Elves are very much like any other creatures in the world - a species of great diversity. There were tall, regal, beautiful i cyn-cenedl /i , more commonly called i Ljosalfar /i , and almost human i svartlfar /i . All the way down to the small, meek, yet still highly magical i albor /i , who had come to be known by wizards and called house elves.

Elves had been around much longer than wizards - before the first sorcerers discovered the powers they could draw from the earth, elves were already old and cautious. They stayed hidden, for security and because the primitive and nonmagical humans didn't interest them in the slightest.

Of course as always must happen the two worlds would occasionally converge. But for the most part elves lived in peace and quiet. The i Ljosalfar /i were kings of their kind. Beautiful, powerful, generous. Admired by other elves and it seemed by the earth itself.

The i albor /i , smallest and weakest, were open in their adoration. So complete was their devotion to the i Ljosalfar /i that they neglected their own magic and lost it entirely.

Idris was a king of the i Ljosalfar /i , known for his curiosity and understanding of the world around him. He went further than any king before in learning the lore of the world. He came to realize the full depths of love and generosity of the i albor /i . He called a meeting of the highest of his kind to discuss the powerless elves, and suggested a reward for their loyal and kind service. Theirs was not servitude, he observed to his fellows, but devotion in the purest sense. Born of love rather than requirement. They neither asked for nor expected anything in return. They seemed to want for nothing.

The council discussed his suggestion for a reward, but among them were elves unknowledgeable and unconvinced that the i albor /i deserved gifts. A series of tests was concocted, hardships and demands that would test the loyalty of any thinking creature.

Without knowing of the council, the i albor /i were given outrageous demands. They performed them without complaint and returned, weary and happy and ready for more.

The council met again, and though they acknowledged the loyalty of the i albor /i , they didn't understand it. i Ljosalfar /i did not demand service, yet the i albor /i acted as servants.

The king of the i albor /i , Gareth, was called before this council. He had been a long time friend of Idris, the great king, and came without fear.

Gareth was asked by the council why his kind served. He gave the only answer he knew.They servedbecause they loved. Because they understood. They saw the heart of the i Ljosalfar /i and knew they meant no malice.

Love was too simple an answer, and the council didn't understand.

But Idris knew how to appease them. Long ago he had his friend Gareth had joined in a ritual that the i albor /i called i "Eneidiau Unswydd" /i , the heart of understanding. i Albor /i had no magic but this. Love. Understanding. A ceremony that allowed others to understand the i albor /i as they understood all other living things. Idris had gotten a glimpse of the true wonder and power of the house elves, and he alone of the i Ljosalfar /i knew that love was a great magic indeed.

Idris suggested that the council take part in this ceremony, and Gareth agreed. When the ceremony was over it took mere seconds for the council to agree to the Idris's request. The i albor /i , they decreed, were to be rewarded and valued for their service, and in fact for their very nature.

In a great and powerful spell calling the full might of the i Ljosalfar /i together, the race of i albor /i were blessed. They were granted powers worthy of their devotion. Their lives, shortest of all races of elves, were made to be unending.

But there was a catch, as there always is in such stories. The i Ljosalfar /i were generous but practical. Their gifts could easily be turned into curses. And so they put conditions on the gifts. i Albor /i had to always maintain the qualities it was being rewarded for for the rewards to remain true. If an i albor /i became ambitious, selfish, cruel, jealous...if it acted out of any feeling but true devotion, the spell would wane. Its powers would fade, and its life would wither and end.

For many decades the elves lived in happiness and contentment. The i Ljosalfar /i drew away from the world as their time on earth drew to a close and man started to take over the lands. A few remained, but were never seen by man again.

i Albor /i , though, were too devoted to the world, to their lands, and to each other to ever leave. They weren't shy in showing themselves to men, and in a turn the i Ljosalfar /i couldn't have predicted their skills and natures were quickly discovered and just as quickly abused. They became a race to be bought and sold, slaves first willing then obligated. Their histories were ignored, their great age and experience, and they were placed under rules that became their new laws. Clothes became freedom. Men became masters. Reluctance and resentment, such as they were capable of, became reason for self-punishment and hatred.

