Tw: alcohol misuse, mentions of suicide, homophobia, threat

[25th December]

Remus stands in his classroom. He pours himself a glass, then another, then another until he finds it more convenient to start drinking directly out of the bottle.

He sits on the floor, leaning against the back of his desk, and cries. He doesn't stop crying, the only thing to soothe the sharp pain is another sip, another glass, another bottle. In reality, it doesn't soothe anything. Nothing does.

The blinds are half-closed, setting a grey shadow over the room. Christmas decorations lie scattered and smashed up around the room from a fit of rage earlier in the day. Students' chattering gets further away as everyone makes their way down to the hall for Christmas dinner. Everyone apart from Remus. He stays in his classroom, hoping the next drink will be enough to ease the burning consciousness of knowing he will never be able to spend another Christmas day with the only person he ever truly loved.

Snape finds himself not one bit amused by the festivities in the Great Hall. Most of the students and staff have gone home for Christmas. The place feels cheap and empty. He shows his face for the main meal, not that anyone noticed or cared, then stalks off five minutes later.

He could sit in his room like a social recluse as he has done for the last nine Christmases, but he noticed that Remus wasn't at the dinner table despite knowing he's staying at Hogwarts for the holidays.

Snape knocks on Remus' classroom door after getting no response from his bedroom. He goes in a moment later. To his surprise, he sees Remus sitting on the floor in the middle of the room, leaning against a desk with a collection of half-empty glasses and bottles of some variation of alcohol surrounding him.

"Remus?" he says, closing the door quickly behind him. Remus sits in the shadows, the dim light trickling through the window barely enough to illuminate his face.

"Merry fucking Christmas," Remus says, slurring his words as he raises the bottle to his lips again.

"Christ," Snape mutters, going over to him. "Are you all right?"

"No, I'm not fucking all right," shouts Remus, kicking one of the empty glasses to the side. It smashes into a chair leg and shatters. "I want to fucking die. There's no point to any of this. I'm spending Christmas alone drinking in my fucking classroom, Severus, do I look all right to you?"

"Okay, come on, Remus, you've had enough to drink," says Snape, bending down to remove the glasses from around him. Remus pays him next to no attention, still clutching the bottle in his hand tightly.

"I am so sick of this, why did you die?" Remus says, apparently to no one, his voice hoarse and tears brimming in his eyes. "Why did you fucking leave me here you fucking bastard? Why did you leave me here? Do you know how fucking important you are to me? I fucking love you and you left me like you always fucking do. Come back here right now. Come back."

Remus starts sobbing into his hands. "This is your sick fucked up version of a prank, isn't it? A stupid bloody prank, that's the only thing you were good for. Is this you getting back at me because I didn't believe you? Are you sitting in Hell watching me right now with a fucking smile on your face? I hate you, I hate you so much. You always were fucking selfish well look at me now, I hope you're fucking happy. I hope you got what you fucking wanted you bloody cunt, I hate you, I hate you so much."

Snape looks at him helplessly. He sits down next to Remus and puts his arm around him. No number of comforting words could console him, so Snape sits there in silence.

"You don't understand, you don't understand what I'd give right now for someone to call me Moony again, you really don't," Remus cries hoarsely. "I haven't heard that name for fifteen fucking years because they're all dead, Severus. They're all fucking dead." Remus holds his chest, terrified another second of this will tear his heart in two. "Come back Pads, I need you," he sobs, repeating it over and over until he's hiccupping and red in the face and the sobs ease due to exhaustion.

Snape doesn't move. He gently takes the bottle out of Remus' hands and sits with him.

Remus ends up slumped onto Snape's shoulder half-asleep ten minutes later. Snape nudges his head off him and against the table. He gets up and collects the rest of the glasses, putting them on one of the desks near the door, and picks up the broken shards of glass.

"Remus, come on, up you get," he says, hauling Remus up. "Time to lie down."

"I don't want to lie down," he says, staggering forward guided by Snape's arm. "I don't fucking want to. You know what I want to do, Sirius? I mean, Severus. Fuck, not Sirius. Sirius is dead the fucking bastard, the selfish cunt. I want to fucking kill myself that's what I want to do. You know it's the first Christmas that I'm seeing that he isn't? And you know he's dead? Last year was his last Christmas, but guess what? I'm still fucking here and I don't want to be here without him because what's the bloody point. It's not fucking worth it."

Snape pats his back and continues walking Remus to his bedroom, half-listening to his stream of angry words.

