Disclaimer - See Prologue
Chapter 6 This Corrosion "Only the dead have seen the end of war" – Plato
~
The air seemed to have the thick consistency of treacle. Severus Snape tried to clear his thoughts as he ran his hand down the body of the young woman lying beneath him. She gasped; it was the smallest hitch of her breath, but it was enough to drive him wild. She arched her back to meet him, her small breasts, topped with the sweetest pink nipples were offered to him and he bent his head down to kiss each one in turn, sucking gently on the taut flesh. Their movements were slow, too slow, as though they were part of some drug fuelled hallucination, wondrous beings joined together somehow at that moment, although he wasn't sure where they had started out or how they had come to be here.
She cried out, she panted and writhed and he pulled her to him, found her mouth with his own and feasted on her wonderfully swollen lips. She tasted like aniseed and liquorice, and her wanton tongue forced its way into his mouth and began exploring his teeth.
"Kiss me" "I am kissing you" "Kiss my mouth"
Was that a memory? Yes, yes it must be. They had been drinking, yes, all night long. Had it come to this? It must have.
He was inside her, fucking her and she watched him, her smile seductive, her eyes hooded, her heart shaped face upturned, her swollen mouth slightly opened. She didn't look like herself, she looked like a wanton temptress. But who was she? She was tight inside, a virgin heat, but he could not remember entering her, or how they had made it to this bed with its satin sheets tangling around them. The air had a floating quality. He felt weightless, yet he was here, inside this woman, fucking her, his cock surrounded by her heat.
He knew who she was.
"Hermione." His voice seemed nothing more than a breath of air and she opened her eyes a little wider and smiled the smile of a seductress…and pushed her hips up to meet his thrusts.
He came, hard into her in thick shooting bursts that threatened to never end.
And Severus Snape woke up.
Alone.
He was definitely alone. He couldn't detect even the faintest trace of a scent other than his own. His eyes darted around the room, checking familiar corners, orientating himself and realizing that he was indeed in his own bed, on crisp white cotton sheets, under thick, warm blankets. From out the window he could see the light fading from the sky and with an unreasonable sense of loss he realized that he had slept the day away.
He soon became aware of the cold, congealing ejaculate in his underwear and wrinkled his nose as a heady wave of disgust washed over him. With this disgust came flashes of memory. Memory that could have been part of a dream. Had to be part of a dream. Drinking. Drinking far too much. The taste of Absinthe on a woman's tongue. The touch and smell of her.
Hermione.
He sat bolt upright in the bed, disorientated all over again. He had dreamed he'd been having sex with Hermione Granger? There was more than that. He was sure of it. He had done something terribly wrong, but exactly what that thing was, he had no idea. He scratched his stomach absently and ran a hand though his greasy hair before looking down at the mess he had made of himself.
What the hell was he wearing?
He wondered for a moment just how he had managed to get himself to bed. He remembered going to breakfast (and with some shame he remembered that he was most definitely still drunk at that point) and after that he had felt ill.
He'd been sick. Really sick. Sick every where and someone had pulled his head out of the toilet bowl and cleaned him up. The sound of concerned laughter rushed into his mind. Minerva had put him to bed.
Well that explained the choice of clothes. She had no doubt been highly amused. He was dressed in a rumpled black t-shirt that read "Fuck Me and Marry Me Young"… a Christmas present, from Lucius Malfoy in 1983, and what looked like Frosty the Snowman satin boxer shorts, bright red with white snow men and lots of holly...another Christmas present, this time from Albus Dumbledore, 1998. He could never recall having ever worn either in his life. Now he'd orgasmed in them.
Feeling a dull sense of shame that Minerva had undressed him (and that he had been in no shape to fight it), he swung long pale legs out of the bed and padded across the darkening room to the bath room. Taped to the door was a note.
' Dear Severus, I have put a hangover cure on the sink next to the bath. If you are not awake by five this afternoon, I will come and wake you. I will bring you some dinner up later. Please remember that the new Sports Master is coming tonight. I want you to come to the staff room to meet him. Minerva. PS: I haven't seen you naked since I had to fish you out of that tree that James Potter stranded you in when you were 13. My, how you've grown.'
Trust Minerva to just have to add that. He felt himself go bright red and he pulled the note from the door and crumpled it into a ball. He had forgotten all about the new Sports Master. He still couldn't believe that after all these years, Hooch had finally called it a day. She had only stayed until a suitable replacement could be found, and as Dumbledore didn't think Ludo Bagman was a suitable replacement, they had waited for months. So many that Severus had begun to assume that old Hooch would stay.
