http://candy-stick.insanejournal.com/7648.html

http://acciodraco.livejournal.com/3752.html

http://inkstain.inkquill.net/isf/archive/9/brokenbonds.html

Broken Bonds

by diagonalist

Summary: When Draco dies, the mind-bond that he and Harry shared breaks. Harry learns to live with the pain, and gains comfort from unlikely sources.

A/N: This may be AU, as it assumes the presence of a bond between Harry and Draco which isn't there in the books. Also, I am unsure if the type of wand Draco has is ever mentioned, but I am changing it for my own nefarious purposes. Set in Seventh year.

*........* indicates thought speech between Harry and Draco.

I am not entirely sure that it is truly possible for Snape and Harry to have a healthy relationship whilst keeping them in character, so I may have tampered with Snape's reactions to things the tiniest bit. Also, the relationship that develops between them may not be perfect or even seem particularly right, but that's because both of the characters have serious issues. This is all a long winded way of me excusing the things that I had to do to get them into bed with each other.

When Harry Potter collapsed in the middle of class for no apparent reason, all of the other students acted as though the world was ending. Never mind that Voldemort had been dead for nearly a year, they all automatically panicked.

Ron was the first to his side, screaming Harry's name like a girl. Harry would have laughed, except that his throat had swollen up and his mind shut down, so that all he could do was stare blankly.

Distantly, as though through a fog bank, he observed McGonagall taking charge. It didn't really matter to him though, nothing did.

"He's gone," he whispered, the words tripping over each other as they forced their way out of his mouth. He didn't elaborate further, fearing that saying anything else out loud might make it more real. The words echoed around unbearably in his head anyway.

Everyone else was still in uproar around him; all he could see was a forest of chair and desk legs mixed in with milling human ones. He just wanted them all to be still; didn't they understand what had happened? No, of course not, he had never told them.

He only realised that he was crying when the two moist trails down his cheeks started dripping onto his hands. The first time that he had ever cried, and it was reserved for the boy that everyone considered to be his enemy.

Malfoy, you bastard! he shouted desperately in his head. Don't leave me alone. Please. Please don't...

There was no answer. For the first time ever there was no answer at all, not even the blank wall that would mean he was being ignored. No affectionate insults, no swearing at being woken up, no nothing. There wasn't even a vague feeling of the other boy.

Draco had been with him for so long that his head felt empty and useless without the other there anymore.

"Bastard," he croaked out between sobs, curled up on the floor now in his misery. The polished wood pressed hard against his cheek, and he ground against it in some pathetic hope that it would make him fell more real, less lost. It didn't work.

The trip to the Hospital Wing passed quickly; he wasn't really aware of much beyond fighting the hands that sporadically tried to touch him. He didn't want anyone to touch him, not if Draco couldn't.

Things became somewhat clearer after something foul tasting was forced down his throat, and the walls of the infirmary swam into focus. There were people, too many people; in an attempt to avoid them he burrowed his head into the pillow with a groan.

He wanted to die.

"Harry, Harry?"

The voices surrounding him grew more persistent, making him cringe and try to crawl into himself. He wasn't ready to deal with the realities of the world outside his head.

Where was Draco? He would make them go away.

Malfoy? Get your arse in here, they're hurting me. That was a bit of an exaggeration, but the Slytherin responded best to dramatics. Malfoy

Harry whimpered and reached out a hand, clawing for even the slightest touch of the mind that he couldn't find. Someone took hold of his fingers, but it felt wrong, it wasn't who he needed.

"Malfoy!" he called hoarsely.

"What did he say?"

"How could he have known, they weren't in the same class?"

"What's wrong with him?"

The voices became stronger, and it was obvious that Draco wasn't coming. Harry would have to deal with this by himself.

In motions so slow as to be virtually undetectable, he rolled over slightly, so that he could see the beds to one side. They were all empty. Onto his back, and the faces of the people standing above him were visible. Not such a crowd as he had imagined then, just Pomfrey, Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape. He shuddered inwardly, he didn't want them to see him like this, didn't want them to know. Especially Snape.

He tilted himself over the remaining few inches to lie on his right side, and then he saw the body. It was a few beds over, partially obscured by screens; Harry could only catch glimpse of it through the gaps. Still, he knew. He knew who it was.

"Malfoy," he said again, as though his entire world was reduced down to that one word. Which it was. But now Draco was gone. A wild keening noise came from him, sounding alien in its absolute grief.

He was alone.

Frantically he tried to haul himself out of his bed and towards that of the other, needing to be closer, but hands came to restrict the weak movements he made, holding him down. He screamed then, for they were not Draco's hands, and who else had the right to touch him now?

"Such power, can you feel it?"

"Merlin, look at those markings!"

The hands let go. His screams continued until there was no air left to fuel them; until they became silent parodies of grief, just his mouth gaping open but no sound issuing forth.

They tried giving him another potion. This one apparently worked better, despite his struggles against them dosing him with it, for when the world ceased to be blurry again he no longer felt the urge to scratch his eyes out.

A glass of water was placed in his hand. For a long while he just glared at it, then, having determined his hands were stable enough to try lifting it, he sipped from it. The cool liquid felt wonderful as it trickled down his throat, soothing and refreshing. It reminded him that he was alive, which reminded him that Draco was not.

It took him at least a minute to work up the courage, or possibly the energy, to meet the inquisitive gazes resting on him. He didn't want to deal with their questions, but knew that he would have to. Draco would have been laughing at him right about now.

Dumbledore and the two women looked worried, worried and puzzled. Snape just looked like... Snape, though perhaps his glare was a little less icy than usual. How would Draco have put it? Death glare, power six; has potential for great pain, but doesn't cause immediate suicide attempts. You don't get those until power eight, as Longbottom would know.

Another tear seeped out and he caught it on his tongue. It tasted salty; not that different from Draco's tears. Harry supposed that in crying everyone was equal. No one would believe him if he said that the Slytherin prince had cried. But he knew, he knew Malfoy better than anyone.

"Harry?" Dumbledore said, sitting on the bed. Harry knew that he'd been trying to get his attention for a while now.

He shook himself inwardly. What was he, a whimpering Hufflepuff? Gods, that sounded just like something that Draco would have said.

"Yes, Headmaster," he replied shakily.

Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy!

"Harry, what happened?"

"I... Malfoy."

Dumbledore's eyes were sad; he suddenly didn't seem as omniscient to Harry anymore. "Yes, he is dead," the old man wheezed softly.

"Malfoy!" Why didn't they understand what he was trying to say? What was wrong with them? What was wrong with him?

"He was out practising on the quidditch pitch alone during his free period, and someone let a bludger loose without him knowing. He was knocked off his broom, Harry."

He remembered now. Draco had been trying out some new moves that Harry had found in a book the day before. They were going to get together later and play together. Harry had been annoyed that the other boy would have a head start. Now he was dead.

"Who?" His voice didn't sound the way it was supposed to. At least, he didn't think it had ever sounded like that. But maybe all of his memories were wrong, maybe everything he knew had been distorted somehow, by the other presence in his life.

How could he live like this?

Malfoy!

The Headmaster coughed uncomfortably. "We believe that it was another Slytherin. It might have been a revenge attack against the Malfoy family for turning to the other side. There are several students who lost their parents to Azkaban in the battles that we won with the Malfoy's help."

A Slytherin? The only Slytherin that Draco had seen on the way to the pitch was...

"Parkinson," he said clearly. "It was Parkinson."

"His own girlfriend, Potter? I find that hard to believe," Snape commented with a smirk.

"But she was the only one that was anywhere near at the time. I remember he mentioned that she was wearing that skirt again under her robes, the slutty one made of snakeskin..." he trailed off and tried to dredge up all the memories of everything Draco had ever told him about Pansy.

The professors were all looking at him in astonishment, but he couldn't let himself be distracted. This was important. This was for Draco.

"She had an... uncle? Morphio Hurman?"

"The Hurmans were captured during the last battle," Snape murmured to Dumbledore.

Feeling more sure of himself with the confirmation, Harry continued. "Afterwards, she said that it didn't matter; she agreed with everything Malfoy said. After all, it was more Slytherin to accept what came, to survive. But he should have remembered how important family is; it was why his own father turned, after all. I knew that there was something about her that was wrong. Did he listen? No. Stupid, slimy Slytherin. Followed his cock everywhere."

The Headmaster gazed at him measuringly for a moment before moving to the small Infirmary fireplace and contacting another member of staff. Harry couldn't hear the conversation, but was relieved that something was being done.

He started to shiver. His eyes never stopped being drawn to the still figure that he ached to be nearer to. Madame Pomfrey evidently noticed this, for she moved to draw the screen more closely about Draco, until there was nothing but an impenetrable wall of white. It matched what Harry could feel in his mind, but seemed so much more absolute and final in his distraught state.

Draco wasn't coming back.

Malfoy.

He barely stopped himself from saying anything, from screaming or wailing.

Slytherins are strong. So are Gryffindors.

"Harry." Dumbledore had returned. "Are you ready to tell us what happened yet? Why you reacted like this?"

"It's not like you were in love with him," snorted Snape.

Harry's eyes fixed on the Potions master's, flashing defensively, but he subsided before he could disagree. No, it hadn't been love, though they had slept together on occasion. It had been... he hesitated to even describe it as friendship. They had still hated each other, sometimes, and most of their remarks had been less than kind, but still, Harry missed the bastard.

"I don't know. Everything was normal, then suddenly he was gone," he said, as though it explained everything. Why would they not just leave him alone?

"How did you know?" the Headmaster probed.

Harry wasn't sure how to answer that, when he thought about it their bond didn't make much sense to him either. It had never needed to before now; it had just always been that way.

"Harry, were you in love with him?"

Dumbledore had uncanny intuition sometimes, and as Harry shook his head he wasn't entirely sure that the old man believed him.

"No, we were just... connected." That was the best that he could do, the only answer he could come up with for the inquisitive man.

"Connected?" The Headmaster gave him a sharp look. "How? How did you know all of those things about him?"

He didn't want to say, didn't want to tell them. The two of them had never told, because they were special and they used it to their advantage. Especially during tests, though sometimes Draco would block him just to spite him.

"He was in my head. I knew him. We talked. We felt. We were..."

"Connected," murmured Dumbledore. "Yes, I think I see. And how long has it been like this?"

Harry shrugged, uncertain. "I don't know. It came on gradually. The first time I ever heard him must have been... fifth year? Yes, because it was after the Triwizard Tournament. But I sort of felt him long before that."

"Did it start when you first saw him?"

"No, no. We hated each other. `M not sure if we still don't. Didn't. Was later, second or third year. I can't really remember."

Malfoy?

"I can't hear him anymore, sir," he said, becoming slightly upset again. He had a feeling he ought to be more so; maybe the potion was still affecting him? "He's gone!"

"Shh, my dear boy. It will be all right." Dumbledore smoothed the hair back from his sweaty forehead.

"But he's gone. Gone."

Sighing, the Headmaster gathered Harry up into his arms and rocked him gently. Despite himself, Harry found that it did help, some of the terror at being alone retreated. He no longer had enough energy to care that they weren't Draco's hands.

"Must have been a mind-bond," he heard Dumbledore say softly above his head.

"I want Malfoy," he moaned, aware that he sounded like a child. Draco would have a field day if he saw Harry like this. Of course, Draco would never see anything again.

"Shh," he was soothed again, and this time he let himself be lulled until he was only half aware of what was going on around him.

"Surely you don't believe that..."

"Now Severus, I do not think that he is lying." The Headmaster's tone was reproving. Harry wanted to stick his tongue out at Snape, but his face was buried in the old man's beard. "He does seem to know a great deal about what has been going on. And how else would you explain the collapse?"

"But..." Snape spluttered. "This is preposterous."

"His condition has stabilised, I think that he'll be all right now."

He was lain back on the bed, and kept his eyes tightly shut to try and understand more of what was going on.

The arrival of someone new was easy to detect, and there was a hurried conversation concerning the attacker.

"Indeed, Miss Parkinson was found placing a kit back in the private Slytherin shed and casting charms on the locks so that they would appear to be unopened. If I had been but a minute later I'd not have caught her. Her excuses are flimsy at best."

"Did you hear that Harry?"

He did not open his eyes. Everything was so much more peaceful behind them.

The extra professor left, and Harry almost held his breath.

"Albus, I'm not sure I completely understand what has happened. Even if it is as you say and they did conceal some sort of bond all this time, what about the lines, the markings? What does it mean?" McGonagall inquired with the slightest hint of impatience.

"It means..." There was a pause, then Dumbledore said, "Open your eyes, Harry, I know that you are listening."

A direct command like that he would not disobey. Blue eyes twinkled at him from beneath bushy brows, but they had not regained their usual cheeriness.

"I am not sure what it means, but perhaps Harry can tell us."

He looked up at them drowsily. If he couldn't have his Draco, then the least that they could do was leave him to oblivion. "What?"

"Ah, a mirror if you please, Poppy."

The Headmaster held up a small mirror in front of his face. He looked the same as he always had, the new contacts that Draco insisted he buy made it easier to see his features, but otherwise he was the same. He looked questioningly up at his professor.

"Keep looking. Now, I want you to think about Mr. Malfoy."

Immediately, hundreds of threadlike silver lines appeared on his skin, shining in the light. They rippled, forming patterns then dissolving again chaotically. Gradually they subsided, fading back into his flesh.

Malfoy

As he called mentally, the markings came back with a vengeance, exploding across his face in a network of fireworks. They looked beautiful.

He reached out and cautiously traced the twirls that one was performing on the surface of the mirror. It disappeared. Startled, he jerked his hand away, and the line returned to begin its dance once more.

Glancing up, he found that all of the adults were unabashedly staring at him, and felt himself go bright red. When Dumbledore chuckled, he looked down to discover that the annoying lines had gone into another frenzy.

He dropped the mirror hurriedly; he didn't like seeing himself.

"What was that?" he asked timidly.

"I'm not entirely sure, Harry, but I shall look into it. Do you have no idea of what could have caused it?"

He shook his head unhappily and wondered why everything always happened to him. Now he would be even more different, which was the last thing he wanted.

"Well, never mind, we'll get it sorted." Dumbledore smiled benignly. "Now, try to get some rest."

The professors retreated to the corridor, and the only snatch of their conversation that Harry heard was, "He's practically bleeding naked power!"

Then his attention returned to the object calling to it. He crawled awkwardly off the bed and somehow made it to his feet, though he still felt like the world was tilting just to be contrary. Scrambling over the intervening beds rather than around them, he eventually made it to the partition separating him from what had been a part of him for so long.

Shoving his way though, he saw Draco's cold form lying there, seemingly only asleep. Much as he wished that were the case, in his heart he knew the truth. He curled up next to the other, still subconsciously awaiting a welcome, or a shove. Anything would have been better than the blankness he was suffering.

He did not cry now; he thought that he might have run out of tears. Draco would understand. Draco who was... dead.

Only lying there with the brutal evidence right beside him could he finally accept what had happened.

He did not call out for Draco in his mind anymore, for he knew that there would be no answer.

When the adults came back in they were astonished to find him gone; it was Dumbledore who realised where he had hidden.

The Headmaster had never seemed so old and helpless to Harry before. "Ah, Harry. I am so sorry."

Dead, dead, dead.

Harry just peered up at the sad face; his own still partially hidden in Draco's side. He wished that he never had to leave, that he could simply stay here with the blonde boy for all eternity.

"I think perhaps that it will be best if you had some time off school to recover."

He dimly heard Snape muttering about special treatment, but ignored it. Dumbledore was right, he didn't think that he could deal with everyone else right now, they wouldn't understand. Gods, Ron would probably be rejoicing at Draco's death.

"I've informed your relatives that you will be returning home for a short stay until you are somewhat recovered. I think that you will be more comfortable at home."

Harry's brain had halted as soon as the Headmaster had mentioned he would be returning to the Dursleys. No! He couldn't. He certainly wouldn't recover there, they had been less afraid of him and more vicious during the last couple of years. They had returned to using him as a house elf and, though the abuse he received was still mainly more emotional and verbal than physical, he really didn't think that he could handle them right now.

Draco had promised him that he would never have to go back there. The other boy had only recently found out the extent of the Dursleys hatred for Harry, but had sworn that Harry could stay with him over the holidays in future. They had joked about what a mad house the Malfoy Manor would become. It had all seemed like such a great joke.

Now Draco wasn't here to protect him anymore, wasn't here to stop him from going back to that place.

"I... couldn't I stay here but just not go to classes?" he mumbled pleadingly.

"This is all just a ploy for him to get out of work," snarled Snape angrily, glaring forcefully.

"No!" Please no. His choices were horrible, but he would rather face his friends than his relatives.

"I think that going home would be best for you, Harry," the Headmaster said gently.

No, no, no, no, Draco!

Though his mind was in a state of revolt at the idea, he could not force the words past his lips. He couldn't tell them what his relatives thought of him, what would they do? Well, Snape would laugh at least.

"Now, let's get you back into your bed, hmm?"

He moved without protest; everything was falling apart around him. Nothing made sense anymore.

As he lay in bed, he closed out the world around him and thought back to the time they had got really, really drunk after being informed that Voldemort would attack the following week.

They were in Draco's room, since Harry wasn't a prefect. A lot of his nights were spent down here, since neither of them had much luck with sleeping. Even though they didn't talk that much, out loud or otherwise, the silent company was restful.

Or not, he thought wryly, as half a bottle of fire whisky was tipped over his head. Malfoy got all sorts of wonderful treats sent to him from home, alcohol was the latest. His father spoiled him excessively, Harry was unashamedly envious.

Wake up, my Slytherin kitten, Draco said, laughing at him and then ducking when he wildly swung out in retaliation. You'll have to be faster than that.

*S'not fair. `M drunk,* he huffed, turning and squinting to try and get a better idea of where the other boy was. Too far away to hit.

Yes, very, but that's not my fault

Harry remained convinced that it was. "Bastard," he grumbled as he headed for the shower.

When he emerged in only a towel, since his clothes were wet, Draco had migrated to the floor, propped up against the foot of the bed. The other boy looked relaxed and slightly dishevelled, his t-shirt riding up his stomach. Harry had a sudden urge to touch all the smooth skin that was revealed.

Am now, stated the voice in his head happily.

"What?" Harry growled sulkily, determined not to forgive Draco until the other boy came crawling to him on his knees. Then again, that would never happen, and it would get awfully lonely if he didn't have anyone to talk to. He would settle for being surly for a while.

Drunk. Well, you went and left me all alone with only the liquor for company, so it's really all your fault.

Whatever, Malfoy. He reached out and snatched the now almost empty bottle from the other boy's hand. "Maybe in your version of reality," he added. When he started drinking it, it was merely to stop Draco from having it. An entirely noble motivation, thinking of others before himself.

By the time they had finished that bottle and moved onto the next, speaking any way other than mind to mind had become practically impossible. That didn't stop them from doing so.

We must sound strange, Harry observed. His left leg was hooked over Draco's lap, the other boy sitting cross legged. Draco's arm resting on his thigh felt warm, a band of heat on his skin. Theoretically, it should have been an uncomfortable position. But then, theoretically, they should never even have been having a civil conversation. If you could call this civil.

You always sound strange, Potter. Malfoy took another sip. Then, "Why?" he slurred.

"That," Harry returned. You know, half sentences out loud. Must sound really weird. His head lolled back against the bed and he stared in fascination at the ceiling.

Just as well no one's listening then.

Everything was so simple when you were drunk.

What about Him. You know, Harry waved the bottle around for emphasis, and it ended up smashing against the opposite wall. They stared at the stain for a moment. "Woldymort."

Draco scrunched up his nose and edged closer to him, trying to lean over to grab another flask of the drink. Harry saw the movement out of the corner of his eye just in time and grabbed his wrist to impede its progress until he got an answer.

Looking up at him, Draco said, "The Drak Lord?"

"Yup." Harry snorted suddenly. The Drak Lord. That's really good. He's all evil and scaly, and drak-like.

Draco just gave him a look, the kind that is honed and refined by sixteen years of being a Malfoy, then spoilt it all by sniggering helplessly. Harry tightened his grip on the other boy's arm for a second, then let go. Draco was too busy rolling around on the floor to reach for the alcohol again. Which was just as well; Harry had a feeling that they had already had too much.

You think that he's watching us?

Harry nodded sagely. Has spies everywhere. He considered a moment longer, then gleefully exclaimed, "You! You're a spy!" He would probably consider this all to be terribly childish in the morning, and if he didn't then Draco would, and take great pleasure in reminding him of it every other second. For the moment though, it didn't matter.

He blamed it all on being drunk.

"Not!" Draco protested indignantly, but Harry had already pounced on him and captured his wrists, lying half across the other boy in an attempt to keep him still. He frowned in concentration and bit his lip as he thought, manfully ignoring the wriggling body beneath his own.

Now I just need some rope, then I can take you to the Headmaster.

Draco stopped trying to escape as he thought about something. Telling me your master-plan is really dumb, you idiot. You'll never make a good villain, Potter. He got a leg free and tried to kick Harry off him.

Not trying to be a villain, I'm the hero, Harry replied, puffing himself up and loosening his grip.

Taking advantage of his captor's distraction, Draco viciously attacked him. He was absolutely merciless until Harry begged him to cease his torment, wailing in distress.

Well, who'd have thought you were ticklish? Draco smiled smugly, looking down on him now that their positions were reversed. I'm going straight to the Drak Lord to tell him your weakness.

Harry just glowered. Absolute bastard.

Draco lightly feathered his fingers up Harry's sides, and Harry squealed, writhing energetically to try and get away. He would have ordered the other boy to stop, but was far too out of breath to even try and speak. Besides, ordering Draco around usually had the opposite effect to the one desired.

You attacked me first. Anyway, you don't want to be the hero, do you?

Finally the teasing hands stopped, and Harry slumped in relief, calming his laboured breathing. Just as well that Draco had permanent silencing charms up protecting his room, he was fairly sure he had screamed loudly enough to wake Dumbledore a few times.

No, Harry sighed. It's too much effort. But they all want me to be.

Screw them. I'll take care of you. We'll kill the Drak Lord and all his spies together. Draco pulled Harry close to him in an enthusiastic hug. They had never really been that tactile with each other before, aside from fighting and the occasional emotional breakdown, but it felt surprisingly right. Harry rested his head contentedly on Draco's shoulder and concentrated on blowing his fringe out of his eyes. It took more co-ordination than he apparently had.

"T'ank you," Harry murmured quietly, with utter seriousness. It appeared to dampen Draco's spirits for only a moment.

Do you think that there are spies hiding in the room right now?

