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 – R (I think, but if anyone thinks it's NC17 please let me know right away)

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

Notes: Sorry about the long wait, I've been writing other stories. For the same reason the final part of this chapter will also be longer coming than I'd usually like, but hopefully in not too much more than a week. I have a livejournal now, you can find the address under the author link here, which will keep anyone really keen on the story uptodate on, um, updates. That sounded really corny, sorry, I'm tired.

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 VIII (b): The Trial

Snape's shirt hung open on his shoulders, and amid the dizzy pleasure of becoming naked under Snape's hands Harry saw flashes of a pale chest and stomach. He couldn't help touching, but Snape didn't stop him. Hands ran along his bare sides, cupping the slightly prominent curve of his hip and grazing softly over the skin of his back.

Lips touched Harry's neck and his jaw and then he couldn't look any more because Snape's kiss was all he could think about. This was different than the other times, more important almost or. . . Harry was almost certain Snape wanted it. Wanted him.

Cool fingers were on him, stroking him gently, and the fire in his stomach sparked through his kiss and circled back again. He pushed his hands under the edges of Snape's shirt, touching skin, and pushed back into the kiss.

He felt the shift in Snape's position, and hands bumping into his, before he realised what it meant. Harry gasped away from the kiss and looked down at the revelation of Snape undressing – his stomach, a hip, a spray of dark hair and Snape's cock – Harry pushed at the shirt too, but Snape's arms were in the way.

"Leave it, Harry."

There was some more apparent fumbling beneath Snape's urgent kiss and then Snape's body was on him, pressed against him, and he could feel not just Snape's cock pushed along his and against his and into the curls and the hollows, but that Snape really did want it.

Snape was breathing over his mouth then and with an intent glance pushed one of Harry's arms upwards. Rather uncertainly, he settled for looping it around Snape's neck. His other hand slid across surprisingly soft smooth skin as Snape pressed against him. A nipple brushed under his exploring fingers and with a groan Snape grasped at his hips and pushed, shooting a rush of heat through his body which tendrilled out even to his fingertips. He did it again, and then more quickly, the delicate and hard length of another man's cock pushing along Harry's and every inch of him was focused there. Almost.

Their mouths were almost still as they breathed against one another and Harry brushed his hand back to this time intentionally close his fingers around Snape's nipple. He was almost embarrassed even as he did it, but Snape moved against him, firm and quick strokes now and he could feel how sticky trails of each other marked their connction. Snape's mouth slid from Harry's neck to his ear, where wetly with kisses he said, "Harry," and with a shocked gasp Harry was coming. The hot spill was slicked across his shifting shivering skin and muscles as Snape began to push in a hard and uneven pattern like his breathing and suddenly his hands were in Harry's hair and his dark eyes were on Harry's and Harry breathed out "S-Severus" as he watched him come.

* * *

Harry was almost asleep again, his head in the crook of the lounge, and the glass of still unfinished brandy slipping at a dangerous angle, but Severus couldn't quite bring himself to stir the boy into leaving. The fire-warmed room felt soft and quiet, and a few minutes more wouldn't matter – unless of course they mattered far too much. Harry's eyes closed, opened, and slipped closed again. Severus watched him obliquely, although the boy would hardly notice in this state. He shifted a little uncomfortably, narrowly avoiding a smile, as he considered Harry's state.

He wasn't as concerned as he might have expected about the added intimacy. It wasn't so much that the boy was discreet, but he was insecure and isolated, unsure what, if anything, the sinister Professor Snape wanted with him, how meaningful any of this was or, indeed, if it was really somehow shameful.

A not inconsiderable part of him would quite enjoy changing the boy's mind about that, but pragmatically things were better as they were. All of this so easily slipped outside the frame in which it must be kept – the channels for Malfoy's plans that the Rite seemed to be rapidly cutting through the Wizarding world. And where, exactly, was Voldemort in all this? If he didn't respect Malfoy's caution he would begin to suspect that all of this served his own aims under cover of the Dark Lord's shadow. It was a long time since Voldemort was so patient, or so subtle.

Harry shifted further down into the comfort of the lounge, and Severus leaned over to rescue the glass before it tumbled away.