Hooch's replacement arrived tonight and he had promised he would go and greet him. Severus groaned. He would meet the poor sap soon enough, why did it have to be tonight?
The hangover potion was indeed on the sink next to the bath and despite feeling fine, he drank it for an extra sense of well being. He removed the offensive t-shirt and decidedly sticky shorts and stepped into the shower. As soon as he did so hot jets of water washed over him and he sighed at one of the few pleasures his life actually afforded. He loved Hogwarts plumbing. He closed his eyes to enjoy the sensation, but in his mind's eye he saw the line of her jaw, the turn of her nose and sensuous swell of her mouth.
Hermione.
He was erect within seconds.
"She's a child Severus," he growled, but, unlike other times when this very thing happened, he could not push the image from his head. He felt for a moment as though he knew her intimately somehow, he could hear her laughter, hear her voice in his head ("tell me a story"), feel the way that her body seemed to fit perfectly into the curve of his own, the hardness of her taut nipples, the tight wetness of her…
He had fingered the girl.
Oh Gods he had! He had touched her. He had made her come.
"Oh fuck no!" He stood stock still under the steady stream of hot water for the longest time. Not game to close his eyes unless he once again beheld what was expressly forbidden to him. He stood there, mouth open, hopelessly erect and wide eyed. He couldn't have done this. He wouldn't have. He can't have!
But he had and he knew he had because all of the regrets from breakfast came back to him with crystal clarity. This was bad. This was very very bad. Then other thoughts came to him. Had she enjoyed it? Had he given her enough pleasure? Would she wake up and wish her life was over when she realized that she had kissed her foul Potions Master? Would she try to hang herself when she realized he had put his fingers inside her?
His cock was demanding he pay attention to it, refusing to go back to its normally flaccid state without some kind of release. Reluctantly (although he shivered with the anticipation) he reached down and curled his fingers around his own shaft and began to stroke himself roughly, picturing her face as he brought himself to his second orgasm of the day.
~
Harry had, just as he had feared, been partnered with Ginny for dueling. As such, he had learned nothing at all today. Ginny had looked at him with the same hurt eyes she had used for the last year and fired her worst at him. He had, of course, easily deflected everything she tried and hadn't thrown anything serious back at her. The fact was, he noted, that without Draco, Dueling was actually incredibly boring.
It wasn't Ginny's fault. She was a reasonably skilled duelist. But there was a difference between dueling and fighting. Harry had been trained by Dumbledore to fight, and fight to the death. Draco had been trained by Lucius Malfoy to fight, and fight to the death. It didn't take a genius to work out that they were perfect sparring partners. He found himself itching to hurl something really nasty at Ginny, anything at all, just for the fun of it. He also knew that there was no way she would be able to deflect half of what he could throw at her, so he kept it simple, stifling a yawn. He could have, he decided, read a book and still come out the victor.
So, having finished Defense against the Dark Arts that day with little sense of accomplishment, Harry declined the idea of going to watch Gryffindor play Quidditch in favor of returning to the tower to study. That was all he seemed to do these days. Study. He wondered if this was what it was like to be Hermione and decided she must have a rather dull existence. He needed something to happen, something to give a little spark to his life. Perhaps that is why he had thrown caution to the wind and kissed Draco. Then again, he could have just been proving his own idiocy.
Watching Gryffindor practice would only serve to highlight the fact that he couldn't play and from all accounts, the Slytherins were kicking their asses this year. Ron had agreed with Harry's sentiment and they had both headed off towards the tower. Ron had some kind of a date with some mystery woman whose name he would not disclose, so Harry could only assume that he knew her. He seemed pretty keen to get ready for it and so they had returned to the tower as soon as the class was finished, to change robes and get ready for dinner so that Ron could go and "satisfy the terms of the contract."
All thoughts of Draco and the dark voices that often filled his head were banished for a short while and Harry was content to wander the corridors back to the tower with Ron in companionable camaraderie – as though they were kids again and they hadn't reached this stage of young adultism where they noticed each other faults tenfold and tried desperately to ignore them. All was well until they walked into the common room.
Draco shot back from Hermione as though she had burned him and they both turned to face Harry and Ron, their faces masks of guilt, Hermione having perfected the 'deer caught in headlights' expression. Ron's mouth was working open and closed as he struggled to speak, shock quickly turning to anger.
Draco looked mildly embarrassed and guilty, he was not looking at Ron or Hermione. He was looking at Harry with some interest, wondering exactly what Harry's reaction would be. Harry stared back, his eyes flicking from Draco to Hermione and back again, trying to process what he had seen. Hermione had kissed Draco, but all her hair had obscured just where she had kissed him. Had it been his cheek? Dear Gods let it have been his cheek! A foul knot formed in the pit of Harry's belly and began to twist and curl and ache. His own insecurities told him she had kissed Draco's mouth. He had agonized over Draco all day and now he found him here with his best friend, one of his best friends, soon to be ex-friend.
