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Flashbacks indicated by "~~"
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Declaro VI: The Care of the Self
As Head Girl - no one had been surprised - Hermione had her own room. Harry found her reading by the window in pyjamas. She silently made room for him and he could see she'd been crying. Harry focused on the book, Wizarding Culture Through the Ages.
He'd wanted to tell her about the ultimatum and Snape's plan, but he vividly recalled the Potions Professor snidely insisting the Order couldn't afford children, "for whom every secret is a new toy". Ron and Hermione understood they couldn't know everything.
"So are you actually joining the speaking world again?" she said finally.
"I talked to Malfoy," she didn't seem surprised. "He thinks it's a test to see what I'll do. He's probably right - there's not even anything to respond to. Just a piece of glass."
Hermione nodded - they'd checked it for magic and found nothing. After a moment she closed the book and curled up at the end of window-seat. "He doesn't want to talk."
"Him too? Huh. boys." She smiled at that. "I figure no one will care about Zabini and me once they've heard your news - and G's a long way before P."
"Except they'll all look up Harry Potter first," she teased. "Actually, Padma thinks they'll all be too terrified to talk to me at all." She'd told Padma then. But she had to talk to someone, and he'd been hiding in the library and Ron was, well, being obtuse and unhelpful Ron. Obtuse was such an Hermione word. "At least the Snape thing won't have people hiding from me in the showers," she continued. "Staring at me every other minute of the day probably but. . . In a way it's rather flattering. I can't say I haven't. . . though I'm not saying that I would."
"What did he write anyway?" Harry grinned. "I can't imagine. . ." He stopped when that came out all too clearly in Sirius' tone.
She shifted self-consciously. "It was only 'You will be as shocked to receive this communication as I am to be writing it' and that he wants an apprentice."
"Oh." Then Harry remembered, "Hey, what do you mean hiding in the showers?"
"Oh I'm sure they won't," she says. "But you know how they were with Blaise."
Harry had been preoccupied with Ron's last tantrum at the time, but he got it.
"Not that anyone would think that about you," she added, touching his arm.
Right. Fine. Right. "Great. I'll probably be the cover story: the gay-boy- who-lived."
"Am I missing the coming out scene?" Ron said from the doorway. He shuffled a little shyly when they looked up. "Hi Mione. Harry. Can I come in?"
No one had to answer. He ignored his usual place, though, and sat on the floor, bare feet towards where the empty hearth made the room feel cold.
"I'm sorry," Ron eventually said. "I'd just never thought. . . which is dumb. It was bound to happen."
"Ron, you know I. . ." Hermione stopped, and Ron nodded. Sometimes Harry wanted to lock them in a cupboard till they came out a couple. Even if it only lasted a day.
"You're so ridiculous, you know," she added.
"I know."
"It's not like I'd even consider it."
There was a longer than expected pause. "You don't want to know what he's offering?"
"It's not a real position, Ron," Hermione replied. "He could take an apprentice without all of that."
"Except he wouldn't." Ron said tensely. "He's Snape."
Harry felt the tone shift and tried to head him off. "Ron, I don't think. . ."
"No," Ron said, "think about it. Hermione deserves an apprenticeship with a Master. We only know one, but he's a complete bastard." He caught Harry's expression. "He may not be a death-eater, but he's still a complete bastard who hates everybody." Harry let it go, and wasn't sure what he would have said anyway. "Except now, for whatever reason. . ." and it was clearly the reason that bothered Ron the most.
Ron looked at Hermione directly for the first time, "You can't just say no."
* * *
Harry, Ron and Hermione skipped breakfast, and the fated reading of the list. The whole drama could go on without them, and at least on their own territory the interrogation would be easier to handle. Their friends had been a bit irritated by the secrecy, and some significant looks shot their way when it was clear they were not going to breakfast either.
Sprawled out on a lounge, Ron was inventing theories about what happened if a Rite owl couldn't find you, and Hermione was on the floor flipping through books trying to find an answer and explaining the Declaro spell, when a grey owl rapped at the common room window. Listening to her carefully for once, Harry let it in, unfolded the letters from the carrying cloth while fishing for owl treats in the jar on the mantle, and had already handed them over before he realised what it had brought. "Draco's invitations."
"I can't believe you - you know it's a trap," Ron complained. Harry heard Hermione argue why it was more like a dare, but he was looking at the card in his hand.
~~ "Are you interested in Professor Snape?" - an unidentifiable sound and then warm breath on his ear - "Is that what it looks like?" Draco whispered - Harry turned to see if it did and warm soft light open lips pressed against his jaw - he froze, he felt his stomach just drop, warmly - moving away from him, looking at him now, Draco said quietly, "Don't be an idiot, Harry"- Harry couldn't tell what the expression meant at all and blinked, his eyes stinging - and then Draco was walking away. ~~
Ron was still insisting that you couldn't understand Slytherins and it was dangerous to try, when Hermione noticed Harry's shock. He showed them.
