[Friday 6th July]

The last rays of the sun are sinking below the turrets of Hogwarts when Slughorn, Draco, and Snape arrive at the school the following day. Slughorn separates himself from the two before entering the grounds; the implication of being spotted around Snape and Draco would be beyond detrimental.

"Are you going to head up to your room?" Snape asks once they're inside.

"Yes," says Draco.

"Okay, well I'll either be in my classroom or my room if you need me for anything."

"All right. Thank you."

Snape nods. "Have a nice weekend."

"You too."

They go their separate ways.

Snape doesn't move from his bedroom or the deserted second-floor staff room for the entirety of the weekend. He eats whatever leftover snacks he can find in the bare cupboards and buries himself in book after book. After the first night, he gives up trekking across the school at bedtime and sleeps on the staff room sofas.

Snape is used to being hated, in fact he's lived through varying levels of resentment for most of his life. This time should be no different, so he sits on the sofa wondering why this is the most miserable he's felt in a long time.

It would be easy, perhaps even lazy, to pin it on Dumbledore's death, or rather Dumbledore's murder, because no matter how bad Snape thinks he should be feeling, he doesn't regret sending him off the Astronomy tower and to his death. He can't say he even feels bad about it.

Dumbledore's death brought, at most, superficial sadness to Snape. The real reason for his unrest lies much, much deeper. Snape listens to his stomach tirelessly grumble and sits in the dark trying to figure out what this 'real' reason could be.

It could be Slughorn and his mission to make Snape hate him as much as humanely possible by performatively being the most infuriatingly charismatic person he knows.

Maybe it's the helpless feeling he gets whenever he meets Draco's sunken eyes, his subtle flinches around Slughorn, knowing he's done nothing at all to help him.

Or maybe he's just never recovered from his time as a student at Hogwarts. His footsteps tracing over the places where his personality was erased into nothing more than a bitter outsider can't be doing him any good.

"I need a drink," he mutters, pretending for a split second that he is Remus Lupin. How selfishly jealous he gets sometimes, a flash of devastating envy that the person Remus fell in love with actually loved him back. The resenting grudge that they got to spend years and years together while Snape was left watching, his mother's engagement ring she gave to him to propose with rusting in his wardrobe.

Snape scrabbles around in the dark for the bottle of wine he saw several hours ago, unsuccessfully, and slumps back on the sofa in defeat. When he closes his eyes it's almost like he can see the auburn-haired girl running past him and into the arms of his tormentor.

He's found his reason.

Snape sits on the sofa tucked under a pile of blankets as Sunday draws to a close. He hasn't moved for four hours and the last words he uttered were the 'have a nice weekend' to Draco. His greasy hair clings in threads to his scalp, without a shower for days, and his clothes are crumpled and unwashed.

Suddenly, the door creaks open. Snape turns to see Remus standing at the door. They regard each other for a few tense seconds, and Snape thinks he's about to start shouting all sorts at him. It certainly looks like he wants to.

But Remus just gives Snape the once over, and says, "you look like shit."

"Good evening to you too."

He walks in, scanning around the room. The only light comes from a flickering old lamp on the table next to Snape, food wrappers lying around haphazardly. Searching for Snape wasn't hard: he hides away in one of three places, the unused second-floor staff room being one.

"You killed Albus," Remus states, sitting down on the sofa opposite him.

"I know," says Snape.

"I didn't think you had it in you," he says, his voice remaining level. "I mean what the bloody hell were you thinking?"

"Would you spare a moment to listen to my perspective?" Snape asks. "Please."

Every person in the school could hate him, he doesn't care. Everyone except Remus. He wants him to understand.

Remus crosses his arms. "Go on then."

"Firstly, it doesn't make a difference to Albus if it was me who killed him," says Snape. "There were a dozen Death Eaters up there with me, one of them was going to kill him regardless of if I got there first. Secondly, if you didn't know, Draco was tasked with killing Albus. The poor boy was standing up on that tower pointing his wand at his headteacher knowing if he doesn't kill him, Voldemort would kill him and his family."