They looked around with great suspicion. Harry had never felt this carefree. He had never played games like this as a child, and found it released something inside him he hadn't even known was trapped.

Draco handed him his Firebolt as a weapon, and they began their search.

Waking up the next morning was interesting, and painful. "Urgh..." Urgh, groaned Harry at the blinding light that was trying to invade his skull.

"Here," came a voice from in front of him. The sound of it, so loud and penetrating, made him curl up into a defensive ball and whimper.

Well, you definitely haven't been drunk before. Come on, take this, it will help, said a far friendlier voice in his head.

Malfoy? He unfurled slightly and considered just falling back into unconsciousness. It would certainly be easier, but he had a feeling the other boy wouldn't let him.

Well, who else? snapped the mental link. Drink it.

Opening his eyes the rest of the way, Harry took in what he could see of the rest of the room and gave another moan. The room died. All the furniture seemed to have been uprooted, the curtains had been hacked to pieces, and every surface was covered in a layer of feathers, the source of which was the ruptured bedding.

Hey, it's my room! I don't know what you're complaining about. I'm the one who has to live with it.

The cool glass of a potions vial touched against his lips and he opened them automatically, swallowing down the disgusting mixture within. A hand cradled the back of his neck, stroking lightly, until it was all gone. Then it moved, dropping to his shoulder where it gently squeezed.

"Lucky I didn't feel like poisoning you, Potter," sniped Draco.

Ha, Ha. He did feel better though, at least he could stand people talking to him. Though he wasn't sure if Draco counted as a person. More like some subspecies of pampered pet dragon. "What was that?"

"Hangover cure, of course. Severus gave it to me."

"Teacher's pet." He groped blindly on the floor for his glasses, wondering what time it was. They were placed carefully on his nose. He blinked and had another look at Draco's chambers. It was worse than he had thought. Since his initial description would have been that it had been stampeded by a herd of angry Hippogriffs, that was saying something.

"What, and you aren't?" It's about seven.

"Shit, school," he swore, panicking.

Language, Potter, and it's Saturday.

Oh. Wait a minute, I didn't ask you what time it was!

He got up slowly, stretching and feeling the stiffness of the muscles in his back. That really hadn't been the best place to sleep.

You thought it, Draco said defensively.

"Yes, but not at you! Not all my private thoughts are open to your perusal!"

Oooh, a big word. Did it hurt, Potty? Harry swatted him and he backed off a little, mumbling about getting no gratitude. Well, if that's an example of your private life then the rest must be pretty boring.

Maybe it was just a fluke?

"I heard that, I do hear what you think," Draco said, trying to prove his point.

"You were supposed to that time. It's just that you weren't supposed to hear the part about the time."

Why not? Wasn't that alarming.

I know, but if you can hear that, then what else can you hear?

"Maybe I should have a listen, see what dirty secrets my Slytherin kitten has?" Draco leered at him, winking suggestively. He reached out and ran his hand up Harry's thigh.

"No!" Harry smacked the other boy again, trying to ignore the fact that he'd enjoyed the touch. "Or I'll look at yours."

"Oh, I'm so scared," grumbled Draco, crossing the room to grab a change of clothes.

That lacked something as a comeback, you know.

Shut up.

Harry grinned and reached over to determine whether Draco was ticklish too as he passed. He wasn't. It did, however, give the other boy the amazing idea of returning the favour, and soon Harry was squirming around, feeling like a great big puddle of mush under Draco's hands.

"I surrender," he said, managing to get the words out between fits of laughter.

"There. Leave me alone, you know that I can beat you any day. I'm first in the shower," Draco yelled, already in the bathroom by the time he had finished the sentence.

Harry got up slowly, shaking his head in mock disapproval.

Breakfast was given up as a lost cause, and he didn't really feel like facing his friends and their questions about what Dumbledore had told him right now. With Draco it was different somehow; the other boy didn't need to ask, he just knew and accepted.

He penned a quick note to Ron and Hermione letting them know that the Headmaster thought the next attack would be soon, and that he was therefore busy making final preparations. He reassured them that he was fine, and that he would see them both later. Nothing was wrong.

Lying had become second nature to him. Having a relationship of sorts with Draco meant that he had to conceal the truth more often, and the mind link they shared improved his ability to make up excuses. It was a vicious circle, but it was necessary. His friends would never accept how he felt about the Slytherin; considering the way they outwardly behaved to each other, he couldn't always understand it himself.

Malfoy, do you hate me? he asked, sprawling out over the large bed. The feathers felt wonderfully soft against his bare back.

It was fairly amazing that he had made it through all of their drunken adventures with the towel still wrapped around his waist. Prodding it, he discovered that it was magically fastened. He rolled his eyes, even though there was no one there to see. Trust Draco to have everything, right down to his towels, enchanted to serve him and make his life easier.

"Whatever gave you that impression, Potter?" Draco said in a voice heavily laced with sarcasm, emerging from the shower wearing no more than Harry was. Of course, the tone wasn't that different from his normal one, but Harry could detect the extra effort that had gone into it.

"I don't know. I just," he paused uncertainly. "I like spending time with you, even if all we do is throw jibes at each other. Is that hate?"

He watched Draco gather himself to give a spurious and quite possibly cutting answer, and braced himself. Sometimes it hurt when the other boy made fun of him. Draco seemed to detect how serious he was and deflated slightly.

After a long period of proper consideration, the other boy shrugged. I'm not sure. I don't know if I actually like you, you're an insufferable brat sometimes. I don't want you to die though.

Harry gave a little sigh of relief and stretched on the bed. Apparently this was just too tempting a target, for he saw Draco moving towards him with deadly intent in his eyes. He held up his hands defensively before the other boy got there, he wasn't sure how much more of being tickled his body could take. Besides, he hated being that helpless. It wasn't that bad with Draco, for on some level he trusted him, but it brought up memories of being that helpless before, like at the graveyard when his blood had been used to resurrect Voldemort.

Draco paused at the side of the bed, laughing when Harry grabbed his wand as a last resort. I won't hurt you, he promised, then went on to question, with a frown, Why did you ask?

Hesitating, Harry gave a little shake of his head, sending his hair flying all over the place. He knew how much that annoyed Draco. "Nothing, just being morbid I guess." Draco climbed elegantly onto the bed and settled next to him, beginning to comb his fingers through Harry's hair in an attempt to get all the tangles out. The feeling of having his scalp massaged made all of Harry's bones turn to jelly, and he sunk into the mattress with a pleased little whimper.

"And here I thought I had the market cornered on that," Draco muttered wryly. Lying down the rest of the way, as though too tired to stay upright, he rested his arm across Harry's chest. It tickled slightly, but not enough to make Harry move it. "What's wrong," the blonde haired boy whispered directly into Harry's ear, sending a small shiver through his body.

"Nothing," Harry mumbled unconvincingly, earning him a look of blatant scepticism from Draco. "It's just, you know, Voldemort. The Drak Lord." The Slytherin giggled, and Harry gave him a mock glare. "I was being serious!" he protested.

So was I, until you called him that. Draco scooted a bit closer, so that he could prop his chin up on Harry's shoulder. Harry found that the other boy's breath ghosting across his neck sent little tingles skating down to pool in his lower belly. What about him?

"I..." Harry stopped, unable to confess the words out loud. Even in his head they sounded pathetically self pitying. I don't think that I'll come out of this one alive. I'm kind of surprised that I've lasted this long.

Draco's fingers, which had at some point started stroking the lines of his ribs, halted their motions abruptly. He was obviously uncomfortable with the subject, and Harry regretted bringing it up. Making a mental note not to share his depressing thoughts in the future, Harry started to sit up, distancing himself from the other boy. Draco didn't let him; the hand on his chest slid all the way around him and tugged him back down again, holding him close.

"Shh," Draco murmured softly into his ear, sounding more caring than Harry had ever thought he could. It was not the sort of thing that you did for your enemies. Maybe they were more than that after all.

Harry took advantage of the other boy's strange mood and relaxed in his arms. He had never been held like this; it was warm and comfortable, and the feeling of so much damp and silky skin pressed up against him was sublime. Draco smelt of peaches and something slightly tangy.

On impulse, without giving himself time to analyse the desire, he stuck out his tongue and licked a path down Draco's neck.

"Hey!" the other boy yelped, pulling back slightly. "What was that for?"

Grinning, Harry licked his lips, savouring the taste of Draco. "I couldn't help it, you looked so tasty," he deadpanned.

Draco laughed and encircled him in his arms again. Harry settled there with a contented sigh. Why did you do that, Potter?

Harry nudged the other boy's throat with his nose. You smelled like peaches. I wanted to see if you tasted like them. He could feel Draco's whole body vibrate as he laughed again. It felt nice.

"That is one of the craziest things that you've ever said. And being the twit that you are, that's saying a lot."

"Will you..." Harry began to tremble at the thought of giving voice to his innermost needs. He couldn't even think them; he knew that he would be rejected, and he had had a lifetimes worth of too much of rejection already.

Fortunately, Draco's new skill at reading Harry's mind without his consent seemed to be working again. Or maybe the other boy was just having the same thoughts as him anyway. When Draco tipped Harry's head back and hesitantly brought their mouths together in a gentle kiss, everything else ceased to matter and all Harry could feel was a swell of peace building within him.

That soon changed to mind-numbing arousal; someone would have to be deprived of all five of their senses not to respond to the things that the blonde demon had started subjecting Harry to. Once Draco's taste had pervaded every corner of his mouth and left what felt like a permanent imprint, their lips separated and the Slytherin devoted all of his attention to mapping out Harry's body with his intuitive fingers.

Harry loved the slight frown that marked Draco's face when he was completely focused on something. He had a sudden urge to tell the other boy how sweet it looked, but stopped himself because he knew that would lead to fighting, and he really didn't want Draco to stop what he was doing now.

He moaned and arched upwards as those clever fingers brushed back and forth across his stomach, just above the top of the towel. "Malfoy," he more or less purred. "More!"

That lead to the delightfully sinful kiss starting up again. Draco's mouth clamped down on top of his; the other boy's tongue sweeping past his lips and claiming him wholly.

"Will you..." he asked again in a shy tone, panting shallowly.

Draco knew exactly what it was that he wanted. "Yes," the other boy breathed, and Harry had to hold back a sob. Somehow he had known that it would be like this, with Draco understanding everything about him, understanding that he didn't want to die without having felt something worth living for. After all, the Slytherin probably felt that way too. Harry didn't expect Draco to admit it, being who he was, but he knew that the other was just as scared of not surviving the next battle as he was.

Descending to suck lightly on Harry's neck, Draco elicited a gasp of pleasure. Harry could feel the Slytherin grinning against his throat, and reached down to entwine his fingers in Draco's ungelled, slightly curly hair. A path of kisses was traced down to his collarbone, then heat enveloped one of his nipples as it was taken into the blonde's mouth.

As he fisted his hand in Draco's hair, he heard the other boy speak in his mind. Do you want to know what you taste like? He couldn't bring himself to do anything more coherent than moan in response. Draco kissed him passionately on the mouth, massaging Harry's tongue with his own as he worked a leg between Harry's thighs. You taste of salt and sugar, both at the same time. I want to run my tongue all over you until I've tried every part of you.

Harry groaned happily, the other's words making him even harder. At the introduction of a muscled thigh resting against his cock he jerked upwards, trying to increase the stimulation he was receiving.

Draco decided that the towels were no longer necessary and promptly got rid of them.

The feel of a heated erection jutting against his hip drove Harry insane, and he rolled slightly so that his own hardness came into contact with it. He heard his own moan echoed by Draco's and captured the blonde's lips again; eagerly caressing the other's back as he tried to touch as much of his lover as possible.

"Please, please, please," he recognised his own voice whisper brokenly as they rubbed together enthusiastically, the delicious friction driving them onward.

When Draco's hand moved down and fondled his balls, he couldn't hold on any longer, and came forcefully, keening as he tossed his head back in ecstasy. As the pounding of his heart faded from his ears he felt the other boy's cock still pumping furiously against him, and moved his own fingers down to enclose it.

Eyes with both the colour and consistency of mercury stared straight into his as he curiously explored the head of Draco's cock with just the very tips of his fingers, then moved down to rifle them through the beautiful soft curls at the base of it. It was the Slytherin's turn to moan now, mouth hanging open slightly as he was overwhelmed by sensation, and Harry felt a fierce joy that he was able to give him this.

Abandoning Draco's silver gaze, he moved down until his mouth was mere centimetres from the tip of the other boy's quivering shaft, letting his hot breath wash over it as his thumb rubbed lazy circles at the base. Leaning forward, he wondered if Draco would taste of peaches there too, and tentatively lapped at the bead of liquid resting at the top of the perfect cock before him.

Draco didn't taste of peaches there. Unfortunately, Harry only discovered this after the other boy had come in sticky spurts all over his face. Ewww!

He had made Draco scream though, apparently Malfoy dignity only went so far.

Harry was jolted out of his ruminations by raised voices nearby. He shook his head slightly, to try and clear the memory of the precise shade of Draco's eyes from it, and paid more attention to his current surroundings.

"How did this happen?" The words were shouted, almost screamed, and it took Harry longer than it should have to identify who it was breaking down over by Draco's bed. After all, Lucius Malfoy never, ever raised his voice above a disdainful murmur; just the volume that assumed he was important enough for everyone to be listening avidly anyway. Now the tone was angry and harsh, broken with grief.

Quieter voices filled in the gaps for a minute, then the powerful man spoke again. "What! How dare she? I'll..." The other voices interrupted, but Harry couldn't make out what they were saying.

He turned towards where he knew the scene must be taking place, and watched the outlines of figures move behind the screens. It was like watching a twisted version of a puppet show. Draco would have...

"I'm taking him with me immediately! I'll see you dismissed for this, Dumbledore, all of you! How could you let..."

Harry's eyes grew heavy and a buzzing filled his ears, but he managed to stay alert for long enough to watch the imposing man walk through the fireplace with Draco's still form trailing along on a stretcher behind him. Long enough to hear the name spoken to the floo, and to see the unusual violet colour that the flames turned.

Malfoys always had to be special.

Then the voices started to approach him again, and he encouraged the world to slip away.

When he next awoke he couldn't detect anyone else's presence. Finally, finally, he was alone and could grieve. He didn't cry any more, Draco would have said that there had been too many tears already, but his breaths came unevenly, and hitched as he allowed himself to think about never seeing the familiar smirk again, never hearing the witty flow of insults that they kept up between them during lessons in their heads.

Gods, he was a mess. He needed Draco, but Draco wasn't here. He thought about sneaking out to Draco's room, but the problem with that was that it didn't feel like the other boy lived there. It was a very plain and empty place, in contrast to what Draco had indicated his room at home was like.

Home. His home had always been Hogwarts, though now he was being thrust back at the Dursleys. They didn't want him there, and he couldn't go to the Weasleys for the same reason he was supposed to be taking time off in the first place.

Draco would have taken him in. It saddened him that he would never get to visit the Manor after all, the Slytherin had spoken so highly of it. Draco's home. A sudden surge of excitement went through him; surely there he would be able to feel the other boy? Maybe then he could rest.

What had the elder Malfoy said as he stepped through the fireplace? Dragon's nest. It was fitting.

Harry lowered his legs over the side of the bed, trying to make as little noise as possible. Who knew where Pomfrey might be lurking? He stealthily made his way over to the fireplace, secure in the knowledge that he hadn't been seen, and grabbed a handful of floo-powder.

"Cubilis Draconis," he said clearly and moved confidently into the purple fire.

He came out the other end completely unscathed, not tumbling in a soot covered heap as usual. Aside from sneezing, there seemed to be no disadvantage to the Malfoy's improved way of travel at all. He wondered why it was not more widely used, then decided that it must just be very expensive. That explained everything where this particular family was concerned.

The massive hall that he had been transported into was approximately the size of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, though it gave the impression of being bigger since there were no tables or students filling it. How could anyone live in a place like this and feel comfortable? Harry supposed that they didn't; that this was reserved for formal receptions and the like. It didn't make it feel any less intimidating, or any less strange to think that Draco had been raised here. Actually, it probably explained a lot in the latter case.

He slowly made his way across the wide, empty space, staring unabashedly at the portraits on the walls. Unlike the ones at Hogwarts, these were much grander, and did not seem to have aged at all. He found several that would have looked quite similar to Draco, if he'd been a bit older.

Now he never would be.

A house elf popping up behind him made him jump; he barely contained the need to run and hide. Doing so would definitely bring the master of the house down on him, and he didn't want that. He would just try and evade Lucius if it was at all possible.

"Hello, sir," began the creature, bowing low. "How can Meppy help you, sir?"

Obviously no one knew how to get here if they didn't belong. This would work to his advantage, he would just tell the house elf the truth.

"Hello. I'm a friend of Draco's, I wonder if you could show me to his room?" he asked politely.

It was the wrong thing to say. Meppy immediately sent up a wail that would have shattered every piece of glass in the room, but that Harry suspected everything had unbreakable charms on it.

"Master Draco is gone, sir. Gone."

"Shh," he soothed frantically. "I know, but I want to go to his room to be alone for a while and mourn him. Please."

The house elf shut up, though kept sniffling. Harry was hard pressed to keep from joining in. "Yes, sir. I does understand. I will take you."

He restrained himself from thanking the creature, remembering the effect that had had on Dobby. He really did not need another grovelling Malfoy elf trailing around after him.

Following Meppy through a maze of corridors, he suspected that he was being taken the back way. Nothing looked as grand as he would have expected having seen that one room so far, the walls were slightly damp and there were no more haughty pictures. Well, it was better this way, he was less likely to bump into anyone who would realise that he wasn't supposed to be there. Hopefully Lucius hadn't heard the house elf's racket, or had dismissed it as being inconsequential.

It occurred to him only just before they reached Draco's suite that his father could be in there. After all, the man had just lost his son, he would probably want to be close to the memories of him in the same way that Harry did.

The rooms were empty though. Lucius Malfoy was apparently far too reserved to come and cry in Draco's chambers, he was most likely off getting quietly drunk somewhere, or making heads roll at the Ministry. All the better for Harry.

Draco was here. In some way his essence lingered. There was the faintest smell of peaches and almond oil, and Harry breathed it in deep, starting to explore. The small sitting area, about the size of the Gryffindor common room, had two comfortable looking couches, an ornamental fireplace and a thick, fluffy carpet covering the floor. The mahogany desk in a corner had stacks of books and papers scattered over it, as though Draco had just stepped out for a minute and would be coming back to sort through them soon.

Oddly, the thing that he found most moving was a small rocking horse placed in front of the window. Actually it was a unicorn, done in a kind of magical paint that shone a pearly rainbow of colours. He stroked its mane, made of real hair he had no doubt, and smiled that there was something so innocent and pure in a place that had housed such darkness. In way it represented Draco to him.

He wrenched himself away, and headed into the bedroom. The scent was stronger here, and Harry kept expecting to have arms thrown around him from behind and the nickname, `Slytherin kitten' whispered in his ear. How Draco had loved tormenting him with that name; having learned how Slytherin the Goldenboy's mind-set could be, he had never let an opportunity pass to tease him. The ironic thing was that Harry had ended up liking being called that, simply because of the way Draco said it, infusing it with feeling. It somehow suited their relationship, caring and yet with an ever present edge of animosity at the same time.

Looking in the cupboard, he found what he knew had been Draco's favourite toy when he was a child. He moved to the massive four poster, trying to embed himself in the pillows that he imagined to still hold the imprint of Draco's head. Lying there clutching the patched blue dragon with one wing missing, the only imperfect thing Draco owned, he remembered the last time that he and Draco had been to Hogsmeade, sneaking out under the invisibility cloak on a normal weekend. Now that had been hell to explain to Ron and Hermione.

They were shopping for clothes because Draco found Harry's rags extremely offending to look at. When Harry mentioned that the other boy could just not look at him, all he had achieved was more grumbling and the accusation that since he was The Boy Who Lived, everyone looked at him.

He shouldn't have complained really, desperately wanting something other to wear than Dudley's cast-offs. Since they were getting bigger and bigger every year, he had resorted to using some of the ones from about five years previous, which of course meant that they were extremely worn. He had never really had the time to go shopping for clothes before; Ron and Hermione didn't need to because they were supplied from home, and Harry would have felt awkward asking them to come with him. He didn't want their pity. With Draco it was different.

The other boy was obviously enjoying himself, letting out a long spiel of which shops were and weren't worth going into, and how if they could only get to Diagon Alley he could really have shown Harry somewhere amazing. Harry drew the line at that however, he was still really worried about getting caught. What would he say, that he was sorry but wanted to go out and have a makeover? Snape would love that.

Yes, he would, commented Draco.

Hey, what did I tell you about staying out of my head, demanded Harry angrily as he was dragged through the doorway of a fancy looking tailors.

The rules don't apply to me, I'm a Malfoy. Draco turned up his nose and looked down at Harry the way that he'd been practising for the last six years. Not for the first time, Harry wished that his relatives hadn't stunted his growth by making him sleep in a cupboard, he wouldn't have minded having a few extra inches right then.

Draco took command automatically, ordering people around in a way that made Harry grin; he could never have done that, but the blonde boy pulled it off naturally, without effort. Sometimes Harry pondered whether it was all really just an act. Then again, he better than anyone should know, since he practically lived in the other boy's head.

The best tailor in the place was put to work on him and, with Draco's commentary and suggestions, he was soon outfitted in a new ensemble of robes with some casual underclothing (which he thought looked disturbingly like a girls satin nightshift).

Draco liked seeing him in green.

Once they left the shop, Harry's purchases appropriately shrunken and stored, the question of why this whole trip was necessary came up once more. Draco began a well used tirade against Muggles, personalising it to the bastards who had been in charge of Harry, and continued until he finally noticed that he had lost Harry's attention.

"Harry," he called, with a steel eyed glare, annoyed at being ignored.

"Sorry," Harry had muttered inattentively, now lost in memories of his past and all the things that he had missed.

What are you thinking about, little Slytherin kitten? What could possibly be more fascinating than me? Draco grabbed his shoulders and made him turn until they were facing each other. Harry looked around automatically to see if they were attracting attention, but they were at the side of the path, and no one took any notice.

He dropped his eyes. Just, stuff. Draco raised an eyebrow, doing a passable imitation of his personal idol, and Harry almost smiled. I was just thinking about them. That they wouldn't even buy me clothes. His mental voice grew increasingly bitter, he could hear it but was unable to prevent it. I never had anything. "Anything," he said fiercely.

Draco watched him for a moment, taking in his serious countenance, before transparently trying to lighten the tone. "What, not even toys as a child? The famous Harry Potter?" he teased.

