Schadenfreude

by Armand Malfoy

Follow up to Lachrymose and Gloaming; Harry and Alarbus have been together three years with no sign of Snape.

3. Dirae

Schadenfreude Part Three

Dirae

"Time lays his finger on thee, saying, 'Cease;

Here is no room for thee; go down to hell.'"

-Swinburne

I.

I'm in the garden when it starts to rain. I'm smoking one of his cigarettes – one of half a pack I found in the pocket of the jacket he left behind – and he's been gone for three and a half days. I have to ration out the cigarettes, if I want them to last. I smoke them one half at a time, snuff them out, and finish them later. I smoke him down to the filter. Already I'm beginning to dread the day I run out of reminders of him.

The first drop of rain hits the back of my neck. It takes a moment to remember what rain is; summer really seemed it would last forever this time. Within minutes, however, the leaves and petals are dripping water onto the ground. I nearly slip, running toward the shelter of the house, noting the tear-tracks on the statues, the overflowing fountain, the chill in the air.

Inside it is calm. I sit on the floor with my knees drawn up to my chest and my face buried in my arms, and I breathe. Slowly. Remembering the steadiness of inhalation, exhalation, the rhythm of his heart. I most fervently regret the ruined cigarette still clutched in my vice-like fingers.

The rain keeps up for days. Days of grey skies, nights without stars. I start to wonder if it'll ever be like before. If he comes back. When he comes back. Can we bind this place back together? Can we make this place home? I walk in the garden, in the rain, in the cold, and I try to focus long enough to drive my magic up from my heart and into the sky, the air, saving this place before it's too late and it's gone, gone forever.

The sun doesn't rise, one morning, so I light a lantern I find in the kitchen and head up to the attic, wand in hand. There are boxes and journals and pictures and clothes. I've taken to wearing the black suit jacket with the hissing silver serpent buttons. I don't talk back, but I've gotten better at listening.

If I listen well enough, I find I can hear them tell stories about their old owners. They know the family history. They know all sorts of things. The pictures have names and legends that go with them.

"Poor ssssweet boy," hisses the top button as I lift a fading photograph. It's the gloomy looking blond boy with the flapper. "Little Julian."

"Yessss," says the another button. "Poor dear. I remember hissss dear mother, Margaret, ussssed to love to dansssssssse. Alwaysssss flapping her armsssss and ssssssssmiling."

"Maggie, yesssssss," hisses the first button again. "But she should never have been a mother."

"Margaret Malfoy never wanted to be one in the firssst plassssssse," retorts the second button. "What she did wasss an act of vengeanssssse for her sssssissssster."

"What she did wassss unforgivable." I think of curses. "To kill a ssssson and feed him to hissss father? What rape could exxxxcussssssssse it?"

I can piece together most of the stories, most of the things that got left off our magical history exams. They're frightful things, about sisters being raped and avenged in the blood of their rapist's sons, and things that feel dark, and dirty, and dank. Things that push and worm their way down to the roots of my imagination and take hold.

It's a dream I haven't had in a while now. I am seventeen. I do not want to be here. I am seventeen and I am going to detention and Snape says, "Alphabetically by Latin name." But the jars have names I don't recognize on them. Names like Julian, Margaret, Draco, Lucius, and Narcissa. Names like Severus. Harry.

"Don't drop anything. Don't mess up." Snape is Snape again, and I am mumbling hexes too low to take affect, and the jars are lined up like a row of judges.

I drop the jar marked Severus and the ghost of his smirk flashes quick before my eyes, the cocky twist of his mouth, the glint in the black of his eyes like polished pebbles.

And then it all goes straight to hell.

When I wake up my face is pressed against the spread out photographs, and the buttons on my jacket are emitting hissing snores. The lantern is magic, so it's still shining brightly, but there's light coming from the small square window and it's daylight now.

The letters from Alarbus contain increasing frenzy. Where am I? Am I alright? Have I run away or something more sinister? Were we ever really in love? Do I think we are still meant to be? With questions like this appearing in crisp envelopes on my dining room table three times a day is it any wonder I begin to shun lucidity?

I make one trip to the basement, remembering the research Severus once conducted there. If he's set foot in it since then I can't tell. It smells wet and rotten, but I find enough sleeping drought to keep me under for at least eighteen hours at a time.

I play games, when I am awake. I play games and I imagine the people that might have played them before. This house was perfect when he left it. Now I notice little things, like dust collecting in the corners and the rain that never ceases, and I think about past glories and I think about Narcissa and I think about stopping. About walking into the garden and screaming at the sky and hearing nothing in return. Just the fall of rain. Just the hiss of snakes.

I play games like I watch for the house elves. They've been trained to keep out of sight at all cost, and I summon one and follow him, tracking them through the labyrinthine corridors and back stairs. If they turn on me, with their big bright eyes, if they see me, and they must, they continue working. They pretend I am not here. If they know. Perhaps they don't. Years of ministry work has left me silent. I can follow. I can sneak.

And there's the day that I start to dig.

I don't know what I'm hoping to find. A sign, or a message, or proof. The Muggle salesman, perhaps. Whatever it is I've set out to excavate, it isn't something pleasant. So I shouldn't be shocked, I shouldn't be so scared, when my shovel hits bone. I really shouldn't, I really shouldn't, I shouldn't run into the house with my hand over my mouth, shouldn't feel my stomach turning over, shouldn't sob against my palm and close my eyes against the image of decay.