"Oh my God," Ron had found his voice, "what the fuck is going on?"
The voice sounded distant and hollow to Harry. What had they been laughing at, why had they laughed as they kissed? She had leaned in, she had put her hand on his shoulder and she had kissed him (On the cheek? The mouth?) and she had whispered something. What had she whispered? What were they laughing at?
"Is this him?" Ron was demanding of Hermione, "Is this who you were with last night? This piece of shit?"
"What are you talking about?" Hermione's voice sounded shrill and confused. One minute she had been laughing, now she was being yelled at by Ron.
"The Contract!" Ron snorted, "You did a great job on it, you should go and check it out. It tells us when you've fooled around, not that the big fucking love bite on your neck wouldn't give it away!"
Hermione's hand fluttered to her neck and she began to stammer out a reply that was lost on both Harry and Ron. Harry paled as though he had been drained of blood. Had it been Draco that Hermione was with last night? Had she been there, somewhere in that room, to bare witness to Harry's foolish kiss? Is that what they had been laughing at? Had they been laughing at him?
"I can't believe your taste!" Ron spat, "After Krum I knew you liked a bad boy, but this is ridiculous. You let this fucking scum touch you! I didn't think you'd sink to the gutter just to get through this deal."
Hermione glared balefully at Ron and did they worst thing she could have done in the circumstances. "Don't call him scum Ron, he hasn't done anything to you."
While Draco was surprised that Hermione had actually stood up for him, her words only seemed to confirm the worst for her friends. Harry looked at the pair of them in horror.
"Was she there?" Harry asked suddenly, cutting Ron off mid sentence.
"You've got the wrong idea," Draco replied calmly.
"WAS SHE THERE?" Harry bellowed.
"Was I where?" Hermione almost pleaded, frightened by the look on Harry's face and the sheer volume of his words. She wondered for a moment if this was what he looked like when he turned on Voldemort in that final battle, she wouldn't have been surprised to learn that he had.
Harry turned on her, his eyes blazing with pure hatred. "Was it fun?" he asked, "Where were you hiding? Did you have a good laugh when I left?"
"H-H-Harry, you've got it all wrong. We were talking about school work, Transfigurations, I swear it…" She was on the verge of tears she didn't know what she could say that would make this right.
"Transfigurations?" Ron laughed nastily, "You've babbled on at me about transfigurations for years and you never kissed me over it."
"Maybe that's because you're a weasel faced prat," Draco retorted. He was quite enjoying this. He had never been there to see the three of them fight before and Harry was as jealous as sin… which put Draco in a very good position indeed. He couldn't help but smirk.
"I wasn't talking to you, Ferret!" Ron hissed. Draco kept the self satisfied smirk on his face and shrugged.
Hermione turned desperately to Harry, he was usually the more reasonable of the two and she hoped that his reasonableness would prevail now. "Draco asked me who gave me the love bite, we laughed about it, I told him that I would tell him who. That's all, really it is."
Her hopes were in vain. "Oh?" Harry's eyes narrowed, "I thought you were talking about Transfigurations?"
"We were!" she cried helplessly.
"DON"T FUCKING LIE TO ME!"
Hermione took a step back from Harry who seemed now to be rage personified. There was nothing of the reasonable Harry about him now. "I'm not," she said, tears stung her eyes, "I'm not lying to you."
"She wasn't there, Harry," Draco was still calm, still smiling, "you have the wrong end of the stick, nothing happened, you're only going to make a fool out of yourself if you keep this up."
"FUCK OFF!" Harry jabbed Draco in the chest, "FUCK OFF YOU PIECE OF FUCKING SHIT!"
Draco laughed, "Harry," he said.
"FUCK OFF!"
Draco shrugged easily and turned to Hermione, "I'll talk to you about the dueling tomorrow." He threw a sneer at Ron and Harry who was bristling in anger, "don't even try and reason with him," he indicted to Harry, "let him calm down and stop acting like a silly little boy."
"You cunt," Harry hissed, he pulled out his wand and pointed it at Draco.
Draco didn't flinch, he didn't pull his own wand out, he just looked at the trembling mass of fury that was Harry and raised an eyebrow. "What are you going to do Harry?" He drawled, "Are you going to hex me because I may or may not have kissed one of your friends?"