Decades past, then centuries. The elves no longer remembered what it was like to serve out of sheer love. Being introduced to and corrupted by men made the elves different, able on their master's behalfs to hate and fear and resent. They aged, their powers muted. Some died. More were born.

The i albor /i , prized among the highest beings ever put on earth, became house elves, snivelling, overlooked, abused.

But they went on.

Ron gaped at the elf. "Are you kidding me?"

"Ron!" Hermione's eyes glowed as she absorbed the tale Poddy had just weaved for them, but as usual she took the time to be outraged at her fiance.

He pointed at Poddy, as though that were enough rationale. "They're just...look at him! They're house elves! They iron their bloody hands!"

Harry was inclined to agree, but he had the sense not to say so out loud; the main difference, he sometimes thought, between him and Ron.

She turned back to Poddy, dismissing Ron. "Thank you so much for telling us. That's amazing, really."

"But does it help us in any way?" Snape roused from his corner chair. "There are no prancing high elves here to grant Potter those powers, are there?"

Poddy's watery eyes blinked. "No. The high elves is not living anymore."

"Then why did you tell Seamus you could help us?" Snape rose from his chair.

Harry glanced around. "Where is Seamus, anyway? I thought he'd want to be here."

"He was tired. Leave him be." Snape didn't even look at Harry. His eyes drilled into Poddy.

"Poddy is asking your forgiveness, Severus Snape. Poddy is thinking there is lessons in his story."

"Bloody waste of a species. That's the lesson." Snape whirled and marched towards the door.

Harry frowned at Ron and Hermione. "Does it help at all? Really?"

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know how it could. It is a lovely story, though. Someone should write it down. Their story should be told. Those elves in the story, i albor /i ," she tried out with a smile, "don't deserve what we've made of them."

The door slammed shut behind Snape, and Harry sighed. He understood Snape's tantrum for once. Frustration, growing worse every day. Turning back to his friends, and the distressed-looking house elf, he sighed. "Where do we go from here, then?"

Snape stormed into his rooms, letting the door slam behind him.

He moved through the living space, glaring at the fireplace until it burst into flames. Bloody drafty dungeons. No wonder Seamus wasn't feeling well.

He stalked to the bedroom and slashed his wand through the air in the direction of the bath, letting it fill. He needed relaxation, in whatever form he could get it.

He jerked open his shirt and threw his robe towards a chair, and looked over at the bed.

Seamus was sound asleep. That wasn't a particularly welcoming sight. The boy was sick, yes, but he typically had more energy than anyone Snape knew. His breathing sounded even and normal, though, which was good. His cheeks had some color in them.

Snape frowned as he approached to wake Seamus. His eyes focused on a small circle of darkness near Seamus's neck. A bruise? A bite? He didn't mark Seamus that deeply. He was too cautious about blood and disease.

A flash of red went through him. He crouched on the bed, jostling the boy without waking him up. Another bad sign, but one he ignored to lean in, brush back unruly blond hair, and get a closer look at this mark. Someone else's print on his property. It hadn't taken him long after all. Was it Potter?

He brow furrowed, though, and the fire receded. That was no love bite. It was thick, and a darker purple than a mere bruise.

His mind went back to the reading he and Seamus had done when his hideous disease first showed itself, mentally going through side effects and progressive conditions. He remembered something...

It was nothing deadly. A skin condition that people succumbed to when they had what Seamus had. But it was a sign, and not a good one. Despite his potions, the disease was progressing. It was letting other diseases in to nest in Seamus's blood.

His heart did a sickening lurch, like being tugged through a floo unexpectedly. His eyes moved to Seamus's face, softened in sleep, younger than usual. His hand moved from Seamus's neck to brush over his forehead, chasing away more wild hair.

He didn't like quiet moments like this. When Seamus wasn't looking at him the demons had time to plant their cynical thoughts in Snape's brain. Seamus was one of the only honestly decent people Snape had ever known, and that should have kept him away. Never in his life had decent and pure people taken an interest in Snape. They were always the ones who brushed him aside and sneered at his obvious darkness.