"You're trying to appeal to my soft side, aren't you?" Remus says tightly.

"No, I'm trying to get you to understand why I did what I did because I know you're angry with me. I was there, Remus. I could see the fear in Draco's eyes."

"You care about that boy more than you should," Remus mutters, his shoulders relaxing. "Why didn't you let one of the others kill him then? Why did you have to do it?"

"Because it would've been seen as a failure from Draco," Snape says. "I stepped in to save his life."

Remus puffs out his cheeks and kicks his feet up onto the sofa. "You killed a well-respected man to save the son of one of the most powerful Death Eaters. Put aside your emotional attachment for a minute, Severus. You murdered a good man to save a boy who will go on to cause immeasurable amounts of pain and fear to innocent people."

"Albus was not a good man," Snape frowns. "And I'm sorry to say this Remus, but you know nothing about Draco. He's not like his father."

"Yes, he is," says Remus. "It's harsh but it's the truth. You just don't want to see that because you're so caught up on saving him. He is exactly like his father."

"No, he isn't. Draco has a good heart, and he deserves a better life than the crap he's getting thrown at him currently."

"'A good heart'? Please," Remus remarks scathingly. "Save your hero complex for someone else. Draco isn't the victim here. Albus is six feet under and he's walking around the school scot-free."

"Draco is innocent," says Snape. "Albus, on the other hand-"

"Oh, don't start with your Albus-orchestrated everyone-we-know's-death routine, it's a dreadful bore," Remus snaps.

Snape purses his lips shut.

"Look, I didn't come here to argue with you, Severus," says Remus, the accusation in his voice fading. "I came to check you're still alive, actually. I haven't seen you all week, I was starting to get worried."

"Sorry to disappoint," Snape smiles coldly.

"Don't be like that," says Remus. "If you're telling the truth-"

"What do you mean 'if'?" Snape frowns. "Why would I lie to you?"

Remus looks like he wants to say something, but just shakes his head. "If you're telling the truth, then fair enough, your reasons seem genuine. I don't think I could let a student die either, but I don't think I'd go to such lengths to save one. And my point about Draco stands. He's his father's son."

"I hope you're not waiting for an apology," Snape says, letting his defences down slightly. "I stand by what I did."

Remus shrugs. "I knew what I was getting into by becoming friends with you. I chose to be friends with a spy, I suppose something like this has been long overdue. I'm willing to look past it."

Snape raises his eyebrows.

"What?" Remus forces a smile. "Surprised I'm so forgiving?"

"Yes," he says. "It's a nice change. I'm not particularly looking forward to teaching tomorrow with everyone at my throat."

"You can't exactly blame them, can you?"

Snape tucks back his unbrushed hair. "I suppose not."

"Hungry?" Remus says when Snape's stomach makes a loud gargle.

"No."

"Where have you been going to eat since you got back?" asks Remus suspiciously.

"For Christ's sake, I am an adult," Snape says defensively. "I'm perfectly capable of feeding myself."

"You look like you could do with a proper meal down you," says Remus, getting up to look through the cupboards.

"There's nothing in there," Snape says. "I already checked."

Remus returns to the sofa in defeat. He surveys the books and quills scattered around the table and floor. "Don't tell me you've been sleeping here."

Snape gives him a look.

"Jesus Christ, pull yourself together man," he exclaims. "You can come up to my room, I've got food, we can have a nice cup of tea, and you can have a shower. It'll do you the world of good."

Snape looks down, a stab of unidentifiable pain hitting his chest. "I don't know why you bother with me," he mutters.

"You picked me up when I had no one. I'm here to return the favour," says Remus.

"You didn't kill my role model, though, did you?"

"Yeah, and I'm still pissed off at you for that," Remus says. "But you had your reasons, so up you get. I'm not leaving without you."

He stands up, glaring at Snape who doesn't look close to considering moving.

"You're depressed."

"No, I'm not," Snape dismisses instantly.