It puts a stop to my amateur archeology, anyway.

I think I'm going crazy with only the sound of my voice. I'm very poor company these days. One is turning out to be something of a crowd.

I think I'm going crazy because I walk into the garden just as the sun is coming up. My feet are bare, their healthy tan faded to the same pale white as my cotton pants. Where I step the ground is soft and wet, and it gives under the pressure of my feet so that a trail of foot prints mark my progression from the door toward the fountain. I'm not sure, but I think there are small flowers blooming in the hollow places I'm leaving behind in the mud.

The fountain is running again and the sky is clear at last. But there's a smell, and there's something wrong. The closer I get the more distinctly I feel it; and then I notice the water is blackish red. It sticks to my pearl-white fingers when I dip them in, coating them like wax or syrup as I watch, transfixed more than horrified, and raise the dripping digits to my mouth.

Severus tastes sharp and sweet, like a lemon tart with cream. But there's that taste he leaves in the back of my throat that's not quite confectionary. That darkness he pushes into me, that grief and that pain and that madness that pours out of him and touches me, taints me, and leaves me so full of him. His taste in my mouth.

He pulls away slowly. He says, "My bones have grown into yours," and presses his hands against my ribcage, the fingers of his right hand splayed over the place where my heart should be. "Harry Potter…" And he reaches. Somehow. He reaches into me with that wide right hand, into the place where my heart should rightly be, and he pulls and twists and extracts – not without pain – one shining green apple, into which he applies his white teeth.

The Daily Prophet is lying on the dining room table. The steaming mug of coffee is my third this morning. The cigarette clenched between my fingers is the last in the carton, the last piece of him I can still reach out and hold.

Last Living Death Eater Discovered in Paris, reads the headline above a photograph of Severus snarling and twisting and thrashing against the three Aurors holding him in place. The one with dark curls and brown eyes, the one with a grim but triumphant sneer, keeps meeting my eyes and looking away, meeting my eyes and then –

He is not coming back. Is this rescue or revenge, Alarbus? Is this punishment or liberation?

I don't cry when I see the picture, read the article, open the lengthy letter written in Alarbus' hasty scrawl. But when the smoke stops rising and I realise that I've used up his last bloody cigarette I can't stop the flow of steady, silent tears that run down my cheeks and blot the ink on the page.

For some reason his capture makes not being found all the more important. I have to think of a plan to save him. They still don't know where I am or how to find me, and maybe the wards will hold long enough to let me figure out what I need to do next.

The wards…it's becoming more and more necessary to patrol the grounds, the edges of the protected area, where things are starting to crumble. Yes I'm caving from the outside in and I'm not sure why I can't keep things together a little better than this. A little better than leaking faucets and cloudy skies, falling leaves and the scent of burn and ash. I try to put my magic to work but the thoughts to form the spells slide out of my mind and I'm left hanging, hopeless, trying to wish myself back into order.

It feels worse at night.

So I start making rounds, walking the edges of the manor grounds in the dark with a wand in my hand. I start at the crack of twigs. I don't think I could kill anyone. I don't think I could hurt people the way Severus has. But if I have to, I might do something…I'm not sure what. The walking and watching make me feel better, a little, and I remember that this is what we used to do, around Hogwarts, what the teachers used to do and I would sneak along behind them till they sent me back to bed. I remember seeing Snape scowling at the howl of the wind, his dark eyes penetrating the gloom so that my breath almost ceased to issue. I try to copy his frown, the once proud sneer and the glint of his dark eyes, when mine are so hopelessly green.

It is Christmas and I miss you and I wish you would come back. It is Christmas and I remember the way you showed up with your secrets and your good intentions, the way you were selfish, the way you were cruel. I remember when you stood at my door, and I miss you. I wish you would come back.

It is Christmas and the sky is dark and I remember your eyes and the way you smiled at me. The back seat of your car and the scent of your cigarettes. I remember things like I didn't before, like the way your thigh pressed against mine in bed. I remember the sound of your voice, and the smell of your skin, and the curve of your lips and the feel of your hands and the words that you said and the way that you laughed and the taste of your mouth and the sound of your bare feet coming down the hall. I remember.

I remember when we had time and Christmases and it rained some days and it was sunny on others. I remember dissimilarity.

You walk through the door and your feet are bare. Touch my face. You say. You say hello and then you suck my breath like a black cat. The black cat on the bed is a present you gave me, but not for Christmas.

Christmas feels a long way away.

I wake up on the patio and it's dark and cold and wet and miserable. I want a cup of coffee and my bed, and maybe in the morning I will feel a little sane. I'll feel better after a night of real sleep, well enough to stop this negative progression. But there's a sound that stops me, coming from around the corner, behind the trees.

Slow and stealthy like the moonlight sliding through the grass, I sneak low to the ground, lupine, vulpine, feline, perhaps until their voices are just audible, their whispers of something sinister unintelligible but sure. Not house elves.

