Series: Minor Arcana. Sequel to "Declaro" (rating R). You really need to read that first. Find it through the author link @ ff.net or skyehawke.com.

Rating: This section – PG13 (series to this point is R)

Pairings: This section – elements of SS/HP, SS/DM, RW/HG.

Notes: I received lots of "why would Snape do that?" comments on the last section – and some which were far more unhappy with the lack of happiness. The story is what it is, but can I just say that it's important to remember the scene was written from Harry's point of view, it wasn't necessarily how it seemed or what it meant for Severus. And I've had many emails asking if there's any happiness in sight. Yes, there is, but not for everyone.

I'm going away next week, as well as working on other stories, so chances are there'll be no more Pervinco until at least the 24th of July. There is just a very small chance 7b might make it out before I go. I'll try to make time.

Spoilers: Various up to the end of Book IV. No OotP whatsoever.

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling and various corporate tentacles.

Archiving: Only where I've agreed.

Feedback/Reviews: Please, it's just plain encouraging. I'm especially grateful to people who give me some direction as to what works and what doesn't.

Pervinco VII (a): Great Expectations

Weekend mornings were precious – they were mornings without classes, without students, and without the breakfast-table irritations of teachers generally not looking forward to classes full of students any more than Snape but being excruciatingly polite about it. He was just reaching for the weekend edition of the Wizarding News when someone knocked at his door.

Refolding the paper carefully, and turning it over so that Fudge was not smiling at him in that self-satisfied way, Severus tried to remember a time when students were so little terrified to knock at the door of the Potion Master's rooms. No, he thought, there was no such time. The student, because only a student would not have alerted his standard wards, knocked again. In fact, Severus decided, picking up his paper again, he would just ignore them – seeing as he already had to deal with Lucius Malfoy in, he glanced at the clock, less than an hour.

* * *

Minister Cornelius Fudge escorts Elevine Vermeel on a tour of the new Centre for Wizarding Culture. Madame Vermeel, Chairwoman of the Wizarding Revival Halloween Committee, declared herself delighted with the now complete function rooms in which the Committee and the Ministry will jointly host their long expected Halloween Ball. Minister Fudge indicated that the next stage in the Centre's development would involve development of the library and museum wings of the Centre, about which he expects to make a formal announcement at the opening of the Halloween Festival.

* * *

When they knocked a third time, Snape was fuming over Arthur Weasley's position on importing new wizarding artefacts from America and not over the impertinent brat on the other side of the door. A knock on the internal door was, however impossible to ignore.

Severus sighed. "Come."

Weasley was in his robes, though he didn't usually wear them in the rooms except when they ate together.

"Sir, I thought you should know it's Draco Malfoy in the corridor."

Damn. "Thank you, Mr Weasley."

"Sir, if I mark the Evaporation essays first would it be all right if I visited Gryffindor today? I need to see my sister."

Snape paused for a moment, for form's sake. "Very well, be back at after dinner. I'm making Wolfsbane Majora and you can assist."

"Thank you, sir." He was already at the outer door.

"The essays, Mr Weasley?"

"Already done them, sir," Ron grinned.

The Professor waved him away, rather affably for Severus Snape. "Tell Draco to come in," he added.

Ron paused at the doorway, and looked back at Snape. "Any message for Harry, sir?"

"Get out of here now, Weasley – I'm sure I need leeched blood for something soon."

* * *

SEVERUS:

"Good morning, Severus."

I knew I would regret that, but he might have allowed me a week before I did. But I must concede, as he enters with a pleased air, that Draco's control seems rather less desperate today than it has for a while. A change any sane mind would find suspicious.

"Oh, coffee," he says brightly, "May I?"

I pour him coffee as he slides onto the floor near the side table on which my still unfinished breakfast sits. It's disconcerting to see him happily curled by my hearth and my chair as if he were someone else entirely.

"Lupin came to my room the other night." He doesn't look at me as he says it but I feel his observation.

I sip my coffee and do not feel that jealous twinge. "I've never noticed that you needed help with such things."

"He wants to save me," Draco says, watching me closely, "to mend me."

I offer him a muffin without any display of resentment. "And what precisely makes him think you are broken?"

He smiles, and I do not look at the contrast between the skin on his neck and the tiny furls of loose hair about his jaw. I note with some bitterness that I am pleased the stiffly moulded hair has been abandoned again.

"I need to convince my father that I should reach an agreement with Lupin – that he's the best choice."