"You've been hiding away in here for God knows how long, not speaking to anyone, not eating, not looking after yourself," says Remus. "Just because you aren't drinking yourself into a state like I was doesn't mean you aren't depressed."

Snape shakes his head. "I'm fine."

Remus almost cracks a full smile at the irony of Snape's words paired with his stony expression. "Who are you trying to fool?"

"Fine, I'll come with you," sighs Snape. "If that's the only way to shut you up." He starts collecting up his stuff.

They pause at the door of the staff room.

"You go first," says Remus, knowing they can't afford to be seen together. "I'll meet you up there in five minutes. Make yourself at home."

"Are you sure about this?" Snape says.

"Yes, you need a bit of looking after. Go to mine, and if you aren't there when I get there, I'll search the whole bloody school until I find you."

"I forgot how stubborn you were," Snape murmurs, earning a chuckle from Remus. He strides out of the staff room and towards Remus' room.

Snape wakes up with a dull headache and an aching neck. The sound that woke him up doesn't cease until he opens his eyes. Remus is standing in front of the sofa he slept on, talking apparently to no one.

"Oh, you're awake," he says.

Snape sits up, wiping the sleep from his eyes. He almost knocks over the mugs he and Remus drank out of the previous night lying at his feet.

"What time is it?" Snape asks. Remus is already fully dressed and ready for the school day.

"I just got back from breakfast," says Remus. "I thought you would've woken up by now, but clearly not. You're a right sleepyhead, do you usually sleep this much? You're like a baby. Well, maybe not, you didn't wake me up screaming to be fed at 3 am. Wouldn't put it past you, though."

"I am so glad I don't have to deal with this every day," Snape says wearily to Remus' grin. "I don't know how Nymphadora copes."

"She copes perfectly well because she's not a grumpy middle-aged man," Remus says.

"I am not middle-aged, I'm thirty-seven," Snape says indignantly.

"You're middle-aged, cope with it," Remus grins. "It's almost half nine, by the way. Lessons start in seven minutes."

"What?" says Remus as Snape heaves himself up with a groan.

"I've got the sixth years first period," he says. "I think I could deal with any class but them. I mean, what possessed the school to put everyone with parents involved in the war in some way or another in one twenty-student class? I don't know what they were thinking. It's like lighting a fuse to dynamite, it's only a matter of time. I'm surprised they've got this far unscathed."

"I wish you good luck," says Remus.

"I'll need it," Snape says, grabbing all his stuff. "Thank you for all this, by the way. I appreciate it."

"Any time." Remus gives a nod. "Look after yourself."

"You too. Bye, Remus."

"See you later."

Snape goes along to his classroom, running a minute late by the time he gets there. He tries his best to ignore the array of glares from passers-by on his way. He opens the door to his classroom, expecting to see a full class talking amongst themselves.

"Where is everyone?" Snape says, going over to his desk. Only two people are sitting in the classroom: Draco and Blaise.

"They went on strike," says Blaise, who sits next to Draco, taking Millicent's place.

Snape looks to Draco for an explanation.

"The Gryffindors agreed to boycott your class," says Draco. "They got the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs involved, and the rest of them didn't come because no one else was so they thought why bother."

Snape nods slowly. Frankly, it's embarrassing. Two spaces in his classroom of students who have no respect for him at all.

"Class is dismissed for today," Snape announces, clenching his jaw. The most frustrating part is that he only has himself to blame. "If the other students continue to refuse to come to my lesson, I'm sure they'll find a replacement for me. In the meantime, off you go."

Draco lingers, and Blaise waits for him.

"I'm sorry, Professor Snape," Draco says, trying to sound as neutral as possible. He makes eye contact with Snape in an attempt to relay the true meaning of his words. This is my fault. I should've killed Dumbledore. "I'm sorry no one came to your class."

With that, he and Blaise leave.

Snape teaches the rest of the day as normal. None of the other students boycott his class. The younger students continue the lessons under sedated fear and a few older students manage to give glares to Snape, but he receives no direct criticism or outburst of emotion.