"Malfoy's having a coming out party?" Hermoine exclaimed.
"Which means what, exactly? I mean, it doesn't mean. Does it. . ? It'd be some Rite thing. . ." Ron trailed off looking at Harry's stunned expression. "Malfoy's gay?"
"The whole world is gay," Seamus said abruptly, coming in from the stairs that led down to the castle, Neville and Ginny behind him. Ginny switched her anxious looks from Harry to Ron and back again. "Malfoy's out;" Seamus said, "Zabini's after Harry;" Ginny shook her head angrily and moved to sit next to the victim; "and Parvarti Patil has a declaration from Celia Druce - you know, the auror that was here last year". He slumped into an armchair, looking at the others with some satisfaction. "Yep, the whole world's gay except us. And Snape apparently," he didn't look at Hermione, but everyone else did and Ron practically growled, "I vote we never leave the tower."
* * *
"Mr Malfoy," Severus Snape said with the merest hint of surprise, "no Charms tutorial?"
"Blaise is covering for me," the boy replied. "He owes me a favour."
"As you can see, I am in the middle of a research project," he gestured across the neatly stacked books and mess of papers on his desk, "so perhaps you could be brief."
"Hermione Granger." Severus put down his quill, although it was entirely expected, and directed the boy to an armchair. "Perhaps less brief than that."
"I doubt my father will consider one of the most surreptitious declarations in Hogwarts fulfils his expectations." Draco took an envelope from the pocket of his robe and placed it on the desk. "I also wished to bring you an invitation."
Severus took a silver knife from one drawer. "You should be much more circumspect when intervening in your father's affairs," he turned the knife in one hand skillfully; "my own, of course, are none of your concern."
Draco nodded, then said calmly, "I want you to make a declaration of interest in me." After the briefest pause, Severus sliced open the envelope. "It should be spectacular, and successful." The knife was carefully placed on the desk.
The dungeon rooms were cool but not cold at this time of year, and they were filled with familiar unnameable smells, dark green leather, and vibrant deep wood.
"I have no intention of doing so," Snape replied calmly. "As you have already surmised, I was unwilling to participate even so far in this carnival. I have now made an apprenticeship offer and I have no interest in the kind of confrontations a second may involve."
"My Potions record is better than Granger's," Draco protested.
"She excels in every subject, however, and still almost equals you there."
Draco didn't quite stop a scowl. "However, Professor, I am not necessarily interested in being your apprentice."
Watching Draco remain perfectly still in the large chair, Severus removed a card from the envelope, and turned it over. After a second he blinked slowly. "You stupid boy."
Draco stood, and Snape stood with him. "Severus," he didn't react to the too familiar name, "if you refuse, I will tell my father that you are a spy for the Order of the Phoenix." He paused, clearly for effect. "I sincerely hope to see you at my party."
Two steps towards the door Draco lost focus, stumbled, and was caught before he hit the floor. In his ear Severus said softly, "To underestimate me like that is more than stupid. If you even know what game this is, you clearly have no idea where the other pieces are."
Draco struggled against the curse - he'd trained hard all summer under exacting tutors - and it gave a little. The voice said, "You know and have nothing, Draco." He fought out a reply - "He'll believe me."
"Well done. But I want to hear you talk to me, Draco." He just heard the next spell - something compellare - and his head stopped swimming as a number of things were thrown into sharp relief. He was pressed up against the desk by Snape's hip. One of those long hands gripped his shoulder too tightly, a wand pressed into his arm, the other firmly cupping the side of his face. He twisted; he had to, but only to feel the contact more.
"Be still," Severus said. He was still. "Why do you think I am a spy?"
"A long time. . ." Draco said softly, in a slurred voice, "and Potter."
"Harry told you I was a spy?"
"No," Draco wrestled the bright flare in his mind, "he's the stupid boy - doesn't know how to play."
"What did you do?" Draco said nothing; it started to ache. "Now, Draco," Snape insisted.
"Talked to him. . ."
~~ . . . any curse inflected with compellare pins you down. . . let it wash over you. . . try not to think. . . most of all, try not to be Draco Malfoy ~~
Draco relaxed and felt the curse drift; he could feel the desk behind and the floor beneath. He dragged in a breath and forced out "He wants me. . . And so do you."
"That's quite impressive," Snape said coolly. "Lucius has polished you up for auction, hasn't he boy?"
Under Draco's bright flare of anger the arms disappeared and he lurched toward a chair. Things came and went. Severus was handing him a cup of something cool. He drank.
* * *
SEVERUS:
I say it: "Cherry Ripe". I wish I was less sure the sweet references are for my benefit.
