Chapter 18 – Part 2
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Snape had waited a while before deciding to speak with Hermione. He figured Potter would probably get to her first and he would simply go in to reiterate the point. Then he had found Potter in the Library and discovered that he'd had the same thought; in reverse, and that he had been waiting for Snape.
And so it was late when Snape swept imperiously through the eighth years' Common Room, displaying the same sense of superiority that he exhibited when inspecting a first year's spluttering cauldron. He had to admit that he didn't particularly feel superior tonight, but he could at least look the part. He even took some satisfaction in noting that Longbottom, who had come into his own during the war, still looked as though he would rather shit himself than be confronted by the Potions Master. At least some things didn't change.
He stopped outside her door and stared at it uncomfortably. He was going to have to knock fairly quickly, people were staring at him, but every instinct was telling him to turn and run.
Yep, you'd rather face Voldemort than the woman you left. Coward.
He knocked, hard enough to display his authority to the students sitting around the Common Room. He noticed Finnigan had a bottle of something that looked lethal and wished he could go over and take a draught. He heard a cheerful call of "hang on a tick" from inside and after a few moments and various rustlings, the door swung open and a scantily clad Lavender Brown looked up at him in horror.
"Professor Snape!" Lavender yelped and pulled her robe closed. It didn't really help, he towered over her and as he looked down he couldn't help but notice that he could see clear down the front of not only the robe but the negligee she wore under it.
"Do try and cover yourself a little more adequately, Miss Brown, I have no interest in your assets."
Lavender blushed and gripped the top of her robe closed. "Sorry, Professor Snape."
He purposely scowled and privately mourned the loss of what was quite a spectacular view. "I need to speak to Miss Granger."
"Oh…" Lavender turned to cast a glance into the room and then looked back to him, "I don't…she's not…"
He pushed roughly past her, almost knocking her down and insinuated himself into the room. Lavender could do nothing back stand back and stare open mouthed and then slowly close the door behind him.
"I believe you should leave the room, Miss Brown."
Lavender turned to go, hoping that Seamus Finnigan wasn't drinking his home made grappa because she was barely dressed and he had decided she really wanted him.
"Don't go anywhere Lavender." Hermione was sitting on her bed with her Ancient Runes text book open, she didn't seem pleased to see him there. "Professor Snape has nothing to say to me that you can't hear."
Lavender stopped, caught between obeying Snape (who could put her on detention in a flash) and standing by Hermione who desperately needed support. She decided to risk Snape's displeasure and sat down at the dressing table.
Snape did not look happy at this turn of events; he flashed a warning look at Hermione who surprised him by smiling bitterly in return.
"Oh don't worry, Severus, Lavender knows everything; she's known from the beginning."
"I know that," he snapped and glared at Lavender who squirmed a little, but didn't move. He couldn't quite believe that the vacuous Miss Brown knew all about his love life. He wondered why Hermione had befriended her; he had never thought much of the girl, she was pretty, sexy even, but her mind was nothing special. She was an average Witch, apparently very good at Divination (something he considered a joke of a discipline) and, Hermione assured him, had an excellent nose for scents. He didn't rightly care about any of these things. What he did care about was the fact that this girl knew all about his love life and he really didn't want her to.
Instead of admitting his discomfort he looked around the room and sneered at the mess that had enveloped the floor. Clothes were strewn everywhere, while ribbons and other assorted trinkets littered every available surface. The air was heavily perfumed with the scent Snape recognized as the one Lavender Brown usually doused herself in. He found it cloying. Lavender Brown was sexy; he decided, but she needed to use something lighter, more playful.
What the hell are you doing thinking about Lavender Brown's choice of perfume? He scowled again and brought his thoughts to the task at hand. He had been procrastinating long enough.
"You need to open a window in this room, or air it out, it stinks in here."
"I can't smell anything," Hermione replied, her tone flat and emotionless.
"That's because you lock yourself in here and refuse to leave."
"Why are you here, Severus?"
He cleared his throat. "Professor Dumbledore came to see me earlier, because he was concerned about you. It seems he spent his day in London at the Ministry, as there was a special sitting of the Wizengamot yesterday."
She stared blankly at him and he realized with no small amount of shock that she had no idea what he was talking about.
"It was Krum's trial," he prompted.
And Hermione suddenly paled, so white that her face resembled parchment, even her lips bleached out and for a moment he thought she would faint dead away – so much so that he moved towards her, anticipating catching her. Lavender was up out of her chair, thinking much the same as he was.
