Diffraction

Disclaimer: When I have succeeded in kidnapping JK Rowling, and exposing her to porn until she is saturated, then I could claim that I helped make these characters. Alas, I first have to actually get a car (so, that's about two years away...) So, as of now, they aren't mine, I am just playing with them.

Notice that I'm running out of imaginative titles?

In the last chapter, I managed to enter yet more gratuitous sex (yay me!) Now, however, we get to see shirtless Lucius flying a broomstick in a thunderstorm in order to save the bane and blessing of his existence...Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy line. Severus just gets to stand there in post- sex bliss and look pretty. Any objections? No? Excellent!



Draco was floating – everything around him was a foggy haze, and he smiled, not knowing why he did so. The sky above was angry and grey, but somehow, it seemed that the sounds of the storm were being muffled. One of his arms was above him, hanging suspended so that it almost looked like it was unattached – like somebody else's pale limb. He sensed that he was cold, but the coldness had reached the point of numbness, and the numbness made him want to close his eyes.

His head hurt...though he wasn't quite sure why. He was conscious of wetness enveloping him, and of the inky shadow of a broomstick hovering above him. Other than that, there was nothing else here to alarm him. The deathly quiet of his surroundings was quite pleasant, and he knew that he would easily be able to catch up on his sleep right here...wherever here was.

He inhaled deeply, expecting the heavy, pollen-laden air that he had become accustomed to as the summer standard to flood his lungs. However, something much less savoury and much denser filled his starved lungs, and he spluttered, attempting to spit the water back out again. However, he only succeeded in taking in more of the dreaded water, so that he suddenly felt heavy, and tired.

The arm that had been suspended in lazy rest above him, now curled into a claw, trying to rake it's way to the surface. He had no idea what had happened to his other arm – it, like the rest of his body, was numb and tingling. He sent messages to his legs to kick towards the surface, using a flash of forked lightning in order to gauge his direction. With agonisingly slow movements, he managed to start his rise to the surface... Now, it was merely a matter of what occurred first – he would either break the surface, or the blackness trying to creep over his eyes would win, and he would sink once more.

I have to just...a bit further...he thought, forcing himself awake as he slowly realised what had happened. The surface of the water was only a few inches above his now outstretched fingers, and he felt wonder race through him as they broke through into the sweet, sweet life-giving air above. The cold hit them, and feeling returned – with a last surge of strength, he bought his nose and mouth above the water as well.

He gulped the air down, where it bubbled through the water he'd taken in, and then he began to cough – these, coupled with his already failing strength due to the lack of oxygen within his blood, weakened him further. He reached out and grabbed onto the handle of his precious broom – this, he clung to for dear life, noting that it had lost almost all of its tail of twigs. Doesn't look like it'll fly again anytime soon, he thought, managing to somehow feel bitter about such a trivial thing. No matter that he had nearly drowned...his broom was ruined, and he petulantly clung onto its charred remains.

He registered the fact that he was shivering...and also that the shore was a heathen distance away. Don't think I can get that far... He attempted to propel himself through the water, but the weight of his clothes, the lack of oxygen to his muscles, and the intense cold that was now running through him, made this an impossibility. It was a miracle that he could still hold onto his broom!

The Malfoy boy laid his head on his arms that were crossed over the stick, and slowly moved his dead-weight legs back and forth to help himself stay afloat. He could feel the sleep that wanted to take him, and vainly tried again to reach the shore. Help... Draco briefly wondered if anyone would even miss him should he die... The rain was still pummelling down from the nearly black clouds above, and these bullet-like droplets succeeded in keeping him awake with their constant bombardment against his already soaked skin.

Something large brushed against his leg, and he started – the broom rushed out of his grip as he let out a startled shriek, looking down to see the silhouette of one of the many coy-carp in the lake speeding away in terror. He splashed through the water, reaching for his makeshift raft that was swiftly floating away on the ripples he had made.

His last ditch attempt was to throw himself towards it in a graceless dive – having missed, he fell face-down into the water, and because of the weight of his heavy, sodden, denim jeans, he began to sink again. Desperately, Draco flailed in the water, wondering why he had never thought learning to swim would be important.

Draco's attempts all mounted to nothing, and only wasted what little energy he had regained from his time at the surface. Resignedly, he closed his eyes, and remained suspended in the murky waters of the ornamental lake of Malfoy manor. He had boated across it many times, and walked around it with the dog he had once had when he was young. Now, however, he took it to be his rather stylised tomb. Don't even like...bloody rose bushes...