On entry, Snape sees the state it's been left in. There are even more glasses and empty bottles here than in the classroom, the blinds are drawn, there's clothes and books scattered everywhere, and there's barely enough floor space for Snape to walk on to pull Remus into his bed.

"Give me another drink," Remus says, lurching to the bed. "I need a drink."

"No, you've had enough," says Snape. "Have a nap, you need to sleep it off before you give yourself alcohol poisoning, for goodness sake."

Remus makes a variation of disgruntled noises, then sinks into his bed and under the covers. He's asleep within the minute.

Snape looks around the cluttered, dingy room helplessly. He should've known Remus' discussion with him two weeks ago was just the tip of a deep, painful iceberg.

He fills up one of the glasses with water from the small ensuite and places it on the bedside table. Unsure of whether to stay or go, or to tidy the place up or leave it, Snape ends up heading back to his room. Remus probably wouldn't want him interfering. Before he goes, he picks up the array of Christmas cards lying haphazardly on the floor and props them back up on the mantlepiece.

At Malfoy Manor, Lucius, Draco, and Narcissa sit at the dinner table in the main hall. The table itself is far too big for the three Malfoys, who sit at opposite ends and almost out of normal speaking range. None of the staff were excused for Christmas day, as always, and half a dozen stand periodically around the edges of the hall staring straight ahead in silence. The only sound in the room is the sound of bone China cutlery scraping against the ceramic bowls.

Draco digests the perfectly cooked steak and roast potatoes the chefs prepared an hour ago. It tastes fine, but the ambiance ruins it all. The crimson suit chides against his neck, his fingers are going red from the temperature of the unheated room, and the staff look like they'd rather be keel over and die than watch the sorry scene for another minute more.

All he can think about is Ron: playing his Culture Club CD and imagining Ron on the sofa next to him, tucking into Christmas dinner with them, opening presents together, getting tipsy on champagne. Playing chess, eating Christmas cake, wearing matching ugly knitted jumpers, running his hands through their hair, their embarrassed smile as he compliments them.

Ron is having a blast, Draco barely having had the chance to pass through their head from the moment Ginny woke them up at the crack of dawn by bouncing enthusiastically on their bed. Not much else has had a chance to pass through their head though, the constant stream of voices and glare of lights and array of smells grabbing their whole attention.

It plays just out as he described to Draco four days ago: his aunt and her family come over in the early morning, they all exchange presents, they help Arthur and Molly prepare the main meal, then get kicked out of the kitchen for causing chaos.

They tuck into the extensive selection of food on the lunch table, the family bunched onto three tables pushed together. Ron bites into the turkey, the vegetables, the sauces and has some half-hearted attempts at conversation with his brothers sitting next to him which he stops after not being able to hear himself think.

When the Christmas pudding is put on the table, Ron's mind goes straight to Draco sitting with his homemade cake on his bed beside them, grinning at Ron's bad jokes, making outrageous statements to get a laugh out of them, eyeing their lips hungrily. Watching him open his present, kissing him with honeycomb in their mouth, lying in his arms and watching the sunrise.

Knowing they'll be together again once school starts makes Ron the closest to happy they've felt in a long time.

Snape sits alone and watches the sunset from his bedroom window. Another Christmas over. He washes away the feeling with a glass of red wine and gazes at the empty mantlepiece. Not one card or present this year: a new record. Even his distant family seemed to have given up on sending their yearly greetings. It's his own fault, he thinks, setting down the glass and standing up. If he put any effort in maybe someone would give some back.

There's a knock at the door. The sudden sound filling the void of silence makes Snape jump.

Remus is standing at the door, in the same set of clothes and still reeking of alcohol. "I'm so sorry," he says soberly, holding the sides of his head and looking notably more dishevelled than usual.

"Remus," Snape sighs sadly.

"I'm sorry, Severus," he says. "You shouldn't have had to see me in that state, I should've locked my door or something, I just didn't expect anyone would be coming."

Snape doesn't know what to say, so he makes an offer. "Do you want to come in?"

Remus nods, wincing under the bright light in Snape's room as he enters.

"Are you okay?" Snape asks, cautiously watching Remus flop down onto the sofa. His eye bags are defined, and his eyes are red brimmed- it looks as though he's recently been crying.

"No, I feel like dogshit," says Remus, glancing at Snape's half-finished glass of wine. "Pour me a glass, would you?"

"No," says Snape, moving the glass to the draw furthest away away him. "You don't need any more alcohol in your system or you'll work yourself into a state again."

Remus covers his face with his hands out of embarrassment. "I apologise, I really do," he says.