Hermione sank down onto her bed and tried to swallow. Her mouth was dry, so dry it hurt – and her stomach plummeted. "Oh, well…I…I see."
"Professor Dumbledore assures me that you were well aware of our laws stating that if you chose not to attend the trial, that Krum would be released."
"I…I did…I knew." She spoke automatically, but she felt paralyzed, like she was glued to the spot, sitting on her bed in her stupid Pooh Bear pajamas. He would come for her. She knew it. She blinked, but didn't dare stand lest she fall down.
"Why didn't you go?" he asked stiffly. "Didn't you want to see Krum go to prison for what he did to you?"
She thought fast, not willing to admit the truth to him. She could see Lavender standing behind him, looking at her with a confused expression, thinking the same thing that he was. Why hadn't she gone? What had possessed her? And the truth, as shameful as it was, was simple – she had forgotten all about it.
But she doubted Severus was going to accept that as a reason.
"I didn't want to see him," she said with false calm, "I'm happy for him to just go home, and I just want to put this behind me."
Snape stared at her with undisguised horror, shaking his head without even realizing that he was doing it, with all semblance of his composed Professor's role suddenly gone. "Hermione, that fucking shit almost killed you! What the hell are you talking about?"
"I don't want to talk about this." She forced herself up from the bed, fuelling herself on a need not to appear weak in front of him.
"You have to talk about this, Hermione! Do you have any idea what I did to Krum? He is not going to forget, and he is most certainly not going to crawl back to Bulgaria and let you live out your life!"
"I don't fucking care about what you did to him," She cried shrilly, "what about what he did to me?"
"That's exactly the point, Hermione!" He grabbed her shoulders and had to resist the urge to shake her until her teeth rattled. "When you arrived at the Manor you were naked, you were covered in blood and we thought you were going to die, so believe me, I know exactly what he did to you. How can you just let him go? Knowing what he is capable of, how can you just think he will leave you alone?"
"I don't!" She blinked; she didn't want to cry, not now, not in front of him. "I don't know what he is going to do, but I can't do this now…I can't go through this now!"
"Why not? You can't just ignore this."
"Just get out! Leave me alone!"
"No!"
She sagged a little under his grip and finally began to shake. "Please Severus," her voice caught in her throat, "please, I can't do this."
Behind him, Lavender lowered her gaze, she knew that she shouldn't be here to witness this and she was suddenly sure that he loved Hermione as much as she loved him. Lavender felt like shaking him, deciding that it was stupid for them to be apart.
Snape closed his eyes and loosened his fingers a little from around her shoulders. She looked up at him, her heart shaped face with its stubborn chin was solemn beneath the wild array of bushy curls. Her eyes were wide, the darkest chocolate brown and he saw in their depths an imploring fear that beckoned to something unidentified in him. Had he known himself a little better he would have known that he was the kind of man who would die for someone he loved. He wanted to hold her, comfort her, discover what was plaguing her. But his reasoning told him that to do so would be taking advantage of their attraction. To do so would be taking the foolish, weak willed, soft hearted option that he so longed to take.
"What happened?" He asked softly, "did you forget?"
She blushed and shook her head, but she bowed her head and once again blinked back tears. She couldn't look at him and lie; he was too good at that game.
"Then why? I would have taken you, you only had to ask." He frowned; she shouldn't have needed to ask him, he should have just taken her. He stroked her hair back, allowing his fingers to linger in her curls.
"You made it clear," she said and her body stiffened, "the last time we spoke. You made it clear that you wanted nothing to do with me. I couldn't ask you anything, because every time I went to you, you sent me away."
He wondered if he had made her so hard, or had she always been hard and he'd only just noticed it. He touched his lips to her hair, allowing himself to be weak for a moment. Allowing himself to forget about Lavender Brown who was watching. Allowing himself to drown in Hermione, in her soft hair, in the scent of wild roses that surrounded her and seemed part of her skin. The scent was the same as the roses that climbed the walls of the Fenn in the spring and whose petals he had placed so lovingly in the perfume he had made for her at Christmas. Suddenly he wanted to be there with her, at the Fenn, in the sun. He wanted to show her the secret places that had made the darkness of his childhood bearable.
Her eyes were closed when she turned her face up to his; "kiss me," she whispered, his touch relaxing her, making her ache, but she still couldn't look at him.
He wanted to see her eyes, he lifted her chin. "Look at me."