That is. . . "You cannot be serious, Draco." He presses his lips together as if searching for something to say. "I can't help you with that, it's impossible."

"There must be a way, Severus," he says quietly. His cup chinks gently against the saucer. "Some way of making it seem like Remus has the power he wants, or can be used."

"It's impossible. The bonds your father will expect. . ."

"Yes, it's impossible." Draco says urgently, moving to his knees. "That's why I need your help."

A series of sharp knocks at the outer door interrupts. And we both know it's him.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy had expressed no surprise that his son was in Snape's private rooms some half hour before he was expected, but neither Snape nor Draco had expected him to be surprised. Still, from the moment Draco left with Filius Hartwood, who Severus personally thought was not only an utter prat but a dangerously spineless young man, Severus had been waiting for the elder man to comment.

Lucius carefully observed Snape's room and, eventually, picked up the newspaper. "I'm not sure you've ever made Mrs Bell-Robinson's social column before, Severus. Were you pleased?"

"I'm sure you're aware I never look at the thing, Lucius – but presumably you have some interest in telling me what it says."

"Apparently," Lucius said with a smile, "You've become an eligible bachelor."

Snape snorted in as undignified way as possible.

"She hasn't yet included your picture, but 'a certain respected Master of the Art of Potions' has been mentioned in the last two issues."

"And you presumably want to tell me why."

"Rumours have you romantically linked with two of the most admired young men in Wizarding Britain."

Snape replenished his coffee, and offered some to Lucius, who declined.

"And really," Malfoy continued, leaning back in the chair and crossing his legs, angling a knowing smile towards Severus, "I have noticed the new look. Quite the wizard-about-town these days."

"Do refrain, Lucius. I've no designs on your son."

"That's either disingenuous or pathetic, Snape."

Severus looked up with a smile of satisfaction. It was something of a feat to provoke Lucius to be rude to a peer. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Really. The new Severus Snape has hardly escaped general notice. It's quite disorienting, as I told Narcissa this morning. Severus has greasy hair, tainted skin, stained fingers. . ."

"Potions is neither glamorous nor tidy. We have had this conversation before."

"Indeed. And you are skilled at potions, aren't you, presumably including those used to clean one's hair and skin, remove stains from fingers, and. . ."

"I have no designs on Draco, Malfoy, let us end the farce."

"Perhaps you should."

Severus was silent for a moment. He looked at the linocut above Lucius' head and thought about the shape of a pear. "I am not interested in this game, Lucius."

"You're a powerful man in several respects," Malfoy replied, rather neutrally. "Not the most powerful I could hope for, but useful in many ways, if there were sufficient bonds. And Draco has entered a headstrong phase at a rather unfortunate time."

"Sufficient bonds," Snape replied.

Lucius took up his cup, examined the china pattern, and put it down again. "For a sufficient commitment, perhaps he would be best off with you."

"I don't need to remind you that I already bear a mark."

"Of course, but not of commitment to me. And we also know the mark can be. . . finessed, if never overcome." Lucius unfolded himself elegantly and walked across to the bookcase, running a finger along the volumes. "When we were boys, Severus, I knew I could trust you to the end of the earth."

"And I thought the same of you, Lucius." Malfoy turned back to look at him, with a considering gaze. "How fortunate for me," Severus continued, "that we both grew up."

With a wry smile Lucius turned back to select a book. "Perhaps you should consider it. When you have a moment. The boy has always been rather fond of you."

Snape took up his paper again without seeing it.

* * *

DRACO:

I'm already tensing for the farewell as Fleur puts a hand on my arm, and consciously relax into an interested smile. It was unreasonable to expect I might escape without something more than polite inquiries about family, work, and the weather in Paris.

"Look," she says, "It is Ron."

Terrific. She gives me one of her polished and expectant smiles. I return it well enough and watch her wave at him excitedly.

She is attractive. Yes, attractive, not pretty or even beautiful. When she moves you feel the pull of her attraction. No one suits the courting robes like Fleur – she makes them look like works of erotic art, and although I don't care I can watch her display them, and them her, with genuine appreciation.

The Weasel arrives with slightly less pathetic slobbering than I recall from 4th year. Nevertheless, as she enthuses and flirts he warms a little, and I can see the blush rising. Moron.

I will need to see her out and she's dragging on the minutes in which I am free. Lupin is watching the protocols of apprenticeship rather carefully this week, and I'm too well trained in protocols to buck them without a reason. 'Everything with a reason, Draco,' Father says smoothly in my head, a hand on the back of my neck, 'and a reason for everything.'