After school, he retreats to the abandoned second-floor staff room. Remus doesn't appear this evening, not that he expected him to. He makes himself a cup of green tea, curls up onto the sofa, and begins reading.

The Ministry would be sending a substitute for Dumbledore the next morning. There will be no investigation into his death. It's clear what has happened, and the Ministry are cautious to involve themselves directly with Voldemort and the Death Eaters.

Two more weeks of this until the summer holidays. How the time drags.

Snape falls unconscious around midnight, still in his day clothes, a book in his hand and the untouched cup of tea on the floor.

Draco waits, pacing around his room to keep himself awake. He assumes Ron received his letter about meeting tonight, so he waits into the early hours of the morning for them. At around half two, when he's about an hour into sleeping on the sofa, there's a quiet knock at the door.

Draco opens his eyes blindly, then remembers why he fell asleep on the sofa. He goes to open the door, then rockets into Ron's arms.

"Hi," Draco says, squeezing Ron as tightly as he can.

"Sorry I'm so late," says Ron, relaxing as Draco engulfs him. "I had to wait until everyone was asleep."

"I'm just glad you're here." Draco lets go of him a long moment later. "Come in."

"It's been what, two weeks?" he says as they sit down on the sofa.

"Yeah, way too long."

Draco brushes the hair out of Ron's eyes, delaying the inevitable discussion about Dumbledore by stroking the side of their cheek with his thumb.

"I missed you," Ron mumbles, their brown eyes softening as Draco touches them. Draco breathes a sigh of relief; Ron isn't mad at him about Dumbledore.

"I missed you too," says Draco.

The front of Ron's hair falls over their face, obstructing his sight. "Shit, sorry," they say, shaking their head. "It's got to an awkward length."

An equally mundane response dies on Draco's lips when Ron brushes his hair away to reveal an exhausted expression.

"How's it been since he died?" Draco says tentatively.

Ron smiles tiredly at him. "Not ideal. Harry's been really upset. He looked up to Dumbledore, and on top of that, Snape's betrayed him. He's not himself, Hermione neither though she's hiding it better."

"And what about you?" Draco says.

"What about me?"

"How have you been?"

"Oh," Ron sighs. He hasn't had much chance to think about how this has been affecting him with all the attention yet again on Harry. "I don't know. Fine, I guess. Dumbledore was just a bloke, but obviously it's still sad he died. He felt kind of like, I don't know, he's always been looking out for me and Harry and Hermione. It's weird now he's gone."

"I'm sorry, Ron," Draco says with feeling at Ron's deflated expression.

"Wasn't your fault," they say. "Harry told me what happened, and how you couldn't go through with it."

"Yeah, not my proudest moment," Draco says dryly. "But that fucker ruined it for me. I could've taken the blame, got all the rewards from Voldemort, and Professor Snape wouldn't have everyone bloody boycotting his lessons."

Ron gives a thin smile. "Harry's idea."

"I guessed."

"At least everyone at Hogwarts doesn't hate you," Ron points out.

Draco rolls his eyes. "You'd be surprised. Professor Snape's getting shit right now but I'm not exactly everyone's favourite either."

"It's kind of sad," says Ron. "Did you really have to kill him? Or get Snape to kill him, I guess."

"Voldemort would've killed me if I didn't," says Draco. "And I don't know why everyone's such a big fan of Dumbledore. He was a shit teacher. Not that I care, but he's fucked Harry around and he's hardly defended Hogwarts very well. He knew what was coming to him. He stood there and let me disarm him. Then he tried to talk me out of it when I was pointing my wand in his face by saying I'm a good person and all that shit."

"Maybe he knew you wouldn't do it," says Ron.

Draco plays with a loose thread on his trousers as he considers this. "I don't know. I would've done it, I think. I was so close."

"Really?"

"Yeah, maybe. If it came down to it. That probably makes me a terrible person."

Ron shrugs. "You were under a lot of pressure."