Her lids slowly lifted and those eyes, so expressive and full of uncertainty and longing were revealed to him.
Snape read the overlying vulnerability in her gaze and knew he had to contain his baser impulses. He wanted to take her home with him. He wanted to make the Fenn his home – their home. He wanted to give her everything and more.
But he couldn't, not with Krum still a shadow over them, not with Krum still able to hurt her.
He pressed his finger tips against her midriff and gently propelled her backwards, ignoring her murmured sound of despair.
"Don't worry about Krum," he said abruptly, coming back to himself, "I'll take care of it."
"Severus…"
He turned on his heel, catching Lavender's eye for a moment he nodded curttly before sweeping out of the room.
He always seemed to be doing that, leaving her. His frustration was acute. He might have battered down her door to get back in to her if he hadn't been so accustomed to suppressing his feelings. He walked away instead, tight and controlled, but painfully aware that he could not hold this attraction inside forever.
*******
"I already know why you're here," Hermione said as she opened the door to Harry, "Severus has already been to tell me how stupid I am."
"He didn't say you were stupid," Lavender interjected rationally, "actually he was really nice to you and if you ask me my opinion he was worried about you."
Hermione glared at her. "Well since no one is asking for your opinion you may as well keep it to yourself."
Lavender shrugged, unoffended at Hermione's tone. She figured she'd had worse this week. Since finding out she was pregnant Hermione's mood swings had become something Lavender realized she would be living with until they managed to abort the foetus.
Harry closed the door behind him and smiled grimly. "Well, I guess you're going to hate me because I'll probably ask all the same questions that he did."
Hermione sat on her bed insolently. "I don't know what to tell you."
"The truth might be a good start. What were you thinking? Why didn't you go to that trial?"
"You really want the truth?" Hermione sounded as though she was accusing him of something rather than defending her actions, "well the truth is simple, Harry, I forgot. There, happy now? I forgot about the fucking trial. I fucked up. Does that make you feel better?"
Harry stared at her incredulously. "You forgot?" "YES, I FORGOT. I'M NOT PERFECT! I HAVE OTHER THINGS TO WORRY ABOUT AND I FORGOT!"
Harry stepped back swiftly. "What are you yelling at me for?"
"I'm sick of it! I'm sick of everyone thinking that I can't have any bloody flaws, like I can't make a mistake…"
"It's one hell of a mistake to make Hermione, I mean, you forgot?"
"Yes Harry, I forgot, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shatter any illusions you may have had about me."
Harry looked to Lavender who shook her head as though to tell him that she'd tried to reason but had no luck. "If you would just calm down and listen to me you'd know that I'm not angry at you and I'm not accusing you of anything. I never had any illusions – or if I did they were shattered long ago. I just don't understand, I need you to help me understand how you forgot about it. What else could be more important than that?"
"Things have changed Harry. Things get put into a different perspective when there is so much more to contemplate."
"But Krum tried to rape you, and then he tried to kill you, Hermione!"
"And now he's gone! Viktor isn't a fool, Harry. He won't come back looking for me."
"And you're a fool if you think that's true!"
Hermione knew Harry was right but she didn't want to think about it, she couldn't or she would end up a screaming, dribbling nutter. "I don't know what to say Harry, I can't explain it to you any more than I can't explain to myself."
"Is it this thing with Snape? Has he got you so all consumed that you can't think straight?" Harry could scarce believe that. Could Snape be such brilliant company, could he be such a fantastic lover that losing him had blinded her to all else?
"This has nothing to do with Severus," Hermione snapped. It wasn't entirely true; the baby was his. And now that she had seen him again the idea of ridding herself of the child seemed absurd, bringing the nagging doubts that plagued her to the surface.
"Then tell me why. Were you afraid to go alone? I would have gone with you, Lavender would have gone, hell if you'd asked him, Draco probably would have gone with you!"
"No Harry, it's nothing like that. What I told you is true, I just forgot about it. Pathetic as it sounds."
Harry finally fell silent. He too had forgotten, so all consumed in his own problems that he had not a thought for her. But what of her other friends? What about Lavender, she knew about the trial and she had said nothing, Snape had not remembered, neither had McGonagall or Draco – although he may have, Harry didn't know where his loyalty was at the moment. How could all of them forgotten? The Wizarding world had been strangely silent on the subject. The Daily Prophet, who thrived on gossip, had reported nothing about the former Seeker's fall from grace, and save for the initial letter, Hermione had received nothing that Harry knew of. No reminders, no reassurances, nothing.
