovers on the side, command a big house. Poison his wine after a year or two...”

“Draco!” Hermione laughed.

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” he grinned.

Down in the dungeons Snape was sitting in his favourite arm chair, Harry on his lap with his legs draped over the arm. Harry’s head was resting comfortably against his chest. It felt remarkably pleasurable.

“It’s a good thing you don’t weigh too much,” Severus remarked, “otherwise my legs would be dead by now.”

“Want me to get off?” Harry said, not moving an inch.

Harry could feel Severus’ chuckle rumbling against his cheek.

“You’re alright,” his hand brushed down Harry’s arm, his other reached and picked up the whisky glass at their side without dislodging his burden.

Harry’s head came forward and Severus held the glass to his lips, sighing. “I told you you should have your own glass.”

Harry swallowed, took another sip, and turned to Severus, linking their mouths. Only a tiny bit dribbled down as he transferred the burning liquid.

Severus accepted it, his tongue chasing back languidly into Harry’s mouth for last traces of flavour.

“What am I to do with you?” he murmured, lips still moving against Harry’s.

“Plenty of things I can think of,” Harry muttered, his mind turning to mush and his body to steel. Certain parts of it, anyway.

“I have marking,” Severus said reluctantly. “The Headmaster may have taken my classes this morning, but not the associated workload.”

Harry sighed, knowing that he wouldn’t push. He didn’t want just a quickie, but to stroke and tease and please Severus. He changed the subject, distracting himself from his body’s urgings.

“How did you find Hermione’s parents?”

Severus’ hand continued to stroke down his arm. “Pleasant. They have amazing sang-froid, considering.”

“You’ve been at that dictionary again,” Harry said, feeling the cloth of Severus’ robe against the edge of his mouth as he smiled.

“And you are an ignoramus,” Severus retorted. “Cold blooded. They are calm and collected. And I don’t think it is because they do not appreciate the situation.”

“They’re very supportive of Hermione,” Harry agreed. “Was Hermione ok?”

“She is an interesting young woman,” Severus admitted.

Harry turned his head. “Do you swing both ways?” he asked, surprised.

“I appear to swing your way only, at present,” Severus said severely, making Harry smile with pleasure. “I fear I will come to enjoy her friendship. See what you have brought me to.”

Harry laughed outright. “You love having another wizz brain to deal with, admit it! Especially one that is interested in potions.”

“Miss Granger does bring a refreshingly idiosyncratic style and view to the subject,” Severus said mildly.

“You like her,” Harry chuckled, snuggling in.

“The possibility exists that I may come to do so,” Severus said cautiously, making Harry keep up the giggles.

“Come on, up!” Severus said, rising and tumbling Harry off.

“Hey! What did I say?” Harry turned to stand in Severus’ arms, running a placating hand up his chest. Had he teased too much?

“It is more what you did,” Severus said, and at Harry’s bemused look, continued, “Wiggling, Mr Potter. I am not immune,” and he slid his hands down over Harry’s buttocks, pulling Harry in so that he could feel the burgeoning arousal.

“Not immune to wiggling,” Harry chuckled, pressing back, “I’ll have to remember that.”

They kissed long and languorously, before Harry pulled away at last. “I’m going to go and work in the library,” he said, moving to pick up his bag.

Severus raised an eyebrow, but Harry shook his head. “I won’t stay: you’re too much temptation. I’ll see you later?”

Severus, warmed by the desire, nodded. “Of course.”

Harry slipped one last kiss on his lips and was gone.

On the way up to the library, Harry met Neville who had come in from the greenhouses.

“You’ve been working late,” Harry said, as they walked up the stairs together.

“Time flies out there.”

“How’s it going?”

“No luck with the ercandaeia farlica,” Neville said, his voice disappointed.

“Still trying to get it up to the 50 years?”

“Oh, I’ve done that,” Neville said matter of factly, ”but it’s not keen to flower again. There must be something else at play. I’m trying to work it out.”

“I’m really grateful, Nev,” Harry said seriously.

“Don’t worry about that, I’m having fun! It’s just the consequences of not succeeding that are the worry.”

“Yes.”

“Do we have strategies for if we can’t make more?”

“I think Ron and gang are working on it. You’re right, though, we all need to know. It could happen any time, not on our timetable.”

Neville nodded seriously.

“Who died?” Draco drawled, coming down the stairs.

“What?”

“You have the longest faces.”

“No, nothing’s happened,” Neville said. “Well, not having much luck with the ercandaeia farlica. Thinking of alternatives.”

Draco looked round. Although they could be having a Herbology discussion, he was ever cautious. “I’m going to the kitchens for a snack. Hungry?”

The other two shrugged, nodded, and followed him back down a flight.

Soon they were all in the kitchen, with house elves bustling to bring them food.

“Phew! It’s hot in here after outside,” Neville said, stripping off his robe and jumper before heading over to the sink to wash his hands.

Draco noticed how meticulous he was, his sleeves rolled up, cleaning his fingernails with the brush, his shoulders bunching and releasing as he moved. His arse was tight and firm too.

Merlin! He did not just think that!