Something brushed by him again, but he ignored it for another carp. There was another brush, this time more certain, and he felt his shirt material being grabbed firmly. However, the water had already claimed him, and he fainted before he was hoisted out of the lake...


Lucius leant as far to the left as he dared, cursing the day that he had decided to go for style rather than speed. Yes, the Shooting Star had cost an arm and a leg (at least, judging by the prices in Knockturn alley for such appendages), but it couldn't go at anything above fifty miles per hour, and it was a bloody awful thing to turn corners in. He pledged to himself to get a Nimbus or Firebolt.

He scoured the skies above for Draco, hoping to catch a glimpse of his son, just to assure himself that he was safe. He had a terrible dread in the pit of his stomach, which was accompanied by the usual nausea he always felt when flying. After his schooldays, he had pretty much given up the sport of quidditch, and finding himself in the air at any time was an odd sensation. No doubt he wasn't exactly portraying the dignified Malfoy line quite as his father would have wished – flying around shirtless in a thunderstorm wasn't exactly the norm by any standards – however, here he was...

Having not yet spotted Draco, he wondered if perhaps all of this was for naught. For all I know, he could be back inside, and I'm just making a prat of myself out here... But, something told him that that wasn't the case at all, so he carried on. He flew low to the ground, always staying below the tree line; this was the standard practice when it came to storms, as the lightning would always hit the highest point from the ground. So, as long as he stayed below the tree line, he would be safe.

I hope Draco remembered that. He wondered if Draco might not have set down somewhere to shelter from the storm, and moved around to the informal gardens to the south of the manor. Maybe he's in the gazebo...or under the rose-arches...

Lucius alighted on the shore of the ornamental lake, and dismounted from his broom, leaving it on the ground as he made his way towards the gazebo. The flashes of lightning picked out the gold leafing on the cornices that held up the stone roof, and also the marvellous limestone fountain that sent sparkling water gushing four feet into the air. Unable to see Draco within, he felt the silent feeling of alarm about the whole situation building up within him.

He whirled around, prepared to make his way to the rose-arch walkway, when he thought he saw movement out in the lake. He dismissed it almost immediately as a fish jumping, but, when a flash of light yellow caught his attention, he focused his sights. Mixed emotions of delight and horror trembled precariously within him, and were luckily overruled by common sense, as he took his broom from the ground, and mounted it again.

Still keeping his eyes focused upon the object (which he now knew to be his son) at the centre of the huge mass of water, he flew towards it, balancing as best he could, considering the winds that buffeted him. He saw Draco sink below the surface of the small waves being kicked up by the tempestuous weather, and turned his broom to an acute angle so that his legs trailed in the water.

The sharp icy fingers of cold stabbed through the thin fabric of his trousers, and he felt a shiver run through him as he plunged both hands into the water. His fingers brushed past the collar of Draco's shirt once, and then managed to find the material again and grab hold. Then, wrapping his legs around the handle of the broom, he leant down so that his torso was flat against the wood, and heaved his son from the water. Thank God he's still quite light, he thought, as he clumsily held Draco in one arm, and steered back towards shore with the other.

His son's lips were worryingly pale, with a slight tinge of blue to them, and he didn't seem to be breathing. Lucius managed to find a fluttering pulse, but it wasn't all that strong...his wand was in his back pocket, and as soon as he set down, he unceremoniously dropped the younger Malfoy to the ground, and took the baton out in his right hand. Considering current...situations...I think it'd be best this way. He performed a complicated rite-pattern in the air, spoke a few choice words in Latin, and Draco managed to cough up about half of the lake, and then he took in great gasps of air.

His eyes were wide, and he stared up at Lucius in obvious shock. "I...I nearly..." he started, but broke off, sobbing, and brought up his hands to try and hide the fact. Lucius was shivering almost as much as Draco was, and he stooped down to comfort his shuddering son. To his astonishment, the boy flung his arms around his neck, and proceeded to bear hug him, all the while weeping, "I could have died! Could have...died..."

"Shh," Lucius said softly, patting him awkwardly on the back, trying to remind himself to stay in control. "It's all right, shh." What in the bloody hell are you supposed to say in situations like this? Fucking hell... He tried to get Draco to release his deathly hold, but it didn't seem as though that was a likely course of action. He managed to get one arm free, with which he called his broom back into service. Then, he picked his son up in a fireman's lift, sat sideways on the broom, and made his way back to the great entrance to the manor.