Why had the Ministry not said more?
"They wanted to cover it up," Harry muttered aloud.
"What?" Lavender looked at Harry. "Who wanted to cover it up?"
"The Ministry," Harry replied, convinced he was right. "That's the only way this could have happened. There must have been a charm on the letter…something…because one person forgetting I can understand, but all of us?"
"Why would the Ministry want to cover it up?" Hermione reasoned, coming to herself a little now that there was another theory – other than her own stupidity – being put forward. "What would the Ministry owe Krum? Why would they help him?"
"I don't know…" Harry frowned, "but Fudge has always hated us, and maybe this was his last ditch effort at hurting us."
"But he's the Minister of Magic!"
"Not for much longer, and he knows it and he has always blamed me. He knows the best way to hurt me is through my friends."
"That's a pretty scandalous theory," Lavender suggested.
"But it's still a reasonable theory, Lavender." Harry concluded, "I wouldn't put anything past Fudge – or Krum."
Hermione closed her eyes and lay back on the bed; "Do you remember what it was like when we first got here? I was so excited, because I was going to school to learn how to use magic. I thought I was so special. None of my friends from home would be doing that. They would all be going on to a normal Muggle school and I was going to a special place. Then I met you and you were so special…the most special of all the Wizards. It seemed that for so many people time had stood still while they waited for you to reach an age that you could be brought back into our world – and I was one of the privileged ones who got to be your friend. One of your best friends. I never felt good enough. I always thought I had to prove myself worthy."
Harry looked at her as though she was mad. "But why, Hermione? I was nothing special. You only had to know me for two minutes to work that out…and I'm pretty thick when you think about it. If it wasn't for you and Ron I would never had gotten through half the shit I got myself into."
"That's not true, Harry, you're smarter than you think. I was always good with books. If it could be learned I could do it, but I have no instinct. I always thought I was so clever…I thought we were so clever. We spent the entire of our school lives trying to foil plot after plot, looking for adventures and getting into trouble. We planned to fight Voldemort. We did and we won. The world was going to love us and thank us and all would be well for the rest of our lives. But there was a huge flaw in that plan. We spent so long fighting and planning that we forgot to learn how to live for the rest of our lives…and lets face it, the three of us have made a huge mess of things so far."
"No…" Harry faltered, "That's not true…we…"
"Look at us Harry. Ron is in the hospital and it looks as though he is going to be taking some kind of drug for a very long time, he screwed his sister-in-law; who got him addicted to drugs, alienated all his friends and you found him in a pool of his own blood the day after Valentine's Day. Then there's you. You hide your sexuality even from yourself and then when it does surface you go for someone you had always considered your enemy and you get him, that's the amazing thing, you actually get him and he falls for you, hard and then – just after you have managed to deconstruct him to the point where he is helpless without you – you dump him!"
"There is a reason for that, he…"
"I know what he did!" She sat up, frustrated with him, "You told me what he did, you told me a dozen times, but it doesn't matter what he did!"
"Yes it does," Harry insisted, "it matters!"
"But Harry that's what you can't see. The world isn't black and white, you have never been able to see that. Yes, he did the wrong thing, but you refuse to look past what he did and ask why he did it."
"He said she had information…" Harry stopped and snorted impatiently. Hermione and Ron seemed to be on the same rant, neither of them appreciated his position. "It doesn't matter. I don't want to talk about Draco right now."
"Of course you don't, because if you did you would be forced to admit that there were shades of grey in the world. The war didn't end and leave us all in this wonderful world. The war ended and we had to learn the basics of living and we screwed it up - badly."
"We're eighteen Hermione, we are supposed to screw it up! We have time to screw it up!"
"I don't!" she cried, "I don't have time to continually screw my life up, I have to sort my life out now!"
"It'll be alright Hermione, we'll take care of Krum…"
"Oh screw Viktor, I'm not talking about Viktor!"
"Then what?" Harry stared at her, confused beyond belief now. "Why are you in such a rush to grow up?"
"Because I have to be a grown up so that my child has someone responsible in its life!"
"What?"
Hermione but down hard on her lip and looked away from him. She couldn't believe she'd just blurted it out like that, without thinking. 'She Who Thought Over Everything' had just done the very same thing she always accused Harry of doing.
"Child? What child?" Harry looked to Lavender who was looking as though she wanted to slip out the door. "What child? Do you know anything about this, Lavender?"