He looked at Harry, but Harry was talking to his old elf Dobby, and his eyes were drawn back. What would Neville’s thighs look like naked? He’d never seen him in the training room, but he looked like solid muscle.

“It shocked me too the first time I realised how fit Neville was,” Harry said quietly, sitting down.

Draco opened his mouth to protest, but Harry took pity on him. “It doesn’t make you gay to notice, Draco, just observant,” he said gently.

Wheels were turning in Draco’s head. “Are you and Nev –“

Harry laughed. “No! I don’t even know which way Nev swings! Shall I ask him?”

“No!”

“What’re you talking about back there?” Neville said, looking over his shoulder.

“Just admiring your arse!” Harry laughed.

“Yeah, right,” Neville turned back to turn off the tap, dried his hands and walked back to them.

Being seated, it was only natural that Draco’s eyes should look straight ahead. At groin level. Wasn’t it?

The soft jeans that Hermione had noted moulded muscular thighs that strained against the fabric as he walked, and – he was not going to look at Longbottom’s package. Or notice it. Or put any observations into words. Certainly not.
Draco swallowed.

“You have got a nice arse, you know,” Harry said, friendly as anything, as if it were a perfectly normal comment. “You probably can’t see it yourself.”

“Not unless you do a reflection charm,” Draco said, unthinkingly.

Both boys turned to look at him.

“What?” Draco said, trying not to blush. “I have to make sure my clothes hang right, don’t I?”

They were both laughing.

“Fuck off,” Draco said without rancour.

They tucked into cake and tea with gusto, in comfortable silence.

How life changes, Harry thought.

Who would he be sitting drinking tea with in five years time, should he be alive to do it?

He’d be very happy if it were these two. As long as Severus was there waiting for him somewhere.

“Is your potions research exploring other avenues?” Neville asked at last. “I’m worried that I’m going to let you down on this one.”

“Neville, you’ve done wonders,” Harry said. “We still have one dose of four times strength, don’t we?”

Draco nodded.

“Then if the worst comes to the worst, and they attack before we’re ready, I’ll take care of Voldemort and we worry about taking the Death Eaters later.”

“Can it be that simple?” Draco said.

“I don’t know,” Harry said honestly. “It’s a plan. I think I ought to start carrying the potion with me at all times, just in case.”

Draco nodded. “”We’ll decant it into an unbreakable flask. It would be wise.”

Neville looked at him sharply. “Your Dad didn’t let on? Sorry, I shouldn’t ask you to snitch on your own father,” he said apologetically, realising what he had said.

“I’ll be fighting him,” Draco said quietly. “At least, I really hope I don’t have to, personally.”

“God, no,” Neville said, surprising the Slytherin.

“He didn’t say anything,” Draco added. “Nothing useful. Just about my future,” he grimaced.

“Want to talk about it, or rather not?” Harry asked carefully.

Hopefully, Draco’s future would not be Lucius Malfoy’s business.

“Nah, I’ve already talked to Granger.”

“Hermione,” Harry corrected, though he was intrigued that Draco had talked to her about it. Well!

“Yeah. Look, Neville,” he said, changing the subject, ”do you want me to have a look at that plant? I mean, I know I’m not Mr Genius at Herbology like you, but in case anything about its properties jogs me on the potions’ options.”

Neville shifted. “Well, it’s a good idea, but I’d have to get permission from its owner,” he said, carefully not looking at Harry.

“Oh. I thought it was in the greenhouses.”

Neville shook his head.

“It’s not still in China or wherever you got it, is it?”

Neville laughed. “No, and thank Merlin for that, the amount of tending it needs. It’s – it’s in Professor Snape’s partner’s garden,” he added, as Harry hadn’t attempted to shut him up.

“Really?” Draco said, enthused. “Have you met him? How the hell did you get that job?” he sidetracked.

“Professor Snape recommended me.”

“No way!”

Neville smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, I was pretty shocked too.”

“So what’s he like? Gossip time, Neville!”

“Surely Slytherins aren’t encouraged to gossip about their Head of House?” Harry said.

“Not with other Houses, but you don’t count,” Draco dismissed the objection cheerfully.

Neville snorted. “Why’s that?”

“’Cos I want to know more, that’s why!"

“There’s nothing to spill,” Neville said.

“Come on, you must have met him!”

“I thought you said he was at that big party at Malfoy Manor,” Neville sidetracked.

“Yeah, well Father said that whatsisname almost gave Snape head in his study whilst they were watching,” Draco grinned, causing Neville to spatter his mouthful of tea all over the table, and Harry to turn beetroot red. “Dad offered a room to have a shag in but they left instead. Pity. I bet he would have put them in the room with the two-way mirror.”

“What?!” screeched Harry.

“Come on, Potter, you’re bloody gay! Going all prudish on me?”

“You wouldn’t have wanted to watch, would you?” Harry gasped. Oh my god.

“Well, Snape’s ugly but I expect his body’s fine under all that kit,” Draco mused.

“I didn’t know you were gay,” Neville said in surprise.

“I’m not,” Draco said quickly, avoiding Harry’s amused eyes. “It’s just – Snape, you know? Hard to imagine him really going at it. He’s all stiff and withdrawn.”