My wand is in my hand, warm and damp in this chill night, and I have to do something. The sound of their conversation is almost lost beneath the thud of my blood in my ears. I have to do something. If the wards have been breached I'm vulnerable. If these are Aurors sent to find me they will find evidence within the manor, whether they see me or not. But killing them will only bring more, unless I can manage to put the wards back in place tomorrow morning.

It could be Muggles. It could be anyone.

But I have to do something. In a second I've risen from my spot among the bushes and grass, wand in my outstretched hand and the curse on my lips. "Avada - "

Something heavy and solid crashes into me, sending me sprawling across the ground with it on top of me. I feel my ribs squeeze under the pressure, my leg twisting backwards at a painful angle. My fingers are numb from the cold, but I see my wand several feet away. The voices have risen and they are (familiar) getting closer. I struggle with the dark thing holding me down, frantic for my wand, my magic, my sanity…

"Harry," calm voice, dark and smooth like the scent of lemon and sugar. "Hold still."

Miraculously, I do. I stop struggling and go limp, breath still ragged like the edge of torn parchment. Above me the voice continues, but my face is smothered in dark fabric, in black jacket and the familiar scent of days and weeks and months curled on the lawn watching stars fall to earth.

I don't even know how long he's been gone.

"Harry?" It's another voice, one that holds relief and fear at a feverish pitch, the crack in a long mature voice, the spike of worry, of disbelief. "Harry, is that you? Get off of him, you bastard!"

The warm darkness is pulling away, and all my cries and protests cannot pull it back. I sob, a broken sound that catches in my throat. "Severus."

His face, and the smile that took so long to get used to, something proud and tender and a little bit dangerous. The smile panthers give their mates. Yeah, that smile. He's looking down at me with that smile, and he holds out his hand and I take it before a second can pass, let him pull me to my feet, into his arms, into the uncertain future and the wards going up all around us.

II.

"Honestly, Harry," he breathes against my ear. "You yell at me for doing in some hapless Muggle and then turn around and prepare to execute your family. Not that I wouldn't have appreciated it in the past, but I think I may have had a bad influence on you."

"Family?" The word comes out muffled by his shoulder, and I pull back enough to look around him and see Sirius and Lupin. And they don't look happy. Sirius looks damn near murderous, and it takes me a second glance to realise the only reason he hasn't murdered someone is the immobilis charm Severus has cast on both of them. Lupin, if anything, looks more horrified than Sirius. Less homicidal, but definitely more disgusted.

For a moment no one says anything. Well, Severus and I say nothing. I suppose the charm is keeping Sirius and Lupin from doing much more than blinking malevolently in our direction. I'm not entirely sure what one says in a delicate social situation like this. You know, like when one has gone insane and one's lost homicidal maniac boyfriend has returned in time to stop one from killing one's godfather and one's godfather's frigid Catholic werewolf life partner. I wonder what Emily Post would have to say.

"Take the charm off," I finally decide. "Or, no. I just want them able to talk. And let's go inside."

"You do it," he replies, stepping away and standing behind me so I can keep looking at my immobilized friends. "You should be able to do something as small as that."

I sigh, because I'm tired and it's been a long month or two or three or four or I don't know how long he since he's been gone. But I know an argument won't get us too far right now, so I close my eyes and concentrate for the first time in a long, long time. I think about the spells I want to use, about the words and the feeling of magic. And I can almost feel the dream-like quality that's been stuck to me the past few years falling away. I can do this spell.

I open my eyes, ready to perform the incantations needed to get us all into the living room, light a fire, make our guests comfy, and summon something to drink. Only to realise that we're sitting in the living room, there's a fire crackling pleasantly, Sirius and Remus are stuck to their seats but otherwise restored, and Severus is sipping a steaming mug of cider and smiling at me demurely.

I think I need to lie down.

"Fuck, Harry," Sirius breathes. "What the hell?"

I blink. "What?"

"What?" He's incredulous, running both hands through his shaggy hair. There's a streak or two of grey that wasn't there before. "What? Are you fucking me? What? You vanish into the sodding night, no one hears a damned word from you in months, and then it turns out you're slumming it in France wearing," he gives me a quick once over. "Is that Lucius Malfoy's suit?"

I smooth a hand over the pin striped ensemble. "How can you tell?"

He shakes his head. "This is going to take a lot of explaining. The Ministry won't like it."

"The Ministry can fuck themselves," I snap.

"They're worried about you. They're out there looking high and low for your sorry arse and you're – what? What exactly are you doing?" Sirius glances at Severus uncertainly. "I hope to God the next words out of your mouth resemble 'chasing down the last living Death Eater' because, Merlin, Harry, if they aren't…"

"What then? You'll reprimand me? You'll invoke the thrice blessed image of my father to inspire appropriate regret in my wayward heart?" I sneer. "You don't really hold much sway here, glued to the couch as you are, and you don't have a great deal of my sympathy at the moment."

"I'm you're goddamn godfather," he hisses, shooting an agitated glance at Severus, who's watching us avidly from behind his cider.

"Since when?" I shoot back. "You weren't there till I was thirteen, and then you were in and out of my life so often it was worse than having no one to count on. Even when you were free spending time with me was just one of you whims. 'Nothing to do today; I think I'll call up that Potter kid and see if he wants to go out.' I starved for every word you gave me, every smile you flashed my way. I would have died for you to treat me like your son.