"I…" Lavender desperately tried to communicate something unsaid to Hermione and gave Harry a helpless shrug.
"What's going on?"
"I'm pregnant, Harry," Hermione said quietly. "So as you can see, I have to get myself together now, and I really don't have time to screw things up."
Lavender was looking confused now, "but what about the potion? You said you wanted to get rid of it."
Harry's eyes widened. "You're going to abort it?"
Hermione felt her cheeks burn, "I…" she smiled at Lavender in an attempt at reassurance, "you were right Lav, I don't want to get rid of it, I just don't think it's in me to do it."
For some reason both Harry and Lavender felt relieved, but with relief came a dozen more questions.
"Does he know?" Harry asked.
"No, he doesn't need to," Hermione answered, her voice hardening with her resolve.
"But why not?" Harry reasoned, "It's his child after all, and he could help you."
"Help me how? Demand that I get rid of it? Or do you think he'll hear that I'm pregnant and come rushing back to me, to stay with me because of his sense of duty until he learned to hate us?"
"You don't know that he'd do that. Actually, I was thinking that he could help you financially."
Hermione nodded, Harry was right. She could hardly expect Harry to support her. "I guess I'll have to move in with my parents."
"Why? I thought you were going to live with Ron and I."
"I didn't think you'd want me to…not now…"
"I'd rather you live with us and be able to raise the child as a Wizard than be stuck in the Muggle world, and besides," Harry gave a wry smile, "I'd get to be cool Uncle Harry."
"So you and Ron and I, together again," she smiled and chuckled softly. "I wonder if we'll be happy, or will we all turn out to be morbid bastards."
"I'm sure we'll be happy."
Hermione knew she shouldn't ask it, but she couldn't stop herself; "and what about Draco?"
Harry tensed, "Draco will go back to his Manor."
"And then what? Do you think he'll stay there and mourn for you?"
"No, he'll get on with his life; that's the way it should be."
"And how will you feel? How will you feel when the Daily Prophet reports that he's met a girl, that he's getting married, or reports when his children are born? Will you be happy then?"
Harry blinked and turned towards the door. "It's late," he murmured, "I need to get some sleep."
"You didn't answer my question."
"There is no answer," Harry said quietly, "I'll deal with it when it happens, that's all I can say." He made for the door to leave, and this time Hermione didn't stop him.
After seeing Hermione, the first impulse in Snape's brain was to find Krum. Regardless of his promise to Dumbledore he wanted to seek Krum out and take care of him once and for all. Yet another part of him knew that he could not go back on his word, and his place was at school, where Hermione was safe. He could not leave her alone and unprotected, and he had no idea what kind of resources Krum had at his disposal, or just how cunning he could get. He had always considered the Bulgarian to be stupid, but in Snape's experience, even the most stupid of people could be cunning when they wanted revenge.
And Snape had known men like Krum his entire life. He would want revenge.
So without the ability to go after the man, Snape's only option was to protect the castle itself. Not that Hogwarts needed protecting as such. It's wards just needed refining against a single person. And so at three-thirty in the morning, working in the pouring rain, Snape was finishing the casting of a protective circle that encompassed the entire castle grounds. He had been working on the circle for hours, not really noticing the rain as he continued in his progress, laying the sigils and burying a multitude of talisman until there was no part of the circle left unprotected.
If Krum so much as set foot on castle grounds Snape would know about it. Each of the talismans contained a variation of the Proteus Charm. If Krum passed over the circle the charm would trigger instantly. Snape's first instinct was to attach the charm to a pendant around his neck, and allow him something that would heat and throb, alerting him no matter the time. But pendants failed and he may not notice it, so he took a leaf from the Dark Lord's book and burned the charm into the flesh of his inner arm.
He finished burying the last Talisman and began the incantation to invoke the protective charm.
"Ninok, matesh vey nok ta velina to nok." He sighed. He hated incantations. It struck him as ridiculous that the death curse, with sheer will and malice behind it should be two simple words and reasonably easy to perform, but a protection charm was a notoriously difficult incantation in a language he considered close to gibberish.
He touched the earth with the tip of his wand and muttered the Proteus charm and the flesh of his inner arm seared hot for a moment and faded. The burn was a miniature map, crude and rudimentary but a reasonable representation of the Hogwarts grounds. If Krum crossed the circle it would burn red in the area he crossed.
Snape touched the earth again, just to make sure it was working and the flesh burned hot again. He swayed for a moment, registering for the first time that it was raining hard, and that he was soaking wet and cold.