"It's fine."

"It's not fine," Remus says. "Instead of enjoying your Christmas you've had to babysit me and clean up after me and, bloody hell, listen to whatever shite I was spouting, which I've completely forgotten everything I said, by the way."

Snape shrugs. "It was no problem. I didn't have any other plans."

"Thank you," says Remus. "For, you know, helping out. Looking after me. I appreciate it."

Snape nods curtly.

"I guess that makes us friends again, does it?" Remus smiles, eyes half-closed to dim the glaring lights. "It's been long enough."

Snape is lost for words. In no universe did he imagine it would come to this. But instead of shutting him out and turning him away as reflex, Snape finds himself saying, "I suppose it does."

The corners of Remus' mouth turn up. "For the last good ten years, I thought you were a selfish infuriating prick with no one but yourself to think or care about," Remus says. "But when push comes to shove, you're not too bad. Not too bad at all."

"How kind of you to mention it," says Snape sarcastically.

"You can't have been staying in here all day by yourself," says Remus, glancing around the bare room. "It's bloody miserable in here."

"You're full of compliments today, aren't you?" Snape says wryly. "And don't get ahead of yourself, I've seen your room and it's in a much worse state than this. But yes, I've been in here."

"All by yourself?" says Remus.

"What do you think?"

Remus takes a chance to have a proper look at Snape through his crushing hangover. He sees Snape for the first time, and he sees that he is just as lonely as himself. It sends gut-wrenching sorrow through him again, the notion of loneliness reminding him of why he's alone this Christmas and who he's without.

Despite himself, Remus forces a smile before he completely loses it again.

"Merry Christmas, Severus."

Snape sinks into the armchair next to him.

"Merry Christmas."

[Monday 6th January]

Slughorn arrives ten minutes late to the sixth year's first potions lesson back, by which time the entire Slytherin bench has rearranged itself into a more favourable order. Draco sits second to the end, sandwiched between Blaise and Daphne as the class chats loudly amongst themselves, no one particularly concerned by Slughorn's absence.

"Settle down please," Slughorn shouts as he walks in. "Back to your normal seats, please," he calls once he notices the Slytherin bench in disarray. With various giggles and mutterings, they return to their usual seats.

Slughorn sets the work, then sits behind his desk. His eyes flick between Draco and Ron throughout the lesson, watching out for anything, any sideward glance or mocking comment or acknowledgment of the other: anything at all to gauge if his discovery is correct.

He receives absolutely nothing.

Towards the end of the lesson, Slughorn starts considering a rational explanation for the two pairs of footsteps bunched together on the map. Maybe they were meeting to relay information to each other as he initially thought. Or maybe the map itself is wrong? It was created by a bunch of school kids after all. It must've been a mistake, a glitch, an error.

The bell goes and the students start filing out. Ron passes by Draco, brushing into his shoulder. Draco glances up and gives Ron perhaps the smallest, most subtle smile he can allow himself, nothing more than a turning of the corners of his mouth. It goes unnoticed by everyone. Everyone except Horace Slughorn.

"Malfoy, stay behind a moment," calls Slughorn as the class packs up for lunch.

Draco waits at his desk. He's been keeping up with potions lessons so he doubts Slughorn is about to lecture him for falling behind. The last students trickle out of the room, leaving the two alone in the darkening classroom.

Slughorn sets the Marauder's map down on his desk with such vigour that makes Draco wince. He must be in trouble, yet Slughorn has an odd smile on his face.

"What have you been up to, Malfoy?" says Slughorn softly.

Draco glances down at the map. He's never seen it before and has no idea what Slughorn is getting at, but something in his tone makes his stomach twist. He keeps his expression guarded. "What do you mean?"

"Do you know what this map does?"

"No."

"It shows me the movements of any person at any given time in Hogwarts," says Slughorn. He begins pacing. Draco sits up straight in his chair. Wherever this is going, it doesn't give him a good feeling.

"I've seen you," says Slughorn slowly, savouring the moment. "On the map, in the night. With Weasley."

Draco blinks for a split second longer than necessary but keeps his composure perfectly still. He's been prepared for interrogations, he knows how to deal with this.

"You must be mistaken, Professor," says Draco, pushing away the stab of anxiety in his gut. "I've never met with Weasely outside of lessons. We aren't exactly on good terms if you hadn't noticed. If you don't have any further baseless accusations, I'd like to be dismissed. I've got prep to be getting on with."

Slughorn stares into Draco's eyes. He's doing a good job, he'll give him that. Maybe if he didn't know the truth, he'd find Draco half convincing.