"Severus, thank you for coming." He offers and I take the same chair as every other time. "Tea?" This is one of those too often repeated scenes in the same kind of story. I will decline, he will offer sweets, I will decline (more sullenly), and he will pretend not to understand or perhaps imply that my life would be materially improved by the consumption of confectionery or pastries. "Perhaps not," he finishes.
Carefully sitting, because he's older than he likes us to think, Albus reclines, one eye on Fawkes - I swear that phoenix is psychic, and it ruffles just of sight - and the other on me. "You're feeling better?" he asks.
"I understand why I've been called here, Headmaster." I know what he wants.
"Of course" - if he dares to say just humour an old man or anything so disingenuous - "you would like me to be direct." He chooses a biscuit thoughtfully and eyes it from every angle. "Would you agree, Severus, that what Draco most needs is an alternative to the path his father has set before him."
"I can think of a number of things the boy needs, some of which no one will dare give him, and others he would utterly reject." The careless habit of running my hand through my hair always reappears around Albus. I wipe the hand on my robe irritably.
"In any case," Albus continues, "Poppy tells me there's no reason Draco shouldn't hold his celebration as planned." My life is too little my own as it is. "Which is very good news".
"You're right. I should have known; he should have been stopped." So certain and so exposed, Draco.
"No one blames you, Severus." Which is no reassurance, as I know otherwise myself.
"Lucius must already know and I," I hesitate to say it, "do not think we will be able to keep him safe, or even here, once his father has decided on a response, and a punishment."
"He needs a friend," Albus says warmly.
I refuse to point out the holes in that speculation on the grounds that Albus knows them already and will only take it as encouragement. Rising, I say, "I will do what I can."
Albus beams warmly and stands to take my arm as if I've dedicated my future life to the foolish boy's protection. "Severus," he says. And of course I have.
* * *
"I can't believe we're doing this," Ron said for the twentieth time. Hermione rolled her eyes and brushed a speck from her new robe, which Ron had helped choose - impatiently hopping outside the changing room at Forlette's it's true, but he had actually managed to say "I like that one, it's like chocolate." And she liked Ron in Muggle clothes, which he'd chosen to annoy the Slytherins, but dark jeans and a rust-coloured shirt really looked nice on him, she thought. She'd said so; he'd kicked the ground nervously a few times and leant in to kiss her cheek. It was a moment she'd gone over quite a few times already. She smiled at Ron smiling at her.
Harry had bought them the clothes - part bribe and part just compensation Ron had said - and it had been a really nice afternoon. And they had a half- day on Friday, as seniors, so they hadn't even missed a class to enjoy it, although there was some revision she should fit in on the weekend, and she'd not done that study plan. . . But, they'd had lunch at the Broomsticks, shopped and talked, and the Rite wasn't mentioned, nor was Snape.
Who was crossing the room towards them.
Ron tensed. She slipped a hand into the crook of his arm. Harry was on the other side of the room chatting happily with Oliver Wood, who they hadn't seen for more than a year and who had apparently come with Marcus Flint. Ron had whispered in her ear that they'd have to tell Seamus the world outside Hogwarts was also gay. Hermione had frowned, but fought the urge to explain why in great detail; it was good to see Ron happy.
"Ms Granger, Mr Weasley," Snape inclined his head to each of them, as if they were people. "Mr Malfoy's social circle is certainly expanding."
She felt Ron glower, but Snape didn't respond. "Professor," she said quickly, "We didn't really expect, ah, staff to be here."
"But Malfoy's not like any other student is he?" Ron added sarcastically.
"Certainly, most students lack the courage to risk humiliation in front of their peers, even for the most strongly-felt convictions, " Snape replied. "Gryffindors always admire that sort of thing, I know. In fact, didn't we discuss that recently, Mr Weasley?"
Ron reddened, and Hermione was sure there was about to be an awful scene. Then Harry appeared with Oliver, who shook the Professor's hand and clapped Ron on the shoulder, drawing him happily to one side in a conversation about the Cannons, who he'd just seen.
Hermione was shocked when Harry gave a quiet relieved sigh. She glanced at Oliver, who winked at her over Ron's shoulder. She felt slightly offended.
Turning back to say so she saw the strangest look on Harry's face. At a subtle angle, but it was obvious to her, he was watching Professor Snape, who was watching Draco Malfoy, perched on a sideboard across the room and blatantly teasing Flint but watching. . . Harry. Hermione felt suddenly out of her depth, and more than a little concerned.
"Harry?" she said quietly, and the triangle was broken as both he and Snape turned to her.
"Just like a Gryffindor party, really," Harry said hastily. "And no one's tried to hex us," he added before she could respond, "but perhaps they're all scared of the Professor."
Hermione didn't have a clue what to make of that familiarity. With Snape of all people. Though he didn't seem annoyed, which was almost more shocking.