She had seemed so vulnerable tonight. After the temper and bravado had faded he had been able to see her for as fragile as she was. She had been scared. He was certain that she had forgotten the Wizengamot but he could not comprehend how that was possible. Krum had almost raped and killed her. How could she have forgotten something as monumental as that? But then, he had been so preoccupied himself that he had forgotten the trial as well – and that was unforgivable.
Somehow, he always seemed infinitely capable of failing those he loved.
And then tonight, when he had to be strong, when holding on to every shred of decorum he possessed would ensure that she knew she'd be safe, he'd almost folded completely. She had just washed her hair. It was frizzing and smelled like roses. He loved it that way.
The feeling returned. The one where he wanted to take her away, take her home to the Fenn and live happily ever after. For a moment he let the fantasy unfold. He didn't have to live at the school. Many of the Professors' had husbands or wives, they lived elsewhere and had lives of their own. He could do that. He could be something other than Snape, Potions Master and Head of Slytherin.
He shook his head and disposed of the fantasy residing there. She was young and had a lifetime ahead of her. No matter what her desire was now, there was no guarantee it would last. She would tire of him and his endless moods and she would leave; or she could be like his mother and stay. She'd learn to hate him after a while. It would be better to stay in the shadows of her existence and keep her safe so that she could enjoy her life.
He looked back at the castle wall and decided to do another circle, just for good measure.
Harry sank down onto his bed and let his head fall into his hands. Hermione was right, they really had managed to screw up. He wondered if she would sleep or would she lie awake worrying about Krum or her unborn child?
Snape's child, created from his seed. Harry wondered just what could be inherited. Would the child be unfortunate enough to be burdened with Snape's looks, skin or hair? Could temperament be inherited, or could Harry Ron and Hermione create a happy enough home to banish Snape's severity from the child altogether? Harry did not know what had made Snape the man he was. Had it been the result of cruel parents or relentless teasing at school (most it by James Potter and Sirius Black), or was his sourness and anger something deeper, some kind of flaw in the Snape family gene pool that caused him to be the way he was?
They were all ill prepared to raise a child, and they could scarcely cope with their own lives let alone take charge of another. And so many problems still hung over their heads; Viktor Krum for one. What would he do if he found out she had a child? Would he see in the child another way to hurt her?
Harry lifted his head. He had to deal with Krum before the baby came, before Hermione had time to really think about it and worry. He opened his bedside draw and rummaged through it until he found the folded tatty old Marauders Map. He hadn't used it for a long time, not since October. It was more something of sentimental value now rather than something he used. He barely had a chance to look at it. Now that the war was over he had no reason to look for people or sneak here and there.
He could use it now however and he pulled it out of the draw and opened it up. He knew a charm he could use. Something to detect Krum.
As he opened it a picture fell into his lap. Harry smiled at it, knowing that it was Draco. Taken at Christmas, Draco was dressed in his silk pajamas and looking disheveled. Harry had taken it using the camera Draco had given him for Christmas. He remembered the moment well, as they'd just made love and Draco had pulled on the pajamas in a hurry because Harry was trying to get a picture of him naked. Harry could even recall the way he smelled that morning, a mix of clean sweat and sex.
Harry ran his fingers over the surface of the picture and smiled again as Draco smiled back.
Hermione's words came back to haunt him. How would he feel when Draco moved on with his life? How would he handle the idea of Draco getting married or having children or something like that? Could he be happy knowing these things? Could he move on himself? Could he derive pleasure from a body that was not Draco's? Something inside him didn't want to know the answer to those questions. He knew that he had to learn to love someone else, someone more suitable, someone more like him.
But there wasn't anyone else like him. Draco was like him, more than Harry liked to admit. Something deep inside Harry recognized it and told him that Draco was the only one.
Which was really very stupid when he thought about it. How could he be so convinced that it had been love? They'd had sex and decided that they loved each other. It was foolish.
But it was love…it was still love. Harry couldn't explain how it had happened any more than he could explain Hermione's attraction to Snape. It was just something that had happened, something inside them both. And now that something inside him was hurting him.
People broke up every day and they got over it – and thinking that gave Harry cold comfort. He sighed and placed the photograph on the table lovingly, turning his attention back to the map.