Harry choked. All stiff and withdrawn? He thought of Snape all stiff and his fingers withdrawing (and then plunging back in inside him) and was hard as a rock himself.

Neville was pink in the face.

“Blimey, didn’t know you Gryffs were such cissies,” Draco sneered. “Don’t tell me you’re both still virgins?”

“I think it’s time to change the subject,” Harry wheezed. “This conversation is so bizarre! I don’t think you have to be a virgin to find something odd about straight guys watching gay guys having it off together.”

“Maybe your Dad’s gay,” Neville said, then blushed again. “Sorry, keep saying things I shouldn’t. Not that you don’t do it all the time,” he looked at Draco.

“’Course he isn’t,” Draco said. “How do you think I got here?”

Harry thought he’d better keep quiet, but Neville was in there now.

“Well, there’s only one of you, isn’t there?” he said, “despite the fact that your mum looks like a fairy princess.”

“She does, doesn’t she?” Draco smiled. “They also only needed one heir. And she likes being slim and beautiful. Why have more?”

Neville looked at him. “But doesn’t it bother you, being an only child? I mean, all three of us are. I’d have really liked to have had brothers or sisters,” Neville admitted, taking the conversation into easier, if no less controversial ground.

Draco didn’t know what to say, really. When he was young he had played with the house elves, but as he grew older he realised that the way he treated them – following his father’s habit - was not how people treated their brothers and sisters. Not that he knew that many – Pansy was an only child, as were Greg and Vince. Blaise, though, came from a big, friendly Italian family, and meeting them had been a revelation. He’d hated it at first – the having to share, the not getting his way, but one night, snuggled up in a bedroom that he was reluctantly sharing with Blaise and his three brothers, and they’d been joking and messing about and he’d nearly wet himself laughing, he realised how great it could be. But it was obviously never going to be a part of his family life, so he’d never set himself up for false hopes.

“Never really considered it,” he said honestly.

They both looked at Harry. “Don’t look at me,” he said. “Until I met the Weasleys I assumed all families were like the Dursleys. In theory, Dudley should have been like a brother to me. One of him was quite enough.”

“You didn’t get on?” Draco asked.

Harry laughed. “That would be the understatement of the year. They hated me and they hated magic. They’d had this kid dumped on them with no way to return him. I’m sure it was a relief all round when I came to Hogwarts.”

“So why are you bothered about protecting Muggles?” Draco asked.

“Well, that’s a bit like meeting Voldemort and deciding all Wizards are shit,” Harry responded. “Let’s put it this way: my first lover was a Muggle and I’d do anything to protect his right to live on this earth. He’s a wonderful man.”

“Ha! Not a virgin!” Draco cheered. “Still mooning over him, then?”

“No, I’ve moved on, and so’s he. His new lover is great, so I’m really pleased for them.”

“You keep in touch?”

“Yeh, I’ve stayed with them in all the holidays except this last Christmas,” Harry said.

“Since when?”

“A couple of years ago.”

“Wow! But isn’t it weird when they disappear off into the bedroom together? Seeing your lover going off with someone else?”

Harry grinned, wondering if Draco would be shocked. “Well, they’ve both been my lovers, and I’m sure if I wanted to join in again they’d let me now and then.”

“Whoa! Hold on! - Again? You – you’ve had a threesome?” Draco almost whispered the words, leaning over the table.

“Yeah,” Harry grinned.

“Holy shit! But – how did it work?”

“Are you asking me for all the juicy details, Draco Malfoy?” Harry laughed.

“No! Well – but – I mean – doesn’t anyone get jealous or anything?”

“Not if you’ve all gone into it willingly, I don’t think so,” Harry said. “We didn’t.”

“Was it hot?”

“Whoo yah!” Harry grinned, “But there are better things.”

“Really?” Draco said disbelievingly.

Harry glanced at Neville, who had been very quiet. Was his friend offended by the conversation? It was hard to tell with Neville. He was sitting quietly, hands folded at the table, looking down at them. Time to change the subject, perhaps.

“Yes, really,” Harry nodded.

“Love and romance?” Draco teased. Who the hell could Harry be in love with? He’d never even seen him with anyone. Probably another Muggle, then. But then he hadn’t talked about protecting their life, just this first lover.

“At which point,” Harry said, “I am heading up. You coming, Neville?”

“Avoiding the question?” Draco smirked.

“Yup,” Harry said honestly.

Neville reached over and grabbed his jumper, slipping it on before standing to get his robes back on.

Draco got up. “You head out first; I’ve been seen with enough Gryffs for one day.”

“You alright, Neville?” Harry asked worriedly, as they’d passed two flights in silence. “Did I offend you? I’m sorry –“

“Offend? No, don’t be daft.”

“You’re very quiet,” Harry observed.

“Thinking,” Neville said succinctly.

“It’s allowed,” Harry smiled. After another minute or two, Neville said quietly, “Can I ask you a question? Don’t answer if you don’t want.”

“Sure. I won’t if I can’t, if you see what I mean.”

“You fancied Cho Chang, right?”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed.