"Dad..." Draco snivelled pitifully, clinging onto Lucius so hard that it was painful. Lucius felt shock run through him, as that one word sparked memories of the dream from that morning... The dream that had haunted him now for months... He felt disgusted with himself as he looked down at his helpless and shivering son, and could only see the attributes that made him attractive...


Severus had waited at the open front doors for five minutes, before the biting cold wind and driving rain had forced him to seek refuge further into the hall. He stood with his arms folded across his chest, and every so often would rub his arms to try and warm himself up a little. What is Lucius doing? He wondered, blowing warm air onto his hands, and then rubbing them together briskly. He hoped that it wasn't something he'd done.

Maybe asking to stay was a little much for him. He smirked ruefully at the very idea – nothing had ever been too much for Lucius Malfoy. Even Severus had come to terms with the fact that Lucius had owned him ever since that first, fumbling time of his... It seemed so long ago now – a completely different life and a completely different person to the one that he was now.

Sighing, he again cast his eyes to the great wooden doors that framed the exit into the abhorrent weather conditions beyond. The house-elves, spooked by the thunder and their master's behaviour, did not even seem to attempt to hide themselves from his eyes anymore, and he took to studying them for lack of anything else to do. Most of them were clad in ensembles consisting of towels and pillowcases, though one seemed to be wearing something that could have been curtains at one point.

The elves didn't keep his attention for long, and he rove his eyes over the rest of the entrance hall. It was, as ever, exceedingly pretentious, and not at all to Lucius' taste. At least, if his dorm room at school was anything to go by... Severus thought, with a fond smile that he would never have allowed himself were he within the halls of Hogwarts. The entrance hall to Malfoy manor was a statement of wealth so overt, that even his students, most of whom were cretins, would have been able to ascertain the magnitude of the Malfoy fortune.

The floors were of marble, highly polished (naturally), and in some places covered with expensive rugs of fur. Next to the great doors were multiple hat-stands, umbrella-stands and coat-stands. Most of these were made up of expensive materials, including ivory, mahogany, something that looked as though it could be gold, and Severus' personal favourite (that Lucius had only bought because Narcissa loathed it), an elephant's foot side-table, on which was a vase that the potions-master guessed to be Ming dynasty, perhaps even earlier.

And, considering that he had only studied about ten square feet of the thousand square foot that comprised the entrance hall, that was an awful lot of expensive furniture and ornaments. He especially liked the paintings that were all around the walls – originals from Rembrandt and Constable, as well pieces by famous wizard artists, including a moving tapestry by the great Merlin himself, showing the life of King Arthur. Severus watched this, enjoying as he always did the scene of the lady of the lake, awed by the shining intricacies of the designs upon the hilt, picked out perfectly in gold and silver threads.

The silver triggered his memory of his own school days, and he remembered the stark difference between this place, and Lucius' room. Lucius' father had helped the school's funding immensely, and as such, had been allowed to ask for whatever he wanted for his dear son. And, in sixth year, that happened to be that Lucius be given his own bedroom and study, in order to 'further his education and allow him more independence from other students'. At least, that was the story that the man had given to Dumbledore...Severus hadn't known at the time what it was truly for...but Lucius had at times allowed Severus insight into his life. So, Severus knew...knew Lucius' problems.

However, setting those dark things aside, Lucius' rooms began as the most plush and richly decorated in the whole of Slytherin house, if not the whole of Hogwarts. Severus remembered well his bitter envy of his friend- come-lover when he first saw them. However, as the year progressed, Lucius began to give away items of furniture, and swathes of cloth and bedding, to other people in the house. He had claimed stoutly that he 'had no need of them'. His real reasons were much darker – a shiver ran through the potions- master as he contemplated the hurt Lucius had suffered...

So many reasons that people turn to the Dark Lord... My own seem paltry when compared to his... He shook his head, realising that he had been staring at a current Malfoy family portrait, and that Lucius was smiling benevolently down at him, high collared robes making him look stiff and formal. He's never suited formal robes...

He was surprised when the painted Lucius was suddenly replaced by the real thing, crashing into the entrance hall and dropping his broom with a resounding clatter to the marble floor. He left large puddles of water behind him as he strode inside, and harshly ordered the house-elves to close the doors. Then, he called for another legion of them, and sent them off to prepare various rooms and foods, and such-like.