Green eyes flashed up at him behind glasses slightly off centre.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, pulling himself up. "I must have fallen asleep." He blushed with typical self-consciousness and Severus's fingers were already smoothing the untidy hair before he thought to stop.

The boys' eyes were very wide. With reason.

Severus got to his feet and, mercifully, the boy took the hint.

"Thank you for dinner, Professor," Harry said at the door, without apparently hesitating. In fact, he had already begun to turn the handle before Severus put a hand to his arm.

The boy gave him an unaccountably nervous look.

"Good night, Harry," Severus said.

As they moved out into the hall, Severus caught the boy's curious look in the torchlight, half shadowed by the flare of light across his glasses.

"Good night," Harry replied quietly.

* * *

Monday morning's first class really shouldn't be double Potions, Ron thought. It was a cruel and unusual punishment. Or, rather, cruel and all too usual where Snape was concerned. The man himself was in a really odd mood. This morning he'd brushed off Ron's concern about the size of the new mandrakes as unimportant and then he'd been utterly silent all through breakfast. Ron had placed and set the table just as any other morning they were scheduled to eat together, but there was no interrogation and no anything else, as if Ron had done something wrong and was expected to work it out.

Snape swept past with a hiss of fabric on highly polished floorboards – years of unwarranted detentions went into that surface. But he wasn't patrolling the room for any minor infraction which could be ruthlessly enjoyed in the usual manner; in fact he didn't seem to be paying much attention to what anyone was doing as long as they were diligently concentrating on something that looked like work.

Ron had learned quite a lot about subtle observation recently. It was a necessary survival skill when your every movement almost was tracked by Severus Snape. And as it was so obvious Snape didn't want anyone looking at anything other than this ridiculous rote test he just had to see what it was he wasn't meant to notice.

Neville seemed a little more relaxed than usual, and several of the Slytherins, Crabbe especially, a little more self-satisfied. Particularly – Ron had to diligently note something or other about gillyweed in one of the boxes as Snape's gaze grazed over his part of the room – particularly when he looked in Malfoy's direction. Ron carefully answered another question that required little effort and shifted so he could, with care, just see Draco. . . staring intently, and rather unpleasantly, at Harry.

He hadn't seen that kind of malice when Draco looked at Harry in a long time, but he only realised that when he saw it again now – it was somewhere between a pout and a sneer, but definitely a threat.

There was a slight movement at the front of the class, and Ron knew he'd looked too long. He worked carefully on his questions for a full ten minutes before glancing up to meet Snape's interrogative glare. He repressed a sigh. Great. Newts again.

* * *

Harry was mildly interested in Sangermano's discussion of "Dress and Deportment." That kind of attention to what you looked like and how you moved was alien to him, but it clearly impressed him in others, and it was undeniably interesting to watch his classmates learning to preen. He expected it from Lavender, Padma and Pavarti, and some of the others. But everyone seemed strangely intent and interested.

Harry felt he'd been missing a great deal of his ordinary life when nobody else was surprised that Justin had moved on to the full white dress robes. When he stared openly, Lavender assured him they didn't have to wear the embroidered outer cloak all the time, as if that explained everything strange about it. Harry asked who Justin had reached an agreement with, but Lavender hushed him and everyone else was attentively listening.

Sangermano came across as really polished when you first saw him, but on closer inspection Harry noticed he was actually a little worn, not gently shabby like Remus, well Remus when Harry first met him anyway, but something more desperate. Like an actor playing the role of a sophisticated and attractive person. He was wearing something soft trimmed with fur, all black, with shiny leather gloves, also black, and the other students clearly admired it, but Harry thought it was too obviously his very best robes, brought out to impress. Maybe that was the whole point though, he thought, as Sangermano went through a series of appropriate and inappropriate colour combinations, trickily displayed on the various rapt students. No one else seemed to care if it was all a bit ridiculous, or unimportant. Harry looked around, wishing Ron or Hermione or Draco were here.