"No, Ron, I'm just-" Draco sighs. "I'm just not a good person."

"I don't know what you want me to say," says Ron. "Because I don't think you are, but you know that."

"Admit the truth to me, the cold fucking truth," Draco says. "Tell me that I'm an awful person."

"Would that make you feel better?" Ron says after a long pause.

"Yeah, it would."

"Ok," says Ron, turning to face him fully. "Draco Malfoy, you are a terrible person."

"Thank you."

Ron can't help but grin at his serious expression. "I didn't know you were into being degraded."

"You're such a twat," Draco snorts, pushing them to the side. "I'm trying to have a serious moment here."

"Finally, I've found what your little thing is," Ron giggles. "Do you want me to call you a whore or something?"

"I'm not into being fucking degraded," protests Draco, elbowing Ron repeatedly.

"Are you scared of me? Are you getting upset, you little slut?"

"If you don't shut up, I'm going to fucking slap you," Draco says warningly.

Ron pays him no attention and continues cackling with laughter. "Oh my God, I can't breathe," he says. "That's so funny. All I have to do is insult you and you'll get turned on."

Draco takes a deep breath, secretly amused by Ron's laughter but does his best not to let it show. He grabs Ron's neck as hard as he can without strangling them and slams their head into his lap, his legs cushioning their head from any real damage.

"Jesus Christ," says Ron, coughing slightly as he puts up no struggle to being held down.

"Stay there and shut the fuck up," Draco says, keeping a straight face. Ron can tell he's not taking himself seriously but plays along with it.

"Can I at least get a blanket if you're gonna make me lie here all night?" asks Ron.

Draco throws a blanket over Ron, tucking it over the ends of their feet and up to their shoulders which somewhat diminishes his hard exterior. He ends up giving the act up and cuddles into Ron.

With the reassuring weight of them lying over his lap, Draco is asleep within minutes. Ron doesn't move for a bit, then realises Draco has fallen asleep. They smile at his vulnerable face free from the scowl or sarcastic smirk, and nestle down to sleep, assuming Draco would wake up in a few minutes and not sleep all the way through.

"Wake up."

Draco's long blink turned into a three-hour nap, only awoken by all the sensation in his legs being cut off from the dead weight lying on top of him. "Ron," he whispers when they don't move, nudging them.

"I'm awake," Ron mumbles, then opens his eyes to Draco's face peering over him. "Fuck," he coughs, sitting up. "You scared me."

"It's 4 am," Draco says, pulling the blanket off them. "You've got Quidditch practice tomorrow morning, haven't you? Well, this morning, I suppose."

Ron groans as they stretch. "Yeah, I shouldn't have fallen asleep. I need to go."

Draco brushes the messy hair out of their face. "Okay."

"Three more Quidditch practices then summer," says Ron, rolling off the sofa and onto the floor with a bump. "Thank God."

Draco watches an extremely sleepy Ron stagger towards the door. "Don't beat yourself up over the whole killing Dumbledore thing by the way," he says, turning back with his handle on the doorknob. "He was a stupid crusty old man, it's not worth it."

"Thanks Ron." Draco can see the grit it took for them to say that. He knows Dumbledore was more than a stupid crusty old man to them.

Ron wipes the sleep from their eyes and stares at Draco stretched across the sofa, his hair pushed back. It must be the tiredness that suddenly brings the image of Draco's hot body against theirs into their mind, shoving them onto the bed, their tongues interlocking. Draco straddling Ron at the waist, grabbing them by the wrists, rubbing his hand down their inner thigh. His mouth dries at the thought.

Draco smirks as Ron gradually turns red for whatever reason, clearly staring straight at his lips.

"I thought you had somewhere to be?" he probes.

"Right, yeah. Right," Ron says, clearing his throat. "Um, see you Friday then."

"Yup," says Draco, waiting to see if Ron would stay, but they turn the door handle. "Have fun at Quidditch practice."

"Yeah, cheers." He gives one last flustered nod then stumbles out.