Slughorn holds up his hand and Draco doesn't dare move. He watches him turn round and collect a small purple vile out of the glass cupboard behind him. A chance to breathe. Slughorn's accusation does worry him, but the unusual edge to his tone is what frightens him the most.

"Do you know what this is?" Slughorn says, strolling back over to Draco, playing with the vile between his fingers.

"No."

"This is Veritaserum, you learn about it later this year. To put it simply, it's a potion of truth. Two drops of this in your system and the nature of you and Weasely's arrangement will be crystal clear."

He slams the vile down on the desk, making Draco flinch.

"So I suggest you start telling me the truth, Mr. Malfoy."

"You're bluffing," Draco as good as sneers. No amount of false bravado can make the cold shadow of doubt vanish. "That stuff is illegal, only the Ministry has access to it."

"That's interesting," Slughorn says, not allowing his frustration to show at Draco not giving in. "Because I have a whole vile of it right here. Would you like to test it out?"

"This is harassment," Draco says, staring at the vile warily. Slughorn has to bluffing. "You can't force me to drink that."

Slughorn smiles through gritted teeth, sliding the potions towards him, still ultimately unsure whether Draco will break. "I'm not forcing you to do anything, Malfoy. Drink it and see for yourself if I'm bluffing. If you have nothing to hide, this won't be a problem."

Draco picks the vile up, rolling the tiny cylinder through his fingers. How likely is it that Slughorn has an entire potion of Veritaserum lying around in his classroom? Can he risk drinking it to prove a point? He takes off the bung and holds the potion as close to his lips as he dares. It smells of nothing.

Slughorn watches him carefully. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Draco looks up, right into Slughorn's cold eyes. His small smile dissuades him in a heartbeat; he puts down the vile and slides it back.

"I'm not playing your stupid games," he says with conviction. "I have nothing to do with Weasely."

Slughorn picks up the vile. He has one last dig, one last resort which he's been reluctant to use considering Draco could easily just dismiss it. It all depends on his and Ron's relationship. Everything depends on how much Draco cares about them.

"If you won't tell me the truth," says Slughorn intensely, holding up the vile to Draco's eye level. "Then I am going to pour every last drop of this potion down Weasely's throat until he's choking out the truth."

"What?" Draco's stiff exterior crumbles.

Slughorn's eyes light up. He can see he's hit a nerve. Maybe his gamble will pay off after all. "You heard me," he says. "And don't think that Weasely will hold up like you have. Five minutes in a room with him and I could crush him. He'd be on the floor begging me to stop, not that he'd have the mindpower to resist. I could make his life a living hell until he tells me exactly what I want to hear."

"No," Draco says, his face shifting to helpless pleading. "No, don't go near him. Stay away from him."

"What's it worth to you?" Slughorn says, gazing around the room airly. "I thought you 'never met with Weasely outside of lessons' and you 'weren't on good terms'. Or did I misinterpret that? We Slytherins must stick together, you know. It would be advantageous to us both if Weasely had a nasty accident sometime soon, come to think of it."

"Are you threatening to kill him?" Draco chokes out.

"Of course not," says Slughorn, but his icy smile relays a different message. "You must've misunderstood me, Malfoy. I won't lay a hand on that boy. As long as he's good."

"Don't you dare go anywhere near him," Draco says. His voice wobbles with uncontrollable anger. "He's done nothing wrong, he doesn't- you can't do that."

"Say please." Slughorn is aware that he's pushing it, but wants to see how deep this runs, how far he can go.

"Please," Draco says without hesitation.

"I see," says Slughorn slowly. All his expectations are shattered. To have a Malfoy practically begging him in his own classroom is not something he ever imagined to see, not in a million years.

"Assuming you will co-operate now, I have a few questions," says Slughorn.

"Fine," Draco says, blinking away tears. He doesn't think he's ever been humiliated like this before in his life.

"Explain to me the nature of the relationship between you and Mr. Weasely."

Draco hesitates, collecting himself again, regretting admitting anything. Would Slughorn call his bluff and hurt Ron? Would he really risk it?

"I'll start with a simpler question," Slughorn says after a drawn-out minute of silence. "Why have you and Mr. Weasely been meeting in the night?"

Draco knows this tactic, he's seen it performed before. The goal being to make the interrogator seem more reasonable, but Slughorn seems anything but reasonable right now. He looks down to the wooden floor in bitter shame. "Why do you think?" he mumbles.

"What was that?" Slughorn says.