Harry tried to smile, but had a feeling that it transmuted into a grimace somewhere along the line. No. Nothing. I wasn't allowed to play with my cousin's things, not until after he'd broken them beyond repair.

Aww, you need a hug, Draco thought at him sarcastically, and this time Harry did smile, knowing how to deal with the other boy's sharpness better than his neutrality.

"Thank you," he whispered, so hushed that he wasn't sure if Draco heard.

As they had trekked back to Hogwarts, the Slytherin had regaled Harry with tales of his favourite cuddly toy, Flint, and their exploits. Draco said that at least this way Harry could live vicariously through him.

It had been a good day.

He wasn't even aware of having dozed off until he was woken by yelling. It was the same voice that had roused him from his recollections the last time, and he got a weird sense of deja-vu.

His eyes snapped open as he was shaken roughly then thrown onto the floor; he looked up into the furious visage of Lucius Malfoy and was impaled upon the wrathful glare aimed at him.

Oh. Shit.

It took all of the strength in him not to call out for Draco; that would have just made things worse. When had it become a reflex to go to the other boy for help with everything?

"What the hell are you doing here?" The tightly controlled tones were back, in some way that was reassuring; Harry hated it when people acted out of character. "Did you think that you would come and turn my son's death into a mockery? What kind of prank were you trying to pull?" Lucius snarled.

His protests gradually increased in volume, but the irate man paid no attention. Lucius grabbed him and made as if to haul him to the window, and he started struggling. Whether or not Draco's father had stopped shouting, he was still grief stricken, and there was no telling what he would do. "No," he begged.

Some small part of him mused on whether it would be so bad; maybe if he died his bond with Draco would be reinstated in death? Then he wouldn't have to be alone anymore. No, Draco would have punched him for thinking like that. Though it was quite possible that the other boy would have hit him anyway just for the fun of it. He'd always got a kick out of their violence in public. Harry used to tease him about being perverted for getting turned on by it. Which of course merely led to private retaliation.

"No please don't!"

"My son is dead!" snarled the tall man, practically wrenching Harry's arm off. "What right have you to live?"

Why? Why had it been Draco who died, and he who lived? It was part of his curse; he would have to watch while everyone around him was lost, knowing that he himself seemed invulnerable. So many had fallen, too many.

He cried out in pain as his wrist was bent back; he thought that it might be sprained. Then Lucius was smashing the glass with his elbow, and small shards rained down on Harry's bare arm, slicing his flesh. Streaks of red appeared, a contrast to the paleness of his skin and the bizarre streaks of silver that decorated it. He was almost hanging out of the window at this point, balanced precariously over the ledge with only the tight grip of Draco's father keeping him from the sixty foot drop.

It brought back uncomfortable memories of the time that his uncle had hurt his wrist in the same way after he'd tried to take some extra food. He couldn't have been more than six. "No," he whispered, quaking in ill suppressed fear. "Don't do this. Don't be like them. Draco said that you were never..."

He was tossed back down to the floor of the room, landing hard and hitting his head. For a moment all he saw was blackness shot through with veins of light, then his vision cleared and Lucius was looming over him once again. He scrambled backwards, grabbing hold of the fallen dragon where it lay on the ground as he passed. If he was about to be hexed into oblivion, then he wanted to be holding something of Draco's.

"Don't touch that!" Lucius suddenly seemed slightly less malevolent as his eyes widened in urgency. "That's my son's. Give it to me. Now!" He reached out a grasping hand to take the toy.

Harry couldn't give it up. The remaining wing flopped forlornly in the breeze coming through the broken window. He wrapped his arms around the creature and held it close, starting to talk nonsense to it to reassure himself. "It's all right, Flint. Don't worry, I'll protect you. And when the bad white knight comes to try and take our treasure away, you can throw fire at him." He squeezed the dragons belly, and illusionary flames spouted forth harmlessly. Thinking about it, that might have been one of the stories that Draco had told him; it sounded familiar, and there was treasure in it, which was always important to Malfoys.

"Draco," he whimpered softly, losing all control of his voice.

When he finally glanced up again a few minutes later, Lucius was standing in exactly the same position, staring at him. The other man's face was completely expressionless, even lacking the usual contempt and superiority. There was just... nothing. Perhaps Lucius too was remembering.

He continued watching with wide eyes until Draco's father seemed to recollect himself. Bracing his nerves for the imminence of further pain, he was bewildered when nothing came. Meeting the curiously empty eyes of his attacker, seeing for a moment nothing but the blonde hair and silver orbs, he mumbled again, "Draco?"

A shudder seemed to go through the other man's body, then Lucius was leaning down; falling to his knees beside Harry, who tensed. When the elder, now the only, Malfoy raised his hand, he flinched away instinctively, and fought the urge to cower.

This was Draco's father. Draco's father, who the other boy had so many happy memories of; who'd held him and read to him and laughed with him. It was disturbing sometimes, how his and Draco's perceptions of people and things clashed. It made him feel as though there was someone else with him, echoing his thoughts. There had been, yet now Draco was gone.

A large hand, the same shape and Draco's, the same fingers, was raised to his face, and meticulously traced his features, moving randomly across his cheeks and forehead. At first he was confused, but then remembered the strange lines that he had seen in the mirror in the Hospital Wing. He really wished that he could ask Draco about them.

Lucius seemed fascinated, unable to tear himself away, so Harry stayed as still as possible; trying not to incur his ire again.

"You..." The older man cut off whatever he had been about to say, quickly rising to his feet before wheeling around to stumble out.

Harry didn't understand what had happened and sat on the same spot on the floor, feeling entirely numb.

He tried to sleep again. He didn't return to the bed, for he didn't want to mark it with his blood. The carpet was already a rich wine red, so there would be no staining there. He couldn't sleep on the floor though. Eventually he decided that it wasn't the floor so much, but rather that something in the room had changed. The atmosphere was less tranquil there now, and the shadow of Draco that had warmed him before seemed to have drained away.

The only thing that he could think of was that Lucius must have taken it with him. After all, the older man shared so many other characteristics with Draco, perhaps he had somehow stolen his essence away? He went out seeking the other, cradling his right arm to his chest and ignoring the pain that flared from it.

His feet led him to the master chambers. It was as though he had been here before, walked this path, yet he knew that he never had. Everything seemed hushed and desolate, Harry supposed that with both Draco and Narcissa gone there was no one to make the place alive anymore.

He walked in without knocking. Lucius was seated stiffly in an armchair next to the fire, reading; it was only when Harry saw the lighting spell that he realised it was getting dark. How had so much time slipped by without him noticing?

"What are you doing here?" The blonde haired man sounded weary, his voice filled with much less vehemence than usual. It momentarily confused Harry. Then he remembered his purpose.

Inching his way across the room, he kept a watchful eye on Malfoy's cane. He had no desire to be cursed, no matter how fatalistic he was feeling. The other man didn't move however, staring straight back at him the entire time. Having reached the chair, he fell inelegantly to his knees, settling at Lucius' feet. Seeing the eyebrow raise, that he could somehow interpret, though perhaps that was from over exposure to Snape, he knew the question before it was asked. Resting a hand ever so lightly on the former Death Eater's knee, he said, "You feel like Draco." His voice sounded too choked to be his own, but it was definitely him who had spoken. He let out a little keening noise and dropped his head until only the floor was on the receiving end of his dazed stare.

There were no more words between them for the longest time; Lucius' hand came to rest on the top of his head, but it made no move to push him away. Harry spent the time instructing himself on how to breath, pretending to himself that Draco was here, watching over him.

He slept.

The feeling of the warm pillow underneath his head shifting roused him from his dreams. They had been peaceful, for once, and he was sorry to see them go.

"Get up," commanded a tired voice. He wasn't surprised to hear it; it was becoming a fixture upon his awakening.

Unsteadily he drew himself upright, and eventually dared to meet the piercing stare of the other man. Holding the tattered dragon in his good hand made it easier to face Draco's father; Harry didn't know why, but he was thankful for it.

"Yes, sir," he murmured, not wanting to provoke Lucius.

It seemed to work, as all the other did was grunt in acknowledgement. "Now, you are going to tell me precisely..."

Harry's eyes flicked back to Lucius' when the questioning halted. The blonde's gaze was centred on his injured arm, looking stunned. Harry suddenly felt embarrassed and tried to hide it behind his back. It was all his fault for being so foolish; everything that he did went wrong.

"Show me your arm, boy!" Harry didn't have the will to disobey that order, and what did anything matter now anyway? He held out his hand in front of him, and tried not to notice the way that it trembled.

In the few seconds that he waited for Lucius' next move, time seemed to stretch slightly, and he was aware of every heartbeat in his chest. He didn't understand what was happening here, why hadn't the older man thrown him out?

"Merlin..." Lucius whispered quietly. That hadn't been the reaction that Harry expected. He looked down at his arm and saw that it looked a bit worse than he had assumed, the wrist was horribly swollen and the sight of dribbles of drying red blood mingling with the flashes of silver that shot over his skin was grotesque. He wanted to hide again, but forced himself to remain absolutely still. "I never meant to do this." Was that an apology? From a Malfoy? The man did sound slightly remorseful.

He stood there dumbly whilst Lucius got up and moved to the window. For a moment he feared that he would meet his fate there after all, but then realised that Malfoy was merely summoning an owl. Trailing after the other, he watched over the broad shoulders as a note was hastily penned.

Severus,

The Potter boy is here, he is wounded. Not seriously, but if you could bring a healing potion with you it would be appreciated. My own stores have not been replenished.

Lucius Malfoy.

That was so like a Malfoy, Harry thought, just presuming that everyone would jump to obey them, never considering that they might be refused. Then the content of the letter sunk in.

"No!" he cried out in distress. "You can't call him here!"

Lucius' lips tightened. "I think you'll find that I can. He will heal you and take you back to that damned school." From the way that the older man turned away, Harry gathered the conversation was supposed to be officially over.

"No," he begged again, against all the reasoning that told him to shut up and deal with the lemons that life gave him. Perhaps it was because Lucius reminded him so much of Draco, but he could not just give up, and felt a strange need to unburden himself on the other. "Please don't make me go back there. They're going to make me go back to my relatives." He considered a moment, then decided to add, "My Muggle relatives."

The retreating back stopped, and Draco's father half-turned. "And why should this be of any concern to me?" he said in a silky tone, low and deadly. It was an intimidation tactic that Draco had been trying to master for years, but hadn't quite perfected yet.

"Please don't make me go back," Harry repeated. He didn't know what else to say. "They... Draco said that I would never have to..." He gave up. It wasn't working. Nothing would work. Draco was dead, he would just have to go back to the Dursleys and be their slave for a while longer. Maybe there was some appeal there; in mindless drudgery he could forget everything, and if his uncle knocked his head against the stairs a few more times then the memory loss might become permanent.

The owl flew out into the night sky, carrying Lucius' letter. Harry collapsed in a heap on the floor again, already charting out the monotonous misery that his time at Privet Drive would undoubtedly consist of.

Snape arrived some twenty minutes later. Neither Harry nor Lucius had moved from their respective positions, and showed no inclination of doing so even when the newcomer strode in.

Harry looked up and saw his professor analysing the situation. Having apparently concluded that his student was in no immediate danger, Snape turned to the other. "Lucius?"

The blonde haired man turned from his position at the window and seemed almost taken aback to find any one else there. "Severus." He visibly collected himself. "The boy just showed up. I was rather... angry with him at one point, and he needs tending to. Take him with you when you leave." Grey eyes returned to seeking out the stars.

"Potter?" Harry's head snapped around at his name called in that harsh voice. He stared up at Snape, who was kneeling before him. "What on earth is wrong with you?" muttered the professor in annoyance. Harry wondered whether he meant mentally or physically.

"I think that the boy may be in shock," inserted Lucius, without moving.

Coal black eyes swept over his form again, and Harry shuddered. His reflexes were still howling at him to run. Long fingers seized his uninjured wrist and took his pulse. Harry was surprised that they were so warm; for some reason he had always imagined everything about Snape to be cold. The vampire rumour was obviously incorrect; if Harry wanted he could put an end to the betting pool that some of the higher years had going. He didn't think that he would though.

Snape sighed, and Harry looked up at him again. "Do you have a blanket?" His professor directed the question to Lucius. A house elf was summoned, and the blanket was accordingly delivered. Harry thought that Snape was being almost... gentle when he wrapped the blanket around him. It was confusing, but not unwelcome.

He couldn't seem to stop shivering.

"Show me your arm." It was said in the exact same way that Lucius had given the order. Harry mused on whether there was some kind of training camp for intimidation tactics that all Death Eaters, or maybe just all wealthy bastards, went to.

His arm was heavy, almost impossible to lift, and he whimpered in frustration. "Oh, for..." Snape took hold of the limb with a carefulness belying the anger in his words. He poked and prodded, and Harry bit his lip to keep from crying out. What would Draco have said about him showing his weaknesses to others?

He swallowed everything that his professor gave him with a blind obedience that he had never shown to Snape before. He could practically feel the moments when the man raised his eyebrow in curiosity.

"Come on then, the Headmaster will doubtless want to see you before you go back to your relatives tomorrow."

Tomorrow. Never had the future looked quite so grim, not even when Voldemort had made his grand attack. He didn't want to go back.

Snape dragged him to his feet and began towing him towards the fireplace in the room. Tomorrow was looking far too close for Harry's liking. The idea of have to go back to that house, when they weren't even expecting him...

He began to struggle against the professor's hold. No matter how impossible or irrational it was, all he could think about was getting away; staying safe. Taking the other man by surprise, he broke free.

"Potter!" Snape shouted, and his fear increased. The Potions master would love to see him suffering, would probably encourage it. At the same time, he knew that he was being unfair to the man, that Snape would never intentionally hurt him, and that there was a softer side beneath the anger. Were they Draco's impressions, or just his own that he rarely listened to?

Scrambling to the other side of the room, he hid behind Lucius, feeling safer there for some reason. The blonde man looked down at him appraisingly, and held up a hand to stop Snape's onslaught. Whatever had brought on the reprieve, Harry was grateful for it, and tried to make himself as small as possible.

"It seems, Severus, that Mr Potter has an unusual fear of going back to his relatives," Lucius drawled. "Why is that, I wonder?"

"I'm sure he's just being stubborn," Snape criticised.

It looked as though the brief ray of hope he had held was snatched away again. "No, please! Draco said I wouldn't have to go back there. He promised! He promised..." Harry mumbled to himself. Draco's promises meant nothing now. Nothing. He stifled a sob.

"And why would my son do that?" questioned Malfoy.

Harry tensed. He shouldn't have said anything; Gods, he was so stupid sometimes. Draco would... "Never mind," he sighed. There was no point in trying to fight anyway. "I didn't mean anything."

"Oh, but I think you did," purred the blonde man. "It sounds very similar to something that you said earlier; and you were in no state to lie then. What did you mean? Why would Draco stop you from going home?"

"It's not my home!" he said before he could stop himself. The response was so ingrained that it came without thought. However, he knew that it was going to cause him trouble now. "I just... I think of Hogwarts of my home." Uncomfortable silence. He didn't want to answer any more questions. "So can we go now?"

"So eager, Mr. Potter! A moment ago you were desperate not to," observed Snape without malice.

"Well I - I want to say good bye to my friends before I go. I only just remembered."

His professor's gaze seemed to cut through him like a knife; he fought the urge to squirm like a worm on a hook. Then it was abruptly turned elsewhere, and he was free to breath again.

The two men withdrew into a corner and talked quietly for a minute. When they returned, Snape took Harry's hand again and headed straight for the floo. Harry was relieved at the lack of further questions, yet oddly disappointed at the same time. He told himself that it didn't matter, but something inside him felt very close to snapping.

He wondered if he would survive the time at the Dursleys. He wondered if anyone would care if he didn't. Then he scolded himself for being selfish. Of course people would care, Dumbledore, Ron, Hermione. He barely stopped himself from adding Draco to the list.

They stepped though the fire. Purple flames again. He remembered for no reason that Draco had always liked the colour purple. The floo took them straight to the Headmaster's office, where Dumbledore was waiting.

Harry wasn't sure exactly what to say. Nothing that had happened in the last day made any sense, and he didn't suppose that was going to change.

The old man smiled benignly at him as he was guided to a seat by Snape's hand on his shoulder. Sometimes he thought that he should be angry at the way that the Headmaster interfered with his life, manipulating him shamelessly, but when it came down to it he never could. Dumbledore seemed to carry an aura of goodness and innocence with him that deflected all evil feelings.

"Ahh, Harry. We were worried about you."

"Sorry, sir," he said meekly. If he just played along with their little games, everyone would leave him alone. Alone at the Dursleys unfortunately, which didn't look quite as appealing.

"Malfoy Manor, was it? Don't worry, I understand."

No, the Headmaster didn't, that was just the problem. He turned his head away to keep from screaming at the older man, and blinked in surprise as Snape held out a glass of something. Pumpkin juice. He busied himself with drinking it so that he didn't have to look at anyone any more.

Dumbledore's stare remained fixed on him, and all too soon he had finished the drink and had nowhere else to hide.

By the time he felt the uncomfortable tingle and slight headache, it was too late. "Shit," he muttered, recognising the symptoms as those he had read about in relation to Veritaserum. Wasn't that just like Snape?

"Severus," the Headmaster admonished mildly. "Was that really necessary?"

Harry didn't believe that Dumbledore hadn't known what was going on for a second. This was all a plot. A surge of fear went through him; what would they force him to say?

"Yes, Headmaster, I believe that it was. Now, Mr Potter, tell us, was there truly a bond between Mr Malfoy and yourself?"

"Yes," Harry answered. If it didn't get any worse than this, then he could take it.

"Why did you never tell anyone?"

A question he had often pondered. "I don't know. It never occurred to us."

"It never occurred to you," Snape repeated slowly, as though testing the words. "I see. How... Gryffindor of you. Though I would have expected Malfoy to know better. Was he using you for his own ends then?"

Harry knew the question had been rhetorical, that Snape did not expect him to answer. The drug compelled his tongue to move though. "No, sir, he just wanted..." Then he started to fight. He would not give out his secrets, Draco's secrets, this easily. Knowing how private a person the other boy had been made it wrong to speak his heart out loud.

Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and Snape stretched out a finger to catch one. The cold hand felt wonderful against his now burning skin, and he leaned into it with a desperate little whimper.

"Admirable," his professor's voice mocked him. "Yet now that you have begun I find myself eager to hear what it is that you're hiding." After watching him fight uselessly for another few seconds he continued, "You cannot resist, or it will dissolve your mind to find the answer that it seeks."

Harry gave up. It was not a gradual thing, despite the fact that he had been able to resist the Veritaserum a little and slow its progress. A bout of listless apathy crashed over him again, and he slumped in his seat, allowing his tongue to be controlled as it would.

"He just wanted something that was his for once. Though he did not always like me he wished me no harm. He thought that it was nice sometimes to have someone who didn't expect anything of him other than that he be himself. So in a way I suppose he was using me; just as I was using him. We used each other for company, we used each other for sex, we used each other for..."

"Sex?" Snape interrupted, quick as a snake. "I thought that you said you weren't in love with him?"

"I wasn't." He was amazingly relieved that he could say that under the truth spell; he hadn't been sure himself for a while there. "We were just... connected."

"Yes, you said that earlier." Harry was slightly surprised that Dumbledore was letting Snape have free reign with him and not asking any questions himself. "Not friends then?"

"No, sir. Yes, sir." He couldn't tell any less than the truth, and that was the truth as he saw it. "Sometimes, sir. We were more than friends, but sometimes there was too much hatred between us to call it friendship."

Like the time near the beginning of their real relationship, when they had discovered that they could talk mind to mind. There had been months of silence, punctuated only by foul insults and tricks. Once they had made up there were still insults, but they no longer meant the same thing. There had been other long streaks where they hadn't communicated at all. Like right after Voldemort's fall, when Draco was too busy fighting the Ministry with his father and Harry was too busy avoiding absolutely everyone. They didn't think that they would ever recover from that abnormal separation, and indeed, their bond hadn't been the same since. More tentative, and yet stronger at the same time.

"Mr. Potter, do you have any idea what is causing the phenomenon on your skin?"

He looked down, and saw the patterns of liquid silver scattered across his uncovered arm. He could stare at them for hours; become hypnotised by their movements...

"No, sir, I have never seen anything like them." That almost felt like an evasion of the question, even to him, but he really didn't think that he knew what they were. Snape's hard eyes didn't look away, constantly measuring everything that he said.

"Hmm." Maybe the interrogation was over? If only they didn't ask him... "I find myself curious about the same point as Mr. Malfoy. Why would Draco promise that you wouldn't have to return to your relatives?"

The Headmaster looked at him, eyes clear and sharp.

So they had asked after all. The one question that he feared above all others. He tried to trick the truth serum. "Well, you know, that way we could shag over the holidays." His heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. He was on fire, and torn up in the fight with the drug he stumbled to his feet, backing away.

"My, my, such a fuss over such a small question. Now tell me the real answer." Snape's voice had become low and demanding.

He couldn't see any more, though maybe that was because his eyes were so tightly squeezed shut. It took more than he had in him to struggle against this, but he couldn't let go. Couldn't let go of what he had held to himself for so long.

"Harry?" Dumbledore's voice. Oh no.

"Because of how they treat me," Harry ground out.

"What, like a king? I am sure that Draco was unhappy to find that you are better off at home than even him, but I doubt that his reaction would be the one that you described."

It wasn't a question, he didn't have to answer it. Still, the bands constricting round his head didn't seem to abate their torment. "Gods," he choked, hurting terribly.

"It is impossible to fight Veritaserum like this," he dimly heard Snape mutter to the Headmaster. "And I know that this batch was perfect."

"Harry, look at me." Almost against his will he glanced up into that kindly face; it seemed oddly distorted as his vision wavered. "Harry, how do your relatives treat you?"

Such a direct question. It burned through him, ripping away his defences. He couldn't hold out much longer. Just as he opened his mouth to spill all that he had been concealing for so long, Snape asked something else. "Why don't you want to tell us?"

His resistance was gone, worn through like rocks by the tide. "I don't want you to know. I'm ashamed." Suddenly he exploded, wanting to lash out at everyone around him. "Isn't it bad enough that they treat me like shit and that you're making me go back there, without me having to tell everyone too?" he raged.

The tirade ended. He paused, blinked. Blinked again, and realised what he had said. What he had admitted. "No. No, no." He fell to his knees and crammed his hands in his mouth in a futile gesture, as though trying to stop any further words from spilling forth. But it was too late. Too late.