Harry said nothing for a moment, indeed, for a moment he couldn't speak at all, then finally he spat, "you are scum, Malfoy. You're nothing but the filthy son of a filthy scum ridden Father who deserves everything he is getting. You are not to touch her again, you are not to sully any of my friends by touching them."
The smile returned to Draco's face, infuriating Harry further. "Alright then," he said, "I won't lay so much as a finger on you or your friends ever again."
"Good!" it was Ron now. "I'd hate to have to dump a friend because they were contaminated by filth like you."
Draco's smile twisted into a malevolent and positively evil grin. "Really? Well if that's what you do because I touch them, you will have to actually disown you sister, now won't you? I must say, she wasn't such a bad fuck considering the family that raised her, but I suppose she will have a fabulous career ahead of her, don't you think?" With that he left the room, wisely doing so before Ron could actually recover his senses enough to hex him.
~
Contrary to popular opinion about the school, Snape not only bathed but he also washed his hair. Relentless teasing in his youth had giving him an almost fanatical fixation with personal hygiene, he was, if nothing else, remarkably clean. Unfortunately his hair and skin really didn't care what he did and despite his regular ministrations, he looked greasy, he always would. Anyone who actually got close enough to him would attest that he certainly didn't smell bad, in fact, he actually smelled very good. Minerva had convinced him some years ago to make her scents for her, based on the fact that he made his own with such incredible skill. If all else failed he could always go into the perfume business…the idea appalled him, but he could always fall back on it.
Over the years he had resisted any attempts by well meaning do-gooders to correct his physical deficiencies. He might be obsessed with being clean, but he refused outright to subject himself to the myriad of potions that would make him look better than he did. The very idea brought to mind such loathsome dandies as Gilderoy Lockhart and he often reasoned that if he started with all that nonsense, lilac robes wouldn't be too far off. He shuddered at the thought. He looked fearsome. He was fearsome. He liked it that way. He had never been handsome and it didn't bother him.
So why was he thinking about it now?
Hermione. God, what had he been thinking? Or perhaps he hadn't been thinking and that was why he was in this predicament. The ball was most definitely in the girls' court because she could have him out of Hogwarts with a very brief word to the Headmaster. He had two options. He could be sickeningly nice to her, perhaps even offer to give her perfect scores on her NEWTS…hell, he'd even give Potter perfect scores on his NEWTS…if she kept her mouth shut. But it wasn't in his nature to do that and he suspected she wouldn't accept that either. So the second option was to intimidate her into not speaking. He could do that. He was a seasoned professional at intimidation.
Except he didn't want to intimidate her. The fact was that she had awakened something long dormant within him. Desire. Desire for a woman. Desire to make someone happy and to be made happy himself. With this girl, however, he could never have that. She was his student, she was too young, she was inexperienced in the ways of the world, she was a know it all little Gryffindor, who was best friends with the Potter brat and had made his life hell for seven or more years. Well, that wasn't entirely true, she hadn't made his life hell as such. If anyone was guilty of that crime it was probably himself…or at least Potter.
His biggest concern was that she would wake up, realize what had happened and decide life wasn't worth living. He hadn't had sex in almost ten years and that was probably because the last time was so bloody terrible he couldn't bring himself to do it again. He had, on the urgings of a friend, visited a local brothel. Only to have the girl turn out to be an ex-student (and if he really thought about it, all the young women at the Hogsmeade brothel, or indeed anywhere in England, were going to be ex-Hogwarts students) and she became so traumatized that she'd had to fuck Professor Snape that he was still paying for her therapy.
Oh Gods, don't let her think that I forced her.
That was the other problem. What if she honestly thought he had forced her? He hadn't, he was sure of that, but the evidence wasn't good. They were locked in his private store room, drinking his private stash of extremely potent Absinthe.
He looked at himself in his mirror, a good muggle mirror that wouldn't make a noise about his looks, his personality or his demeanor, and wished for the first time since childhood that he was a better person than he was. He then swept the thought away, scowled at himself and drew himself up to his full height.
Feeling more like his usual self he swept through his chambers, pulling on his robes as he did so and preparing to go and suffer through dinner with Minerva laughing at his expense. Before he reached the door he saw a letter sitting on his bedside table. Quickly retrieving it he studied the heavy cream parchment. The seal was an ornate M entwined in a tangle of roses. He opened the letter and read its' contents. Then he sank down into a chair beside his empty fireplace.
Narcissa was dead.
~
"Ginny?" Ron said in shock
"He was probably just pissing about," Hermione said, attempting to reassure Ron despite the fact that he was so angry with her he wanted to see her rot in hell.
"Ginny?" He couldn't believe it.
"He only said it to get at you."