Severus blinked as he registered that not only was Lucius there, but so was Draco. The boy had been clutched in the older Malfoy's arms, but was now shakily standing, leaning heavily upon his father. He let out a pitiful run of sneezes, and then stumbled as Lucius tried to lead him towards the stairs. Lucius caught him and righted him so that he stood on his own two feet once more.

However, it was quite apparent that the boy would be going nowhere in his current state. Severus found himself surprised (and, for reasons he couldn't fathom, aroused), when Lucius hooked one arm around Draco's shoulders, and the other underneath the crook of his knees, and lifted him up. You'd never think he could lift anything up with those scrawny arms, he thought, hurrying over to the two soaked Malfoys.

When he was still quite a distance away, Lucius raised his eyes, and caught his. His eyebrows were high upon his forehead, and his mouth was in a tight frown, as he clutched the teenager in arms that were obviously straining to take the weight. Severus had been about to offer assistance to carry the boy, but, judging from the look on his face, it would be best not to. His lover looked most devastated by the state of his son, and he approached more slowly.

"Luc?" he ventured, trying to regain his attention, as he had started to climb up the stairs. The blond-haired man stopped, and tilted his head to the side to show that he was listening. "Do you...do you need any help?" he stammered, trailing off towards the end.

"I..." Luc started, and then he cut himself off. "Sev...I...thank you. But, no...we'll be quite all right." Then, finally, he coldly dismissed Severus, and the potions-master felt the familiar sickness run through him as he was rejected once again. "I think it would be best if you left – I need to concentrate upon my son." Without so much as a goodbye, Lucius carried on up the sweeping staircase.

Severus watched him go, and bitterly repented the day that he had fallen in love with the Malfoy man.


Lucius kicked the door to Draco's chambers open, startling the house-elves already within, clutching bowels of hot water, dry clothes, tea, toast, new blankets, and a variety of potions ingredients. They had been chattering quietly amongst themselves whilst awaiting his arrival, but, now that he was there, they were respectfully silent. They parted like the red sea as he made a bee-line for Draco's four-poster canopy-bed.

There, he dropped his son, still weak, but still, thankfully, conscious, onto the perfectly turned back sheets of the bed. Whilst bending over his prone form, he, on a whim, placed a kiss on his forehead, which, now out of the cold of the rain, actually felt quite warm. Damn it man, why did you go and do that? He reprimanded himself, quickly retreating from the bed-side, and signalling for the house-elves to move forwards.

He was torn between the insistent want to stay here, and assure that Draco was going to be all right, and the sensible need to leave in order to retain his sanity, which had been dwindling since the beginning of the holidays. He stepped back a few more paces, so that he was standing in the doorway of Draco's bedroom, and stopped. He leant against the door-frame, and watched the house-elves proficiently remove Draco's sodden clothes (when it came to the underwear, Lucius averted his eyes), and then replace them with the dry ones they had bought.

Then, they took his feet (which had been left bare), and wrapped towels that had been dipped in the hot water around them. They did the same to his hands; this would allow his circulation to start up again, and would bring the feeling back into the limbs. Then, two of them were able to lift Draco's torso up, and another one helped to pull him back so that he was leaning against his many cushions. When they were sure he was comfortable, the house-elves removed the hot-towels, dried his feet and hands, and then lay a heavy blanket upon him.

Lucius was astounded by all this perfectly co-ordinated teamwork. During this whole commotion, the elves had only muttered a couple of dozen words to one another, and yet had accomplished in ten minutes what would take many human nurses half an hour.

With Draco now safely entombed in layers of warm clothes and heavy blankets, the house-elves paused their work, and there was a hurried whispered conversation between the two senior elves. Then, a small and quivering female was pushed forwards, towards Lucius, who was no longer paying any heed to them, staring into the middle-distance and wishing himself somewhere else. The female toyed with the fraying hem of her toga (which was constructed out of two tea-towels), and coughed politely.

Lucius looked at her with sharp eyes, the blue orbs wide in surprise. They quickly narrowed however, as he remembered his own place in the household, and attempted to retake his authority. "Sir, begging your pardon sir, but, we thought that, perhaps...seeing as the young master is awake...and seems not to be too ill...whether you would care to...perhaps...if it isn't too much bother that is...well, what I mean to say is that maybe...if you want to..."

"For the love of God, elf, just get on with it," Lucius demanded, massaging his temples. He could feel a headache coming on, and had the woeful knowledge that his little escapade would probably have given him a cold.

"Sorry sir. What I mean to say is, perhaps you sir, would care to tend your son?"