"I would be entirely negligent if they were not," Snape responded with an almost smile she'd seen before. It was strange to realise she knew which sardonic expression actually constituted a smile, especially as she now could - though of course she wouldn't - spend many years in his company.
"Ms Granger," he added, "could I speak with you for a moment?"
She glanced at Ron, who was explaining something with animated illustrative gestures - that was clearly a rising broom - and nodded. She may as well finish this now.
* * *
"You look great Harry." Oliver said again and, a few drinks later than the last time, Harry didn't blush. In fact, he felt like he looked great.
He'd felt awkward and self-conscious all the way through the process of buying green robes from the only store in Hogsmeade that sold them. The seamstress had been called from the back to check the fit was perfect because, after all, this was Harry Potter. In their store. This was their small contribution to him starting a new life or. . . the salesgirl said just a little more discreetly. . . finding that special someone.
By the time he wore the damn things out of the bedroom he shared with Ron he was even more embarrassed. Ron had spent the afternoon regaling him with stories about suitors falling at his feet, fist fights over his attention, and duels over his honour. Given the party and the venue these stories were, right now, almost painfully embarrassing and - quite counter to Ron's intentions, he knew - frighteningly arousing.
Would Draco kiss him (again)? Did that - brush of the mouth - count as a kiss? Not that he hadn't kissed girls of course but it was so much more. . . something. Forbidden, maybe, but something else as well. He looked at the floor, but at least there was a plausible cover for the blush with Oliver clearly, yeah, clearly flirting with him. He had a sudden flash of Oliver's laughing mouth on his. God, what was wrong with him.
"Green and black, you know," Oliver said, "is perfect for you. Brings out the contrast between your hair and eyes." Harry's couldn't help but check who might have heard that. Oliver laughed, and he felt his body tighten in response.
"I'm teasing," Oliver laughed again. "It's true but I'm a little drunk, sorry, and this is the first time Marcus and I - in public - and I'm knew to the whole 'gay' thing." Harry could see he did look a little nervous. "And flirting does seem to be the thing to do," he glanced at his boyfriend near the door, one arm on the wall behind Draco's head. Draco smiled.
". . . You are, aren't you?" Oliver was saying.
"Um, Sorry?"
"Gay. You are, right?" Harry struggled for the right answer, if he knew it.
Oliver apparently didn't need him to know. "I thought about it, when we were all talking about the declarations, that maybe you'd be interested." Harry struggled to keep up with the string of things that had never occurred to him. "I mean, we've got a lot in common. But then there was Marcus, and I heard that Professor Snape would."
"Snape would what?" Harry asked, trying to keep the escalating shock out of his voice.
"Declare for you, of course," the young man replied. "It's weird when you don't know the people who know to find out Snape has a sex life. But you know I can see it now. . . he's actually rather. . ."
Harry muttered something that was probably rude and left. The ridiculous high collar was hot and uncomfortable. He needed to get back to the tower, if he could find Ron and Hermione. The door to the bar was blocked by two young men hotly kissing. Harry turned away with the subtle thrust of their hips and the wet sound of their kiss burnt into his mind. Through the arch into the next room he almost ran right into Snape - of course he did, it had to be Snape - talking with Flint. They both turned to look at him and Snape's eyes were dark and full of. . . contact (no). . . presence.
* * *
Severus was enjoying himself. He couldn't help but be interested in Granger's dismayed, polite attempts to explain why she couldn't possibly, even though she obviously wanted to. He was amused, and even minutely impressed, by Weasley's struggle, for the girl's sake, to suppress a desire to punch him that was stronger than his practical fear of being hexed into the next decade. He enjoyed the curious discomfort of the guests who were too socially astute to decline but utterly dismayed by the overt displays of homosexuality - whatever had Draco been doing this summer. And he was not entirely immune to the young men on flirtatious display, especially when they weren't aware of it. Whoever had talked Harry Potter into those particularly fine green robes should be congratulated. And then, Draco had played host, adversary, and coquette in equally appealing measure.
But there were things to be done. However pleasing, Draco's event was a tactical disaster, and now he needed to save the idiot boy's hide. It would be a crime to allow Lucius to seriously damage it.
He'd gone this way, admirers in tow, after Potter's embarrassed departure. There was a cacophony behind him at the bar, Crabbe and Goyle covering their homophobia with noise, but he didn't miss Draco's low laughter from the half-open door to his left.
It was dark, and he would have taken that as a cue to leave, but the light from the doorway fell across them, against the far wall. Draco's open robes framed his bare chest, stomach and hips, where hands grasped his pale skin around a darker head. In that instant it angled back to reveal Draco's cock sliding thickly into a young man's mouth.
Draco met his eyes across the corridor and, with an intent look, reached down to grasp Oliver's head and thrust in more firmly with a sound as quiet as flesh on wet flesh.