"Ginny?"
Harry turned back to Hermione, his wand dangerously close to her face. "So what's going on?" he demanded, trying to control his voice, trying to calm down.
"Nothing, Harry, honestly there is nothing going on."
"So who were you with last night if it wasn't him?"
She fumbled for a reply.
"Ginny?" said Ron, still in shock at the revelation.
"SHUT UP!" Harry screamed at his friend, who snapped instantly back to his senses.
"I'm gonna fucking kill her!" Ron declared.
Harry rolled his eyes and stamped his foot impatiently. "Don't you have a date or something that you are supposed to be getting ready for?"
Ron looked at Harry, offended at the tone and decided it was best to bow out of this argument. "Yeah," he said, giving Hermione a nasty look, "I'll kill Ginny tomorrow. You'd better hope I don't kill you to."
It was Hermione's turn to roll her eyes now, like Ron was going to kill anyone. Ron gave Harry an encouraging look, hoping to make sure that Harry continued to berate Hermione for doing the unforgivable with the unthinkable, and he disappeared into his bedchamber to get changed.
Harry glared at Hermione. "So?" He questioned, "who was it?"
"Nothing happened," she said quietly.
"Who were you with?" Harry demanded stubbornly.
"Not Draco Malfoy."
"Then who?" His anger was rising again, she could hear it in his voice and the fact that he had gone red again.
"No one important."
"You will tell me who the hell it was or I swear to you I will do something I'll regret later."
She shivered, her mouth went dry and she said in a voice that choked, "Snape".
"DON'T YOU FUCKING LIE TO ME!" He hit her. Hard. Knocking her sideways with such a force that her head cracked against the fireplace and she slumped, shocked, to the floor. Tears spilled down her face before she even realized that she was crying and for a moment she couldn't move; pain invaded every part of her skull and she just sat there, unable to believe he had hit her.
Harry felt the anger leave him and was instantly replaced by horror at what he had done. He reached for her. "Oh God, 'Mione, I am so sorry."
She looked up at him with large eyes and pulled away from his touch, the unmistakable look of fear written all over her features. "I have detention," she sobbed, "I have to get ready."
"'Mione, I'm sorry."
She scrambled to her feet and fled the room.
~
"As you can see Minister, the collection is looking very fine, very fine indeed."
Cornelius Fudge looked at Curator Archibald Semeuse and was immediately reminded of Barty Couch. Not so much in his looks, but by the fastidiousness of his person. The man seemed capable of locating even the smallest, most insignificant piece of lint on his robes. His robes were pressed to within an inch of their lives. Looking closely, Fudge could see that each fold had a perfect crease pressed in.
Fudge nodded. "It looks impressive Curator, the entrance is excellent. The rare Dark Magic memorabilia leading to the Death Eaters is very clever." His gaze shifted nervously to the Death Eaters in their glass cases. "Goodness, they are eerie, aren't they?" He laughed to hide the shiver that ran down his spine.
With his eyes shifting from Death Eater to Death Eater, Fudge edged himself closer to the case containing Lucius Malfoy and stared openly at him. How many bribes had he taken from this man? How many 'contributions' had Malfoy made to his campaign? Fudge smiled, in Malfoy's case, silence was golden. Malfoy looked thin and pale. Where the other Death Eaters stared sightlessly and could almost have been at peace, Malfoy had dark smudges under his eyes. Looking into those eyes Fudge was startled. They were not the glazed, dead looking things that sat like marbles in the heads of the others. Malfoy's eyes were clear, troubled, and intelligent. He shivered again, sure that perhaps it was because Malfoy's eyes were grey, the color of a stormy sky, perhaps that was the reason they didn't look so bad as the others whose eyes were once brighter or darker.
"Do they move?" Fudge asked the Curator.
"Occasionally," Semeuse joined the Minister, more than happy to talk about his favorite specimen. "It is very rare, sometimes it is to simply close their eyes to sleep."
"So they never speak then?"
"No, they can't. That is the nature of the Kiss, Minister."
Fudge smiled and looked back at Malfoy, considerably relieved but still unnerved by the clearness of his eyes. "You have cleaned them up admirably," he said hiding his discomfort, "perhaps a little too well. I don't know how people will take them looking so good"
"I have to admit, once I got started getting the filth off I couldn't rest until I was finished. I think you'll agree, I found some little treasures." Semeuse almost purred, his gaze focused entirely on Malfoy.
Fudge looked at the Curator strangely. The room was getting to him and the Curator was speaking almost affectionately of the Death Eaters. They resembled oversized porcelain dolls to Fudge, who couldn't stand the staring eyes any longer. "Treasures?" He frowned, "I suppose you can call them that. I really think we should move on to the next room Curator."