"But I grew up, and in case you haven't noticed, we don't really know each other. I don't really need a father anymore. I've made some decisions in life you may not agree with, but I don't need your approval anymore than I need my father's. Your word, his word, mean nothing to me. Not anymore."

I stop to take a breath, and realise the attention of the entire room is trained on me. I quickly think back over everything I've said. It seems strange, but I suddenly realise it's all true. Sirius wasn't a real father figure to me, and neither was my dad. I didn't really have a strong male presence. No wonder I turned out gay.

"Harry," it's the first time Lupin's spoken all evening, and his voice is as low and soothing as ever. "Maybe you should tell us what's going on."

"You two might want to get comfortable," Severus interjects, smiling pacifically and gesturing to the coffee table, which is instantly over run with cider and sandwiches. "This might take a while."

I leave nothing out. Sirius is less than pleased, overall, by my honesty. Especially those parts of my honesty pertaining to Severus, who's generosity and nonchalance as a host appears to be inversely proportionate to my godfather's blood pressure. Seeing an old enemy this worked up appears to have a remarkably soothing affect on him.

Lupin doesn't comment at all, I might add. He sits with tightly drawn lips and sips his cider. And let's Sirius go to pieces.

When I get to the part about the letters I glance at Severus. "You should probably take over," I say. "You still haven't told me how you got here."

Severus' cool falters for a second. "Oh that."

"Yes, oh that. How did you even get caught in the first place? No one was even looking for you."

"Arienette's loyalty isn't quite what I'd hoped it was," he sighed, pushing a stray lock of hair behind his ear. "She ran out of money and managed to contact the Ministry. Don't even ask me how; she's always been resourceful when the need arose. Rather than ask me for the cash I could have readily provided, she decided to collect the bounty on my illustrious head. There's a reward for finding you, there's a reward for finding me. I have to say, I'm winning by a couple thousand galleons."

I snort. "You've been missing for the past ten years. I've been gone four months."

"You've been gone eight months, actually," he replies. "Tempus fugit, my dear. Anyway, I showed up at her apartment expecting to deal with any range of inane problems. And was promptly arrested. You'll be pleased to know, I took down three Aurors and one female Judas on my way out the door. And no, they weren't your friends this time."

"That's very kind of you."

"I try. I ended up in a French prison, awaiting trial. I decided not to try and have this trial cancelled, as you might imagine. I hung around the jail for a bit, soaking up the atmosphere, all that kind of stuff. Your friend Alarbus paid me a visit," he sneers. I can't help feeling my heart quicken. "He offered me clemency in exchange for your whereabouts. Funny thing is, I could tell he was lying. I don't think he's actually authorized to offer clemency to anyone. I don't think homicide is even his division, is it Harry?"

"No," I breathe. "Did you kill him?"

He smirks. "No, I left that for you, darling. Your love yet lived when I stole his wand and escaped from my cell." He sits back in his chair with a satisfied gleam. "The rest, as they say, is history."

"And you actually let him touch you," Sirius sneers, blue eyes trained on Severus.

"Oh, Alarbus wasn't that bad when I saw him," Severus states, purposely misunderstanding the statement. "A little headstrong but he had a nice body."

"Harry, I could deal with your sexuality," Lupin begins.

I cut him off before he can continue. "Really? I must say, that's rather generous of you. Given that you're a faggot too." His flinch is painfully obvious. "Honestly, Lupin, I'm not asking you to deal with anything here, and I never did. You and Sirius can do or not do whatever the hell you like, but this is my life and I'm not going to even pretend to live it by your moral code."

"That's my boy," Severus says under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear. It's disturbing, to say the least. How much have I taken from him over the past eight months? Cigarettes and silk shits, and a willingness to forgive the unforgivable.

"Be that as it may," Lupin replies tersely. "You have crossed a line here, whether you are willing to admit it or not. I'm not sure you understand; you are sleeping with the devil."

"I didn't know you thought so highly of me, Remus," Severus sneers.

"He's a murderer," Lupin continues, un-phased. "He's barely human."

"That's rich, coming from you," I spit before I can think. The colour drains from his already pale face, but I can't quite manage to regret my callousness. Sirius has gone red with anger.

"Harry James Potter," he growls. That middle name tactic is so second year. "Thank the gods your mother died before she could see this."

"I wouldn't be here if she hadn't," I reply, calmly reaching for my own mug of cider. "Listen, I'm tired. I haven't gotten a good night's sleep in a month of two, so I'm going to turn in. You two are welcome to stay, but I'm afraid you won't be using any magic," Sirius opens his mouth to say something and I rush on. "No, actually, I insist, that you stay. Can't having you tell the Ministry where I am, can I? The house elves will show you two a room. Or rooms. Whichever." I'm running out of steam.

"The wards will disallow your magic," Severus stands, helping me to my feet. "Finite Incantum." It takes Sirius a second to realise he isn't glued to the sofa anymore. And then he's launched himself across the room and knocked over the coffee table, the arm chair, and my lover.

Luckily, Snape is a lot stronger than he looks. Sirius ends up on his stomach with his left arm crushed beneath his body and his right arm twisted back. Severus pants, grinning up at me. "I could break it," he offers.