Flashbacks indicated by "~~"
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Declaro VI: The Care of the Self
As Head Girl - no one had been surprised - Hermione had her own room. Harry found her reading by the window in pyjamas. She silently made room for him and he could see she'd been crying. Harry focused on the book, Wizarding Culture Through the Ages.
He'd wanted to tell her about the ultimatum and Snape's plan, but he vividly recalled the Potions Professor snidely insisting the Order couldn't afford children, "for whom every secret is a new toy". Ron and Hermione understood they couldn't know everything.
"So are you actually joining the speaking world again?" she said finally.
"I talked to Malfoy," she didn't seem surprised. "He thinks it's a test to see what I'll do. He's probably right - there's not even anything to respond to. Just a piece of glass."
Hermione nodded - they'd checked it for magic and found nothing. After a moment she closed the book and curled up at the end of window-seat. "He doesn't want to talk."
"Him too? Huh. boys." She smiled at that. "I figure no one will care about Zabini and me once they've heard your news - and G's a long way before P."
"Except they'll all look up Harry Potter first," she teased. "Actually, Padma thinks they'll all be too terrified to talk to me at all." She'd told Padma then. But she had to talk to someone, and he'd been hiding in the library and Ron was, well, being obtuse and unhelpful Ron. Obtuse was such an Hermione word. "At least the Snape thing won't have people hiding from me in the showers," she continued. "Staring at me every other minute of the day probably but. . . In a way it's rather flattering. I can't say I haven't. . . though I'm not saying that I would."
"What did he write anyway?" Harry grinned. "I can't imagine. . ." He stopped when that came out all too clearly in Sirius' tone.
She shifted self-consciously. "It was only 'You will be as shocked to receive this communication as I am to be writing it' and that he wants an apprentice."
"Oh." Then Harry remembered, "Hey, what do you mean hiding in the showers?"
"Oh I'm sure they won't," she says. "But you know how they were with Blaise."
Harry had been preoccupied with Ron's last tantrum at the time, but he got it.
"Not that anyone would think that about you," she added, touching his arm.
Right. Fine. Right. "Great. I'll probably be the cover story: the gay-boy- who-lived."
"Am I missing the coming out scene?" Ron said from the doorway. He shuffled a little shyly when they looked up. "Hi Mione. Harry. Can I come in?"
No one had to answer. He ignored his usual place, though, and sat on the floor, bare feet towards where the empty hearth made the room feel cold.
"I'm sorry," Ron eventually said. "I'd just never thought. . . which is dumb. It was bound to happen."
"Ron, you know I. . ." Hermione stopped, and Ron nodded. Sometimes Harry wanted to lock them in a cupboard till they came out a couple. Even if it only lasted a day.
"You're so ridiculous, you know," she added.
"I know."
"It's not like I'd even consider it."
There was a longer than expected pause. "You don't want to know what he's offering?"
"It's not a real position, Ron," Hermione replied. "He could take an apprentice without all of that."
"Except he wouldn't." Ron said tensely. "He's Snape."
Harry felt the tone shift and tried to head him off. "Ron, I don't think. . ."
"No," Ron said, "think about it. Hermione deserves an apprenticeship with a Master. We only know one, but he's a complete bastard." He caught Harry's expression. "He may not be a death-eater, but he's still a complete bastard who hates everybody." Harry let it go, and wasn't sure what he would have said anyway. "Except now, for whatever reason. . ." and it was clearly the reason that bothered Ron the most.
Ron looked at Hermione directly for the first time, "You can't just say no."
* * *
Harry, Ron and Hermione skipped breakfast, and the fated reading of the list. The whole drama could go on without them, and at least on their own territory the interrogation would be easier to handle. Their friends had been a bit irritated by the secrecy, and some significant looks shot their way when it was clear they were not going to breakfast either.
Sprawled out on a lounge, Ron was inventing theories about what happened if a Rite owl couldn't find you, and Hermione was on the floor flipping through books trying to find an answer and explaining the Declaro spell, when a grey owl rapped at the common room window. Listening to her carefully for once, Harry let it in, unfolded the letters from the carrying cloth while fishing for owl treats in the jar on the mantle, and had already handed them over before he realised what it had brought. "Draco's invitations."
"I can't believe you - you know it's a trap," Ron complained. Harry heard Hermione argue why it was more like a dare, but he was looking at the card in his hand.
~~ "Are you interested in Professor Snape?" - an unidentifiable sound and then warm breath on his ear - "Is that what it looks like?" Draco whispered - Harry turned to see if it did and warm soft light open lips pressed against his jaw - he froze, he felt his stomach just drop, warmly - moving away from him, looking at him now, Draco said quietly, "Don't be an idiot, Harry"- Harry couldn't tell what the expression meant at all and blinked, his eyes stinging - and then Draco was walking away. ~~
Ron was still insisting that you couldn't understand Slytherins and it was dangerous to try, when Hermione noticed Harry's shock. He showed them.