Draco wishes the ground would swallow him up. It was awful enough to have Snape know, but nothing compared to the embarrassment of having to explain it aloud.

"I'm waiting," Slughorn says, his voice jingling with self-satisfaction.

"I said 'why do you think'?" Draco says much louder.

"I don't know, Draco, that's why I'm asking you," he smiles. "What reason you could have for repeatedly meeting with a Gryffindor boy in the middle of the night escapes me."

"We're in a relationship, ok?" Draco says vehemently. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Slughorn's lip practically curls in disgust at the words finally hanging in the air. "Well I never," he says. "Did you know that that's illegal? You're both underage."

"Yeah, thanks, I know that," Draco snaps. "The law means shit, if I were a girl it would be fine."

"You're not though. You're a faggot and you're fucked in the head."

The sudden hostility in his voice makes Draco snap his head back.

"Great," he mutters sarcastically, looking to the ceiling to stop hot tears from falling. It seems that Slughorn has no intention of putting this to one side as Snape did, that much is evident from the excessive loathing dripping from each word.

Slughorn resumes the point of this conversation, which was to work this to his advantage, not to chide Draco on the legality of the situation.

"Professionally, I am obliged to report this, no doubt leading to your imprisonment or at the very least suspension from Hogwarts," he says neutrally. "And I doubt your father would be sympathetic towards the situation."

"Don't talk about my father," Draco says through gritted teeth.

"Oh dear, a sore subject?" Slughorn pouts.

Draco stares back, his hope for a redeemable situation demolished. Slughorn could ruin his life. And at the same time, something in his tone, something in the way he's gone about this whole thing, hints that it won't be that simple.

"Will you promise to leave Ron alone?" Draco says, disgusted at the words coming out of his mouth. Bargaining with the enemy, letting emotion override logic- he's weak. If his father could see him now, he dreads to think of it.

Slughorn decides to play it off as nothing, a smile between spite and content playing on his lips. "Scared I'm going to ruin your precious little boyfriend's life?"

"I wouldn't be with him if I didn't care about him, would I?" Draco says, regretting the words the second they leave his mouth. He's freely giving Slughorn leverage at this point.

"Don't pretend you're doing it for anything other than the sex," Slughorn laughs scornfully. "I know what you're like. You're pure filth, the lot of you."

The words hit Draco where it hurts, but he bites his tongue. He can't afford to play into his mind games.

"Do you promise to leave him alone?" he says.

"Yes, Draco, I promise," Slughorn smiles sweetly. Draco glares at him making a mockery of the situation.

"Off you go," says Slughorn. "You've got prep to be getting on with."

Although Draco would rather be anywhere else right now, he hesitates before leaving. "Aren't you going to report us?"

"Why would I do that?" says Slughorn, with cruel sincerity. "I'm not done with you."

Draco's eyebrows knit together in confused fear. He's never seen Slughorn like this before: erratic, sarcastic, manipulative.

"Oh, and Draco?" Slughorn calls as he starts walking out of the classroom.

Draco looks over his shoulder to see Slughorn remove the bung from the purple vile and swallow the mouthful of the potion in one gulp.

"You were right," he comments offhandedly as if he didn't just use it as a tool to force Draco to his mercy. "It's just water."

Draco stares at his infuriatingly smug expression and the harmless vile for a crushingly long moment, his heart sinking to the floor. All of this could have been avoided. How could he have been so stupid as to back down?

"Fuck you." The words echo emptily around the classroom. He turns and walks out of the room, the weight of it all pressing down on his chest like a tonne of bricks.

Draco strides up to the Slytherin Common room, his jaw set in his usual firm glare as if his potions professor didn't just extract his biggest secret from him. He stands by his decision- he can't risk getting Ron involved, not with someone who seems to be verging on insane.

Something is off, but Draco can't put his finger on it. Somehow, Slughorn's threats seemed empty. He's spent his entire life surrounded by evil: villains who only want to cause pain and suffering, carefully orchestrated plans of mass destruction, people who laugh in the face of death.

It wouldn't be an unfair assumption to say that Draco can spot evil a mile off. And Slughorn? Slughorn isn't like any of them. Draco hopes he's not leading himself into a false sense of security, but he's certain he can get Slughorn off his back with a few threats of getting his parents involved and enough conviction.

As Draco meets up with Ron the following night, he self-consciously imagines Slughorn sitting at his desk with the so-called 'Marauder's map' open, staring at the two pairs of footsteps next to each other. It doesn't stop him, though.

He refuses to be intimidated by his potions professor.

Professor Slughorn doesn't scare him.