"No, don't do that," I don't want anymore unnecessary violence tonight. "He is my godfather."

Severus follows me up the stairs as Lupin goes to tend to Sirius. It's really been the strangest night. We don't speak as we change and crawl into bed, not touching. The darkness doesn't seem as oppressive with him here, but he still feels so far away.

"Oh, I almost forgot," I say, just as I'm about to fall asleep. "Thank you."

"Whatever for?"

"For Al," I say. "Thanks. And for…for stopping me tonight."

"Hush," he replies, drawing me close to his chest and tucking my head under his chin. "Go to sleep."

"We can't stay here," he says the next morning before we head down to meet our guests for breakfast. Guests, prisoners, same thing. There's another thing I've learned from him; I kidnap people.

"Would they be able to find us, with the wards up, even if we let Sirius go?"

"Maybe not at first," he admits. "But the canines wouldn't give up till they'd found a chink in the wards somewhere, a place your magic doesn't quite mesh with mine. So it's either keep them here and make ourselves a wacky foursome, or let them go and find somewhere new."

"Keeping them here can't possibly fuck them up any worse," I mutter.

"Language, darling," he kisses my cheek. "I'm not sure I could keep from your godfather long enough for his stay to become beneficial."

"You seemed pretty cool with him last night," I remark, turning my face to kiss his mouth chastely. "Doing your seductive evil thing."

"You do it better than I," he slides his hands around my waist, looking down into my eyes. "Maybe because you turn him on."

I snort. "That's sickening," I sneer. "He's practically my father."

"And your father is practically some guy you never met," he retorts, which is a good point.

"I still think you're being gross," I reply, standing on my toes to kiss him. "That's the most disgusting thing I've ever heard."

"I'm so glad you feel that way."

Sirius is sitting at the dining room table alone when we come down. He's recovered enough of himself to be hungry, I see, as he tucks into an omelet. "Hey," I say, sitting down and reaching for the coffee. "Where's Lupin?"

"He was a little put out," Sirius says around a full mouth, then swallows. "Couldn't get him out of his room."

So they did opt for separate rooms. That's interesting. Severus says nothing, but lights a cigarette and, without a word, passes the pack to me. Coffee and cigarettes. How seedy.

"Could I get one of those," Sirius asks and musters a weak grin when I hand him a fag. "Gave 'em up once before, I suppose there's no harm in doing it again."

I let half a cigarette pass before breaking the not-quite-comfortable silence that's settled over our meal. "You seem considerably more pleasant this morning," I say, and then wince. My social skills haven't gained much in the past eight months, not that they were much to brag about before.

Sirius doesn't remark upon my tone, however. He chews contemplatively and nods. "Yeah, I guess, I'd like to start over." He lays his fork down gently beside his plate and retrieves his cigarette from the ash tray it's been smoldering in. "We're in a bit of a position here, and I don't think screaming about it is going to fix things. I'd like to talk to you alone later," he shoots Severus a brief look about as warm as the North Pole. "If you're interested."

"Sure," I reply. "Yeah. Okay. After breakfast."

"What about Mister Lupin?" Severus arches a brow. "Will your lupine companion be undergoing a similar change of heart in the near future, or should I have the house elves deliver his meals?"

"Remus'll come round," Sirius blows a thin trail of smoke from his nostrils and closes his eyes for a second. He looks like he's communing with God, like the chemicals hitting receptors in his brain is enough to incite orgasm. "I think I'm going to get some fresh air," he says a second later, crushing the cigarette out and rising. "Don't worry, I won't make a break for it."

"You wouldn't get very far," Severus agrees. "Since the wards would disembowel you."

Sirius glares at him before leaving the room. "I didn't know the wards disemboweled people," I remark, off hand.

"They don't," he says.

"I thought we might have that chat now," I smile, stepping around the azaleas. Sirius looks up with a grin. I can't help thinking, if he doesn't leave, it might be nice to get to know him.

"Yeah, that would be great," he replies, scooting over on the stone bench to make room for me. "I just want to ask you a couple questions to start with."

"Shoot," I say, plopping down next to him.

"Well, first of all," he sighs. "Are you happy here?"

I blink. "I wouldn't stay if I wasn't."

"You say that, but sometimes we do things because we think they're what we want, Harry. I'm not trying to criticize you. I just want you to admit I might know a little more about it than you do. Are you happy here?"

I clench my hands into fists at my sides. "I was," I say. "Till the letters…and then I was again until Severus left…and now I'm happy to have him back. I'm happy here. Happier than I was with Alarbus."

"Okay, okay, don't get upset," he rushes on. "You do realise Snape's a murderer, right?"

"I-"

"I mean, that might seem really exciting, sleeping with a convicted criminal…"

"Is that how you get laid?" I sneer, and then regret it when I remember the circumstances; Sirius' sudden, almost imperceptible wince. "Sirius, look-"

"No, no, it's okay," he interrupts. "I understand. You've been living here for almost a year now. It's to be expected."

"What's to be expected?" I snap.

"Well, that you'd be a little…confused. Don't get me wrong, I think what you're feeling – happiness, love, whatever – I think it's real to you. But you have to realise that you're living in an unstable environment based entirely upon keeping yourself as far removed from reality as possible. You're living a lie, basically," he grins, feebly. "Listen, it's not your fault."