“So when did you transfer to blokes? What made you even think of it? Do you still fancy women?”

“Whoa, right, one at a time!” Harry held up his hands as if to hold off the bombardment. “Um, let’s think. I suppose I transferred to blokes the summer I met Derek. I hadn’t really thought of fancying blokes before – I know that sounds stupid. The Dursleys were really anti-homosexuality, and I suppose it hadn’t even really occurred to me that I might fancy blokes. I mean, I noticed what the players looked like on Ron’s Chudley Cannons posters, but I didn’t realise I was checking them out, or that I was looking at them in any way differently than Ron was, say. Maybe I wasn’t. It was just acceptable to look, so I did. I left the Dursleys and went to work for Derek, and he was openly gay. Don’t think that he coerced me,” he said quickly, “it’s just that most of his mates were gay and were around a lot and everyone checked each other out, and I went to clubs with them. Derek checked out men walking by when we were up the scaffolding at work, and would comment. He got furious though when I was propositioned in his own home – three times! I suppose it just made me wonder if I was interested. And then I kissed this guy at a club, and it was great. I mean I’d kissed Cho – it was all exciting, before, you know, first kiss and all, but frankly, just disappointing. Then this guy kissed me and it was like I’d put Pepper-Up Potion intravenously into my cock, or something.”

Neville burst out laughing.

Harry grinned. “Well, it was! It was yelling and screaming and waving with delight, and I thought, right, now I know, and I haven’t looked back. Men turn me on.”

“And not women?”

“Haven’t seen one yet that did it for me. And it’s easier with men; I mean, you know what the bits are and what they like. And everything feels hard and nice -“

“Too much information, Harry!” Neville cut in quickly.

“I didn’t mean that!” Harry laughed, “Well, only partially! I mean, men’s chests, muscles, it all feels different. I like it. Not soft and squidgy. I mean, I like it if Hermione gives me a cuddle, but it doesn’t do anything for me down there, thank god! I’ve only got to touch - my lover’s – bicep – and I’m on the way to being hard.”
He looked at Neville. “Want to tell me why you asked? You don’t have to.”

Neville shook his head. “Just thinking.”

“Fair enough.”

A few steps later, he said quietly. “I am a virgin.”

“Well, it’s nothing to be ashamed of, or proud of, or anything is it?” Harry said practically. “I don’t understand the fuss, to be honest. One is, and then, ten minutes later, one isn’t. And that’s that. Seems silly to get bothered about it. “

Neville chuckled. “You are funny! Thanks, Harry, I needed that.”

“It’s just up to you,” Harry said seriously. “You’re good to look at, Nev, and nice with it. And powerful. There’ll be loads of girls – or boys – who’d be interested. You just have to have the nerve to go up and speak to them. I was lucky, because I was asked rather than having to do the asking. The worst that can happen is that they say no.”

Neville nodded. They’d reached the portrait hole.

“Harry, could I – when you next –“

Harry waited for Neville to get it out.

”When you next go to a Muggle club, could I tag along? I think I’d like to try the kiss test.” Neville was bright red.

“Sure,” Harry said, and opening the door they went inside.

Chapter Text

As the door slammed to, the whole wall shook.

“Holy shit!” Dean yelled across the common room, “I know you’ve been working out, Harry, but keep it in, mate!”

Harry looked at Neville, and, eyes fearful, they both reached out a hand each and placed them palm down on the walls. It took only a second.

Harry’s eyes shot open, meeting Neville’s shocked ones.

The wards were under attack.

“Nev, apparate to Dumbledore and check he knows. I’m sure he will. Then come straight back and get the sixth years organising the safety of the rest of the House. I expect McGonagall will help. Get any seventh years who’re prepared to fight to come. I’m going to get the potion.”

Neville nodded, quickly leant forward and hugged Harry. Harry took in the people in the common room over his shoulder. Neither Hermione nor Ron were there, but the room was full of young students.

He was desperately aware that he needed to keep them all safe.

Pulling away from Neville, he apparated to Severus’ chambers.

His lover was already at the warded cabinet where the potion was being kept.

He turned at the crack of Harry’s apparition, his relief that it was Harry and that the wards had not been breached by the Death Eaters showing on his face.

Harry was straight in his arms, held tight, his senses in overdrive, the strength, firmness, warmth, scent of Severus all bombarding him.

“Is this it?” Harry asked. “We thought the attacking Hermione’s family thing might be a distraction, but you haven’t even reported the address yet – he must suspect you. You can’t go to him. “

“I won’t,” Severus said firmly. “I’m at your side now.”

“God!” They were the best words Harry had ever heard, and he squeezed Severus even tighter.

Severus pulled back, his arms holding Harry’s shoulders. “Concentrate only on Voldemort. Do not think of anyone else. Don’t let yourself be distracted by others being hurt. Put up your strongest protection shield. The potion should keep you safe. Just kill the bastard, and let us take care of the others,” he said fiercely.

Harry nodded dumbly.

Severus took his face and kissed him hard, teeth and tongue and lips and care.

The fire flared.

“Severus! Is Harry with you?” Dumbledore asked urgently.