"What?" Lucius asked flatly. The female elf flinched, but stood her ground. It seemed the elves had been prepared for this reaction, and they put the trays carrying hot buttered toast and a tea-pot of steaming herbal tea that Draco liked, on the side table next to the bed. The senior male of the team took up the teapot, and began to pour out the brown/green liquid into a china cup.

"Oh, not that we mean to be impertinent sir – of course, you will need to get back to your important work – we-"

To his own surprise, Lucius found his vocal chords making sound without his consent. "No offence was taken. It's a valid suggestion – please leave the room." He blinked a few times, registering what he'd just said, and, by the time he'd figured out a way to undo the damage he was about to do to himself, the elves had all obediently left the room. Leaving him alone with a son who was barely conscious, and a plate of food to feed him with.

The scent of the herbal tea reached Lucius' nose, and he wrinkled it in disgust. He had never understood the pull of herbal tea...sadly, that was another thing that Narcissa had introduced their son to, and Lucius had not been able to convince him that Earl Grey was the only proper tea to drink.

Cautiously, so as not to disturb or alarm his son with sudden movements, he made his way over to the bed. There, he reached out and took the chair that rested next to the side-table, and dragged it to sit next to the four- poster. Draco's eyes were almost completely shut, and his face was turned away from Lucius. His hair was still plastered to his skull, a few shades darker than normal, and Lucius reached out a hand to brush the strands from his forehead. Flashes of times in his son's childhood when he had done this came to him, and he dropped his hand as though it had been burned.

Draco's eyes were now completely closed, but his breathing still credited the fact that he was, indeed, awake. Lucius picked up the foul-smelling tea that his son adored, and forcing himself into the role of nurse, rather than the usual uncaring father he'd led his son to believe he was, he bought it to Draco's lips. He placed one hand behind his son's head, in order to lift it up so that he would be able to drink. Then, he tipped the cup gently, so that the hot liquid pressed against the closed lips – Draco opened his mouth obligingly, and some of the tea entered.

Lucius quickly righted the cup again, not wanting to try to give his son too much to drink at once. Draco swallowed, and then one hand travelled tremblingly up from where it had lain on the coverlet, in order to take a weak hold on the cup. His eyes still closed, he placed his hand over his father's, and tipped the cup up again so that he could gain a little more of the refreshing hot beverage.

He spluttered slightly, having overestimated his mouthful, and swallowed it quickly, which left a burning sensation in his throat. He briefly wondered who was actually sitting next to him, and opened his eyes. Lucius tensed when he say the grey spheres blinking bemusedly at him, and could do nothing more than offer a stretched smile. "Da-father?" Draco corrected himself, managing to regain a hold over himself. He could remember everything that had happened, and felt the intense embarrassment that only a teenager can, when he realised he'd made a complete idiot of himself in front of his father.

"Yes Draco?" Lucius asked, taking the cup away and carefully setting it on the tray on the side. When he turned around, he thought he saw his son's eyes flicker down to his chest (Oh God, I still don't have a shirt...) and then back up to meet his eyes. He just put this down to a trick of his mind, talk about your wishful thinking, and ignored it.

"I...uh..." he tripped over his words, and ended up saying something completely different to the polite gratitude he had wished to express. "Where's your shirt gone?"


Draco winced as the words left his mouth, and inhaled so sharply that his breath caught on the few bubbles of water still in his system, and he began to cough. His father looked startled by the sudden eruption of noise, and he felt himself reaching out for him before he quite knew what he was doing. He grabbed onto the arms that had been steadying him, and held on as the continued coughing wracked his body. He felt the older Malfoy tug him closer, and pat him on the back in order to assist the subsidence of the outburst.

He managed to crack open his eyes again, from which tears were streaming. He took a few tentative small breaths, before daring to breath normally again. He didn't let go of his father's arms however, and was thus staring at Lucius' prominent collar-bone. Because of Lucius' tensed arms, it was even more noticeable than usual, and Draco focused on that as he steadied himself. He realised that his question hadn't been answered, and supposed it was because of the incredible stupidity of the question in the first place.

...Why is it that this reminds me of something? Draco wondered, remaining as still as a statue as he scrutinized his view of his father's chest. This was a sight that he hadn't seen for years...probably not since he'd left for Hogwarts. And, usually, this was only a sight reserved for the few holidays spent abroad that his father came along on. For some reason, it was a comforting sight – and, he noticed, in a hazy sort of wonder, that his father – his father, whom he had always thought of as 'old' (because, well, all children do believe their parents to be products of the stone age), was in fact quite young in the scheme of things. And, he was still sporting a rather muscular figure as well.