"It's not his," I growl. "I'm choosing to stay here."

"Did you choose to come in the first place?" He raises an eyebrow at my silence. "If he'd asked, what would you have said?"

"I wouldn't have said much," I shoot back. "If he'd taken the time to ask I'd be dead." I snort at his confused expression. "After Al kicked me out I got a little bit too drunk for my own good. Depression goes poorly with alcohol, and I don't know. I got it in my head that it would be a good idea to kill myself or something maudlin like that."

"Oh, Harry, no," he reaches out to put an arm around me. I swat it away.

"Stop it. I was drunk. I was angry and drunk and I didn't know what I was doing. And one of the things I love about Severus is he doesn't try to talk about it. He doesn't try to fix me; I just come back together on my own around him. I'm happy here. I want to be here. He hasn't kidnapped me."

"Listen," Sirius frowns. "I understand that you might think that but he's got ways of influencing people, even people as strong as you."

"He hasn't influenced me!" I'm on my feet before I realise I've moved. Sirius blinks up at me. "He hasn't brainwashed me, Sirius, fuck! I thought you wanted to talk about this, not lecture me. You don't even know what you're talking about. I love him, and I don't need your advice about that."

"That's some fucked up love, Harry," his voice is stern. "The man killed your best friend."

"Yeah, well, if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not base my love life on the wisdom of a man willing to stay with a frigid Catholic werewolf."

Sirius hits me. He actually hits me. I stagger backwards, my hand pressed over my right eye, as he grinds his teeth together, his fist hanging heavily at his side. "You have no idea what you're talking about," he spits. "You talk about love, but you don't know the first thing about love. Love is about making sacrifices, not running away from the real world. Love is about finding someone you care about, and someone who cares about you, someone you want to spend the rest of your life with on any terms."

"There are limits!" I shriek, grateful for silencing charms. "You're not his slave! He shouldn't be allowed to make you feel the way you do! Don't lie to me Sirius, I've seen the way you look at him. The way he shrinks away from you. It's not a sin, if there's any such thing as sin to begin with, and you deserve more than that. Everyone deserves more than guilt over things that aren't their fault."

"There are limits," he agrees. "And you're crossing all of them."

III.

"Mexico," I say, idly. "It wasn't too nice the last time we were there, but if we pitch in, get a little condo on the ocean, spring for a good blender…we could spend the rest of our lives drinking margaritas and tanning by the pool."

"As charming as that sounds," Severus smiles, "it's not a good idea. We've been there together before, and the Ministry has it on record. They'll look there once the puppies tell them who you're traveling with."

"Please don't call them that," I sigh.

"And I'm not sure the welcome mat of Latin America is extended to us," he continues without pause. "I know Santiago would be none too pleased to see us again."

"Point," I concede. "But we need to get off this continent. I fancy Asia; what do you think? Tokyo?"

"Interesting," he smirks. "Can you speak Japanese now?"

"Um…" Funny how I just assume he does. I have to remind myself he doesn't know everything. "Okay, so maybe we could go to Australia. That's not that far."

He snorts. "I don't know about you, Crocodile Potter, but I'll take my chances in civilization."

"Oh come on!" I punch him lightly on the arm. "It's not all wilderness. You might like it. I hear it's nice."

"You were closer with Tokyo, dear."

"Fine." I fold my arms. "What's your suggestion then?" Outer space?

"Northern America."

"We've been there before, too," I point out.

"We've been to one obscure island. There's a lot of North America. We wouldn't even have to be in the United States."

"No, I want to go somewhere new," I whine. "Let's go to Hawaii."

"That's technically not somewhere new."

"It's not continental," I retort. "Hawaii or Australia."

He sighs dramatically. "Why do I put up with you? You're more trouble than you're worth. I should just dump you on the Ministry's doorstep and take off for Bermuda."

I smack him playfully. "Why is everyone's first impulse to leave me on a doorstep?"

"It should tell you something about your personality," he chortles. "But, since I'm stuck with you, I'll take Hawaii."

"Oh goody," I sigh. "I wonder if they do virgin sacrifices to volcano gods. That could be exciting."

"Yes, and fortunately, you don't qualify as a sacrifice."

"You were looking out for my best interests, then."

"Oh, from the very beginning," he places a hand over his heart and attempts to look sincere. "Could you doubt it for a moment, my love?"

I snicker. "Shut up," I say, and kiss him before he can think of a wittier reply.

Lupin is harder to spot than a house elf. Severus' joke about sending meals to his room is a little less laughable now that everyone's favourite werewolf has decided the moral high ground involves not tasting the food of the enemies. When Severus mentions in passing that Lupin might prefer the Malfoy dungeon I can see the vein in Sirius' head start to throb. He's not exactly social either, but he shows up to meals and wanders around the grounds. Lupin might as well not be here at all.

Which is why I'm surprised when, one afternoon as I'm laying on the lawn reading, I hear his soft voice say my name. He looks a little worse for the past couple…my mind blanks abruptly. Days, I think. I decide to ask Severus for a calendar for Christmas, if we can ever figure out when Christmas is again.

"Hey," I greet him, rolling onto my back and looking up at him. He's got the stubble and blood shot eyes look going on. Very chic. "Do you, uh, need something?"