Weasley looks my way, and I wonder what he thinks she's doing. Right now he is an index of her desirability, a demonstration to me. Does he have a clue? Living with Severus is changing him. It's interesting, yes, but if I had that chance. . .

He's bumbling on about his sister and, I think, not really paying her much attention. I can feel her annoyance. She shifts a hip in his direction, flicks out her hair with a tilt of her chin and even I feel the pull. She'd be invaluable, really, as a Malfoy wife. Our children would be spectacular.

So what is Lucius thinking? Hartwood is an overconfident arse, with basic intellect and no taste. It's almost insulting, although the dragonhide duelling costume is beautiful, and I won't hesitate to wear it. Preferably in front of Severus, and Harry, and Lupin won't fail to respond. That thought is rather distracting, but on cue I say something polite about the absence of loved family members. I'm not sure what, really, but it was appropriate. Weasley gives me a look.

I despise him. His safe, warm, casual life. His little dramas of this brother and that sister and embarrassing formal robes. His intimate friendships and family devotion. The girl I love and the boy I want to be.

He shakes her hand in farewell, blushing at her smile, and I put my arm around her waist, just so he can see. His look is worth it, although now I'll have minutes more of her simpering triumph.

* * *

Harry,
I've been trying to track you down all morning with no luck at all, and Hedwig seemed at a loose end. I wish I didn't have to ask you such a gigantic favour this way. I'm sorry. It's about Ginny. I came to see her this morning, to see all of you, really, but I spent most of the time with her.
I thought you should know she's very depressed. It's not your fault, I know. You've always made it clear that you only thought of her as a friend, but there's something really desperate about her right now, which she thinks is about you. I've written to Mum, I'm that worried, but Ginny says she has a rite meeting with you next week. Could you be really careful with her? You wouldn't do anything to hurt her on purpose I know, but could you let her get things off her chest a bit, and let her down easy. If you can stand to, it might help if you told her you're definitely gay.
I can't help really sympathizing with her now, after everything between me and Hermione, and I don't want her to do anything she'll regret.
Your friend,
Ron Weasley

* * *

The corridor outside Dumbledore's office seemed especially cold. Harry hesitated yet again in front of the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's rooms. Even if he said he couldn't remember the password, he would have to wait around for them to come looking. He could never just go. He was Harry after all. At least he could almost guarantee that once inside he wouldn't run into Professor Snape.

"Lemon drop," he said, somewhat dismally, and the door slid open.

Dumbledore's parlour was lit by multiple floating candles, flickering white and gold. It was impressive, Harry thought, and it suddenly occurred to him that the Headmaster meant it to impress.

"Harry," the old man said happily, "come in come in. Hagrid and I were just considering a warming hot chocolate." He turned to the half-giant comfortably ensconced in one of Dumbledore's armchairs, enlarged to suit him.

"It's beautiful," Harry said, looking around to indicate the room. He met Dumbledore's amused gaze somewhere near the main windows.

"We do need to welcome our foreign guests appropriately."

Harry nodded. "Especially when it's also a visit from another Headmaster," he added.

"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed as a silver tray bearing white china mugs floated in his direction. "Chocolate, Harry? Or would you rather a small glass of red wine?"

* * *

Harry rolls, turns, and twists around the emerald green comforter.

The girl flashes her dark eyes, hair snaking over her shoulder. The half-open robe is the same pale golden brown as her skin. She leans over him, lifting his hand to the last closed clasps, just below the visible curve of her breasts.

He's there, but not there.

"Harry," she says, and her voice rasps over his mind. He really should move away, because it's not like he wants. . .

There's a sigh, a shift, a scent, and her mouth hovers above him, saying "Don't you think, Harry?". It's what she said before, earlier, while her father watched him darkly from the corner. Anna doesn't go outside. Anna has something to show you.

He's there now, in the corner, and Harry catches Karkoroff's glittering eyes as he bares large sharp teeth in a fierce grin.

With a gasp Harry turns to Anna, who floats naked above him now, a shadowy golden form, her hair elongated animated tendrils of darkness.

"Your father," Harry says hoarsely.

"I know," she replies, her teeth at his throat, her hair in his mouth and winding around his throat, her body pressing down on his chest, and he tries to turn, to call, for Dumbledore or Hagrid or Severus, but the room is a sea of black hair and gold skin and eyes and teeth.

Harry thrust himself up in the bed, sweating and on the edge of tears, his stomach rolling and his eyes on the blackness through the glass.
tbc