It clicked in Draco's mind quite suddenly, and he felt himself blush. Only a few nights ago, he'd awakened from a most curious dream – almost a nightmare, but not quite. In it, he had been asleep, and his father had walked in (much like that morning, only the time in the dream had been the middle of the night.) Lucius had lured him awake by calling his name softly – he had looked up to see his father clad only in a towel...then...after that...it had gotten a little...strange...

Needless to say, he had called in the house-elves to change his sheets in the morning... And he had not slept for the rest of the night, trying to contemplate what his subconscious mind might be trying to tell him. If muggle television shows had told him anything, it was that dreams were never to be taken at face value. Though...I don't know...maybe...oh...God, just stop staring! He wrenched his eyes away from the bizarrely alluring collar- bone, to catch his father's eyes.

Lucius looked stern, which didn't make much change from normal, and he calmly removed Draco's hands from his arms. "I trust you'll be all right?" he asked, though the brusque tone made it sound more like an assumption than a question.

"Yeah, I'll be fine, I guess," Draco answered, snuggling back against the many pillows and cushions. Lucius nodded just once, and then stood up from the chair – only now did Draco notice that he was still completely soaking, and had in fact left a trail of water-droplets on the wooden cross-sash of the chair from his hair, which was loose. A few tendrils had turned into spiralling curls that framed a pointed and weary face.

"Very good. Sleep well. I'll explain to your mother that you will not be joining us for dinner." Draco was startled by the change. He had almost begun to think that his father really gave a damn about him... But, alas, here was the usual cold, self-important bastard he'd come to know and tolerate. Recklessly, he reached out a hand, and latched onto his father's wrist. He turned his head to the side, so that it was in complete profile, proud and straight Roman nose wrinkled slightly in annoyance. "What do you think you're doing?" Lucius asked, and Draco heard a small catch in his voice, which confused him a little. However, rage overpowered confusement, and he tugged insistently on the wrist he held.

"Why do you have to leave? You always just bugger off whenever anything happens – just so long as I'm alive to carry on your bloody name, you don't seem to give a damn!" he hissed; he'd never been able to master the technique of angered shouting. "Can't you just once, just stay? For fuck sake, even just pretend that you could give a damn?" He could feel tears welling in his eyes, the sum total of nearly sixteen years of being preened to be a death eater, of neglected by both parents, and of today's accident adding to the torrent.

Lucius looked appalled. Draco expected him to shout, and was worried that he may even have bought his father to physical violence. When he wrenched his wrist out of Draco's hand, Draco flinched, closing his eyes against a blow.

There was a resounding crash, and Draco opened his eyes to see that Lucius had left the room, slamming the doors behind him. The mirror was still shaking, and his paintings rattled against the wall. Feeling drained, Draco dropped back onto his pillows, and pulled the blankets right up to his chin, shivering slightly, though whether it was from his cold, or his fear, not even he was sure. I shouldn't have done that...now I've made him angry. I'm such a fucking idiot! He extricated his arms from beneath the blanket, and then cradled his aching head in his hands, wondering whether his sanity was draining away from him.



Oh, look, no sex! [Can imagine half the readers sighing with relief, the other half baying for the sex to be bought back.] Sorry...it just didn't seem appropriate. If it's any consolation, the next chapter will be extremely dark, and in it I will be using my masochistic side to write non-con and other nasties. This chapter was just a pretty little link, with ambiguous and confusing thoughts entering Draco's consciousness. (And I also wanted to show Severus being angsty and post-sexish.)

I know I had fun. I barely care if anyone else likes it. I'm enjoying my sorry little slashing self far too much, considering the subject content of this!

Ah well, cookies for all, for reading my third person. I don't usually write third person. Actually, this whole slash fic scene is pretty new to me (at least, serious Harry Potter slash fiction is anyway...), as is third person (since I usually write in first). So, you are all in fact just part of one big experiment! Hurrah for you lot!

Now to go and write something on my other fics...before I am garrotted for not updating them.

Soda x

Review me. The review-monster is hungry, and it may eat me if I cannot provide it with more reviews soon.

Oh, and this chapter goes out to Dragon-Spit, SNÝVELLY, Intrigued, CrimsonTearsOfPain, Gabo0 and PhantomWitch666. Thanks for the reviews. I hope this chapter was to your satisfaction (even without the sex).