Semeuse smiled thinly and lead Fudge from the Death Eaters Chamber. "You must forgive me, Minister. I barely notice them any more, but I know you wanted them to look unnerving and I believe you will agree that I have succeeded in that."
"Yes, you certainly have."
"I have to admit that I lose myself in the collections and to me, they are just specimens. I know that this may sound terrible, but I must say that they don't even feel like people to me any longer. They are as dead and as fascinating as a mummy."
Fudge nodded, "In order to work so closely with them I am sure that you are thinking of them in the right way. If you dwell on what they were, you might find it difficult to curate the exhibition. Take Malfoy for example, The Dark Lords right hand man, did you know that?"
Semeuse felt anger and anxiety rise. "No," he said, "I knew he was important to the Dark Lord, but I didn't know what role he played."
"Well, he was the worst of the worst. Evil character, the world is better off rid of him."
Semeuse forced the rage down. Later he would take his Angel down and bathe him, wash his hair and pour a sleeping draft down his throat. The Angel looked tired, he needed to sleep, he needed rest.
"Here at the Museum," the Minister continued, picking up pace and sounding as though he was about to launch into a political campaign speech, "the Death Eaters can be educational, a cautionary tale if you will, a warning. In this state they can give back to the society they tried to destroy."
Seizing the opportunity with his usual impeccable timing, Semeuse said thoughtfully, "Yes Minister, you are absolutely right, it will almost be a shame when it comes time to break it up."
"Break it up? I don't understand you meaning."
"After the exhibition," Semeuse explained, "I understand that the specimens are to be returned to their families."
"Yes. Or to Azkaban if their families don't want them returned." Fudge returned to his usual jovial persona, "I have to tell you, the majority of them will go back to Azkaban, most families have wisely decided not to have themselves associated with these… dregs… of society."
Semeuse felt his spirit soar. "Well, that is a bit of a shame. I mean, they are all purebloods as well as Villains and it would be such a contribution if, instead of sending them back to Azkaban, you left them here, as part of the permanent collection."
"The permanent collection?"
Semeuse felt as though he were leading a small child to an inevitable conclusion, "Yes Minister, here at the museum we pride ourselves on the excellence of our permanent collection. There are no other Museums in the world that has a collection of Death Eaters or Pureblood Wizards and it seems a waste to have a perfectly good one rotting in Azkaban. Think of it Minister, think of the future generations of our kind that we can educate."
Fudge was nodding, "Yes, yes I see."
This was easier than Semeuse thought. He had feared he would need to use Imperio and he really didn't want to try it on the Minister of Magic himself. "It will be a testament to you, Minister."
"Oh? How so?"
"Think of it, Cornelius Fudge, the Minister who brought down the Dark Lord Voldemort and brought his Death Eaters to heel. Here they are, your achievement, for all the world to see."
That sealed it. Give the Minister and not the young Potter the credit for bringing down the Dark Lord and watch him do anything Semeuse asked.
"Yes!" Fudge exclaimed, eyes shining with excitement, "excellent notion, I will have the arrangements made immediately."
"Thank you, thank you Minister, you are the very image of benevolence." Semeuse felt his skin start to almost glow with triumph. He looked back into the room where he could see his Angel bathed in light and ached to stroke the warm flesh.
"Of course, Malfoy will be a loss, but I am sure I can find another to replace him."
Semeuse froze, "Minister? Malfoy a loss? I thought you said the families didn't want them?"
"No, no. Most families don't want them. I'm afraid Malfoy's son wants his Father returned."
A son? His Angel had a son who wanted him returned? "I see," he forced himself to remain calm and looked at the Angel with an aching feeling of panic. "It would be a terrible shame, Minister. Mr. Malfoy there is really the crowning glory of the collection. As you said yourself, Voldemort's Right Hand man."
"Well," said Fudge, "the boy is at Hogwarts, perhaps he could be persuaded. Then there is always money," Fudge laughed, "Money was always something the Malfoy's understood."
Of course! There was nothing so easy. The younger Malfoy was at school, a child, easily persuaded and the Museum had money that could be used to purchase something so important as the crowning glory in a major collection. Children are easily swayed and Semeuse saw nothing easier than persuading a boy that he really didn't need the burden of a Death Eater Father who had been kissed by a Dementor. The Curator's gaze became again transfixed on the Angel in his glass case and he smiled at those grey eyes.