This was the second time in less than twenty four hours that he had broken down. It was so unlike him; Draco's death must have been a catalyst in destroying all his reserves.

He closed his eyes and tried to pretend that he didn't exist; that the world didn't exist. It didn't work.

"Harry? Why don't you sit down on a chair?"

"Because I can't get up," he said automatically. Cursing the Veritaserum that they had slipped him, he sank down a little further, trying to blend in with the ground.

He heard a sigh and a muffled whisper, then strong hands gripped him underneath the arms and pulled him up. He felt as though he was breaking the surface after an extended dive and gasped harshly for breath.

"Come on, sit down," murmured his most hated professor's voice in his ear, then he was plunked in a large armchair across the room. The blanket, which had accompanied them from the Manor, was tucked round him, and the toy dragon, which had been accidentally thrown across the room in his fit of pique, was restored to him.

Snape sat down right next to him, on a plain wooden stool that looked severely uncomfortable, and for some reason the close proximity of the man was a comfort rather than a cause for fear.

Dumbledore took over the questioning. "Harry, I want you to calm down and tell me about your relatives."

It wasn't a question, and it wasn't quite an order. In a flash Harry understood; the Headmaster was giving him a choice, a chance to speak of it on his own volition, rather than having it forced from him.

He took it, there were many details he could think of that might come out under the drug that he could avoid this way. Somehow he knew that the old man would detect it if he lied though, so he would try and tell the truth. The hardest part was over now, that of admitting the problem in the first place.

"They don't really like me, sir. They resent having me in the house. They aren't very fond of magic."

He waited for Snape's laughter, for the sarcastic comments he was sure were brimming on his professor's tongue, but they never came. Daring a look, he found that Snape's face was carefully blank. That was good, it was hard enough to tell without the man's sneering disdain shoved in his face.

"They used to keep me in the cupboard under the stairs, before I came here." He paused a second in remembered grief, then continued. "They put me back there after the... after you sent them the letter saying Sirius was dead. They knew that there was no one to be afraid of any more."

"Harry, did they ever... hurt you?" The Headmaster's face looked so serious, so grave.

He tried to say no, but it came out as, "Yes." Of course, the Veritaserum. "I mean, they never beat me properly or anything, but sometimes my uncle would hit me. And Dudley was always vicious."

"Still unable to defend yourself, Potter?"

That was the reason that he had never told. The fear of that precise biting comment. Why had he never fought back? "If I had done anything, I wouldn't have been able to stop. I would have killed them. Then I would be no better than Him." He dropped his head and waited for the alarm, the accusation that he was mentally unstable.

"There, there, my dear boy. Severus, please!" Dumbledore sounded more weary than reproving. "Harry, I understand. But why did you never tell us? We wouldn't have made you go back there."

Another question he wasn't sure he knew the answer to. He was almost grateful to the Veritaserum, it made him tell the truth even when he was so uncertain himself.

"I was too ashamed. I thought... you would all react like Professor Snape." A sharp intake of breath beside him, but he didn't look up. "You said that it was the safest place for me, sir, that over the holidays Hogwarts wasn't so protected and you had too many other things to do. I didn't want to be a burden. I'm sorry." His voice faded out, and he found it impossible to speak anymore.

He was aware that the two men were engaged in some sort of wordless communication over his head, and tried to cut off the part of him that started inventing hundreds of possible scenarios that could happen.

The good side to this, and he was still debating whether or not it had been worth the humiliation of telling, was that they surely wouldn't send him back to the Dursleys. Unfortunately, they might decide to send him off to St Mungos instead. He shuddered at the thought of all those blank white walls around him, with people treating him even more carefully than they currently did. It was his worst nightmare.

In fact, the only real decision they could make, since it wouldn't look good to have the saviour of the wizarding world in a mental institution, was to keep him at Hogwarts. He was relieved at the logical conclusion he had come to, but still, it would been nice to have some time on his own, away from Hermione's persistent bossiness and her attempts to talk about his feelings, and Ron's insensitive blunt comments. Away from both of their reactions to Draco's death.

"Harry." He came back to attention at the Headmaster calling his name. "We have decided that you should stay here for the time being."

He repressed the urge to snort in amusement. It was Dumbledore making all the decisions here. There was no `we', not unless the Headmaster and Snape also had a mind bond. That was highly unlikely, they would drive each other insane within a week. Or at least, Snape would be driven insane; Harry had a feeling that Dumbledore would enjoy snooping around in other people's minds, no matter how grouchy.

"However," Oh God, here it came, the conditional clause. "I feel that you need a little time away from your classmates. They shall be told that you are taking some time off and will only be allowed to contact you by owl." A wonderful, marvellous idea, Dumbledore was a genius! He felt a sudden urge to hug the old man. "You will be staying down in the dungeons, next to Professor Snape."

His head snapped up at that, and Snape's mirrored the movement. "What! You can't..."

"It is the last place that anyone will expect to find you, and this way Severus can provide you with some company."

Keep an eye on him more like. It was as though the Headmaster didn't trust him, as though...

"You've got me on suicide watch," Harry exclaimed accusingly. "God, I...." He choked as the words of denial got stuck in his throat. Damn Veritaserum anyway. "Don't you think that if I were going to, I'd have done it straight away! Anyway, you said it yourself, it's not like I was in love with him!"

"Harry, I just think it prudent that someone be nearby to keep an eye on you." It would have been a good idea if Snape hadn't been likely to assist any attempts at self-harm. He knew that he was being unfair to the other man, if only in his head, but he was just so angry and tired right now.

"Sure," he mumbled, aware that he sounded childish and petulant. "Whatever."

"Very well then, your things will be removed to the room immediately. Severus, if you would please escort Harry down there?"

Then again, the Potions Master's face didn't hold that different an expression than his own, and Harry felt a little better. No matter how closely they had worked together in the battle against the dark, Snape had remained a bastard towards Harry most of the time. The professor treated him like there wasn't a real person underneath his trappings of fame and power, and it bothered him more than he would have liked to admit.

His rooms were small but adequate. Being used to the dorms and the Dursleys, it seemed magnificent. It was wonderful not having to worry about other people overhearing his nightmares, or constantly hanging about him; here there was no hero-worshipping or rivalry.

In a way he felt as though he were enjoying it too much. This comfort had been bought with Draco's life.

Professor Snape was both a good neighbour and a bad one. Harry couldn't imagine any of the other teachers being so distant; they would have been hounding him constantly. The Potions master left him in peace for the most part, and he was thankful. However, when Snape did see fit to come and check on him the man was downright nasty the whole time. Harry knew his professor's ways, and could take his insults; he even detected hints of humour underneath some of the observations. At times though it seemed as though Snape was deliberately trying to drive him over the edge, to make him break down. It confused Harry, but then, Harry was getting used to being confused.

His biggest problem at the moment was his eating habits. They fluctuated so wildly that he was left feeling sick for the vast majority of the time. Some days he would feel as though he was all that was left of Draco, that in him the other boy somehow lived on, and he would eat enough for two people, then feel bloated afterwards. Other days the very sight of food made him retch, and he didn't want to eat it because Draco couldn't any more. After the first pangs of hunger faded, he learned to ignore them quite well.

He had just finished avoiding nibbling on a piece of toast, a few days after moving in, when Snape stormed in on one of his sporadic visits. Rising merely made Harry feel shaky and light-headed, and he unobtrusively grabbed the edge of the table behind him for support. The two bites of food that he had taken felt warm and heavy in his stomach, and he suddenly feared that he would throw up. Now there was something he really didn't want to do in front of Snape; Draco had drilled well him in never showing weakness to your enemies. He wanted to yell at Draco, tell him that it was hard not to when everything that he was made up of now was weakness, but he couldn't.

"Mr. Potter." The amusing thing about Snape's attempts to intimidate him was that some of them no longer worked. Saying his name in that impressive drawl for example; Harry had discovered that he rather liked it. "How are you today?" That was another thing, the way that his professor made it sound like it was killing him to be concerned.

He still couldn't figure out if some of his reactions to Snape now were his own or aftershocks of what Draco had felt. The other boy had greatly admired this professor, after all. He wasn't sure if it would be more disquieting to find out that his changing opinion was his own, or that Draco was still manipulating him from the grave.

"I'm fine professor," he said politely. They had a little routine going now. Snape would ask him how he was, he would say that he was fine, Snape would leave.

"Are you?" his professor asked, more to himself than to Harry.

Was he? Well, he was feeling better than he had. The nearness of Draco's death had faded, and with the longer separation he was finding the loss of the other's mind easier to bear. He just needed to learn to function on his own again.

He was bored though; a lot of his depression now came from having nothing to do, as then the memories would swamp him. He'd tried reading books, but he couldn't concentrate on the words or their meanings. It was yet another worry to add to his list, for now he would be working entirely on his own merit in exams, no more hints and tips passing between Draco and he.

Maybe it was time to see his friends again?

He started to move forward, to go and sit in the living room, but found that the shaking which had originated in his fingers seemed to have spread all the way down his legs, and he faltered at the first step. Quickly backtracking, he reached for the support of the table again. He missed.

He could hear nothing above the blood rushing past his ears as he began to fall. Anticipating his renewed acquaintance with the floor, he closed his eyes and wished fervently that when he opened them he would be alone. Of course, that was never going to happen.

Powerful arms stopped his downwards tumble, pulling him back upright. He leaned heavily against Snape's body as he tried to get his feet back under him, afraid that any moment the other man would let go and laugh as he hit the ground.

Snape didn't let go.

Eventually he felt confident enough to push at the hands clamped round his upper arms, and his professor immediately let go and retreated a step. He felt the loss of the other's warmth keenly, though he hadn't even registered it before it was withdrawn, and it didn't matter for a moment that this was Snape, Snape who hated him. Then the accusing jet eyes were assessing him again, and it did matter. Embarrassment became the predominating emotion in his mind, and he blushed a beautiful shade of crimson. He was sure it set off the silver highlights wonderfully. If only he could crawl beneath a rock and die...

"Thanks," he mumbled grudgingly, knowing Snape was laughing in his head even if he was too reserved to do so out loud.

"You're welcome." Never had he heard anything that the other had said be so carefully inflectionless. When he checked, the gaze was still fixed on him. It wasn't particularly evil though. Only power three, Draco would have been delighted. They had never seen anything below a five in public before, especially when Harry was present.

He made it to his destination and sprawled happily on the couch.

"How's the food?" Snape moved to sit on a chair across from him. Harry figured it was a scheme so that the other man could stare straight at him without having to turn his head.

"Fine." It wasn't like Snape to make small talk; everything he asked was a weighted question.

"You didn't seem to have eaten much just now," Snape observed dryly.

"The house elves always bring loads, I usually leave something." Why was Snape so interested in this, in him?

The Potions master leaned forward in his chair, looking disturbingly like a bird of prey homing in on a kill. "But you see, I am told precisely how much food you are given, and how much leaves the room. So I know that that piece of toast was the only thing that you received for lunch today."

Harry wasn't sure whether to be angry that they didn't trust him and were monitoring him, or relieved that someone cared enough to do so. Snape though? The Headmaster must have blackmailed him into acting this nicely. It saddened Harry a little, that someone had to be forced into watching over him.

"I wasn't hungry," he said pathetically. It was what he told himself. He was hungry, of course, but it was bearable. He just didn't really think about it.

"I see."

He did? See what? What did he see?

Harry suddenly wished that Snape would leave so that he could go back to feeling miserable and neglected. Not that it was any fun, but it was better than this stilted, awkward attempt at conversation. His professor obviously didn't know how to act when he wasn't being a bastard. In a way Harry could sympathise, he hadn't known how to act when Draco had been taken away. It wasn't the same thing, but there was enough in common to make him wish that things hadn't changed for Snape either. Draco was dead, and Snape was being nice to him. He would rather have continued facing the Potions master's open contempt, even though it wouldn't bring Draco back, just so that something in his world remained the same.

"The Headmaster asked me to research the `bond' between the two of you. The aberrations on your skin also."

That was cutting. Aberration. Harry was an aberration. He knew that Snape hadn't meant it to sound that way, that put-downs sprung from the other's mouth without effort, but it still hurt. Aberration.

"He thought that you should not be involved, that it would be too... traumatic." The slightest curl of the lips. "I thought that you should be given the choice. It would give you something to do; help cure you of your slothful habits, though perhaps that is a bit too much to ask."

Harry took a moment to translate the basic point in that. Snape was willingly asking for his assistance. Snape was giving him a choice. Snape was providing something for him to do before he went and committed suicide out of frustrated boredom. Snape was offering him the chance to find out what had happened between him and Draco, to find out why.

Maybe Snape didn't hate him as much as he had thought after all. The world shuddered on its axis, and he shuddered with it. Nothing ever stayed the same. He would just have to try and see that as being a good thing.

"I... yes, thank you. I'd like to help," he said quietly. "Thank you."

Snape seemed surprised at his gratitude, almost speechless. Had no one ever thanked the man before? No, Harry didn't suppose that any one had, at least, not in a long time. This was Snape, after all, everything that he had done to help in the war was private and secret and couldn't be rewarded. Maybe that was one of the reasons that his professor was always so sour? Harry thought he would have to thank Snape more often, no one deserved to be quite that unappreciated.

As the other man got up to leave, Harry was seized with a sudden urge not to leave it like that. He hadn't really spoken to anyone about Draco since that first day, but he felt that this was important.

"Draco thanked you too," he called out abruptly, standing.

Snape was turned away from him, but he could see the shoulders tense and hunch down. "I do not need your pity," came the harsh whisper, ground out between clenched teeth.

Harry hadn't felt what he would have described as pity at all up until then, but now that he had seen the Potions master's reaction, he did. He wasn't going to tell him that though. "You don't have it. I was just telling you because... he..." Snape turned around fully, and waited.

"There were a lot of things that he never got to tell anyone," Harry began carefully. "And I know that he wouldn't have wanted me to now, because that's not the kind of person that he was." He took a deep breath. "But he's dead, and what he would have wanted doesn't matter as much as what the people that are left behind need."

Snape came to stand in front of him, only a foot away. It felt very close. "Indeed,' said the other, without sarcasm.

Harry sat down again limply, not knowing whether he would come out of this encounter hexed. "He respected you. A lot. You were, I don't know... not so much a guardian or a role model, but more an older brother." He thought about the age gap, and amended, "Maybe an uncle."

The other man snorted. Harry assumed that it was in amusement.

"The sneer, he got that from you. And the raised eyebrows. I know that everyone thought he copied his father, but it was really you. He used to stand in front the mirror practising... Oh God, he really wouldn't have wanted me to say that." He flushed again.

Another snort. "Go on, Mr. Potter, I am fascinated." It really wasn't possible for him to become more red.

"You turned him away from the dark, showed him that he could be his own person, but then, you already knew that. It was always, Severus said this. He sounded like he was totally in love with you half the time." Noting Snape's raised eyebrow, he added, "Oh, he wasn't though. He would have wanted to say... umm, well, nothing, he would have just given you a little nod and you would have known exactly what it meant."

A tiny smile flitted across Snape's face, so brief that Harry doubted it had been there. He had never seen his professor smile before, not even with Draco.

In a quieter voice, he said the most important things. "He chose you over his father. That was... a very big thing for him. You don't know what it meant to him when you brought Lucius over; when he knew that he didn't have to fight alone."

Snape's staring was making him feel uncomfortable. More uncomfortable anyway. He gave a little shrug to indicate that he was finished, and Snape slowly uncoiled from the chair he had resumed. "Thank you, Mr. Potter." Genuine sincerity. "I shall expect you in my rooms tomorrow. The portrait has be instructed to allow you access."

Without further ado, he left. The room felt strangely empty without him.

Harry should have expected Ron and Hermione would find him. He wasn't quite as shocked as he could have been when he opened the door, expecting Snape with some new notes, and his friends appeared from under his invisibility cloak. He'd forgotten that Ron had been using it to play tricks on the Slytherins, so it hadn't been brought down here with all his other things.

"Come in." He held the door wide with only slight trepidation; there was no point trying to turn them away, that would only convince them that something was wrong. Besides, he thought that he might be able to handle them now.

"Blimey, Harry," said Ron in an awed fashion, looking around. "Have you got this place all to yourself?" That was more or less how Harry had felt; Ron too had never really had anywhere of his own that wasn't shared with siblings or friends.

"Yes, actually. They didn't know how long I was going to be down here, so they..." He was enveloped in a hug from Hermione. As she'd grown up, she hadn't lost the instinct of doing so at every opportunity. He thought she probably saw him as a younger brother. It was annoying sometimes, but currently he enjoyed the comfort.

"Harry what happened? Why haven't you been answering our letters?" He felt guilty about that, but it had never seemed the right time. "We were so worried about you, it took us ages to find you. I had to search the entire restricted section to find a spell that would lead us here through all the wards set up."

Ron rolled his eyes. Harry laughed. He had missed them. They suddenly both gawked at him. "What's wrong with your face?" He cursed the marks yet again, why couldn't he be normal?

They all sat down, Hermione still nagging him and Ron putting on just as much pressure, except that his was silent since he had no chance of getting a word in.

"Okay, okay, I'll tell you," he raised his hands mock defensively. That won a grin from Ron. "Only, please don't interrupt me or argue with me `till after I've finished, as it's all really hard to say."

They both nodded earnestly. He considered placing a silencing charm on them, since he knew they wouldn't be able to keep quiet, but decided to just get it all over with as fast as possible. Anyway, Hermione knew a dozen ways to break them.

"Right, well, you all heard that Malfoy died, right? No, don't answer that, don't say anything at all, I don't want to hear it. Umm, actually I'd better start at the beginning, I can tell you some of what Professor Snape and I have worked out so far." He saw how hard it was for Ron to hold back all the insults towards their favourite Slytherins, and was impressed that he was holding back so well.

"Sometime during our second or third year, we somehow got connected. Malfoy and me. Something happened, we haven't figured out what yet. Anyway, very gradually, I became aware of someone's feelings other than my own. That wasn't until about forth year. It was fifth year when we started to hear each other, maybe during the summer, I don't remember. It was really strange, talking to other people in our heads, so we shut it out and tried to pretend it hadn't happened. Like we were crazy or something."

Ron was definitely looking at him like he was crazy.

"We... got used to it. It wasn't so bad. I guess that I kind of liked him. We used to hang around sometimes, in secret. I know I should have told you guys, but... I was always too afraid. I know how much you both hated him, and with good reason most of the time. When he... died, it really hurt. I mean, one minute he was there in my head, a sort of presence, then the next he was gone. It felt so wrong, I had to learn how to deal with it. That's why I've been down here. That, and Snape's got me helping with research. We're trying to figure out what the magical lines on my skin are. No one's ever seen anything like them before."

They both looked absolutely stunned. Taken aback, astonished; the same blank expression Hermione might have if she ever walked into an exam without revising. He savoured that look, since he knew that he would never see it again, at least not on her. Ron seemed to have that expression every other minute anyway.

"I - I guess I feel a bit betrayed that you never told us. I don't understand how you could ever like that creep," Ron finally burst out.

"Well, it was special. Like we were twins or something. Really, really different twins who couldn't stand each other, but you know. It was the same level of closeness."

"Urg, thanks mate. Now I'm going to get horrible images of Fred and George shagging in secret." Hermione hit Ron for being so crude.

"But we..." He was about to protest that they hadn't been going out, but then remembered that they had actually had sex a few times, so that defence went out the window.

"It's all right, Harry," Hermione interrupted. "You could have told us. We don't have a problem with you being gay."

"Oh." Wait a minute, he was gay? Since when? Okay, some of the things that he did with Draco might seem to suggest that, but that was different. They were bonded, they gave each other release when it was necessary. It's not like there was a sexual preference behind it. He liked girls just fine, as had Draco. The other boy had been going out with Pansy Parkinson, for gods sake. "But I'm..."

"It's fine, really mate." Harry smiled and nodded, trying not to look totally confused. "And I can see why you didn't tell us. I mean, it was Malfoy!"

Ron grinned, and suddenly everything was all right between them again. That was what he loved about these two, their unlimited capacity for forgiveness. Sometimes he didn't feel like he deserved such friends.

"I can always look into the marks for you. Are you going to be okay now?" asked Hermione softly.

He smiled, and the expression was beginning to feel much more natural. "Yes, I think so. I wasn't sure before now, but having talked to you... everything will be fine."

Perhaps he was ready to leave the dungeons after all. He wouldn't put it past Dumbledore to have directed his friends down here to push him to this very conclusion.

At that moment Snape walked in without announcing himself. While he didn't show any sign of outward perturbation, Harry could tell that the older man was surprised. As the professor lowered the pile of research to the desk and straightened menacingly, Harry realised that Snape was preparing to flay the other two Gryffindors alive, as well as likely putting their house in negative points. The Potions master's eyes looked furious!

"No! It's all right, I don't mind them being here. Please don't yell at them," he intervened, trying to diffuse the situation. He could tell it worked, just a bit, when the professor's mouth relaxed from the thin line it had been compressed to.

Snape turned on him. "I do not yell, Mr. Potter. I never yell." Harry could tell that he was amused; he had grown quite proficient at reading the man, and now knew that it was his own experience rather than Draco's. "Nonetheless, Mr. Weasley and Miss. Granger are out of bounds; not only were they instructed not to seek you out but they broke through a formidable number of my protection spells in order to get here."

That was actually a compliment in disguise. Neither of the others apparently saw it, for they both looked ready to sink through the stone floor in order to get away.

"Professor." Snape's attention swung back to Harry. "I think... I think that I'm ready to go back to Gryffindor Tower, sir. I think that I can go back to school."

Bottomless pits of darkness considered his proposal. "Very well, Mr. Potter. I shall inform the Headmaster. I expect you to keep helping with the research though." Harry nodded acceptance. Snape opened the door. "These rooms will be kept open for you, should you wish to return."

Just before the door closed behind him, a final, "Ten points from Gryffindor," came through.

Ron sighed in exaggerated relief.

"He's not so bad really," Harry said to the air of quiet that the Potions Master had left in his wake.

Snape had contacted him after dinner with instructions to come down to his chambers. To tell the truth, Harry was relieved. Sitting with the other man was far better than being stared at like a freak in the Gryffindor common room. Everyone found the alterations to his colouring disconcerting, and wouldn't stop watching him. It was like he was live entertainment. Harry hated it, he had been the focus of too much attention before this anyway, and wasn't sure if he could stand the extra pressure. He'd been working on suppressing the patterns, since they seemed heightened when he was feeling very emotional, but it wasn't working so far.