Severus pulled back, took Harry’s hand and led him to the fire.

“Come through, I’m assembling the Order,” Albus said.

“A moment,” Snape spoke.

Albus nodded and disappeared.

To Harry’s surprise, Severus strode over to the door and took down his cloak, handing it to Harry. “It’s still cold out there,” he said practically.

Harry nodded mutely. And he would be wrapped in Severus’ cloak, smelling him, feeling his concern wrapped all around him. That was good.

“You need something,” he said.

Severus whisked into his bedroom and returned with a deep green woollen cloak.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Minerva gave it to me for Christmas several years ago. She thought I might like a change from black. I’ve never worn it.”

Harry grinned.

“Severus -“ his voice halted.

Severus stopped and looked at him.

“I know,” he said quietly. “You can show me in bed later. As I will show you.”

Harry nodded, warmed. They had never spoken of their feelings, communicating through touch and actions.

There was banging on the door. Harry saw Draco through the spy mirror.

Go on ahead,” Severus said to Harry. “I’ll join you in a moment.”

Harry stepped into the fireplace.

Albus’ study was packed. There was no chance of falling over as he came through, as Bill Weasley, Ron, Fred and George and their father were all in front of him, Shacklebolt in front of them, others...Harry couldn’t see over people’s heads and his arrival went unnoticed.

Severus came through quietly just moments later and stood behind Harry. Everyone was so tightly packed that Harry could feel Snape pressing tight against him as he made way for the next floo arrival. Snape’s hands came to his hip to steady him. Harry pressed back for a moment.

Everyone was making so much noise that it was almost painful. Bill turned round as they were pushed forward and grinned.

“Hey!” He shouted out.

“Harry’s here!” George yelled.

There was a cheer.

It made Harry’s anxiety increase tenfold.

Severus, feeling his tension, soothed his hand over his hip again.

“Give him some room, for Merlin’s sake,” someone bellowed, and then he was separated, pushed through the crush, to the front, with Severus left at the back.

The hullabaloo was unabated.

“Silence!” roared Snape.

You could almost feel the breeze as the knees of his ex-pupils quivered. Silence reigned.

“Thank you,” Snape said sarcastically. “If you could all hold your tongues so the Headmaster can update us -” One or two voices started butting in. Snape stopped, and waited for silence, glaring. He got it, as the offenders slowed to a halt. “Mr Potter has a potion to take, and the timing is of the utmost importance.” He felt everyone take that on board. The silence held. “Headmaster, what is the position?”

Dumbledore stood up, his face waxen. “The wards are under attack -“ there was a rumbling murmur, that was then swiftly dropped. “They are holding at present. This is what we are facing.”

He directed a large foe-glass at the wall, blanking the backdrop of past Headmasters and Headmistresses, before projecting an image there.

It was like a film, thought Harry, without the soundtrack. There were gasps of horror.

Throwing curse after curse at the usually invisible barrier of the wards separating the grounds from the moorland outside, were what appeared to be hundreds of Death Eaters, their masked faces lit up in the dark of the night as the curses hit the wards and exploded in showers of colour.

Fear and its resultant adrenaline rush suffused the room.

“How long can the wards last?” someone asked.

“We’ve strengthened them,” Harry answered.

People looked at him.

“Neville and I,” Harry explained. “They’re pretty strong. But we’re under siege. I don’t see much point in just sitting it out. Everyone just gets weaker.”

“But surely they’ll just go away,” someone else said. “There must be enough provisions here, and we can floo -“

“We will need to shut down the floo system as soon as we can,” Severus said quietly. “They may well try to breach it. Once they are inside, it will be a great deal more difficult to keep the children safe, with the possibility of hostage taking.”

“But we’re not ready to fight them,” Molly said. “Harry’s too young –“

Dumbledore cut across her, “There is never a right time, Molly. Strategists, your advice, please.”

The room fell silent, the moving picture a silent backdrop.

“Hestia,” Albus said.

Hestia Jones stood up. “Our plans are not yet in place,” she said shakily. “If we could hold them off for even a few weeks – or days –“ her eyes scanned the room for her fellow strategists, “it would make a difference –“

“Not really,” Neville rose to his feet awkwardly. “If you’re talking of creating more potion so that everyone can have some. Even if I could get the plants to produce what we need, and I can’t at the moment, the brewing period is lengthy.”

“Mr Longbottom is correct,” Severus spoke up, seeing the doubt in people’s faces at trusting to such a young man. “His work had been invaluable in helping Miss Granger and Mr Malfoy in the creation of the strengthening potion, and at least there is enough for Mr Potter.”

“Ronald Weasley, please,” Dumbledore asked as Hestia sat down.

Ron rose nervously to his feet. His voice broke as he spoke. He looked across, terrified, at Harry. “I think it would be a bad mistake to try and sit it out. As Harry said, everyone just gets weaker, and more scared. History doesn’t show any advantages to it. They’ll find ways to break through. The question is, will the Ministry side with Voldemort or the rest of us? I think Fudge will just give in to Voldemort.”

“Kingsley? Is that a fair assumption?” Dumbledore asked.