~
Harry sat in the deserted Common room feeling sorry for himself and asking himself questions that he had been avoiding for months. What exactly had he become? What had Dumbledore made him? He had caught so many snatches of thought from people passing him by. Words and voices that filled his head. He should have died, he should never have survived, he should have died like he was supposed to. They had made him into their weapon and like all weapons, he should have been destroyed once his use had passed.
Ron had dragged him to dinner and subjected him to an hours worth of a rant about Hermione and how she was nothing short of disgusting for having touched Malfoy. Ron then had tracked down Ginny and fairly bellowed at her, and if it hadn't have been for Ron's date, Harry was sure that the ensuing fight would have gone on all night. They had then returned to the tower, Ron continuing his rant the whole way with Harry nodding dutifully to everything Ron said. Yes, Malfoy was a disgusting ferret faced git. No, he didn't understand what Hermione was playing at. Yes, Malfoy was an inbred pure blood eyesore. No, He didn't know why Ginny had lowered the family name and slept with him. Yes, Malfoy deserved to die a slow and painful death. The rant went on and on.
Harry stopped listening, he just kept nodding and making approving noises and thinking about why the hell he had been so stupid. He had kissed Draco Malfoy and then he had hit Hermione because she did the same thing. His stomach ached at the idea of Hermione's mouth on Draco's, doing the same thing with Draco's tongue as Harry had done last night. He pushed that thought away as fast as he could. Harry had hit her hard enough to knock her down and really hurt her.
They had arrived back at the tower in time to see Hermione rushing out of the tower for detention. She had stopped, and made to say something but quickly turned away and continued down the hall.
"Slut!" Ron called after her and she turned again. Harry grabbed Ron and charged into the common room, not wanting to see the stricken look on her face for a moment longer.
Ron had checked his reflection, mussed his hair, liked what he saw and left for his date, telling Harry not to wait up and giving him a salacious wink. Harry smiled in spite of himself. Once he was gone, Harry was left alone in the deserted tower, left to his thoughts, things that he had been avoiding like a coward. So much for the Gryffindor Hero.
The feel of his hand connecting with Hermione's face. That sting against his palm which must have hurt her far more. Why had it felt so good? Why had it felt so bloody good to hit someone? To hurt her?
What have I become?
"A weapon should be dismantled, all that power shouldn't be allowed to fester." Where had he heard that? The mind of Molly Weasley. But she loved him like a mother. No, Harry's mother was dead, if his mother was alive he wouldn't be who he was.
Familiar voices filled his head. He didn't deserve to have lived. He was supposed to die. He shut his eyes. This was the product of too many nights of not sleeping (and when he did sleep there were the dreams to contend with). He was finding it harder to ignore them lately. Perhaps he had always believed they were wrong, but now he had hit his friend and he had loved the feel of it. All of those years he had kept himself alive and cold had culminated in this. He was an obsolete weapon waiting to explode.
"Over your little temper tantrum yet Potty?" Malfoy's drawl was inevitable but Harry jumped regardless.
"You're nothing but a filthy slut Malfoy," Harry snapped.
Draco shrugged. "Don't believe everything you hear, Potter." He laughed derisively, "Are we dueling?"
"No." Harry wanted nothing more than to duel, he needed to get some of the aggression that had built up in him out, but he didn't want to give Malfoy the satisfaction. "I'm not in the mood."
Draco yawned and stretched, exposing a flash of the pale belly that had driven Harry mad two years before and had no doubt lead him to this current mess. It had a similar effect now. Harry stared transfixed at the place where the flash of belly had been.
"So, where is everyone?" Draco stifled another yawn.
"Library." Harry reluctantly drew his eyes away from Draco's stomach to take in the whole package. He was wearing a black t-shirt and low slung black pajama pants. His feet were bare. Harry felt his cock stir and begin to harden.
"Studying?"
"Yes." Harry purposely looked past Draco and focused on the suddenly fascinating fireplace.
"So what are you going to do?" Draco asked, "Sit there all night feeling sorry for yourself because you made a total prat of yourself this afternoon?"
"I did not make prat out of myself this afternoon!" Harry growled defensively, "You were the one sitting there canoodling with Hermione!"
"Canoodling?" Draco laughed, "I don't think I have ever 'canoodled' in my life."
Harry blushed and then felt his anger rise. "So what were you doing with her then?"
Draco sighed; "exactly what we said we were doing. Talking. We were onto transfigurations and then I asked her about the love bite, that's all."
"So why did she kiss you?"
"I don't know! Sign of affection maybe?"
"Must've been some fucking talk you had," Harry turned away, sulking. " It got rid of seven years of hating your guts."
"Well," Draco raised an eyebrow, "it isn't the most surprising kiss I've received in the last twenty four hours, so I kinda didn't question it."