"Malfoy's having a coming out party?" Hermoine exclaimed.
"Which means what, exactly? I mean, it doesn't mean. Does it. . ? It'd be some Rite thing. . ." Ron trailed off looking at Harry's stunned expression. "Malfoy's gay?"
"The whole world is gay," Seamus said abruptly, coming in from the stairs that led down to the castle, Neville and Ginny behind him. Ginny switched her anxious looks from Harry to Ron and back again. "Malfoy's out;" Seamus said, "Zabini's after Harry;" Ginny shook her head angrily and moved to sit next to the victim; "and Parvarti Patil has a declaration from Celia Druce - you know, the auror that was here last year". He slumped into an armchair, looking at the others with some satisfaction. "Yep, the whole world's gay except us. And Snape apparently," he didn't look at Hermione, but everyone else did and Ron practically growled, "I vote we never leave the tower."
* * *
"Mr Malfoy," Severus Snape said with the merest hint of surprise, "no Charms tutorial?"
"Blaise is covering for me," the boy replied. "He owes me a favour."
"As you can see, I am in the middle of a research project," he gestured across the neatly stacked books and mess of papers on his desk, "so perhaps you could be brief."
"Hermione Granger." Severus put down his quill, although it was entirely expected, and directed the boy to an armchair. "Perhaps less brief than that."
"I doubt my father will consider one of the most surreptitious declarations in Hogwarts fulfils his expectations." Draco took an envelope from the pocket of his robe and placed it on the desk. "I also wished to bring you an invitation."
Severus took a silver knife from one drawer. "You should be much more circumspect when intervening in your father's affairs," he turned the knife in one hand skillfully; "my own, of course, are none of your concern."
Draco nodded, then said calmly, "I want you to make a declaration of interest in me." After the briefest pause, Severus sliced open the envelope. "It should be spectacular, and successful." The knife was carefully placed on the desk.
The dungeon rooms were cool but not cold at this time of year, and they were filled with familiar unnameable smells, dark green leather, and vibrant deep wood.
"I have no intention of doing so," Snape replied calmly. "As you have already surmised, I was unwilling to participate even so far in this carnival. I have now made an apprenticeship offer and I have no interest in the kind of confrontations a second may involve."
"My Potions record is better than Granger's," Draco protested.
"She excels in every subject, however, and still almost equals you there."
Draco didn't quite stop a scowl. "However, Professor, I am not necessarily interested in being your apprentice."
Watching Draco remain perfectly still in the large chair, Severus removed a card from the envelope, and turned it over. After a second he blinked slowly. "You stupid boy."
Draco stood, and Snape stood with him. "Severus," he didn't react to the too familiar name, "if you refuse, I will tell my father that you are a spy for the Order of the Phoenix." He paused, clearly for effect. "I sincerely hope to see you at my party."
Two steps towards the door Draco lost focus, stumbled, and was caught before he hit the floor. In his ear Severus said softly, "To underestimate me like that is more than stupid. If you even know what game this is, you clearly have no idea where the other pieces are."
Draco struggled against the curse - he'd trained hard all summer under exacting tutors - and it gave a little. The voice said, "You know and have nothing, Draco." He fought out a reply - "He'll believe me."
"Well done. But I want to hear you talk to me, Draco." He just heard the next spell - something compellare - and his head stopped swimming as a number of things were thrown into sharp relief. He was pressed up against the desk by Snape's hip. One of those long hands gripped his shoulder too tightly, a wand pressed into his arm, the other firmly cupping the side of his face. He twisted; he had to, but only to feel the contact more.
"Be still," Severus said. He was still. "Why do you think I am a spy?"
"A long time. . ." Draco said softly, in a slurred voice, "and Potter."
"Harry told you I was a spy?"
"No," Draco wrestled the bright flare in his mind, "he's the stupid boy - doesn't know how to play."
"What did you do?" Draco said nothing; it started to ache. "Now, Draco," Snape insisted.
"Talked to him. . ."
~~ . . . any curse inflected with compellare pins you down. . . let it wash over you. . . try not to think. . . most of all, try not to be Draco Malfoy ~~
Draco relaxed and felt the curse drift; he could feel the desk behind and the floor beneath. He dragged in a breath and forced out "He wants me. . . And so do you."
"That's quite impressive," Snape said coolly. "Lucius has polished you up for auction, hasn't he boy?"
Under Draco's bright flare of anger the arms disappeared and he lurched toward a chair. Things came and went. Severus was handing him a cup of something cool. He drank.
* * *
SEVERUS:
I say it: "Cherry Ripe". I wish I was less sure the sweet references are for my benefit.