At least Snape didn't stare at him. Not all the time anyway. Working in the professor's rooms was wonderfully quiet after the mindless gossiping that swamped the rest of the school. He hadn't realised how overwhelming he would find it to go back, but he thought that he was adjusting. Gradually. Hermione was forcing him to eat regularly, which his mind was grateful for even if his stomach didn't appreciate the attention.

He knocked and then entered without waiting for a response. Theoretically he didn't have to knock, but politeness had been drilled into him at an early age. He could never be sure what kind of mood Snape would be in either.

"Ah, Mr. Potter," Snape purred, without looking up from the pile of essays he was grading. A long streak of glaring red F marks, why was Harry not surprised? "Were you planning on obstructing my entrance all day, or is it just a temporary hobby?"

He moved inside, and perched in his usual spot on one of the low unused desks that Snape occasionally kept trial potions on. It had become a matter of habit to check if there was anything toxic there or not before sitting; the first time he had been roundly scolded for almost upsetting vital research ingredients. He had learned an important lesson from that; never to come between Snape and his potions.

He waited patiently until the professor had finished with his work. It still took him by surprise sometimes, his ability to be patient. Ever since his relatives had made him do all the chores in the house he was used to constant activity, and tended to fidget if left to his own devices for too long. Now he found that he liked the stillness; maybe he had grown up?

"I think that I may have finally uncovered the answers to all your questions, both those concerning the bond between Draco and yourself, and the ones about your new... characteristic."

Some kind of unspoken agreement had been reached that they would call the missing boy Draco rather than Malfoy. It was what they were both used to thinking of him as, so decorum was suspended in these rooms. Harry liked the slightly more relaxed atmosphere it encouraged; it certainly made him fear Snape less.

"That's great!" There was a laden pause. "Isn't it?" he asked more cautiously.

They'd been doing work for almost a month now. Every time that something even remotely hopeful looking had turned up, it had led to a dead end. Harry had been becoming resigned to the idea that he would just never know.

Snape seemed to rouse himself from whatever contemplation he had been mired in. "Indeed. You and Draco have been affected by a most unusual condition. It has only happened once before, and that so long ago that almost all records of it were lost or disregarded. Even what I have found may not be strictly accurate. It seems... Did you know that Draco's wand was oak? Eight and a half inches, with a phoenix feather. Did you know that Fawkes once had a mate? A mate who, before she died, gave feathers for wands. Did you know that when the wands of mated phoenixes meet, in close contact or in battle, there is a powerful reaction between them?"

The storm of questions left Harry dizzy, the more so because he thought that he could begin to see where all of this was leading. Snape sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. It was a familiar gesture now, one that indicated the professor was thinking hard.

"It was quite possibly the duel in your second year that initiated the bonding. Once the essences of the phoenixes became aware of each other they would have started a process which eventually bound the two of you, in attempt to stay close to each other."

Harry felt inexplicably saddened that it hadn't been personal. He'd liked thinking, as Draco had, that here was something for himself, something that in some way he had caused. Now it turned out to be the cores of their wands reacting, and nothing to do with them at all.

Snape seemed to have become very skilled at reading him. "It doesn't cheapen what you had, or anything that you might have felt. That was still your own choice, just the bonding was done by the wands," the man said awkwardly.

He supposed that was supposed to be comforting. It was, in a way. The fact that they had sort of liked each other once they got past all the insults was real then, and had not been forced upon them.

He nodded jerkily, and no longer had to work quite so hard to prevent tears from building up in his eyes. Snape reached out a hand and casually brushed it across his own. The warmth of the touch made him look up and give a little smile. "Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you for taking the time to help; thank you for trying to console me when I didn't even know that I was upset." He really hadn't meant to say that out loud; it had been an incredibly personal thing to say, yet it didn't seem strained or unnatural at all.

Confessing everything to his most hated teacher was almost a matter of course; he had had to go into great detail on most of the things that he and Draco had ever shared to try and narrow down the field of texts to look through. So now he was used to letting his feelings spill out. Hermione would be proud of him, though she might be dubious over who he was sharing them with. It seemed that he trusted Snape somewhat now; the other man had never belittled his feelings down here, or insulted him when he could tell that Harry was upset.

The touching, that was new. Snape hadn't touched him before today, they had each had an area of carefully defined personal space. It didn't come across as strange or wrong now that the older man had though; it was just thoughtful and comforting, the kind of touch that a friend would give. He couldn't imagine any of the other teachers behaving like this, but then, none of them knew him like Snape did. It had started during their work together over the war, but been masked by hostility. Now it was laid bare, and completed. Snape knew him. That was infinitely comforting too. He didn't think that he could ever really know Snape, the man was far too complex, but he was starting to understand him a little more. Enough to not always be completely squashed in their encounters.

In fact, the sparring matches they had reminded him of the relationship that he had had with Draco. All the feelings had been hidden beneath barbs, but that didn't mean that there weren't any. Now that he was fighting back in the battles of wit, he sometimes though that he saw amusement or even respect in Snape's eyes. Maybe that was just wishful thinking.

"The patterns on your skin are what's left of Draco."

Harry started violently, and stared at Snape in disbelief. He had Draco all over his skin?

"I... put that badly," his professor said uncomfortably. Harry had the oddest feeling that Snape wanted to apologise. "I didn't mean it quite like that. He isn't there literally, but it is like his signature, it combines and reacts with your emotions." He paused again, and Harry watched him shift into lecturing mode. "When Draco died, his wand was destroyed. He placed a spell on it, like you did, so that it would be turned to ash and unable to be used by another after his demise. What happened then was that the wand essence, having been reunited and bound with its mate's previously, transferred to you in order to maintain contact. It is expressed in the form of those silver patterns on your skin."

Hesitantly, Harry reached up and ran his fingers over his face. He had taken to avoiding mirrors, as the sight of his abnormality disturbed him, but now... He wasn't sure if this was better or worse than when he'd just thought himself a freak. Now there was a reason, but it was so strange, he didn't know how to deal with it.

"Would you like to be alone?" Snape asked quietly. It was only then that he realised he had been silent for several minutes; the other man probably thought that he was going to have a breakdown or something.

"No. No, I'm fine. It was just... a bit of a shock. I never thought that there would be a reason like that behind it. Don't..." Snape would know what he meant.

After he left for the evening, it hit him. There was no more research to do. He had no excuse now to come down to the dungeons. He would have to live entirely up in the surface world, being idolised and condemned the whole time.

He wouldn't have the silence any more.

Living with so much constant attention was forcing him into a state of depression. If he repressed his feelings then the lines on his skin went away, but his friends were always asking what was wrong. If he tried to act normally, the stares got to him so much that he ended up repressing all of his emotions anyway. It was very tiring; sometimes he just wanted to curl up in bed and stay under the covers forever.

He hadn't seen Snape at all, outside of classes, since that day when he had learned the truth. In classes, he was scarcely more bearable than he had always been prior to Draco's death, and Harry began to doubt that he had ever seen a softer side to the icy Potions master. It must have been an illusion he created to make it easier for himself to work with the other.

He stopped arguing back in class after the first Potions lesson. That had been very bad. All the fight went out of him in all his other classes too, and despite Hermione's constant reminders of the upcoming exams, he couldn't focus on any of the work that they were doing. He tended to drift when the professors were talking; he didn't think about Draco any more during those times, he didn't think of anything at all. It was disturbingly easy to just let his mind go vacant along with his expression, it took so much less effort, and this way he wasn't aware of everyone looking at him. Even the teachers stared at him. Even Dumbledore, though he always had a wink and a smile.

"Mr. Potter," growled Snape, as he went to leave the latest in a long string of potions classes he had learned absolutely nothing from. "You will stay behind."

It had been inevitable really, that someone would call him on his behaviour. It was ironic that Snape was the only one with the guts to confront The Boy Who Lived on the problem, when he had been part of the cause. Harry had no idea when or why this professor's treatment of him had started to matter so much, but it did.

The door closed behind the last student. "It has come to my attention that you are failing quite spectacularly. Surely I am not the only one to notice the appalling decline in the standard of your work?"

Was that supposed to mean that the other teachers had noticed, or that the Potions Master knew Harry himself had? "No, sir," he said defeatedly, not meeting the other man's eyes. Snape would rant and take points, then he could go back to hiding in the dorm.

"Why is that?" Startled, Harry shifted from one foot to another and tried not to look up. "What is wrong?" He certainly hadn't expected such a question from Snape now! McGonagall maybe, or Dumbledore, but never the professor who had seemed once more to hate him the most. For the first time in a long while he cared about how badly he was doing, if he was pushing others so much as to make them worry about him. If Snape was worried about him, it had to mean something was really wrong.

He couldn't confide in the older man now though; the Potions Master had made it abundantly clear in his actions since Harry left the dungeons that he did not want to see him or to talk to him. Anyway, it wasn't like Snape didn't already know what was going on, he had the sharpest eyes in the school apart from Dumbledore, and was less likely to selectively ignore the information than the Headmaster constantly did.

No, Snape knew. Knew that hardly anyone ever spoke to Harry anymore, whether the cause was fear or awe. Sure, Ron and Hermione had been really good about everything, but they weren't always there. Especially now that Hermione was busy dating a Ravenclaw boy, and Ron was busy obsessing over Hermione. Harry was left feeling alone most of the time; a feeling he hadn't properly experienced since before coming to Hogwarts. The other times his friends had deserted him since then, Draco had always been there, in one way or another.

"I... Nothing, sir," he lied. Like Snape cared about his problems. Unless Dumbledore had coerced the professor into asking. It was the sort of thing that was typical of the old man. "You can tell the Headmaster that I'm fine."

Snape sighed. "He did not ask me to talk to you, if that is what you are wondering." Sometimes, the other man was far too astute for Harry's comfort. "And your sloppiness of late leads me to believe that you are less than fine."

They stood there uncomfortably for a moment, Harry making up and rejecting dozens of improbable excuses to flee before Snape started chastising him. If it had been the mildly more tolerant version of Snape that he thought he'd seen during his `time off,' he wouldn't have minded. But the one who had tormented him since he returned to school really knew where to hit so that it hurt.

"Is this about Draco?" The words were soft, so soft that Harry barely heard them, and even then he thought he might have misinterpreted. Was this some kind of a trick to set him up for an even more stinging fall? "Are you unable to work because you are thinking about him?"

A sudden wave of hurt crashed through Harry, that Snape was pretending to care like this. He knew how well the former spy could act. This was beneath the other man. He had daily evidence of how much his professor hated him, but to make him expose his weaknesses then in all probability laugh at them, that was low.

He shuddered and remained silent. He would not show weakness. Draco would... probably be screaming at him along with Snape right now.

"Harry?"

Shit! Snape had called him by his name. This was just getting too surreal; he couldn't handle it anymore. He really needed to go... fall off the Astronomy Tower or something. "I can't..." he mumbled in a stilted tone, then turned and fled towards the door.

Snape reached it before him; the other man really could move incredibly fast when it suited him. He backed away from his professor, waiting for an attack of some sort or another.

"Believe it or not, Mr Potter." Ah, they were back to Mr. Potter now. Of course Snape didn't care, he couldn't care about Harry. No one cared about Harry, Draco hadn't even really cared, and he'd been bound to him. While he knew that he was sinking into a bout of self-pity, it didn't allow him to prevent the feeling. Snape put a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. "Believe it or not, but I do not wish to see you fail anything."

Harry let out a hoarse, incredulous laugh. "Sure, Professor." He waited, but the expected insults didn't come. "Can I go now?" he asked rebelliously. Sure, he was coming across as a sulking child, but he didn't really feel up to being any more mature at the moment. He had had more than enough of being mature, he'd spent his entire life serving other people's expectations. The worrying thing was, he couldn't figure out what Snape's were right now.

Snape sighed again, it sounded tired rather than angry. Was he still acting? The restricting hand left his shoulder, and Harry started edging towards the exit. "I only want to help you," the professor said quietly, without condescension.

Harry paused, he was so confused. No one was acting the way that they were supposed to. "Why?" There was no answer, but this was one question he wouldn't let slide. "Why on earth would you want to help me? Why aren't you taking points and snarling insults?" he questioned suspiciously.

"Mr. Potter, you do not seem to understand that I have to present a different attitude to the student body at large than I do in my chambers."

Was Snape saying what Harry thought he was? That it was the recent period of spitefulness that was faked, and not the time before it? He raised his head in trepidation, and locked eyes with the other man. Snape was, as ever, unreadable, but his face looked the tiniest fraction more relaxed than usual, the way that it had been in the latter stages of their research together. Everything in Harry screamed not to trust again, but then, what was the point in that? He was honest enough with himself to admit that he did need help, and if Snape was offering...

"What you said... you hurt me." It put him in the most vulnerable position he'd held in a long time. He was really sticking his neck out here, and if Snape choose to bite then he was doomed. Letting your enemies know that they were getting to you was never a sound strategy, so now the point to be proven was whether or not the professor was his enemy. Every muscle in his body tensed in anticipation.

"I know." There was utmost sincerity in that gravelly voice, and Harry understood. Snape would never apologise, not properly, it was not in his nature. In fact, now that he thought about it, what the Potions Master had said made perfect sense. Snape was not someone who opened up easily, or exposed his emotions in public. Harry had been too wrapped up in his own pain to think that not everything revolved around his feelings. He should have just gone to see Snape, and they could have talked. He was such a fool.

Blushing with the realisation that the whole situation was at least partially his fault, he stammered, "Help?" When he thought about it, that must have sounded rather comical.

"Yes," drawled Snape dryly. "I am prepared to assist you in making up the work you have... not absorbed." Harry blushed even harder. He was very glad that Creevy wasn't around to take pictures, the annoying boy had become even worse of late since they discovered that the damn lines transferred to film. "The potions you missed will not be hard for you to cover, with my help, and I'm sure that I can manage Defense Against the Dark Arts." Was there a hint of humour in that voice? Harry had given up looking for it recently, but now his ears seemed to be fine tuned again. "The rest you shall have to master yourself, unless you wish to apply to other professors, but if you have problems I shall be able to help."

"Thank you," Harry said, suddenly feeling very small and unworthy. Here Snape was, going out of his way to help him, when he knew that he must have been acting like a complete prat for the last couple of weeks. He wouldn't be surprised if he had managed to alienate all of his friends, what with his sitting around and brooding.

He would just have to make more of an effort; the people who liked him for who he really was should not suffer his withdrawal from everyone else.

Working with Snape was actually not as horrific as it could have been. The man was demanding to say the very least. Then again, Harry had needed the push; now that he had motivation, in the form of a scarily detailed list of threats, he started putting effort into living again. He didn't think that Snape would carry them out, not some of them anyway; it was more the thought that the other man had gone to all the trouble of producing said list on parchment with some gruesome illustrations which screamed a lot. In a really bizarre and twisted way that made him feel that Snape cared enough to push him.

Maybe he was just insane.

He found that he learned far more in Snape's tutorials than he did in normal classes. Not only did the man become reasonably approachable, but when Harry was paying attention he found that the Potions professor's teaching style suited him far more than he would have previously thought possible. The way that Snape explained things was more clear and concise than any of his other teachers', though he felt guilty for thinking that about Remus. He loved Remus, who had taken over as a surrogate godfather after Sirius had fallen, but often found himself dozing off in his DADA classes, since he already knew half the standard material though his extra training to prepare for Voldemort. Not to mention that the werewolf had been slightly uncomfortable with him ever since the freak show on his skin had appeared. Harry knew that Remus didn't think of him any differently really, but there was always that moment now when the older man would take a second to stare at his silver sheen before looking into his eyes as they talked. It was very disconcerting, and he suspected not just to him.

Some of the things they were covering in potions weren't on the syllabus. Whenever Snape was doing a particularly vital piece of researching or brewing he would state that he had no time to stop to play tutor. The first time his professor had said that, Harry had turned to leave. The growled, "What do you think you're doing? Get back here and stir this cauldron!" let him know that his teachings were to continue, just not in the orthodox manner.

Things were more interesting this way anyway. Snape was far more enthusiastic about his work, and far less likely to take the time off to be sarcastic. It had never occurred to Harry before; but teaching exactly the same potions year after year must have become really boring really fast. No wonder Snape was always so grouchy in class, he must have been going mad with frustration sitting there teaching things for the twentieth time when his latest project was bubbling away enticingly just beyond the door to his private lab. Harry was glad to have seen this new, passionate side to Snape, it made him seem more human and ever so slightly less intimidating. Of course, if Harry messed anything up in these experiments it was much more important and would lead to the professor not speaking to him for several days, so that was added motivation to try hard.

One day he worked the courage to ask something that he'd been wondering about for a while. "What did you think of Draco?"

Snape paused in his steady chopping, the sudden lack of noise making the air seemed charged with tension. "I didn't really know him," the older man said.

Oddly disappointed with that answer, Harry nodded and turned back to staring at the Hydragon spines laid out neatly before him. He pushed a couple of them around with the tip of a rod, suddenly wishing that he could leave. He didn't know why it had cost him so much to ask that question, or why he felt as though he had bared his soul without meaning to.

"The only time I ever talked to him without a wall of lies between us was just before the last battle." Harry was startled out of his fidgeting by Snape resuming the topic. "I thought - I thought that he had promise. Especially in potions; it was nice to have at least one Slytherin whose marks I didn't have to fake."

Harry could understand that. Letting Crabbe and Goyle, who even combined were no better than Neville, pass for all these years must have irked the other man excessively, considering his meticulous nature.

"You're admitting that you altered test marks, sir? That's very unprofessional." The faint hint of teasing in his voice was ignored; Harry had learned that he could get away with things like that. One or twice he even fancied that Snape was amused by his comments.

"Hmm, well, I trust to your discretion." Snape trusted him? "Merlin knows why." muttered the other under his breath, seeming to share the same thoughts. "Besides, it isn't as though I had any choice. Voldemort wanted his new batch of followers in good positions in the community, and they wouldn't get very far if they didn't make it through school."

Harry suddenly realised why he had wanted to know what Snape thought of Draco. It was because he saw the two of them as similar in so many ways. The Potions Master had the same sharpness of mind and tongue that he had never found in anyone but the blonde Slytherin. Since Draco probably copied it off his Head of House in the first place, Harry shouldn't have been surprised.

This was the original though, and sometimes he felt as though he were betraying Malfoy's memory by enjoying Snape's company more. With the older man he was constantly challenged, and seemed to spend a great deal of his time feeling permanently confused. He appreciated the puzzle, and the frequent chances he got to analyse the professor the more he found there was too unravel.

At one point he thought that he'd had more than enough mysteries in his life, and would have preferred everything to be straight and easy. Apparently that wasn't true, or maybe he had just been conditioned to finding comfort in bewilderment.

It was strange the way that he felt both relaxed and tense around Snape simultaneously.

Quidditch was... not the same without Draco. The first time he'd had a match since the other boy's death it had been with Ravenclaw. He might have been outwardly adjusted to the Slytherin's death, but as he flew around the pitch some part of him was surprised at the lack of critical comments on his flying technique. Draco usually spent hours beforehand composing a spiel of insults; supposedly to put Harry off his game, but he had always noticed quite a few useful tips mixed in there. No one could say that Malfoy wasn't a complex person.

When the match against Slytherin finally came up he didn't have much time to start brooding about it, what with Hermione forcing him to revise for the NEWTs already and Snape's demanding tutorials. It was only when he walked out onto the field, and saw the Slytherin team approaching, that he remembered there would be no smug blonde smirk directed his way this year.

He thought back to how happy Draco had been the year before, when he had finally beaten Harry at the game. This was to have been their rematch, but now Draco wasn't here for Harry to kick his ass.

The new seeker was some under-grown forth year, and all Harry could think of was how out of place the small boy looked in Malfoy's spot. Much as Harry would have publicly denied it, Draco had carried the Slytherin team, given it presence and determination. Now they were nothing.

Gryffindor won.

Harry went back to the dorms and sat behind closed curtains for the rest of the day, despite the coaxings of his friends to go out and celebrate. He'd thought that he was over this, no more sitting around and bemoaning fate. He felt vaguely ashamed, but couldn't convince his body to get up and go out into the world.

That evening Snape congratulated him on the win. It was done, of course, in a sneaky, sarcastic, twisted kind of way. A Slytherin compliment, but Harry could see through the layers and deduce what the man really meant.

He wasn't sure what was weirder, that Snape had been nice to him, or that he understood the man enough to deduce that he was being nice.

Sometimes he wondered if he had become trapped in an alternate universe at some point. That would explain all of the changes going on around him, and it would be comforting to know that they were all out of his control. But really he knew that this was his world, and that, no matter how scary it could be, he had to live in it to the best of his ability and change too.

Did that mean he had to start complimenting Snape?

The first time he ever had a dream about the Potions professor, one that didn't involve Voldemort, he barely remembered anything except for that Snape had indeed been in it, and that it was for some reason inexplicably arousing.

Aside from making him disgusted with himself and ashamed of his completely perverted mind, the other main effect it had was to make him blush every other second the next day in his potions tuition. It was embarrassing. He was just thankful that Snape didn't pick up on it; the older man still loved to tease and verbally lash him over every excuse possible.

At the end of the lesson, he thought he'd got away with it, and made a run for the door.

"Mr Potter. Are you quite well?"

Harry froze. Literally every muscle in his body seized up and it took him a minute just to figure out how to work his jaw again. "Yes," he squeaked. "I'm fine." He thought that was rather articulate actually.

"You seemed a little... distracted."

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir." All he had the energy to think with was engaged in wondering how that deep, soft voice gained another meaning entirely over the course of one night, and had developed an intricate pathway of connections that was now directly attached to his balls.

There was something really wrong with that.

Gods, if Snape, if anyone, found out that he'd had a wet dream about the 'greasy bastard,' he would never be able to show his face again. If Draco's death had been enough to make him think of suicide, imagine what this would do to him. Besides, everyone already thought that he was enough of a freak - the newspapers had been covered with spreads of his new, altered face for months now, and showed no signs of letting up. Over this he could be publicly crucified; everyone seemed to have an unnatural interest in his love life and romantic interests.

Not that Snape was a romantic interest. Or a crush. Or anything. It was just an aberration. Like him.

Two nights later he dreamed again. Then the night after that, and the night after that. He was doomed.

He actually remembered the next one though. It wasn't anything that he would have previously called sexual, they were both fully clothed, and nowhere near each other for that matter. No, all through this dream Snape did nothing but stare at him with intense, focused eyes, and yet Harry found it more stimulating than any of his previous adolescent fantasies about naked girls. Or naked Draco for that matter.