“Unfortunately, yes. There’s a core of loyal Aurors, but others will be severely torn if their orders are to stand down or to support Voldemort.”

“Severus?” Albus asked.

Harry looked down. He knew what Severus needed to say. Maybe the other man would find it easier without Harry’s eyes on him.

“As disappointed as I am that we do not have more potion, I believe it is Mr Potter’s time. Time to go out there and finish this once and for all. He knows what he must do, as he himself told us before: he must go out and kill Voldemort. The rest is up to the rest of us.”

There were howls of protest. Molly was weeping and muttering, “he’s just a boy,” over and over.

“He isn’t,” Snape said loudly. The voices simmered down. “He isn’t just a boy.”

Harry looked up at his vehement tone, and met Severus’ eyes. He nodded.

“He’s a mage. The most powerful wizard on this planet. “

He let that sink in.

“Voldemort thinks he has all the advantages – surprise, strength, support. Well, Harry has a surprise in store for him, and we need to take advantage of that. Neither Voldemort nor the Death Eaters have any idea what they are facing. If we go into a siege, Mr Potter is bound to attempt something heroic and give the game away.”

There were several outraged murmurs, but Harry just looked up and gave a small smile.

“Voldemort will expect us to opt for the siege. I suspect he will have plans to force its end – he will bring our children’s parents or brothers or sisters here, and murder them in front of the school. Someone will break. There are bound to be sympathisers in the school, and not just my Slytherins. What will we choose to do to them? At present, everyone is confused. Now is the time for Harry to kill him, and he can. He will,” Severus said with conviction.

Harry’s heart swelled. Severus believed in him.

“What if he – fails?” a voice quavered.

Ron stood up. “Then we continue fighting. Us. Everything has always been put on Harry. Well, I don’t believe in destiny or divination. It makes sense to follow Harry, because he’s powerful, and courageous. But if he falls – and I don’t believe you will, mate,” he looked across at his friend and made a slight bow, “then we fight for our own destiny. Because I’m not living under the control of that murderous bastard. He’s attacking a school, for fuck’s sake.”

Ron’s speech struck a chord with everyone, despite Mrs Weasley saying, “Ron! Your language!” which broke the tension and made people laugh.

Harry was amazed at his friend, and very proud. Even though they were discussing what to do if he died, the fact that it wouldn’t be the end of the fight took the pressure off him a bit.

“So how do we go about this?” Tonks asked.

“There’s hundreds of ‘em and not many of us,” Mundungus Fletcher moaned.

“Can we wait for some of the others? Charlie? Remus?” Bill asked.

“Good chaps, but they won’t make that much difference,” a voice chipped in.

“What about the parents?” Hermione spoke for the first time.

“What are you thinking, Miss Granger?” Dumbledore asked.

“Well, I suspect most parents wouldn’t want to stand by whilst their children were under attack. Surely they’d come to help?”

“I’m sure you’re right, Hermione, but Snape said we’d need to close the floo,” Fred said kindly.

“Well, I’m assuming the battle is going to be outside, not in.”

There were interested looks.

“Have we time to contact all the parents?” Professor McGonagall spoke up; she had just come in, a few minutes after Sprout. Flitwick was yet to arrive. Harry supposed Snape had delegated his Head of House duties to Draco. Was Draco coping? Was he in danger? What of Pansy Parkinson and the other 7th Year Slytherins?

“Well, we could do a chain,” Hermione was suggesting. At the blank looks, she said, “Muggle schools do this sometimes. You contact say five parents, and ask each of them to contact five more, and that five the next five, and so on.”

“But how do we stop contacting the ones that will support Voldemort?” someone asked.

“I believe that issue is irrelevant,” Snape said in his deep voice. “From the look of things, they are already here.”

“Attacking their own children?” Molly said in horror.

“We may find that their own children have instructions,” Snape said quietly. “I have asked Draco Malfoy to lead those whom I’m afraid I do not trust into a secure room for the moment.”

The contact idea was approved, and the first calls were made. Parents were asked to arrive in 45 minutes. Dumbledore had used another scanner to find a safe apparition point for them outside the wards.

Dumbledore looked at Harry, and then turned to Severus.

“Professor Snape,” he asked formally, “I believe it would be best if you would assist Harry with relaxation techniques before administering the potion. Would you like to use my sitting room?” and moments later, Harry and Severus found themselves alone.

Harry wasn’t sure whether this was a wise move.

There were too many things, and nothing, that needed saying to Severus, too much desire to touch and confirm their need for each other and not enough time to do it.

“I know,” Severus agreed, though Harry had said nothing. “Why he thinks he knows what’s best for people I do not know.”

Harry grinned, relaxing now that he knew he wasn’t the only one feeling this reluctance.

And suddenly, the barriers just collapsed, and Harry moved into Severus’ arms and they were sitting on the sofa with Harry straddling Severus’ lap, his arms around him and his head on his shoulder.

They sat there like that, peacefully, for a good ten minutes, not talking.

At last, Harry sat up.

“Any advice?”

“None that I haven’t already said. Just concentrate on killing him. Let everyone else do the rest.”

Harry nodded.