Fully opened, the map would almost cover the wall, but to see the entire boundary of the castle the map needed to be opened. The charm he could think of was a simple one, if Krum tried to cross the school boundaries his name would glow bright red. Harry wasn't entirely sure what he could do about the daylight hours, and he could hardly carry the map around and look at it all day. Harry was almost certain that if Krum came near the castle, he would do so in the dead of night. During the day the school was crawling with Professors and students, and far too many of them would do anything they could to help Hermione. At night she was unprotected. While Harry had no doubt that Lavender was a competent Witch, he didn't trust her to be able to defend Hermione if Krum got up there and attacked her – and such an event would probably put Lavender in danger as well.
Harry would watch the map all night if he had to. He could keep Hermione safe and she wouldn't even know about it. During the day Harry could watch her during his classes. He would put aside his differences with Draco and ask him to look after her in those classes that they had together without Harry.
He cast a look to the photograph lying on the table and inextricably felt horny. He bit his lip. Don't even think about it.
What? Just because I dumped him I'm not allowed to wank over him?
Harry couldn't help it. He smiled and lay back, unzipping his trousers as he did so. He wondered if there was any oil in the drawer, because it was always so much better with oil.
*******
Lucius could well remember the moment that he had become aware of himself. He was in Azkaban, in darkness, and feeding on something. He could only think of it as feeding, because eating had a different connotation entirely. Eating was something one did by choice, feeding was a necessity. And he was feeding. Feeding on something that was possibly his cell mate. Feeding his body so that he didn't starve to death. It was a primal urge, something so base that his body simply responded. And in the middle of this primeval feed he had thought; 'so it didn't work, the Dementor won.'
And then he realized that he had thought something independent of simple need. For a moment he mentally rejoiced.
Mentally rejoiced. But not physically. He had not expected that problem. When he had invoked the charm he had expected some ability to help himself. But his body; something he had always taken great pride in, was useless.
The Angel, used to shield his soul, had managed to protect his essence, but his body; it seemed, was out of the Angel's power. The celestial being had fought hard to get out. So hard that Lucius had believed it would tear his fragile body apart, opening him up and leaving behind a shredded husk while it ascended back to its own realm.
But the charm worked well, and the Angel was trapped, destined to protect him and not destroy the fabric of his being. But it reeked merry havoc in its immovable host.
Lucius had come a long way since those early moments. His mind was now ever active and with nothing left to do but think, his mental abilities had become nothing short of amazing. Things that he had once thought impossible and best left to the realm of fantasy now seemed nothing to him. He could communicate mentally, whole conversations with a voice he could impose easily into the head of anyone receptive enough to listen. And he could travel. Travel any distance. The spirit he had worked so hard to protect was able to wander at will, transcending any distance and seeking out those he wished to see again.
But to his frustration he could only speak to those he visited in their dreams, and inevitably they would wake up and forget that he'd been.
Shock or terror seemed to force him to the surface of his bodily prison. He had; on occasion, become himself again, for the briefest of moments. He had learned this lesson the hard way. He had been removed from Azkaban, still confused as to his situation, placed in a box and taken to the Museum for Magical Arts and Antiquities. A man had then removed him from the box, stared at him as though he were made of pure gold, and called him 'his Angel'. He had bathed him, brushed his hair and clothed him lovingly. The sensation had been almost pleasant.
And then the man had raped him so suddenly and so violently that Lucius had torn out a shank of his own hair.
Not that the Curator had noticed.
Now, all of the work he had done on his mind, everything he had learned, was going to end. The Angel was dying. He could feel it inside. Rolling and squirming and aching inside him, and once the Angel died so too would Lucius. He would pass onto whatever came next. He could not stop it. He could tell Non how to break the charm well enough and if it had been a mere trifle for Severus Snape to come and perform a simple ceremony or administer a potion, he would have done it in a second. But it wasn't. He required Draco to be there, and anything that brought Draco to the Museum was out of the question.
He knew his son well. He knew that Draco would do anything to save him and he also knew just how headstrong the boy could be. He would ignore dangers that he really should heed. And so the only answer was to give him nothing; no information, in an attempt to make him believe that it was all for nothing. He stopped talking to Non unless he truly had to. He'd gotten his message to Snape; 'don't save me,' and 'keep Draco away'. Beyond that there was nothing else to say.
Death would come soon enough. Lucius could feel the Angel dying, and it was only a matter of weeks until it was all finished with. Months perhaps, if he was unlucky. It was a strange feeling, knowing he was going to die and not fearing it.