The next dream he held onto closely after he woke up so that it couldn't escape beyond recall. In it, someone had been standing behind him. He hadn't seen their face, but had known somehow that it was Snape. Probably just from the sheer amount of presence the other man exuded. Anyway, for the longest time the man stood close behind him and nothing happened, his anticipation building until it became unbearable, but he couldn't move. Then he had felt a light pressure on his lower back, and knew that it was Snape's hand. The absolute rush of feelings that having the professor touch him had brought on was totally overwhelming, and he felt a flush of pleasure rise in him.

That was when he woke up.

Soon he started welcoming the dreams; despite their disturbing subject he had had few enough nights free of nightmares in his life to want to treasure them. Especially when they felt so good.

On the other hand, being in the same room as Snape had gone beyond embarrassing by now. Not only did he live with being a permanent shade of red, but also found that he developed a blazoning sign of his body's interest once or twice. After that, he stopped looking at the man. He wished he could wear earplugs, but then he wouldn't learn, which would defeat the whole point of his suffering through extra lessons in the first place.

When the Potions Master brushed against him accidentally in class, either walking behind him or reaching for ingredients, Harry always felt a burst of tingling heat wash over him. It was very much like the way that he felt in his dreams.

He felt mortified that he had a crush on a teacher. Not that he did.

It took three weeks and an experience of wanking to thoughts of Snape's voice in the shower to move him past the denial stage. Then he just felt even more mortified that he had a crush on this particular professor, one who considered him an annoying brat and only came within a schools-length of him because he felt pity for how badly Harry was messing up his life. However semi-amenable Snape acted to him now, Harry knew that the other man couldn't possibly like him at all.

The absolute worst thing was that he couldn't bury whatever bizarre feelings he had. He couldn't stop feeling, because sometimes Snape looked at him, looked at him in exactly the same way he did in the dreams, and that fuelled his fantasies to no end.

Despite all the weirdness, uncertainty and general humiliation of the situation, he'd thought he was being discreet. That was until Remus invited him back to his office one day after dinner.

After the customary glance at his face, like the other man was trying to read his emotions by looking at the liquid metal swirling on his skin, he was waved into a seat.

"Harry," Remus began, then paused. Instantly Harry was on his guard, expecting bad news. Nothing good ever happened to him after all. Maybe he'd done something wrong. "Harry, are you feeling all right?"

Harry blinked. The world did not seem any clearer for having done so, so he blinked again, as though trying to resolve the blur of a fogged up windscreen with wipers. Why would Remus be asking him if he was okay? Unless he did actually have something bad to impart, and was checking that Harry was mentally stable. Which was of course highly debatable. "I'm fine," he said cautiously.

This seemed to stump the other man for a moment, then Harry saw him take a deep breath as though readying himself for a confrontation. "Really? Because you don't seem fine. You've been acting really... oddly lately, you're marks are fluctuating again. You were doing so well, Harry, what's changed? Please let me help, I am always willing to listen."

Harry teetered on the edge of telling for a short moment, but the fear of rejection, of how Remus would draw away if he knew the way that Harry had some kind of twisted desire for someone that everyone else hated, kept his mouth sealed.

"Come on, Harry, I would never judge you, you know that."

Remus did judge him though, as everybody did, by the lines on his skin, and the fact that he had been in some way bound to Draco. Sometimes he wished that his godfather's friend hadn't been told about that, maybe then he would feel less of a freak in front of him. Still, if anyone could understand him, then it was probably Lupin. Maybe he could just bring up the topic in a general way.

"I think I have feelings for someone," he confessed in a hurried tone. "Or, not feelings, I have excessive hormones."

A broad grin broke out on the other man's face. "Oh, Harry, everyone goes through that." Harry rolled his eyes and wondered if he was about to get 'the talk.' He didn't know if he would be able to keep from laughing. "So, who's the lucky lass? Or boy, rather."

He didn't know why everyone one just assumed he was gay. Maybe his experience was limited, and both the people he had ever felt anything for were men, and he might have admired certain male bodies in the showers, but that didn't mean that... After a split seconds heart to heart with himself, he decided that he liked girl's bodies just fine, but was never sure how to approach them. They obviously had an incompatible mindset. Hermione was different, though he looked upon her as a sister. Maybe it was because he'd been exposed to her at a young age.

"Umm, I can't tell you. It's sort of embarrassing. It's not someone that I really should have a crush on. I mean, no one would understand."

Remus let out a chuckle, But his eyes were kind. "After Malfoy, I'm sure that your friends would view most anything as an improvement." Harry was conspicuously silent. "Harry? Is it another Slytherin? Is that what the trouble is?"

"No." Yes. If only that were all it were. If only he had better judgement in who his body lusted after. "I mean, it's much worse than that. It's not someone that could ever... I just have to try and forget about it."

"That method doesn't seem to be working too well so far." Harry tensed, suddenly hating the other man's intuition. "Just talk to me. I promise not to tell a soul."

Staring up at his professor, Harry tried to guess the effect of what he could say might have. He trusted Remus; the werewolf was one of the few people he felt he could rely on, but he didn't want to lose that trust by proving himself unworthy of the other's respect. Some part of him knew that Remus wouldn't hurt him, and that was the part that prompted him to speak.

"I like Professor Snape." God, it sounded worse than he'd imagined. "I mean, I don't... I just..." He gave up helplessly, at a loss to explain what exactly his feelings were.

There was shock on Lupin's face, but no condemnation. Harry let out the lung-full of air he hadn't known that he was holding in. After thinking for a moment, Remus asked, "When did this start?"

"Well... not that long ago. I mean, he's been nicer to me since - since Draco died, and I've been spending tons of time with him. I kind of sort of started having dreams about him," he babbled in a rush.

His professor seemed to be untangling that for a moment. "Harry, it's only natural to project feelings onto someone you respect and admire. Your father did the same thing."

Harry looked up, astonished.

"Yes, he followed Madame Hooch around for almost four months you know. His obsession with Quidditch went a little too far that time."

Wrinkling his nose, Harry decided that he really could have lived without knowing that about his dad. On the other hand it did help him to relate. He got the point that Remus was trying to get across, that teenagers pick really weird subjects to fixate upon, but couldn't help feeling annoyed that his was that much more weird than everyone else's. The only person who could have been worse was Dumbledore. Or McGonagall. Or Trelawney. Or one of the ghosts... Snape wasn't that bad.

"Just... try not to think about him." Oh yeah, that would be easy when Harry only had to see him every day! "Maybe take a look at the other people your own age, pick out someone you like and spend some time with them, try and see their good points."

It was a good idea. "That would be a really great idea Remus, except everyone that I might like won't come within five feet of me. They either edge away or look at me like a god. How am I supposed to deal with that? At least Snape treats me like myself and doesn't act so immature," he argued.

"Look," Remus said in a calming manner. "I can see the attraction of someone older, and of someone who doesn't treat you as anything more than you are. Even if he sometimes treats you as something less," added the werewolf in a bitter mutter. "I'm just saying that, as you well know, you don't have a chance with Snape. And I'm not convinced that you would be happy with him either. He's too dark for you!"

That was the other thing that riled him about Lupin. The man persisted in believing that he was nothing but innocent and good, and couldn't handle anything beyond a certain scope. Sometimes he just wanted to shout at the other, to say that he himself was supposed to be in Slytherin, that the boy he's been bonded to for five years was a Slytherin, and came damn near to being a Death Eater. He'd fought Voldemort, and that had taken more than a little darkness. Snape was the only person who could even begin to understand, now that Draco was gone.

Not that he wanted to be with Snape. He couldn't believe that he was trying to defend the merits of having a relationship with the man, if only in his head. He had a horrible habit of arguing the losing side in any debate. He just had to get over this and move on.

Giving Remus a small false smile, he moved towards the door. "You're right. I'll be fine. Everything will go back to normal soon."

The problem was, there was no normal any more. Nothing about him was normal, nor was it ever likely to be again.

Nevertheless, he tried to follow his teacher's advice, for he saw the logic behind it. He became more outgoing than usual and chatted merrily at the dinner table, even when no one talked back to him. He tried to have as much fun as possible, and Ron and Hermione seemed happier with him at least, but it still wasn't quite what he wanted.

What he wanted was someone who liked him even when he wasn't doing party tricks. That ruled Snape out anyway of course, for the Potions master didn't like him full stop. Then again, Draco hadn't liked him, but their relationship had been one of the most important Harry had ever had.

He concentrated on not making a fool of himself in potions class and in tutorials. It actually improved his work again, the amount of focus needed to block out the effects of Snape's proximity did wonders for his grades. He was starting to get ahead of most of the year.

Ignoring Snape only worked about three quarters of the time though, and with the N.E.W.T.s approaching fast the following week, Harry's nerves were already a little frayed.

The professor moved around the classroom with the grace of a wild panther, confident and in his element. No matter how wrong Harry tried to persuade himself it was, and he had almost given up at this point, he couldn't keep himself from staring occasionally. There was something soothing about watching the other man at work.

That only lasted until Snape opened his mouth. "Potter! How many of those stem hairs did you add?"

Harry looked down at his potion numbly. It was supposed to be blue, he was sure of it. Though actually the book had called the shade ultramarine rather than the sky blue his was rapidly altering too.

"Fool! Too much of that milkweed combined with the sea holly could produce an unstable potion." Snape swept towards him, and once more he was reminded of a panther, this time stalking it's prey. "Be thankful that you did not stir in the cranefly larvae before..."

There was a very loud explosion. It must have been very loud, that is, because Harry found that he couldn't hear anything afterwards, as he lay staring up at the ceiling. He'd never really looked at it before, but the stones were pitted and stained in a wide array of bright colours. To think that people said there was no beauty in the dungeons.

This reminded him of the time that Draco had cast a muffling hex on him, so that everything he'd heard had been distorted as though hearing it from the other side of a glass wall. He'd been convinced he was going crazy, not that much of a step for him, and had only gone to Pomfrey after a whole day of it. When he had found out the cause of his affliction he'd made sure Malfoy woke up with an appropriately nasty surprise in the morning.

If he looked hard enough, he could just make out the shape of a lion rearing a little to his right. While most of it was red, the front paws were part of a green patch. That struck him as funny for some reason. It was such a pity no one ever saw this, it really was beautiful.

Snape's head suddenly blocked the view. He couldn't exactly call Snape beautiful, though the older man did hold a certain appeal. Scrutinising the careworn face in detail, he watched the thin lips open and close as if in slow motion. He suddenly irrationally wished that he'd been taught to lip read. Though it certainly wouldn't compare to hearing Snape's glorious voice castigating him.

A surge of panic overcame him. What if this was some unknown side effect of the mistake he'd made with the potions? What if he could never hear again? What if he could never hear Snape again? He didn't know why the thought seemed so very important when compared to the general loss of his hearing, but he just accepted that it did.

He attempted to speak. It was so strange, talking without hearing the words. He must sound so strange. Snape must think him to be so strange. He couldn't hear, couldn't hear anything.

He started to scream.

After a minute of struggling with him and unsuccessfully trying to force a potion down his throat, Snape just sat back on his heels and watched Harry with concern and resignation. Harry closed his eyes and kept screaming. His throat was starting to hurt, not to mention that his lungs were going to burst, but he felt that he couldn't stop.

His efforts did eventually pay off. He had no idea how long it took, but measuring by the look on the professor's face that told him just how thoroughly the man's eardrums had been abused, quite a long time. The first indication he had that he wasn't permanently deaf was a high pitched ringing sound in his ears. Deciding that that was better than nothing, he paused for a breath, panting desperately.

That was when it occurred to him that he could hear his own panting, not just feel it.

"Well, that was interesting," he said, or tried to say. His throat was so hoarse that nothing more than a croak came out. Still, at least he could hear that.

Snape raised an eyebrow, and Harry fought with a sudden urge to run his fingers over it. "Are you quite done, Mr. Potter?"

He nodded compliantly, and staggered to his feet. Very quickly realising that he wouldn't be able to stay there, courtesy of the hammering in his skull, he slumped in a controlled fall to the ground, and lapsed into unconsciousness.

Waking up was a singularly unpleasant experience, accompanied by starbursts, jet planes and Fizzing Whizzbees all trying to go off in his head. His ears were functioning perfectly. He wasn't so sure about the rest of him though. Suppressing a moan, he turned his head to the side and opened his eyes.

Professor Snape was staring at him. Before he could even process the thought, every inch of skin he had was blushing again. He cursed his body as a traitor and wished he could pretend to be asleep still. It was too late though, the man blinked and then casually switched his gaze to something else, as though Harry had never been of interest. Which he hadn't really, but it was nice to be able to pretend.

He hadn't realised how much he liked having Snape watch over him until the Potions Master was no longer doing so; it felt as though a glow of warmth surrounding him had been wrenched away.

Why had Snape been watching him? He closed his eyes again, for he didn't have the energy to keep them open, and contemplated the matter. He was in the Infirmary, he would have known it by the smell even if he hadn't seen the familiar white walls. The Infirmary, so he must have been in an accident. Snape was here, and he didn't fool himself that the man cared that much, so it must have been a potions accident.

He remembered. This time he did let out a groan, more at his own foolishness than due to any real pain. He was such an idiot, lusting after a professor in class. He'd known to pay attention. He deserved to suffer. The only reason Snape was here was to find out the properties of the unknown volatile mixture that he had created, most likely.

That still didn't explain the look that Snape had been giving him. It hadn't been analytic, more... he wasn't sure, he couldn't define it. He wasn't sure he wanted too, it was the kind of look that was probably going to feature in his dreams for a long time. Already had been, for that matter.

His thoughts coming to an abrupt stop, Harry rapidly reassessed what he had just thought. If the way that Snape had been staring at him had been in his dreams, did that mean that the look was... caring, lustful?

He had a much too overactive imagination.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Potter?" Gods, who needed an imagination with that husky bedroom voice around. He wondered briefly if anyone else saw the cranky professor as he did, swiftly deciding against it.

He opened his eyes again, and again they met Snape's. The man was closer now, having moved from the chair on the other side of the room so quietly that Harry hadn't even heard the whisper of his robes. That was what came from all those years as a spy, Harry supposed.

"Wonderful," he said tonelessly. At least his throat had recovered; Pomfrey must have done something. Briefly looking around, he found her nowhere in sight.

"Ah. The great and famous Harry Potter escapes unscathed once again."

He might know the older man better than he once had, and be more tolerated by him, but sometimes he really couldn't tell if Snape meant to annoy him in earnest or was just doing so for amusement and out of habit.

Sighing, he pulled the covers back and started to get up. A gentle hand placed in the centre of his chest stopped the motion and gave a little shove to send him back down to his previous position before he could protest. He stared up at Snape in shock, feeling as though the other man's hand-print had been burned onto his flesh with the way that he could still feel the heat there. He had never known anyone could have such an extreme reaction just by having someone touch them in such a small way. Draco hadn't exactly been subtle like that. He'd have just stuck his hand straight down Harry's trousers, given him a lascivious grin, and started up a mental monologue on what an idiot he'd been that day.

Snape had him desperate with need and the man wasn't even trying!

"I think it better for you to remain where you are, unless you desire the wrathful attentions of Madame Pomfrey," his professor murmured. Harry dropped his gaze, shaking his head. At least he knew that Snape was in a good mood now, what he had just said could actually be perceived as a joke by more than two people in the school.

"No! The horror!" said Harry with a mock-terrified expression. The face that Snape pulled would be interpreted on anyone else as a smile. Harry didn't think he dared to do so with this man though.

After a slight pause, Snape rose from the edge of the bed and started pacing alongside it. "You performed astoundingly poorly today, even for someone of your non-existent talent."

"Sorry, sir," he mumbled contritely. "I got distracted. It won't happen again." He hoped.

"And what, precisely, was so very important that it superseded my lesson and both of our safety?"

Harry winced. When Snape put it like that... "I was just worried about the exams, sir." It wasn't as though he could tell him the truth, 'Sorry, Professor, but you are just so amazingly attractive that I couldn't keep my eyes off you!' Snape would make his life hell.

"You aren't very likely to pass them at this rate, are you, boy?" hissed Snape.

He almost flinched away at being called 'boy,' the Potions Master hadn't addressed him so degradingly in months, but managed to keep his face clear. At least, he thought that he had, but when he saw Snape's gaze flicking over him, he realised that the bloody lines on his skin must have given him away again. He hated how Snape could read him.

Rolling over, he muttered a quiet, "Sorry," into the pillow.

A hand came down on his shoulder, and he jumped, startled. Snape was touching him, willingly, again. It was not the touch of someone who hated him; too soft and lacking in pressure.

"Do you think that I have spent all this time helping you just to see you fail?" came the velvety voice from behind him. Instantly he felt guilty, he was being such a child over all of this, obviously Snape expected some result after all the effort he'd put in, and shook his head again. "You will make the potion again tomorrow, and you will get it right." Harry nodded, deciding that speech wasn't all that safe in his present frame of mind.

The hand was removed, and when he finally gathered the courage to look up again, Snape was gone.

The N.E.W.T.s were somewhat anticlimactic. Harry had done some panicked cramming before hand, but even without it he suspected that he would have passed. Hermione drove him to the very limits of patience on results day though, so he and Ron sneaked off to hide until the grades were to be handed out. Not that Ron was much less nervous than Hermione had been, but at least he didn't express it by going back through every single question on all of the exam papers and analysing them in detail.

"Still clueless then?" questioned Ron. Harry didn't mind having this talk with the red headed boy; with Hermione it would have been different, more pushy, and he would just have got defensive.

"Yeah, pretty much. Had enough of fighting darkness, so being an Auror's out. Don't think I could be happy just playing Quidditch forever, and I'm not really that good."

Ron muttered something about a waste of talent, and Harry smiled. "Well, you can come stay with us over the summer while you figure it out."

That sounded great. Harry knew that he couldn't though. Even though Mrs. Weasley had always been kind to him, after Percy's death things between them became a bit strained. Not that she blamed him for anything.

Nobody blamed him for anything. Sometimes he wondered whether they shouldn't.

"I don't know, Ron," he hedged. "I think Dumbledore wants me to stay here for a while longer. He didn't really say what for." That was a blatant lie. He would have to find some excuse to stay on at Hogwarts now, or else Mr. Weasley was sure to mention to the family that he was staying at The Leaky Cauldron. Then again, Dumbledore wouldn't need an excuse, the Headmaster most likely already knew what had transpired.

"Well, maybe he'll have some idea what you should be doing," said his friend helpfully.

He shrugged. "Yeah." Of course Dumbledore would have some plan for him, but he'd much rather choose his path for himself. That had never been an option for him before, and he wanted to savour his freedom.

When they got their test results, Harry found that he had passed all of his classes with fairly good grades. The achievement felt slightly hollow, as though he had given up some part of himself to move forward like this. As though he had given up Draco.

He sat through the Headmaster's speech wondering how the day would have been different if the blonde Slytherin had made it. There would have been a smug smirk, blinding in it's arrogance, coming from that House's table, and Draco would have dominated the crowd, loving all the attention. In his head he would have been talking to Harry throughout the speeches, making disrespectful comments and generally causing Harry to have to hold in laughter all the way through the ceremony.

It would have been fun. It would have been right. But it wasn't now, so he had to sit through the speeches in oppressive silence; the giggles of Ron and Hermione not filling the same void. He would have to seek what he was missing elsewhere.

Some part of him knew that he could find it in Snape.

Staying for the summer was easily arranged after all. He couldn't come right out and say the real reasons he wanted to remain at Hogwarts, for that would have been too blunt, but he knew that Albus knew them. He was supposed to call him Albus now. That was more than slightly awkward at first. The Headmaster told all the staff that Harry was seeking his calling and looking for inspiration, and where better to do it than Hogwarts.

In the staff meeting held to announce the fact, Snape could be heard muttering, "Manipulative old bugger."

Harry moved back down to the room that he had stayed in before in the dungeons. It was good positioning, since it was Professor Snape who seemed to be commandeering most of his time. He had been told that he was expected to help those teachers who were staying on at the castle over the holidays, Flitwick, McGonagall, and the Potions Master. Snape, however, seemed to have ten times more work for him to do than the rest of them did. He wasn't sure if it was a punishment or an opportunity, but he was pretty sure that the man hadn't designed it as extra time for Harry to drool over him.

Harry did his best to stop. Drooling that was, and in public at the very least. Several stinging remarks from Snape had taught him that he still had to conceal his vulnerabilities as much as possible. Yet another thing that the other man had in common with Draco, or that Draco had got from Snape.

The first time Snape had him do anything other than helping with potions experiments, it was planning lessons for the second years. Harry thought that it sounded wonderful; so far the professor had been intent on giving him the tasks which involved preparation of the most disgusting ingredients in his arsenal. Now he had moved on to having to write about them. At least the smell wasn't so bad.

He wasn't sure if this meant that Snape was gaining more trust in his abilities, or that the man was simply frustrated with revising basic material himself. The latter was infinitely more probable.

Harry found that his previous thought that the same syllabus was merely repeated each year was correct, so the potions were identical to the ones he himself had learnt in second year. He couldn't remember any of them too well, though that might have been because he was busy hearing voices in his head at the time.

What Snape seemed to do though, was choose a slightly different approach to focus on each year. Where he might have talked about how a particular potion might be used as an effective poison when the victim was overdosed one year, the next he would go into more detail on it's properties as a powerful sedative.

It was an ingenious idea; not least because it stopped students copying their homework from the older people in their House. It probably helped to keep Snape, who had a keen and active mind, from going insane with boredom to quite the same degree.

To do the work, Harry was sat at a small desk in the corner of Snape's working lab. He had an impressive stack of texts in front of him which he found it necessary to refer to often. He'd never realised how clearly the Potions Master presented things in class; when he was looking through books he often found it impossible to get a theory stated simply and half of them contradicted each other.

It took him the entire morning just to plan out one lesson on the properties of rat's liver. He wondered at the fact that the teachers actually had some free time left over after doing all this. Though he supposed that they didn't have to research things in books; Snape was like a walking potions dictionary.

Having copied up the whole thing in neat, because he knew how Snape felt about his regular handwriting, he handed the finished plan to Snape. He was fairly proud of it, not only did it make sense, but the sheer amount of time he had spent on it was fairly impressive.

Snape glanced at it, skimming over his painstaking work, and grunted. Turning away, he conceded, "Adequate."

Harry grinned, knowing that was the best he was ever going to get. "Thank you, Professor," he said, already planning what to do with the rest of his day. He hadn't flown on his broom for a while, and he was feeling restless, so it was a great time to be free from work. Sometimes Snape would keep him all day.

"It seems somewhat inappropriate for you to continue addressing me as a professor, Mr. Potter, since I am no longer yours."