They both got up, Harry holding onto Snape’s hand a fraction longer than he needed after he pulled them up. Severus handed him the potion, and Harry gulped it down.

It felt very final. A confirmation that it was happening.

They stepped out of the room.

Hermione looked up at them and smiled.

Severus moved across to where Hestia and Ron were looking over several hastily drawn parchments. He spoke to them both, and they nodded, then had a brief word with Dumbledore, who then coughed to get everyone’s attention. The room fell silent.

“Well everyone. Some last minute clarification, and matters to clear up. As you know, Harry is to concentrate entirely on Voldemort. Everyone else is to help clear the path through for him. Any curses or spells are allowable. Use what will help in the ultimate goal. This is war. We have been openly attacked by a large army, and I have registered a declaration of such, and our right to defend ourselves, with the Ministry, here, for what it’s worth, and with France and America for confirmation.”

There was a rumble of emotion sweeping through the room.

“If I may, Headmaster?” Harry spoke up.

“Of course, Harry.”

Harry was aware of all eyes on him, and especially Severus’. “I’m sorry that there was not enough potion for everyone. I have now taken the dose, so we need to act soon,” Harry began. “I’ll be creating a shield. It will cover us all –“

There were gasps and a flurry of words that Harry couldn’t make out.

“Please,“ he held up his hand, and silence fell at once. “I won’t be able to do the parents, so bear that in mind. Act as fast as you can. I will hold it as long as I can, but must conserve enough power to destroy Voldemort. You will be able to cast spells but you won’t be hit until I have to drop it, so use that initial time to the maximum. Don’t hold back, please.”

“Are you able to maintain that and do what you must?” Dumbledore asked with concern.

“Yes,” Harry said firmly, “but I will drop it when I must. I’ll try and warn you – ummm – what would work?”

“How about yelling, “Duck!” ” Fred suggested, to laughter.

Harry grinned. “I’ll sonorous that,” he agreed, to even more laughter.

“Albus, will you stay here to hold the wards?” Shacklebolt asked.

“No, Minerva and Flitwick have agreed to do so.”

Harry’s eyebrows twitched into a sharp line as he thought about that. “No,” he said loudly.

Everyone turned to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but –“ his eyes looked around the room, and met Neville’s.

“No,” Neville said, “I want to fight –“

Harry shook his head. “I’m sorry, Neville. Please.” He looked at everyone. “Neville Longbottom needs to hold the wards. Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick should look after the children; they’ll be terrified. They will also be our last line off defence.”

Heads shook worriedly at the realisation of what that would mean.

“Longbottom can’t look after the wards, he’s a child himself,” someone shouted out anxiously.

Harry straightened himself. “Neville is a very powerful wizard indeed. The wards have accepted him.” Harry heard the murmur run round. He thought his words about strengthening the wards earlier had passed with a surprising lack of comment. Usually only the Heads of House and the Headmaster were able to work with the wards. “You know when we tested me that Neville was apparating huge bunches of you in and out,” he said in response to the muttering.

“Thought you’d let them down for the day; anyway, it was outside,” Fred said.

Harry shook his head. “Apart from myself, Neville is the only wizard I know who is able to apparate into and out of Hogwarts, including the castle itself, and within it,” he added. “Those skills are going to be really important today. Neville has another extremely rare gift: he can also recognise magical signatures. Neville, I’d like you to hold the wards, to check everyone over and to let us go out of them, and then to let only those whose signatures you recognise back in. It’s a huge task. Am I asking too much?”

Neville, who was horrified at the thought of being left behind, realised the magnitude of what was required of him.

Albus stepped forward, and said, with genuine humility, “Mage, may I make a suggestion?”

And with those six words, people realised Harry might actually understand what he was doing.

“Of Course, Albus. I asked for your advice,” Harry smiled gratefully.

“May I assist Neville? If we set up a position in the Astronomy Tower – as well as for canoodling it is designed to give a 360 degree view of the sky and land around – we can follow the action and do what is necessary. The telescopes can be magnified to allow us to use them almost like this foe-glass. I can hold the castle alone until – and if it should come to it – it is directly under attack. Neville can do the perimeter wards, and grounds, which is going to be a much more active task than mine. He can use his herbology skills linked into the wards out there, should there be breaches.”

Harry looked at Neville. “Will that be acceptable to you, Neville?”

“I’d be most grateful, Sir,” Neville bowed slightly to the Headmaster.

There was a tingling in the room. Neville’s potential as a future Headmaster occurred to more than one of the occupants of the study. He could actually be a very interesting choice.

“Then we had all better go,” Harry, said. “I believe there will be many of the older students waiting for us in the entrance hall.”

There was a huge number of students waiting for them, from fifth year through to seventh.

“Couldn’t keep them back,” Ernie McMillan said with a grin, Eloise at his side. Harry noted Draco, smiling at him, with Goyle, Crabbe and Zabini and a number of Slytherin sixth years, who all cheered as they spotted Severus. There was Ginny, Dean, Seamus, Colin and his brother, Parvati with Padma, all the old DA crew. A roar of approval went up from everyone, and it lifted Harry’s spirits.