Harry blushed and looked anywhere but Draco, he changed the subject, knowing that he really didn't want to. "I read about your Mother," he said and regretted it when Draco visibly tensed and hugged his arms defensively.
"Made the Daily Prophet did it?"
"Yeah," Harry said quietly and watched a muscle work in Draco's cheek.
"Well," he drawled with forced sarcasm, "she always loved to make the society pages."
"Does it upset you?"
"Of course it upsets me! What do you want me to do, break down?"
"I…"
"Look," Draco interrupted, "I really don't want to talk about my Mother at the moment, so can we drop it?"
"Sure"
"Good." He looked at Harry and made his mind to act, "Do you want to come to my room?"
Harry looked quickly back to him, his mind racing. "Why?" he asked quickly, sounding untrusting, almost fearful.
"Talk, snog, fuck, whatever." Draco turned away from Harry, listening. "Someone's coming," he said.
Harry listened hard and heard footsteps coming up the stone stairs.
"If you want me, I'll be in my room." Draco turned and walked away. After a moment, Harry followed him.
~
Hermione managed to stop the flow of tears on her way to the dungeons. She was more than a little distressed that she was about to go and see the man she had spent most of last night rocking her body against with her eyes and nose red from crying. Harry had slapped her. There was still a part of her mind that couldn't believe it. The mind numbing pain in her skull attested to the truth of it. He had slapped her because he thought she had been with Draco. He had kept accusing her of being somewhere, she had no idea where she was supposed to have been, but she was certain she hadn't been there.
It was almost as though he was jealous.
Almost? It was exactly like he was jealous! But how could that be. Harry wasn't in love with her. So who was he jealous of? Draco? That wasn't possible. Unless…
No. Not possible…Unless.
It didn't matter anyway. She wasn't going to forgive him for hitting her.
The cold of the dungeons hit her like a physical force. She swayed a little. She hadn't eaten for almost two days and her head ached. She felt a rush of nausea wash over her.
"Pull yourself together girl," she muttered and knocked on Professor Snape's office door.
"Enter." came the growled response from inside and she pushed the door open a little and slipped inside.
He didn't look up when she entered the room and she stood nervously for a moment before saying, "Professor?"
"What can I do for you, Miss Granger?" He asked her silkily, not looking up from the papers that he was marking.
She blinked, and blinked again. The very least he could do was look at her when he spoke. "I have detention, Sir."
He did look up then, scowl perfectly in place. He looked at her as though she was little more than a piece of dirt on his dress robes. "I see," he said, "it was good of you to remember. I would suggest that you take yourself off to Mr. Filch and tell him that I sent you for detention." He went back to his marking.
Hermione didn't move. She couldn't move. She felt glued to the spot. He had dismissed her entirely, as though she truly was nothing but dirt on his dress robes. She glared at him, hands balled into fists by her side and fury rising in her throat. First Harry hits her, then Ron calls her a slut and now Snape was ignoring her! After last night the bastard should worship her!
He looked at her questioningly. "Did you misunderstand my meaning Miss Granger? I will make it very clear for you, lest your brain be unable to process the instruction. Go-to-Mr.-Filch-and-tell-him-that-I-sent-you-for-detention. I am sure he will have a suitable task for you."
"You!" she cried suddenly.
"Yes?" he replied evenly.
"You greasy, slimy son of a whore!"
His eyes widened, she was furious, she was so angry that she was shaking. So the kitten had claws. He almost smiled.
"How dare you, you disgusting wretch! You should get down on your fucking knees and thank me for even coming down here!"
She was brilliant, inside he was down on his knees with his arms thrown around her waist, but he said; "Are you quite finished with your temper tantrum Miss Granger?"
"No I'm fucking not!" She cried, "We spent an evening together, which I am sure you will agree was more than a little entertaining, and you greet me with by telling me to go and see Filch? You're lucky I don't get up there and slap the scowl off your ugly greasy face!"
"Well thank you, Miss Granger, for your very witty references to my personal appearance and as for our 'entertaining' evening together, I shall remind you that we were both under the influence of a great deal of alcohol and didn't know half of what we were doing."
"I can repeat it back to you if your need your memory refreshed," she hissed harshly, "I can give you a word by word, action by action account if you like." She straightened, drawing herself up to her full, albeit rather short, height. "Or perhaps I should tell Professor Dumbledore. I am sure he would find it very interesting."
By the Gods, she could have been a Slytherin, the evil little imp. He sat back, "All right," he said, his tone softer, more respectful, "do you want to discuss what happened last night?"
"Yes," she couldn't suppress her triumphant smile, "I would."
~
Continued...