Then there was an exercise in how to walk properly. Harry waited for the guffaws and jibes from the Finnegan and Thomas corner, but Seamus just watched carefully and Dean seemed prepared to go along with it all. Harry watched Justin imitate Sangermano's smooth sweeping procession across the floor and then share a satisfied smile with Cho as she followed him. At the smattering of applause Harry raised an eyebrow and decided that Wizarding Etiquette really wasn't for him.

On the way out he passed Sangermano in a rather intimate conversation with Blaise. They both bowed to Harry slightly after the fashion everyone was adopting, presumably from Sunday's class. He found it unexpectedly irritating and gave them both the least genuine smile he could manage.

* * *

On the one hand Draco didn't need to ask what had happened. He could see it in every moment they were in the same room. On the other hand, he had to know.

Snape's door was closed but it gave off a less intimidating air – the Potions Master's concession to open office hours. He knocked and was summoned.

Draco was almost certain Snape expected him, and he took as long as he could to try and gauge the Professor's mood. He seemed almost tense, if that could be distinguished from Snape's practiced impatience with students. The immediate thought that he was still and would always be Snape's student – or even more insignificantly, Snape's ex student – while Harry Potter would be. . . would be something, had him humming again with disappointed anger.

Snape moved out from behind the desk and towards the armchairs near the hearth. "Would you like tea, Draco?"

Draco was very close to sneering something about the headmaster, but was sure something more unadvisable would come out if he tried. He waited instead while Snape poured tea and took a seat facing him.

"Will you at least sit down?"

When Draco just stood there looking at him Snape went on as if he had answered. "I wanted to talk to you about your father, who has made me an unexpected offer."

"Which is?" Draco said abruptly, still holding his tense position.

"He has apparently changed his mind about whether or not I should be permitted to think I am negotiating to obtain you."

Draco immediately moved to the chair and sat down. His throat ached with something between a shout and laughter. Eventually he opened his eyes, not realizing he'd closed them. "At what price?"

Snape gave him a look that radiated approval and Draco thought for a single terrifying moment that he was going to cry.

"He has no intention of giving me that information yet. I am sure I am supposed to be left salivating over the prospect for long enough to act rashly."

Draco fought to hold his fingers still as they really wanted to pick at the fabric of his robe – he'd noticed Snape noticing that.

"It will, of course, be conveniently outside some of the safeguards built into the public recording of Rite contracts, and he is clearly sure I will go to some length to have you."

"And you won't," Draco said, more than surprised at his own calm tone.

"You do comprehend that he plans to give you away to the highest bidder."

"Yes, Professor," he said, with some emphasis on the title. "Haven't I made it clear that I understand that? Haven't I asked for your assistance with exactly that?" Draco stood and took two careful steps towards where Snape sat and sank down onto the floor. He stretched a hand out to rest on Snape's knee, and allowed it to be as close to heartfelt submission as he could. He didn't even look up. "Will you?" he said.

The pause lasted long enough that Draco had to look at him, and the open sadness on Snape's face was like a blow.

"You still don't trust me," Draco said roughly, his hand and his head flicking back. "And of course you don't need to, when you can have him – you think he's naïve and easy."

"No." Snape held his angry look without apparent emotion. "But you're right too, I don't trust you."

"And you think you're trustworthy?"

"I know my limitations, Draco; I don't think you know yours."

Draco was on his feet and leaving, but he stopped himself just before storming out.

"Did you fuck him?" he said, looking pointedly at the print on the wall rather than Snape.

"Yes."

Draco sneered across clenched teeth. "Did he even know what you were doing?"

"He's fond of you," Snape said, getting up and coming nearer, although he didn't try to touch or comfort him, which Draco thought bitterly was just as well.

"He's got no more sense than that."

"You like him, I know it. You envy him, but you won't hurt him."

"Unless I have something to gain by it." Draco wasn't sure his tone was cruel rather than petulant, and he was damned if he was going to. . . if they were going to make him. . . though for fuck's sake he was probably damned anyway. He did the only thing he could.

As he pulled the door open Snape said, "Don't sell yourself short, Draco." His voice was excruciatingly tender – not now, Draco thought, not like this.

"Oh I know my price, Professor," he said with all the considerable bitterness he could conjure. "That more than anything."