"Severus, thank you for coming." He offers and I take the same chair as every other time. "Tea?" This is one of those too often repeated scenes in the same kind of story. I will decline, he will offer sweets, I will decline (more sullenly), and he will pretend not to understand or perhaps imply that my life would be materially improved by the consumption of confectionery or pastries. "Perhaps not," he finishes.
Carefully sitting, because he's older than he likes us to think, Albus reclines, one eye on Fawkes - I swear that phoenix is psychic, and it ruffles just of sight - and the other on me. "You're feeling better?" he asks.
"I understand why I've been called here, Headmaster." I know what he wants.
"Of course" - if he dares to say just humour an old man or anything so disingenuous - "you would like me to be direct." He chooses a biscuit thoughtfully and eyes it from every angle. "Would you agree, Severus, that what Draco most needs is an alternative to the path his father has set before him."
"I can think of a number of things the boy needs, some of which no one will dare give him, and others he would utterly reject." The careless habit of running my hand through my hair always reappears around Albus. I wipe the hand on my robe irritably.
"In any case," Albus continues, "Poppy tells me there's no reason Draco shouldn't hold his celebration as planned." My life is too little my own as it is. "Which is very good news".
"You're right. I should have known; he should have been stopped." So certain and so exposed, Draco.
"No one blames you, Severus." Which is no reassurance, as I know otherwise myself.
"Lucius must already know and I," I hesitate to say it, "do not think we will be able to keep him safe, or even here, once his father has decided on a response, and a punishment."
"He needs a friend," Albus says warmly.
I refuse to point out the holes in that speculation on the grounds that Albus knows them already and will only take it as encouragement. Rising, I say, "I will do what I can."
Albus beams warmly and stands to take my arm as if I've dedicated my future life to the foolish boy's protection. "Severus," he says. And of course I have.
* * *
"I can't believe we're doing this," Ron said for the twentieth time. Hermione rolled her eyes and brushed a speck from her new robe, which Ron had helped choose - impatiently hopping outside the changing room at Forlette's it's true, but he had actually managed to say "I like that one, it's like chocolate." And she liked Ron in Muggle clothes, which he'd chosen to annoy the Slytherins, but dark jeans and a rust-coloured shirt really looked nice on him, she thought. She'd said so; he'd kicked the ground nervously a few times and leant in to kiss her cheek. It was a moment she'd gone over quite a few times already. She smiled at Ron smiling at her.
Harry had bought them the clothes - part bribe and part just compensation Ron had said - and it had been a really nice afternoon. And they had a half- day on Friday, as seniors, so they hadn't even missed a class to enjoy it, although there was some revision she should fit in on the weekend, and she'd not done that study plan. . . But, they'd had lunch at the Broomsticks, shopped and talked, and the Rite wasn't mentioned, nor was Snape.
Who was crossing the room towards them.
Ron tensed. She slipped a hand into the crook of his arm. Harry was on the other side of the room chatting happily with Oliver Wood, who they hadn't seen for more than a year and who had apparently come with Marcus Flint. Ron had whispered in her ear that they'd have to tell Seamus the world outside Hogwarts was also gay. Hermione had frowned, but fought the urge to explain why in great detail; it was good to see Ron happy.
"Ms Granger, Mr Weasley," Snape inclined his head to each of them, as if they were people. "Mr Malfoy's social circle is certainly expanding."
She felt Ron glower, but Snape didn't respond. "Professor," she said quickly, "We didn't really expect, ah, staff to be here."
"But Malfoy's not like any other student is he?" Ron added sarcastically.
"Certainly, most students lack the courage to risk humiliation in front of their peers, even for the most strongly-felt convictions, " Snape replied. "Gryffindors always admire that sort of thing, I know. In fact, didn't we discuss that recently, Mr Weasley?"
Ron reddened, and Hermione was sure there was about to be an awful scene. Then Harry appeared with Oliver, who shook the Professor's hand and clapped Ron on the shoulder, drawing him happily to one side in a conversation about the Cannons, who he'd just seen.
Hermione was shocked when Harry gave a quiet relieved sigh. She glanced at Oliver, who winked at her over Ron's shoulder. She felt slightly offended.
Turning back to say so she saw the strangest look on Harry's face. At a subtle angle, but it was obvious to her, he was watching Professor Snape, who was watching Draco Malfoy, perched on a sideboard across the room and blatantly teasing Flint but watching. . . Harry. Hermione felt suddenly out of her depth, and more than a little concerned.
"Harry?" she said quietly, and the triangle was broken as both he and Snape turned to her.
"Just like a Gryffindor party, really," Harry said hastily. "And no one's tried to hex us," he added before she could respond, "but perhaps they're all scared of the Professor."
Hermione didn't have a clue what to make of that familiarity. With Snape of all people. Though he didn't seem annoyed, which was almost more shocking.