Harry's step faltered on the way to the door. Was that the invitation it sounded like? He looked around and found that Snape was focusing intently on the potion he was stirring, seemingly unwilling to meet his eyes.

"What should I call you then?" he whispered.

"My name would seem like an obvious choice," Snape replied dryly. "However, should the very thought of that strain your mental capacity, then 'Lord' or 'Master' would not be unappreciated.

"Very funny," Harry said, smiling.

"Well, I thought so," was the only comment Snape had to make, muttered under his breath.

"Goodbye then, Severus." Using the man's first name implied an intimacy that thrilled him.

"Farewell, Mr. Potter." It looked like he was to remain 'Potter' to Snape for a while yet then. He wondered if he would ever be free of his father's shadow in the other's eyes.

Still, for some reason he felt as though he had been granted a precious gift. The only other people who addressed the Potions Master as Severus were the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall. Names had a great deal of power. Even with Draco, he had always called him Malfoy, because that was just how it was.

What did this new development mean? It probably didn't mean anything, just that Snape got tired of being talked to as a professor even during the holidays. That didn't stop Harry from hoping. Sometimes he wished that he would just lose all hope and all trust in everyone, to keep from getting hurt. It would have helped him so many times in the past. It seemed as though he were doomed; to suffer terribly, then recover just so that he was set up for the next big fall.

The lake had become his favorite place to spend time over the summer. Not only was the water just the right temperature, but there were several shady spots under beautiful sycamore trees along the banks. It was perfect. He also noticed a total lack of ants trying to attack his food whenever he brought lunch out with him, and had to wonder if they weren't spelled not to do so. Magic ants. The thought was another example of how magic ruled over everything here.

Swimming was an exhilarating venture. It had taken a lot of courage to get in the first few times, and even more after he had felt something alive tickling the bottom of his feet. The giant squid was, it seemed, a playful creature; whatever it's intentions it was big enough to scare Harry excessively. Only after the Headmaster had promised him that he would talk to it did he venture back in.

Now when the squid tickled him he ignored it as best he could and tried to resist the urge to kick it. Provoking something fifty feet long was probably not a good idea.

The water was cool today, because the sun was particularly hot in comparison. Harry lingered in the shallows before getting out for longer than usual; savouring the reprieve from the burning heat. Eventually he was starting to resemble a prune, so he hauled himself up and crawled up the bank on the side nearest to his sunbathing spot.

As he headed towards his things he felt something prickle distantly at the edge of his senses. Only Dumbledore and Snape ever did that to him, and he knew that it wasn't the Headmaster because the old man would have been over here already, commenting on the weather.

Determined not to look, he strode steadfastly in the direction of his towel, soon counting down the seconds until he got there. He had never been so aware of what he was wearing, or the lack of therefore, in his life. His very skimpy boxers, ones that Draco had insisted he buy, clung to him closely due to the water - practically plastered to his skin, and he couldn't stop thinking about Snape watching him in his near-nakedness.

He flopped down on the blanket on his front, forgoing the towel in order to get maximum coverage, and tried to relax.

After a few minutes, when Snape hadn't yet appeared and the sun was drying him off nicely, he began to relax, tension seeping from his veins. The Potions Master must have been just passing through on his way to collect ingredients or something; there was no reason for Harry to think that he had been looking for him. There was nothing to worry about, nothing here but the sun and the light breeze and the sound of water lapping gently at the shores of the lake. He drifted off into a doze.

"Mr. Potter," came a familiar voice from very close by. He almost jumped out of his skin. How could the man be that eerily quiet on approach? He must have practised it over the years and honed it into an art just so that he could scare students witless, Harry decided.

"Severus," he acknowledged the other drowsily after a moment, rolling over slightly so that he could see the man. The sun was shining directly into his eyes and he had to squint. That was until Snape moved a little and cast his shadow over him, blocking out the fierce light. Harry wondered if he'd done it on purpose, then scolded himself for even bothering to ask. Everything about the man was deliberate.

Now that he could see, his gaze flicked over the man, taking in the open robes that showed even Snape made concessions to the heat. He tried not to let himself linger on the powerful form that was revealed underneath, but wasn't sure he was entirely successful. The white shirt that Snape was wearing was fairly fitting, after all.

"When you have finished here, you will join me in my lab," announced the other, before turning and stalking off again.

Harry sighed. Snape demanded, never asked. He knew that it was part of the other man's nature, and that he should just ignore it, but it still annoyed the hell out of him occasionally. He watched the black robed figure disappear into the castle.

It was possible that he cut his sunbathing a little short that day.

To his surprise, when he walked into the potions laboratory there was no bubbling cauldron awaiting him, nor stacks of paperwork covering the desks. Snape was nowhere in sight.

Wondering if he had misheard the other man in his own preoccupation with the fine chest that had been in front of him at the time, he perched on the edge of a desk and rethought what had happened. This involved picturing Snape slowly strip off his robes, jump into the lake, and come out with his shirt completely see-through. That may not have been precisely what happened in real life, but his mind really, really wanted it to have been.

Snape walked into the room muttering a few minutes later. Harry was at this point imagining licking the water droplets off Severus' neck, so was understandably taken aback when the object of his fantasies walked in. Fully clothed, alas.

Knowing Snape's moods as he now did, he thought that he could detect a glimmer of surprise in the other. "I hadn't expected you for a while yet, Mr. Potter. You usually waste far more of the afternoon gallivanting around."

Harry shrugged, then processed what Snape had just said. He barely managed to keep his mouth from gaping open. Since when had the other man made a habit of noticing how he spent his time? Had Snape watched him out there before, without him knowing? He blushed unexpectedly at the thought, or perhaps not so unexpectedly considering that he sometimes went unclothed to prevent tan lines. Snape might have seen him naked!

Without further preamble, Snape took him through into his own chambers. Harry followed a little uncertainly into the living room. He hadn't been in here since the days after Draco had died, and then not for very long. This was the man's private sanctuary, did it mean anything that Severus was asking him here?

He wished that he could just get over Snape and stop analysing every move the other made. It was swiftly driving him insane. More insane. Insaner. He didn't think that was a word, but being The Boy Who Lived, he was sure that allowances could be made.

"Sit," the silky voice ordered.

Internally grumbling about what a good host Snape wasn't, Harry slouched down in an armchair. Snape disappeared for a moment, and Harry took a good look around. Little had changed since the last time he was here, it was all quite Spartan and... Snape-like.

The other man returned laden with a pile of books, which he placed on the small table beside Harry. "Since you appear to be having a career crisis, I thought that reading these might prove beneficial."

Harry opened the first carefully, and saw the inscription at the front. 'Work journals of S.S.' He looked up at Severus questioningly.

"I did not always have a fixed career as a Potions master in mind, and certainly not one as a teacher of children. I did extensive research into several options which I believe might also suit you. They are not common, nor will they garner you a place in the spotlight, but they are right for your temperament," explained Snape.

When had this man come to know him so well that he could judge Harry's character in such a way? Harry supposed that during their time together he was not the only one who had paid attention to his companion.

"Thank you," he whispered reverently. It meant a lot for this man to give up part of himself, part of his past, to anyone.

Snape's eyes glittered and his mouth tightened slightly. "I just want to get rid you from the school as soon as possible, you annoying brat." The words were without venom, said almost with... amusement? Affection? Harry grinned happily.

Getting up to leave, a hand was placed on his arm to keep him in place. He felt Severus' warmth burn through his skin. "They will not leave this room," the other man said gravely. Their eyes met, and Harry nodded, settling back into his seat.

Snape sat down opposite him as he started to read, selecting a book of his own. Every so often Harry's gaze would dart up ungovernably to take in the vision of the older man looking so relaxed. One time Snape's eyes caught his when he did it and he felt his cheeks tinge with pink as he looked down again. He didn't dare move his attention from his text for several minutes after that, during which he could have sworn that Severus was staring at him. It certainly didn't make it any easier to concentrate.

A loud yawn from his own lips was the only reason he realised how late it had become. "You should perhaps retire, unless you wish your appalling coordination to lead to another disaster while in my labs," commented Snape.

Harry wondered if that passed as concern.

He left, having only managed to get through a third of the first diary. Considering that there were four in total, he would have too return several more times.

The thought was more than worth the restless night he suffered, thinking of both the past and the present. Some memories of Draco were blurred now, but others were still so strong that he could summon them without even thinking; the feelings and thoughts associated with them still moved him deeply.

It was the second week of absolute silence from Draco, and Harry was beginning to panic. He thought every night about going to Dumbledore, as the unnatural stillness swamped his soul. Ever since Draco had received that letter from his father there had been a barrier between them, and it scared Harry.

He had taken to watching the Slytherin, able to see the small signs of tension and anxiety where no one else could. Where no one else knew to look. He had never realised how well he had come to know the other, that he could read him with a look, even when the privacy of Draco's thoughts were denied him. It didn't feel the same though.

That night, sometime in the early hours of the morning, he felt the resistance coming from the other crumble. He was suddenly flooded with a multitude of thoughts and feelings, and clutched to them like a lifeline, sending his own reassurances back down their bond.

Within seconds he was out of bed and disappearing under his invisibility cloak, needing to be in Draco's room, needing to be with Draco. The path down to the Slytherin prefect's rooms was so well known to him now that he let his feet wander it while every other particle of his being was focused on the renewed presence in his mind. Something big must have happened for Draco to let go like that; the other boy must have made his decision.

In which case this could be a trap, designed to take him to the Death Eaters.

The thought of stopping never even entered his mind.

The door to Draco's chambers was open, so the other boy must have been expecting him. He crept in quietly and found the Slytherin curled up on his bed, facing the open window and shivering. Thinking that he was cold, but knowing that there must have been a reason the window was letting the night air in, Harry crawled onto the bed and cautiously pressed up behind him, trying to infuse the shaking form with his own warmth. Tentatively he slung an arm over the other's waist, and Draco made no move other than to shake harder.

It dawned on Harry as he felt the body trembling against his own that Draco was crying. It had not occurred to him before because such an idea did not fit in with his comfortable stereotype of what a Malfoy was, but now he knew that the motions could not be anything but.

"Shh," he whispered softly, then immediately tensed, expecting to be rebuffed.

He was not disappointed. Sod off, Potter, came the defeated sounding voice in his head.

He just held on a little tighter and waited for Draco to speak on his own, their breathing automatically adjusting to rise and fall together. This whole situation felt odd to him; usually it was Draco who had to deal with his emotional outbursts and excesses of feeling. The other boy would provoke him until all of his problems came spilling out, and even though it all took place under the guise of fighting he was thankful for it. He did not think that insulting Draco was the route to take here, instinctively knowing that the other boy would just withdraw into himself. He couldn't let that happen.

"I always knew what I was going to be; who I was going to be," mumbled Draco at last. "I always knew that I would make my father proud." Nothing but the sound of harsh breathing for a moment. The other boy turned over and buried his head in Harry's chest. Is that such a bad thing to want? asked the plaintive voice in his head.

Harry's heart clenched painfully, suddenly terrified of what Draco had chosen. Even just a few short minutes ago it had all seemed unreal, but now he knew, the other boy had made the choice of his future. Of their future. "No, that's not a bad thing to want," he murmured, cradling Draco close, gently stroking strands of soft hair away from his sweaty forehead.

The blonde head pulled back a little, and Harry was transfixed by shattered quicksilver eyes. "That's not all I want anymore. That's not all I want to be. And I'm not willing to give everything up, just for him."

Inside, Harry was screaming with relief. He kept his voice calm as possible though. "No. Gods, Malfoy, I was so scared that you were going to do something stupid!" What went unsaid was his fear that he would lose the other, but he knew that Draco knew. His hand kept running through the other boy's locks, somehow connecting them.

Draco gave him a wan smile, and he leaned forward and brushed their lips together, crossing a boundary neither had broached before. It was sweet, and right, but he did not linger too long, backing off a little then cuddling close. The other boy sighed, a puff of air against his collarbone that tickled a bit. Curious fingertips came up to stroke the area that the breath had ghosted across, and now it was Harry's turn to shiver.

"I don't know what I should do now though," mumbled Draco in a lost tone. "I don't know how to... be."

"You'll figure it out. You should go and see Dumbledore." That elicited a disdainful snort. "Well, you should! Snape at the very least."

"Hmm."

Through the bond Harry could feel Draco's bewilderment; the other boy had just lost his anchor, his reason for existence. He was brought up to serve his father, his family and Voldemort, what more was there for him?

I can't believe that you were asking me for advice anyway. After all, you think that I'm the most clueless...

"Well, you are! Gods, you're right, I can't believe I asked a Potter. I guess that I will go to see Severus, he'll know what to do."

They had lain there for the rest of the night, neither of them able to sleep.

The thing was; Draco had had so many hopes, so many dreams in the end. Free of the restrictions he had always believed bound him, he got offers from so many places for work, despite his name.

Here Harry was, without any idea what he wanted to do with his future, squandering his life away. It couldn't go on, he would work harder to find a solution, he would find something that made his living worthwhile.

That was the thing that made him lie awake at night, thinking of the other boy.

He got to know Severus through those nights in his rooms reading the journals, both from the writings and the man's company.

The style in the diaries was dry and analytical; he could actually imagine Snape's voice reading it out. Some of the observations were so exactly what the man he knew would have said that he thought Severus must have changed very little. There were subtle differences though, though no emotional outpourings appeared in the pages there were still feelings behind the words, an openness that just wasn't there anymore. It made him think of how this man could have been, had not the horrors of the world swallowed him.

The little comments, on teachers and classmates, that were so full of humour that he chuckled freely, were also so very Snape, though less bitter and sarcastic than the only jokes the Potions master made now. Severus' head would jerk up in the manner of a startled horse whenever Harry burst out laughing, which just made him want to do it again so that he could see the amazingly human reaction once more.

He liked to think that he was slowly penetrating Snape's defences. The other man was becoming slightly more companionable now that Harry had been back a few times, and would place cups of tea on the table beside Harry which he sometimes didn't even notice for a while. After a couple of nights he started reaching for them automatically, and was grateful that they were always there. He started spending longer and longer in the comfortable armchair that he always chose, and they started talking about the things that Severus had written, debating the merits of various opportunities and courses of action.

Harry was having a wonderful time and started looking forward to those moments as the high points of his day.

Out of all the careers that Snape had looked into and described in the journal, one in particular appealed to him. "A spell maker?"

"Hmmm." Severus looked up from his work. "Not the technical term, of course, but more or less accurate."

"You haven't written that much. I mean, you hint in a very annoying way, and just when it gets really interesting, you abandoned the idea and moved on."

The other man looked especially sour for a moment. "Yes, well, just as I was beginning to think that I might persue that path, I was... My father decided that it was time to follow certain family traditions, and Voldemort had more use for a Potions master than a spell-crafter at the time, since he already had several."

"Why have I never heard of it before?" Harry asked curiously, partly to distract Snape from his unwelcome memories.

"Considering your ignorance of the world in general, it is perhaps not so astonishing." There was a long moment when Harry just glared at Severus. The other man sighed. "It isn't a very common thing, nor does it bring much fame. There are very few people with the sheer power left to perform the necessary steps who are not already employed as Aurors, due to the rise of Voldemort, or who aren't in Azkaban, for the same reason."

It made sense. Anyone with great powers would have been snatched up by either side, and were unlikely to be relinquished now. "Can you tell me more about it? I thought that anyone could try and make up spells, just by altering the words a bit."

Snape practically growled. "No, no, no! What you might have seen are bumbling accidents, altering the subject or results of a spell by mistake. But it is always random and unrepeatable, extremely unreliable and therefore useless. Only someone with a certain level of power and skill can hope to perfect the true craft, manipulating the intent of the magic permanently. It can then be bound so that the rest of the fools in the world can use it."

The man opened his book again, and resumed ignoring Harry.

Reading through what Severus had written again, he couldn't help but like the idea. He was fascinated by raw magic, the kind that he could feel thrumming through the walls of Hogwarts and occasionally see strands of floating past in the air. The thought of shaping and moulding it to his will was an alluring one.

"Severus, I think that..." he began, only to have the other man cut in.

"Yes, I thought that might be the one to catch your interests. It certainly does suit your talents. You learned enough about using different spells in awkward situations during Voldemort's final year to give you a thorough grounding."

Harry gave Snape a little smile at the outright compliment. "It just sounds... right."

Severus' black eyes felt like they were piercing his soul as the older man gazed steadily at him for a moment. "I know." There was a brief space of perfect silent communion. "You should mention it to Albus." Seeing that Harry was about to protest he continued. "You may be headstrong enough to want to start out on your own, but Albus has the correct contacts. This is not something that you can just waltz into, if you want to do it right."

Harry nodded slowly and felt like he had just passed a test of some sort.

There was really no reason for him to stay there any longer, but he was too comfortable and too tired to move. McGonagall had had him running around all afternoon, looking for some text that she was sure had been in the library at one point. He'd eventually unearthed it in one of the store rooms in the Astronomy Tower, but had literally run the gamut of the whole castle before then.

Stretching his legs out, he stared at the fire and let thoughts of the future instead of the past envelop him. Catching himself just before his head nodded, he was mortified to think that he had nearly fallen asleep in front of Snape. He probably would have drooled all over the arm of the chair!

He reached blindly for the cup that he knew would be at his elbow, lifted it to his lips, and was comically dismayed when he found it empty. He stared into it with unreasonable disbelief for a few minutes, and only tore his gaze away when he heard a soft chuckle from opposite.

Looking up, he found Severus watching him, with an expression that could only be described as smouldering. He immediately felt as though he was thirteen again, and had just blown up a cauldron; his heart pounding and palms going sweaty. He had to be imagining things, he really wished that his teenaged mind would dig itself out of the gutter.

"I take that as a subtle hint that you would like some more, Harry?" The other man asked dryly. Harry nodded and murmured his assent unthinkingly, and then almost startled when he felt a warm, dry hand close around his and pry the mug out of it. Instantly he flushed, and let both his hand and his eyes drop to his lap, hoping that Snape would turn away and save him from further humiliating himself in front of him.

They talked about other things then, that didn't concern his future or Severus' past. That didn't leave much material that they knew they had in common, so the gaps were filled with comfortable silences where Harry was too close to sleep to think of anything intelligent to say, and Snape was being himself and therefore felt no need to say anything anyway.

It must have been one in the morning when Severus stood and hoisted Harry out of his chair, saying that if he left it any longer then levitation spells would be needed. He clung to the warm body of the other man for a long moment, waiting as the blood rush to his head subsided. Of course, the place it rushed away to afterwards wasn't terribly convenient, so he pulled away quickly and headed for the door.

He could feel Snape staring at him until he had left his chambers.

It was only in the morning, after a pitiful five hours sleep, that the fact of the other man calling him Harry again was recollected, and he couldn't stop grinning giddily all day.

Severus carried on calling him Harry for the rest of the time he was there.

The job was tiring but fulfilling. One of the main reasons he liked it was the solitude. That wasn't something that he'd ever looked for in life, but now things had changed, he had changed. In his day he only ever saw the librarian and his assistants, and they quickly grew used to the peculiar magical phenomenon on his skin. The other good thing was that the people he worked with were very powerful in their own right, and did not seem to be over impressed with his fame. He couldn't have asked for better work mates.

The work itself was very stimulating; they had people working on the smaller spells so he was left with the most complicated ones that none of the others could quite manage. He had to admit that he hadn't been expecting a single spell to be so time consuming, or to require so much research. He was currently working on a spell with medical applications, that would help with breathing problems and resuscitation. The one that they were making do with at the moment was primitive in comparison, and still lost a fair few lives.

Due to the massive amounts of power he expended whilst actually forming the spell, he apparated back to Hogsmeade each day exhausted. He had taken a small cottage on the outskirts, and it was concealed from the casual eye by layers of warding and privacy spells. There was a whole extra set of charms just to take care of reporters. They were rather vicious, but Harry felt that he had a right to protect himself. Not to mention that the first time Rita Skeeter, whom Hermione had eventually released, had stumbled into the area whilst snooping around, he had had a wonderful opportunity for revenge. He'd laughed for hours over that one, and taken pictures, which he'd generously sent off to his friends.

He was still keeping in frequent touch with Ron and Hermione; though since she was travelling frequently it was harder to keep the contact regular. Ron's work at the Ministry seemed to have had the beneficial effect of taking his mind off Hermione, which was good since she was going through her forth boyfriend of the year.

Remus came to see him in his new home quite often, almost every weekend, and he suddenly found that they had a lot of things to talk about. The latest news on Hogwarts, shared stories of mishaps at work. The DADA professor insisted on teasing him mercilessly about the boyhood crush he'd had on Snape.

The problem was, Harry wasn't so sure that he had got over that crush. He certainly thought about it less often, since Severus wasn't there to drool over, but the dreams still wouldn't leave him alone. Also, there were just little things during the day, like when he was reading the newspaper and saw a particularly stupid article, when the first thing that came into his head was wishing that he could share it with the other man, to hear that dry chuckle or the annoyed censure come spilling forth.

He realised that he had come to like Snape's company, along with his brooding air and beautiful voice, and he missed the time that they had spent together, and the discussions disguised as arguments that they had had.

His sudden decision to go to Hogwarts to see Remus rather than having the werewolf come to him was in no way related to his feelings for Severus. He tried repeating that to himself the whole walk there. Unfortunately, owing to much experience of the emotion, he knew what denial felt like.

Since it was a bright and sunny day, the students were scattered all over the grounds, talking and laughing. Harry smiled to himself and wondered if he'd ever been that innocent. Probably not, since in his younger years here all his free time was spent looking into various dangerous mysteries, and fighting Voldemort all the way through school tended to rip one's childhood away.

Remus was more than happy to see him and talked excitably about the days classes all the way back to his rooms. Harry admired the fact that the professor never ran out of enthusiasm for his students or the subject. He didn't think that he himself would have been very good as a teacher, despite Dumbledore's urgings. He really didn't have the patience, and having seen the amount of work that Snape had to do during his free time just to prepare for classes, he didn't think that he had the inclination either.

It seemed that Hogwarts was still keeping up it's habit of spreading news faster than a speeding broomstick, for while he was sat in Remus' living room half of the professors in the school dropped by. McGonagall, being his former Head of House, wished to know how he was doing, Hagrid had to tell him all about the vampire that had been lurking in the forest lately, and Trelawney needed to come around and predict his doom. Everyone else's visits were shorter, they would just stick their head around the door and greet him, but those three monopolised his time. As he was getting ready to leave he realised that he'd spent very little actual time with Remus himself. The werewolf gave him a little grin and said they'd have to do it again sometime.