"I'd like to talk to you," he replies, face grave.

"Grab a chair," I grin and he sinks to the ground, folding his legs beneath him. "What's on your mind?"

"I won't lie to you, Harry," he says, not looking at me but at the grass. "When you took Sirius and me captive I felt betrayed. Obviously I understand things a little better now, having spoken with Sirius." Somehow, this isn't filling me with warm and fuzzy feelings. He takes a deep breath and meets my gaze. "I think we need to talk."

It feels like someone's reached into my chest and taken my heart in their hand. "We are talking," I whisper.

"You're a good person, Harry. You're smart and kind and you've done a lot for the world. I'll admit I sometimes don't understand what you're doing with your life, but you do care about other people, and I know you would hate to see anyone in pain. Now, from what you've told Sirius and I, you were going through a very hard time eight months ago. Believe me, Harry, that's something I can sympathize with." Now that he's looking at me I find it impossible to look away. His eyes are almost hypnotic. This is probably what mice feel like right before they get crushed by boa constrictors. It doesn't feel nice, in case you haven't guessed. "I've gone through some pretty bad times myself. People would say that there's a difference between lycanthropy and love, but it's not that dissimilar. Anything that makes you feel helpless, anything that puts you in a dark place, believe me Harry, I can sympathise…

"What you have to realise is that things aren't going to get easier just because you run away from one bad situation. If anything, they'll get worse. Right now you're happy, but think, if things go wrong here where can you go? This is the ultimate out, Harry. You can't come back from this. Once the world learns that you've left them willingly, that you're with him willingly, they'll never take you back. When things ended with Alarbus you could run off with Snape. But if things go wrong with Snape there's no one left to run to and nowhere left to run.

"And death…Harry, it's not the answer. It's a permanent solution to a temporary problem, just like this is a temporary solution to a permanent problem. You're in a dark place, Harry, and it's okay to feel confused. You're been through a lot. But there's an easier way.

"People don't like hearing about it these days, but welcoming God into your life can help a lot. It can make all the difference. No, don't look at me like that, listen. You're alone right now, and that's no way to go through life. You, Snape, Sirius…all of you are alone. And I look at you and I don't feel anger, or hatred, but pity. If you'd only open your heart to the Lord, Harry things could be so much better for you!"

I try to smile. "I suppose this is the part where you tell me I'm on the path to Hell and I've given in to sin and debauchery, right?"

If I'm expecting him to laugh then I'm sorely disappointed when he smiles sadly back at me and says, "Harry, surely you don't think I'd judge you? But I'm asking you to look at what you're agreeing to by living with Snape, by sharing his bed. If you want to turn your life over to God and be welcomed into his peace you're going to need to examine your lifestyle."

"I don't remember saying I wanted to turn my life over to anyone," I mutter. "Listen, Lupin," I say in a clearer voice. "I appreciate your faith, but it isn't mine. And in fact, you know what, I don't appreciate your faith that much. You talk about how we're alone, well, I'm not alone. Snape's not alone. We're together, and that's the opposite of alone. Sirius may be alone, but why do you think that is? He tries so hard for you and you keep blocking him out! He loves you. He's willing to make sacrifices to be with you, if you'd let him. I haven't spoken much to you guys in the past years, but I've seen enough to know he's not happy, and neither are you.

"Maybe it says somewhere that what Severus and I have is a sin. And maybe there is a God and he's fucking pissed at us. But I'm willing to take that chance, because he makes me happy and I don't think God would want me to be miserable. What would be the sense in that?

"I can respect your views, okay? And so can Sirius, even though I think he's insane to even bother trying when you shove him away like this. He doesn't need you to commit horrible sins against the Lord with him," I snort, trying very hard not to form a mental image of that. "But you have to love him. You're killing him. You don't feel hatred or anger or rage or love, just pity. Your pity isn't getting anyone anywhere."

"Harry, he's a killer," Lupin blurts before silence can settle between us again. "He's a cold blooded killer. He's a serpent. He's evil."

"Oh, now, Remus," I say soothingly. "You know he didn't really kill Peter Pettigrew."

"This isn't a joke, Harry, this is about your soul. I don't worry about Snape's; I'm not sure he has one. But you're good, and pure, and for all that you are so easily led astray. What's he done since you knew him? How many people as he killed – that you know of – since you met him seventeen years ago? Because he killed just as many before you met. And you ask if he regrets even one of those deaths! He doesn't feel remorse, the way a normal person would, he doesn't feel sorrow at the pain of another the way you or I would. He's a sadist, a psychological sadist. He doesn't just enjoy someone's misery, Harry, he thrives on it."

"Silly me," I sigh. "I thought you were going to be judgmental. My, you've proven me wrong. Where do I sign up for God's love, again?"

"You're making a mistake," his eyes narrow. "I don't mind telling you that if you let this chance go there might not be another one."

"Gosh, that would be tragic. Listen, I promise that wherever Severus and I settle down we'll find a local church and attend Sunday mass, okay? Who knows, maybe we'll even start going to church socials and serving tea after service."

"You're joking," he observes. My but that Remus Lupin is astute! "But it's not a joke. You couldn't save your soul with empty words and church socials, Harry. The rituals mean nothing if you don't live with God's law day by day."