"I would be entirely negligent if they were not," Snape responded with an almost smile she'd seen before. It was strange to realise she knew which sardonic expression actually constituted a smile, especially as she now could - though of course she wouldn't - spend many years in his company.
"Ms Granger," he added, "could I speak with you for a moment?"
She glanced at Ron, who was explaining something with animated illustrative gestures - that was clearly a rising broom - and nodded. She may as well finish this now.
* * *
"You look great Harry." Oliver said again and, a few drinks later than the last time, Harry didn't blush. In fact, he felt like he looked great.
He'd felt awkward and self-conscious all the way through the process of buying green robes from the only store in Hogsmeade that sold them. The seamstress had been called from the back to check the fit was perfect because, after all, this was Harry Potter. In their store. This was their small contribution to him starting a new life or. . . the salesgirl said just a little more discreetly. . . finding that special someone.
By the time he wore the damn things out of the bedroom he shared with Ron he was even more embarrassed. Ron had spent the afternoon regaling him with stories about suitors falling at his feet, fist fights over his attention, and duels over his honour. Given the party and the venue these stories were, right now, almost painfully embarrassing and - quite counter to Ron's intentions, he knew - frighteningly arousing.
Would Draco kiss him (again)? Did that - brush of the mouth - count as a kiss? Not that he hadn't kissed girls of course but it was so much more. . . something. Forbidden, maybe, but something else as well. He looked at the floor, but at least there was a plausible cover for the blush with Oliver clearly, yeah, clearly flirting with him. He had a sudden flash of Oliver's laughing mouth on his. God, what was wrong with him.
"Green and black, you know," Oliver said, "is perfect for you. Brings out the contrast between your hair and eyes." Harry's couldn't help but check who might have heard that. Oliver laughed, and he felt his body tighten in response.
"I'm teasing," Oliver laughed again. "It's true but I'm a little drunk, sorry, and this is the first time Marcus and I - in public - and I'm knew to the whole 'gay' thing." Harry could see he did look a little nervous. "And flirting does seem to be the thing to do," he glanced at his boyfriend near the door, one arm on the wall behind Draco's head. Draco smiled.
". . . You are, aren't you?" Oliver was saying.
"Um, Sorry?"
"Gay. You are, right?" Harry struggled for the right answer, if he knew it.
Oliver apparently didn't need him to know. "I thought about it, when we were all talking about the declarations, that maybe you'd be interested." Harry struggled to keep up with the string of things that had never occurred to him. "I mean, we've got a lot in common. But then there was Marcus, and I heard that Professor Snape would."
"Snape would what?" Harry asked, trying to keep the escalating shock out of his voice.
"Declare for you, of course," the young man replied. "It's weird when you don't know the people who know to find out Snape has a sex life. But you know I can see it now. . . he's actually rather. . ."
Harry muttered something that was probably rude and left. The ridiculous high collar was hot and uncomfortable. He needed to get back to the tower, if he could find Ron and Hermione. The door to the bar was blocked by two young men hotly kissing. Harry turned away with the subtle thrust of their hips and the wet sound of their kiss burnt into his mind. Through the arch into the next room he almost ran right into Snape - of course he did, it had to be Snape - talking with Flint. They both turned to look at him and Snape's eyes were dark and full of. . . contact (no). . . presence.
* * *
Severus was enjoying himself. He couldn't help but be interested in Granger's dismayed, polite attempts to explain why she couldn't possibly, even though she obviously wanted to. He was amused, and even minutely impressed, by Weasley's struggle, for the girl's sake, to suppress a desire to punch him that was stronger than his practical fear of being hexed into the next decade. He enjoyed the curious discomfort of the guests who were too socially astute to decline but utterly dismayed by the overt displays of homosexuality - whatever had Draco been doing this summer. And he was not entirely immune to the young men on flirtatious display, especially when they weren't aware of it. Whoever had talked Harry Potter into those particularly fine green robes should be congratulated. And then, Draco had played host, adversary, and coquette in equally appealing measure.
But there were things to be done. However pleasing, Draco's event was a tactical disaster, and now he needed to save the idiot boy's hide. It would be a crime to allow Lucius to seriously damage it.
He'd gone this way, admirers in tow, after Potter's embarrassed departure. There was a cacophony behind him at the bar, Crabbe and Goyle covering their homophobia with noise, but he didn't miss Draco's low laughter from the half-open door to his left.
It was dark, and he would have taken that as a cue to leave, but the light from the doorway fell across them, against the far wall. Draco's open robes framed his bare chest, stomach and hips, where hands grasped his pale skin around a darker head. In that instant it angled back to reveal Draco's cock sliding thickly into a young man's mouth.
Draco met his eyes across the corridor and, with an intent look, reached down to grasp Oliver's head and thrust in more firmly with a sound as quiet as flesh on wet flesh.