Harry stepped out of the door. Straight into the path of Severus Snape. A collision was barely avoided, and Harry was left with adrenaline pumping through his veins as he stared up into the bottomless eyes of the man he was now extremely close to. It almost made him wish that he could have fallen, for then Severus would have caught him, and the small amount of bodily contact would have fed his dreams for weeks. With great difficulty and suppression of hormones, he reminded himself that Snape was not the kind of person who would save him if he swooned, and that his ass was far more likely to gain intimate knowledge of the floor's hardness than anything else.

"Severus," he said awkwardly, trying to keep from blushing. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be around the other man, both wonderful and absolutely terrifying at the same time.

There was a horrible moment when he thought that Snape would call him 'Mr. Potter,' he could practically see the words forming on the other man's lips. "Harry. I was just on my way back to the dungeons," he said in that rich, smooth voice that gave Harry the sudden urge to strip off all of his clothes and offer himself right there in the corridor. The fact that he didn't attested to the self control he had built up.

He fell into step beside Severus automatically, thinking that this was a very odd route to return to the dungeons, being extremely out of the way. Snape couldn't have been coming to see him, could he?

They somehow reached the entrance to the Potions Master's chambers without Harry noticing, he had been too busy monitoring the other's breathing to take notice of paltry things like direction. Immediately feeling stupid at his inattentiveness and presumption, he backed off a little and started to excuse himself.

"Would you like some tea?" He stared at Snape's lips for at least half a minute, trying to work out if the other man had actually uttered those words or if he was just projecting his imaginings onto the world. It was not the sort of thing that Severus would say. Ever. It must have been in his mind.

He started to turn away, aware that he had been gaping, when that velvety voice repeated itself. He was sure that he hadn't just dreamed it that time, no dream of his could ever live up to the reality.

"Sure," he answered, glad that his mouth was making sense even though the rest of him was in turmoil.

"You can tell me about your amazing contributions to the wizarding world."

"Ha, ha," he muttered, following the other in.

His chair was still just as comfortable as he remembered it, the tea was ten times as good as that he managed to make at home, and Severus was still a brilliant listener, in between his snarky comments. He found himself relaxing more than he had in weeks, all the tension that he had been carrying from the stresses of work melting out of him.

He would have to come here more often.

It was late when he got up to leave, the clock said 'If you are still awake, you're crazy.' Harry had often pondered how they managed to fit so many words into such a small space, but then again, it must have been magic. Snape glanced at it too, and rose alongside him.

"It's far too late for you to walk back." Ordering people around again. Still, Harry couldn't have agreed more. All he wanted was to sink back down into his chair and never get back up. "You can stay here for the night," the other man continued, seemingly unaware of the internal reaction that those words provoked in his companion.

Harry was too busy trying to convince his heart that it wasn't in training for the Quidditch world cup to do anything more than give a tired nod.

Snape transfigured a chair into a bed, his chair at that, and lent him a nightshirt. "Thanks," he said quietly, as the older man began walking to his bedroom.

"You're welcome." Severus brushed a hand over his back as he brushed behind Harry. Though he tried to pass it off as accidental, he could feel the touch like a fiery brand on his flesh.

He made sure to put up local silencing charms before he retired.

Harry did go back to see Snape again. After the next time he found the man loitering outside Remus' quarters when he left, he started going straight down to the dungeons anyway, knowing that he would be welcomed. Sometimes he went there just to see the Potions Master, telling the werewolf that he was too busy that day. Remus always just gave him a knowing smile, but Harry couldn't be sure if the other man thought he was off with a boyfriend, or if he actually knew where he spent his time.

It turned out that Severus could help him a lot with his work, which was yet another excuse to visit. Not only did the man have an extensive collection of very rare tomes, but he had a great deal of experience of the kind of spells that it was best to use in certain situations and exactly how they worked. Harry began to think that Snape had really wanted to take the job he himself now held, and that he was happy to be involved in some way.

The fifth time he came back, it was already past eleven at night, and he had a day of gruelling work starting early the next morning. He felt as though he would let Severus down by not showing up though, as though sending an owl was almost an insult somehow. He would just have to take lots of pepper up potion before he got to his workplace.

He had barely got through the portrait, to which he had never been revoked access, when Snape's dry tones echoed in his ears. "Shouldn't you be asleep?"

Caught off guard, he stood in the entrance for a moment, trying to reconcile the fact that the other man knew his schedule as well as he himself did. He must have been talking too much, he didn't mean to be a burden on the other man.

An awful thought struck him. Maybe this was Severus' way of telling him that he didn't want Harry to come here anymore? That he was intruding on the other man's time and making a nuisance of himself.

"Right," he said hesitantly, painfully. "Sorry."

Of course Snape wouldn't want him around, who would? He had just been dreaming again, and it was more than past time for life to show him that there was no point in hoping.

Carefully he turned to face the exit, trying not to keel over, which was feeling like a distinct possibility as large surges ran through his stomach and made his legs feel highly unstable. He tried to swallow and discovered that his throat was sincerely unhappy with the idea. In fact, he felt quite sick.

Determined to get out of there as soon as possible, before he made even more of a complete fool of himself, he took a step away and concentrated on keeping upright.

That was no longer an issue when a strong hand latched onto his shoulder and pulled him backwards.

He landed heavily against Snape, who tightened his hold and slipped his other arm around Harry's body. "Idiot boy," growled the older man, and then Severus' lips were crushed against his and he was in heaven.

He didn't have time to process what was going on, he couldn't think, couldn't second guess himself because every part of him was so caught up in simply feeling the pure ecstasy that ran like molten lava through his body. The way that Severus smelled - of earth and spices, the hard shape of the body pressed up against his, a thousand little details flooded him and made him unable to do anything other than whimper and cling to the robes of the alluring man that had him trapped.

The tongue that had been leisurely mapping his mouth pulled away suddenly, and once he found the strength to open his eyes he found himself gazing into burning coal eyes. "Severus," he moaned, and the slightest hint of a smile graced the face of the other man.

"You are quite welcome to sleep here," murmured Snape, still so close that his breath warmed Harry's face.

He moved forward again, intent on tasting the Potions Master once more, but was stopped by a hand on his chest.

"Sleep is traditionally an activity during which one rests." From the look in Severus' eyes, Harry was not the only one having problems with self-restraint. "Go to bed Harry, we'll talk tomorrow," the older man whispered.

He whimpered again as Severus moved away from him and wondered how he was ever going to make it through the next day.

It had been torture. He had almost unwound all the efforts of the previous three weeks in his inattentiveness. The fact that he had been hard as a rock all day just from thinking about that kiss and the possibilities that might follow wasn't doing anything for his concentration. Eventually he gave up, promising himself that he would put in extra effort once his personal life was resolved, and went home to take several cold showers to try and calm himself down.

At the exact moment that classes finished, he was outside Snape's rooms, waiting for him. He hadn't seen the other man at all that morning, having to leave very early, so he was terribly anxious, convinced that he would be told that last night had been a mistake, or that Severus had changed his mind.

When the Potions Master rounded the corner he opened his mouth timidly to say something inane, but never got the chance as he was swiftly herded into Snape's rooms. After that he had no desire or possibility of saying anything, as his mouth was too busy being ravaged by Severus' again.

The sweet warmth of being so utterly possessed by the other man was even better than he had remembered, he pressed himself in close and wrapped his arms around Snape's neck, moaning heatedly into the kiss. This time when the intoxicating lips left his and he chased them, they returned obligingly. Realising what that meant, what all of this meant, he moaned again, totally overwhelmed by the thought that this man could possibly want him.

The kiss gradually became lighter, until Severus was just teasing him with his sinful lips and Harry was left gasping in desperate desire. "Please," he mumbled thickly, somehow dredging up the strength to talk through the haze that surrounded him.

It seemed to have the opposite effect to the one he intended, for Snape merely pulled away completely. With a whine of loss Harry looked up at the other, breath catching as he admired the face that he had come to love. "Harry," Severus murmured, and the way the other man said his name felt like silken ropes drawn slowly over his naked body. He gave a little shudder and pushed insistently closer, nuzzling his face into the smooth, tempting neck in front of him. "Harry, stop, I wanted to talk to you."

Instantly every hope was shattered. He froze, and began to withdraw, suddenly thinking that he must have misinterpreted this whole situation. Gods, he'd been acting like such a slut, practically throwing himself on the other man, who had probably been trying to get him to stop the whole time.

"Sorry," he muttered, staring resolutely at the floor. He'd been so immature about this whole thing, and now he'd gone too far. The only way to fix this was to leave and never come back. The idea tore at his heart, but obviously he'd done something really wrong. Everything about him was really wrong.

A hand captured his chin before he could move away and tilted it back up. He searched for the signs of rejection he knew had to be there in Snape's face, but was startled to find only empathy and concern, not to mention lust. Unable to believe that he was reading the other right, he continued gazing into Severus' eyes until he suddenly thought how he must look and blushed hotly. "Sorry," he said again, wishing that the older man didn't have to drag this out.

"And what exactly are you sorry for?" questioned Snape carefully, his voice low. If there was ever anyone with a classic bedroom voice, then Harry knew this was the man.

"For..." For wanting him. For hoping that there could be something between them. For being such an idiot. He choked slightly, and realised to his horror that a sob was building in his throat. Raising himself on the tips of his toes, he kissed Severus chastely on the cheek. "I'm sorry for bothering you," he finally got out in a self deprecating tone and made another attempt towards the door.

"Oh no, you don't!" snapped the other. "You are staying right here." They both remained perfectly still for several moments and Harry was measuring time by his heartbeat, which had grown inordinately loud. "I want you to stay," Snape said softly. "I want you to stay."

A tear slipped out from the corner of Harry's eye and he tentatively relaxed into the welcoming arms of the Potions Master. He was half dragged across the room until they were sitting in his favorite chair, himself cradled on Severus' lap. He didn't think that he'd ever felt so safe before, even though every part of him was still mired in uncertainty over the situation.

"Now, my annoying little brat, why must you make everything more complicated than it is?"

He was still trying to get past the 'my' in that sentence to answer anything less than truthfully. "Because I don't see how anyone could ever want me. I'm... an aberration, like you said."

The arm that had slithered around him tightened slightly, and he was pulled into a slow and deliberate kiss, the other man's tongue flicking over his lips until he parted them with a gasp, then tenderly stroking over his own. He had never thought that Snape could be like this; despite all the times he had seen him without the usual Death Eater facade, it didn't make him a different person, didn't make him gentle or caring. Maybe there was a lot he didn't know about Severus Snape. Or maybe there was more that he didn't know about himself.

He responded to the kiss eagerly, though he was still holding back, waiting for the other man to speak again so that he could be absolutely sure. He had received little enough affection in his life to doubt it when it was handed to him so miraculously.

"I might say the same about myself," Severus said as they separated. "I cannot see why you should want me." He stopped Harry's protestations with a finger. "But nonetheless, I believe that you do want me, and I want you in the same way. That is not a gift to be wasted."

Harry nodded, happiness crashing through him and making him dizzy. At least, he presumed that it was happiness, but at the moment he felt more like crying than laughing. Draco would have called him a variety of derogatory names at this point.

He lifted his face expectantly again, and when Severus kissed him this time he put his entire soul in it, pushing the other man back on the chair and straddling him with his need to show him how much he wanted this. It felt so good, he had never thought that anything could be this good. There was a spark, a depth here that there had never been with the blonde Slytherin, and in a second all the guilt he might have felt for betraying Draco disappeared.

This was meant to be.

Sucking enthusiastically on Snape's tongue, he began to force his fumbling fingers to unbutton the other man's robes. Fast growing frustrated by the impossible task, and wondering how on earth Severus got dressed in time for breakfast each morning, he gave a little snarl. Snape chuckled breathily against his skin and tugged Harry's hands away. Then he showed him the little spot that you touched that magically caused all of the buttons to undo. "Genius," Harry said in appreciation, and let his hands explore what was underneath the man's armor.

Severus wasn't wearing a shirt, so he immediately encountered bare skin. He spread his fingers wide and swept them down the man's chest in an attempt to feel as much of the other as possible. Snape's breathing became ragged as his thumb pressed over a nipple, and this was abruptly not so much about physical attraction but raw need; a thing that had been directed towards him so sparsely in life that he found it powerfully arousing. He thrust his tongue in past Severus' teeth and relied upon the sense of touch to show him the other's body.

Soon Snape raised his own hands to Harry's robes, and Harry couldn't keep a smile back as the older wizard cursed as well, totally lost in trying to unzip them. He pulled them off himself, and let out a small snicker at the way Severus analysed the precise motions needed to undo the mechanism. The Potions Master scowled as he perceived he was being laughed at, and he gave Harry a sharp slap on the bottom. Harry's yelp fast turned into a muffled groan as his lover then caressed the area through his trousers.

His forehead came to rest against that of the other man, and they panted together as Harry rocked his hips with wild abandon. "No," Snape gasped, and this time Harry understood and slowed his motions. "I want..." Harry didn't give him a chance to finish the wish, kissing him passionately once more then clambering gracelessly off Severus' lap and to his feet, drawing the other after him.

His lover held him close for a long moment as they tried to calm their breathing; undone by the skin to skin contact. Then Harry was led to the bedroom, and Snape was obviously too impatient to waste time on the little things when control was running thin, as he magicked the remaining clothes off both of them. Harry couldn't do more than babble his approval as his eyes were irresistibly drawn to the swollen evidence of the other mans desire for him.

"Shh," Severus hushed, then he had strong arms wrapped around him and his eyelids fluttered shut as he felt the mind shattering friction that their erections caused by rubbing against each other.

"Severus," he moaned and was kissed again. In his brain, a new connection formed, noting that moaning the other man's name resulted in being devoured. Gradually they worked their way blindly in the direction of the bed, mouths never relinquishing contact unless a dire lack of oxygen threatened.

Feeling the backs of his knees hit something solid, Harry groped around behind him with a hand that only reluctantly moved away from it's grip on Severus' shoulder. Finding something which felt very much like a mattress, he allowed himself to fall back on it, and his lover swooped down after him.

Kissing and touching constantly, they progressed up the length of the bed until Harry finally had a pillow under his head. He appreciated this a moment later when Severus rubbed the palm of his hand against Harry's throbbing cock, and he threw back his head violently, crying out in rapture.

When he finally convinced his neck muscles to move again, he looked up to find his lover staring down at his body in something akin to reverence, two skilled fingers skimming over the patterns of blazing silver light that were racing over his body. Feeling self conscious, he squirmed uncomfortably and tried to divert the older man's attention by reaching down and playing with his leaking shaft.

Snape's eyes closed and he inhaled sharply, but a moment later he batted Harry's hand away and settled down beside him. "Don't you like it when I look at you?" the other man asked, twirling his fingers in the soft hairs at the base of Harry's belly, stroking back and forth just above his cock in a way that made his skin tingle and ache for further touch.

Harry paled, and he saw the lines on his skin writhe in sympathy, shrinking and curling in on themselves. Severus' eyes never left his face. "I..." he stuttered, a nervous habit that hadn't affected him in years. "I feel like such a... freak."

Severus sighed and began to slowly kiss his way down Harry's throat, then his chest. After a minute, Harry realised that his lover was tracing the abnormal lines with his tongue. He should have been worried of what the other man would think of him, but all thoughts fled with his incoherent moans of pleasure. The gleaming threads returned full force, almost seeming to direct Severus to where Harry most longed to be touched, over his beaded nipples, then down past the ticklish spots on his sides, until finally the tip of the other man's wicked tongue was tracing the head of his straining cock, and he arched off the bed with a scream.

This caused Severus to lock eyes with him, and he saw the absolute sincerity in them even before the words were spoken. "You are a work of art, Harry. Beautiful," the other man whispered, and Harry felt his eyes growing moist at the admiration in that voice. No one had ever spoken to him like that before.

Then his lover took Harry in to the root, and he could do nothing but buck up into that wet cavern and moan. He felt as though Severus was surrounding him completely; closing his eyes the only sensation he received was from that talented mouth, the fingers of one hand feathering lightly over the hollows in his hipbones and those of the other creeping teasingly up his inner thigh before fondling his balls.

It seemed to go on for both an eternity and yet be far too short, he craved release but feared the end that it would bring. As he felt the sensations in his groin intensify and begin to spike, he unclenched his fists from the bedcovers and fisted them in Snape's long hair instead, trying to pull the other man's head up.

His lover was stubborn in this as in all things. "Severus," he keened. The older man merely drew his mouth up enough to pay more thorough attention with his tongue, swirling it around the head before dipping into Harry's slit then once more engulfing him and sucking hard.

Harry exploded with a yell down his lover's throat. "Severus!" He was distantly aware of the wonderful, amazing, worshipful tongue licking him clean, having milked all of his seed, and let out a series of moans that seemed to meld into one long sound of bliss.

Gasping for breath as the world slowly faded back into colour, he stared straight up at the smug and very self satisfied smirk of Severus Snape. Letting out a growl of his own he pounced on the other man and rolled them so that he was lying on top, the full contact between them delighting him as he lazily rubbed himself against his lover, nibbling on Severus' lower lip happily.

"Thank you," he purred, resting a thigh between the dark haired man's legs so that it ground against the other's hardness every time he shifted.

Severus gave a small sigh of need and Harry revelled in being able to wrench some of the man's cast iron control away from him. "Harry?" he breathed hungrily. A soft touch ghosting over his arse revealed the true question, and Harry buried his head in his lover's shoulder and nodded confirmation. "Gods, I've wanted this," whispered the smoky voice into his ear, and he found himself growing hard all over again.

He was rolled onto his front, and Severus spent what felt like forever following the composition of moving sketches on his back, stroking and massaging until Harry's body was totally relaxed, and at the same time thrummed in anticipation of the next touch. When he reached the sensitive space just above the start of the crease of Harry's arse, Severus made his touches so light that Harry could barely feel them. After a minute of fingernails brushing back and forth over that spot, Harry was wriggling desperately as he felt like his skin had been hyper-sensitised.

He rolled away from the mischievous hands and made as though to leave the bed, only to hear Snape's gravelly chuckle again, and have two long arms encompass his waist and gather him back until he was spooned from behind by the other man. Feeling Severus' hard cock shifting against his cleft, he pushed backwards and heard a begging whimper spill from his lips.

His hands were grasped and manipulated until his arms encircled his lover's neck behind him, leaving him open and exposed. Making an approving sound, Snape ran his hands down over Harry's chest, then lifted his upper leg up and forward in order to gain better access to Harry's hidden spots.

Inquisitive fingers circled over the puckered flesh of Harry's entrance, tormenting and caressing him until he was jerking backwards in order to try and impale himself.

"Shh."

Something about the way Snape did that drove him wild, and he moaned, "Please!"

"Well, since you have finally learned how to be polite, after all these years, I suppose you should be rewarded."

One finger plunged inside him, and he felt his muscles clench around it as though they would never let go. Severus was inside him, even if it was only a finger, and the very thought made his cock twitch and become even harder.

"Severus," he gasped. Immediately his lover's spare hand pulled his face round for a bruising kiss, which he grinned into. Theory proven.

The finger was removed, but before he could wrench his mouth away to complain it returned, smoothing over his hole again and entering more easily now that it was coated in something slippery. It occurred to Harry that Snape must have been anticipating this since last night if he'd had lubricant ready, that that kiss had meant something after all, and he had been really dense in misreading the signs.

Then his lover's questing digit raked over his prostate, and he had to put all of his mental capacity to work on remembering on how to breath. A second finger probed it's way in beside the first, and he began rocking back on them as they carefully stretched him. "Severus, I want you," he pleaded, and this time his use of his lover's name did not result in a kiss, but rather a shaken groan.

The fingers were drawn out, and without them his body felt strange, as though it were lacking something. It was uncomfortable not having Snape inside him. He gave a disapproving grunt, but was silenced by the feeling of a larger, pulsating heat pressing against the spot that the fingers had abandoned.

As Severus slid easily into his hole, which opened for the thick shaft welcomingly, Harry's jaw fell slack and he tightened his arms hold around his lover's neck, needing to hold him close. The burning that he felt was bearable; he just focused on the plethora of pleasurable friction coming from everywhere else. The sensations were taken up a notch as Snape started to finger his cock.

Rotating his hips until he was fully seated, Severus paused to give Harry's neck a sharp nip, then started moving in and out at an unhurried pace. In less than a minute Harry was crying out with unsated desire, begging for release, for his lover to take him harder. The man was implacable though, continuing moving at his own leisurely pace. Harry was sure that he was doing it just to spite him.

Another endless age of being inflamed, with Severus always keeping him right on the edge without letting him come, and he knew that he would hex the other man soon if he didn't get his way. Raising himself on one elbow, he tried to remember what had happened to his wand and absently tensed in concentration.

His problem was solved, but not by the method he'd planned. Upon the contraction of his muscles around his lover's cock, a hoarse groan came from the other man, and he was suddenly tipped onto his front. Severus began thrusting deeply into him, and Harry's last thought was that this was far more fun than the hexing method would have been. Then he closed his eyes and screamed raggedly as his lover rammed past his sweet spot again and again.

Sparks sizzled on the inside of his eyelids and his nerves felt as though they were being fried in the heart of a volcano. "Oh, God," he moaned, voice cracking in the middle.

He felt Severus lean down over him so that he could whisper in his ear. "Harry, I want you to touch yourself."

Moaning again at those words in the man's husky tones, he gripped the headboard with one hand and moved the other to his aching erection. The first touch of his hand wrapping around his member was enough to send him driving into it, and he had to force himself to slow down, not wanting to lose control so soon. Still, the added stimulation wasn't something that he could ignore for long, and soon a wave of ecstasy so intense it was nearing pain bore down on him.

"Severus," he howled, thrashing in delirious orgasm. The force of the thrusting increased further, and just as his pulse ceased to ring in his ears and the rest of the world came rushing back, his lover bit down on his shoulder hard and stiffened as his hot seed coated Harry's insides.

They ended up spooned on the bed again, with one of Severus' legs between his. A feeling of happiness and peace surrounded Harry, and at last he felt whole again, in a way he hadn't even known was missing until it was solved.

"So," he mumbled sleepily. "How long have you wanted me for?"

"Hmmm, a hard question. It has to be said that when you started failing my class abominably, I had to suppress urges to chain you to my desk and spank you." Harry laughed.

Severus held him until he went to sleep, fingers still mesmerised by the lines of magic that flowed through Harry's body and soul. The last thing that Harry thought that night, and every night and morning after, was how lucky he was to have someone who loved him unconditionally as himself, no matter what other people might think.

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