He had once been terrified of dying. As a child his stomach would tie itself into knots at the prospect of death. He had gone to the funeral of an uncle and he remembered his mother listing who she'd want at her funeral. He'd told her that he would want his mother at his – and she had laughed and said, "Silly boy, I'll be dead long before that." He hadn't eaten for a week, so great was his distress. He could simply not fathom not existing, not breathing – not being. He had been taught as part of their religion that his soul would return to the Summer lands after death and prepare itself for its next incarnation. But he could not remember a previous existence and if he could not remember a previous existence, what guarantee did he have that he would remember this one? So, it stood to reason that if he could not remember this one then he would lose that undeniable sense of self, and without that sense of self, what use was reincarnation? And what if he came back as a 'Muggle'?
But now he knew. There were worse fates than death, and at that moment he was living one of them.
Archibald Semeuse. If a more fitting punishment had been available Lucius could not think of it. Here, embodied in the form of this man, was a torture befitting Lord Voldemort himself – except that Voldemort was not that sick – and that was saying something. And the Ministry, who thought delivering him to the Dementors' was the worst they could do, had unwittingly served him up to the most frightening man Lucius could ever conceive of.
Archibald Semeuse. Who would ever admit to having spawned such a man?
It was a measure of just how long he had been this mans puppet by the fact that his body no longer resisted Semeuse. The Angel lay dormant, not trying to push the old man away and displeasing him beyond measure. Semeuse liked the resistance, because he liked to know that he was causing pain. Lucius had trained himself to hold on, to move heavy limbs and make appropriate noises until Semeuse came to orgasm and pulled out of the passive body beneath him.
It was not as though Lucius was a stranger to this kind of lovemaking. He'd had male lovers in the past and he had chosen them with more affection that he had selected his mistresses. They would kiss, work each others' body up until the sex was inevitable and then when it happened, it was always wonderful. He had no preference for top or bottom. He'd done both. Severus had a problem with being underneath him, which had surprised him at the time, but the greatest surprise with that evening was that Severus took control with remarkable ease – so much for the kid he'd picked on.
But fucking Severus was neither here or there. Archibald Semeuse was a different matter entirely. Semeuse had no interest in foreplay, either that or he'd never heard of it which was possibly more frightening. Semeuse seemed to enjoy tearing into an unwilling body, and he obviously enjoyed making him bleed. He liked to hear him cry. He liked to cause as much pain and terror as he possibly could.
Far more than the sex, Lucius hated what came after. He hated the way Semeuse touched him gently, kissed him and whispered loving words to him as though they were meant to be. He hated the way Semeuse refused to use magic to clean him, instead using his hands to wipe away the come and shit and whatever else deemed fit to run out of him. He hated how Semeuse would pull him close and sleep beside him – like a lover.
Lucius had never spent the entire night with anyone other than Narcissa. Occasionally – very occasionally – there would be a third in their bed, but he could only sleep beside her. With Semeuse there, Lucius found that he would dream that he was at home and that the person beside him was his wife. And the travesty was all the worse when he woke to find himself curled snuggly into the Curator's arms.
It was no wonder that he no longer feared death. Even if nothing came after, anything was better than this.
But for as much as he did not fear the hereafter there was one thing that terrified him beyond measure. When he died (and it would be soon) would Semeuse seek to replace him? So far he had managed to keep Semeuse in his thrall and despite the occasional comment he had kept the Curator's gaze from Draco. But if he was dead, would Semeuse automatically seek Draco out?
And now that Potter had abandoned his son, Lucius could feel his fear growing steadily stronger. Draco was his own worst enemy, leaving the castle night after night to drink himself into oblivion, thus leaving himself vulnerable.
"He needs something to keep him there," Lucius had reasoned and so he'd had Non place a guarantee in Draco's path. Lucius had found the kitten in a drainpipe not far from the Museum. He'd sent Non across the rooftops to retrieve the animal and then had him 'borrow' the Curator's wand to place a charm Lucius taught him on the scruffy looking thing. Once charmed the kitten was positively irresistible.
And more importantly it would beg for care. Lucius doubted that Draco would leave the castle at night ever again.
"Are you still with me, Lucius?"
Lucius came back from his mental wanderings and focused on the Curator.
"Where did you go to my Angel?"
"Nowhere, I'm just a little tired." It was a lie, but he forced the feeling of a smile into the Curator's heart, and he was getting very good at it.
"You're so beautiful my Angel, so beautiful. You'll be able to sleep soon."
Somewhere inside him, apart the Curator's abuse, he felt a pain shoot through him. The Angel was not going to go quietly.
*******
Continued…