“Harry, will you speak to them?” Dumbledore asked.

“No, you do it, please,” Harry said.

A few words of explanation were spoken.

Harry in the meantime, had gone up to Draco, hugged him and then shaken hands with all the Slytherins. The other students looked at each other and suddenly, the Slytherins were accepted. Harry met Severus’ eyes, and the warm glow of approval therein.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said, suddenly at his side, “this may be the moment to make known you are a Mage. Certainly, it will give heart to our troops and put fear into our enemies.”

Harry, despite his misgivings about how it was viewed, could see the tactical advantages.

“I’ll head out with the Order, I’ve no time to waste. You can tell them and send them out.” And he slung Severus’ cloak over his shoulders and was gone.

The next hour was a jumbling of cold dark night and bursting spells and shouts and screams. They left the wards and attacked the Death Eaters on the cold, hard ground outside.

Neville had followed them to the edge, before apparating up to the Tower, and then down again, towards the edge of the Forbidden Forest. They had seen a group of Death Eaters disappear into the woods and try and make their way through that way. Neville put his hand to the earth, and called on the woods and the earth magic to strengthen the defences there.

Harry did not know how many wizards he had put out of commission. He had killed one, early on, and realised the huge amount of power that Avada Kedavra used. He had not appreciated before how much power the spell took, and understood why wizards used other spells so much. He was therefore saving it for Voldemort, because he was pretty sure that he would need an inordinate amount of power to use it on him. So far there had been no sign of the Dark Lord, and Harry was worried that this was either another cover, that Voldemort was taking over the Ministry or acting somewhere else, though he couldn’t think where else was important enough, and couldn’t believe that Voldemort would have vast numbers more troops. The potion’s effects only had another hour or so to run. He needed to get Voldemort to face him.

Concentrating, even as he cast spell after spell at his attackers, he called up his Mage wand and staff from Hogsmeade. Within minutes, they had zoomed over the heads of his attackers and landed in his hands. He tucked his ordinary wand into his back pocket, under the back of Severus’ cloak, which flapped open around him in the biting wind.

He turned to Snape, who was, as he had promised, at his side. “We need to taunt him, Severus,” he shouted. “Pass it on that Voldemort is too scared to face a Mage.”

Within moments the words were flying in the air, the Death Eaters who had heard the rumblings of Harry Potter being a Mage from the fighting students, but disbelieved them, now noticing the Mage staff and wand both held at the ready.

Suddenly, the Death Eaters parted and Voldemort was there.

“A Mage?” he laughed. “What nonsense is this, boy? You have –“

“Avada Kedavra!”

Harry cast the killing curse as he had planned, taking no notice of Voldemort’s ranting.

Unfortunately Voldemort threw the nearest Death Eater into the path of the spell.
Voldemort attempted to return the curse, but it bounced off Harry’s shield. Harry could feel the power of it battering at the shield.

“He’s drawing power from us!” Severus yelled to Harry.

“Duck!” Harry screamed, startling Voldemort, who to Harry’s momentary amusement, did just that.

He could only have one objective now. Everyone would have to fend for themselves.

He and Voldemort did duck and dive, hurtling Avada Kedavra’s at each other, and when that failed, other spells in an attempt to break through. Harry could vaguely hear the screams of the fighters at his sides, as they took hits. He was amazed at how nimble Voldemort was, how strong his shielding, and began to feel a sense of panic.

He couldn’t lose!

He couldn’t!

Everyone was depending on him.

But he couldn’t think what to do. His only plan had been to get close enough to kill the bastard.

As if the shit was going to stand there and let him do it.

He must’ve been mad.

But he had trained. He was fit physically, his magic strong...

“Harry! Severus shouted, “Use the other wand! He’s draining our power!”

Even as Harry was wondering what Severus was on about, he saw Voldemort’s attention flicker, as he recognised Severus’ voice.

“Avada Kedavra!” Harry bellowed, dropping his own personal shield to throw every iota of his strength into the spell.

Everything seemed to slip into slow motion. Harry could see the slitted eyes widen, then Voldemort yell something even as Harry’s curse was speeding towards him.

Harry felt Voldemort’s spell hit him at the same moment that the Dark Lord hit the ground.

He leapt forward. “Incendiare!”

Voldemort’s body burst into flames, the smell of cooking flesh hitting the nostrils of everyone close.

The Death Eaters began to apparate as the news of Voldemort’s destruction rolled across the battlefield; the Side of Light fought to capture as many as they could.

Harry stood there, by the burning body, his hand holding the cloak across his mouth and nose to shield the smell. He began to shake.

Shacklebolt staggered up to him, wand high, a hand touching him briefly, sweeping a circle as he guarded him.

Acting on instinct, Harry raised his staff and smashed it through the burning skull, driving shards of bone and brain into the hard earth, then held his staff up to the sky. A small cyclone seemed to suck down, dropping fat gobs of rain onto the body, which hissed as they met the heat of the fire.

“Earth and air, fire and water, elements of life and good, take back what you have given, and may it be better used in future,” he chanted, and stood there, watching as if in a daze, as the body burnt slowly away, feeling the magic doing as he asked.