"Are you Catholic or insane?" I sigh. "Don't answer that. Whatever you say is sure to be something sanctimonious and uninteresting." This little conversation has just about lost my attention. "I'm going inside. Most likely I will track down my soulless satanic lover and we will commit gross acts of indecency which will include, but are not limited to, snogging, holding hands, and staring wistfully into each other's hell-bound eyes. If you need me I'll be in the living room."

"You'll live to regret this!" he yells at my back. "Even if it's only on your death bed, Harry, you'll see the error of your ways and it'll kill you!"

"If I'm on my death bed when it happens at least I'll already be nine tenths of the way there," I retort optimistically over my shoulder.

Our bags are packed. Well, that's a metaphor, because we don't have bags. We figure we'll buy or conjure anything we need. But everything else is in order. The wards are set to stay in place, at least to some degree, for another year. This place won't technically exist for twelve months after we live it, and after that it'll start reappearing in bits and pieces. Like Avalon, I suppose, but backwards. Instead of vanishing slowly into the mist Malfoy Manor will emerge, turret by turret.

The house elves have orders to take care of Galatea. Sirius and Lupin have no idea we're leaving in the morning. Severus suggested we just take off and let them stay here – with no one but themselves – until they get so desperate they risk disembowelment in an attempt to escape their own odious company. I'm planning on leaving them a note saying their free to go.

Initially we worried about them tipping anyone off. "Harry Potter has vanished" still hasn't turned into "Harry Potter and Severus Snape were seen in Vegas tying the knot" and for simplicity's sake we'd like for it to stay that way. But then we realised that Sirius is too embarrassed to blab about this, and Lupin probably would, but his word doesn't mean a whole lot to the Wizarding World. Yes, in a strange way, I'm grateful for prejudice.

So tomorrow we're leaving, without our bags, and we're going to Hawaii, and we're never coming back. It's strange. When I got here he said it was home, and it has been. For the past God-knows-how-long this place has been a home to me, maybe the only real one I've ever had, and tomorrow I'm going to get up and leave it behind me.

Severus turns in early after a game of checkers. (I won!) Maybe I'm a little sad when I get up and go into the garden. Maybe I'm feeling a little unsure of where I'm going. The moonlight on the statues and flowers is beautiful, but then, it always is. Here the moon is always gibbous, never full. Which may contribute to why I can never tell what goddamn month it is, now that I think of it. But it was sort of romantic when I first noticed it. I don't know if he caused it or if I did, or if it just happened because we seceded from time and the world when the moon was almost full, but I like it. Things are always moving towards perfection, always approaching fulfillment but never quite finished. Cyclical time can be a real bitch sometimes.

I can only imagine the hell it's putting Lupin through. Perpetual pre-moon-symptom? It certainly hasn't improved his mood much, if our little chat and the vindictive glares he shoots me are any indication. Oddly, I can only manage to feel bad for one person in the Sirius-Lupin duo, and it sure isn't Lupin.

As if summoned by my thoughts (and in this place I wouldn't rule that out) Sirius steps through the door, face tilted to the sky so I'm not sure if he's aware of me until he says, "Hey, Harry."

"Hey," I reply, dipping my fingers into the clear fountain and shaking the drops of water free again. "How's it going?"

"Well, apart from being held prisoner in a Death Eater mansion by my possessed godson, things are pretty shitty," he says, attempting a smile. "If we ever do get out of here, I think Remus is going to leave me."

That doesn't surprise me. "You deserve a lot more than he's giving you," I say, and I don't think it's the first time. "I should have told you years ago." Someone should have.

"That doesn't mean I want him to leave," he says, which is fair. "I've never actually been alone."

I think about what Lupin might say to that. About Sirius being alone now. But I remain silent, looking at the moon that hasn't quite reached its peak yet. Nothing comes to fruition here.

"Harry…" he takes a step closer to me, stops, and approaches again, cautiously. "You have to understand that he and I were very young when we fell in love."

"Okay." They must have been. I never really thought about them being together in school. That must have been hellish.

"And he wasn't always like this," Sirius continues in the same low voice, looking at me like I'm his last hope in the world, and making me understand will make any sort of difference. "We used to be happy. Normal."

"You ought to leave him," I point out. "Before he…you know. Before."

"Harry," he says again, and now he's close enough to reach out and hit if I wanted to. I'm not sure I don't want to. "Harry."

And then his hand is cupping the side of my face, holding me in place as he leans in to brush his lips against mine. Maybe because you turn him on. I pull back, quickly, brushing his touches away and stepping backwards, wide-eyed. He looks more lost than ever.

"I want something I can have," he says, his breath warm and moist on my lips. The air tastes like jasmine, his tongue tastes like ashes, and for a second it seems like this might maybe make sense, if only for the earnest longing in his eyes. I know it's for something I'm not.

"Want something else," are the last words I'll ever say to my godfather.

AN: Hey everyone. Thank you for the reviews; I really enjoy them. I said on my lj that I'd have the third part up by the end of February and I kind of almost did. I don't know when the fourth part will be up, but it's coming, eventually, I promise. Anyway, I hope you like this. Me thinks I was reading a little more Aeschylus than was advisable when I wrote it, but whatever.