Remus Lupin was a decent, good person. Snape had known that their first year at Hogwarts together. He had watched, unnoticed, in the library or in potions classes as Remus devoted his time to helping his friends, and said nothing cruel about anyone.

When Snape was noticed things turned ugly. Remus, for whatever reason, let them. He didn't join in, except on one or two rare occasions, but he sat idly by. He laughed at his friends' jokes.

Snape was no self-deceiving idiot who thought he'd been nice enough to deserve kindness. But he saw it as a sign that the good people of the world wanted nothing to do with him.

He was ugly, which was sin enough. He was unapologetic, which was unforgivable. And he didn't back down to them.

When he was younger and more innocent - not innocent, just more than he became - he had not been a cruel person. His first year in school had been devoted to studies. Potions were his all-consuming passion, and the Dark Arts were a close second. His parents encouraged him in their distant way, and he was in the House that catered to such things. So those interests grew. He didn't hex people with what he learned. He didn't brew potions to harm the other students. Yet by being who and what he was, he was looked at as cruel and despised. It was after that that he came to earn those looks.

Seamus Finnigan hadn't been the most noble in his House. He was forgetful with his studies and steered clear of fights and didn't seem to despise anyone at all. Nothing like Potter or his father, or Black. But light and good in his own way. A very strong way.

What made Seamus different? What made him see Snape's darkness and ugliness and bitterness and still see someone worth his love?

Snape didn't know, and he didn't think he would ever understand.

He winced suddenly when he remembered what he had first thought explained that mark on Seamus's neck. He had assumed, though he knew Seamus and knew how honest he was. He knew where that paranoia had come from, though. He had always had Seamus all to himself, with no one to take his interest away. Now his old friends were everywhere, bright and noble and just like him.

He didn't know what kept Seamus with him, and so didn't know if he would lose it or not. And bloody hell, if he had ever been told he'd fall into insecure jealousy over a young Gryffindor.

He sighed, and Seamus's nose wrinkled and he shifted. Severus leaned in before he could think, brushing thin lips over an eyelid moments before it opened.

Light green eyes were glazed, but they focused on him. Lips that were always warm and full stretched into a smile. "Good morning," came that soft Irish tenor.

Severus was still in his thoughts enough to not answer right away. He relaxed as Seamus looked at him, and those insecure fears faded into a far distant hum. "It's after lunch, actually."

Seamus blinked in surprise and sat up slowly. "You let me sleep too long."

"You looked as if you needed it," he answered.

Seamus thought about that and made a face. "I don't want to need it," he complained mildly. Severus knew he didn't expect an answer. It was a common enough complaint. "But I suppose you're right. I do feel rested."

"Good." Severus couldn't help smile.

Seamus leaned in and kissed him lightly. "Good afternoon, then," he said when he pulled back, stretching his arms over his head as the sheets fell to pool in his lap. The warm glow of golden skin made Snape's mouth water, and the glimpse of a bare hip under that sheet made his thoughts change direction entirely.

Seamus threw the covers off, unselfconscious, and curled his legs under him. "It's nice to sleep in, but it would be nicer if you'd join me now and then." He met Snape's eyes and instantly spots of pink appeared on his cheeks.

Severus saw the heat appear in Seamus's eyes, matching what must have been in his own.

"I just fell asleep on you last night, didn't I?" Seamus reached to stroke the backs of fingers down Severus's face, bringing warmth to cool skin. "That was incredibly rude of me."

Severus murmured a wordless agreement, sitting down more comfortably on the bed.

Seamus smiled, his eyes shining. "And you've come to demand I make it up to you, haven't you?"

"Considering how often it's my libido that lets us down, I can hardly fault you one night. "

Seamus laughed. "Don't be modest. It hardly suits you. Your libido has never let me down."

Snape chuckled, knowing it was true. It was the age difference that made him joke that way, but as if making up for lost time his body had never failed to answer the call when he needed it.

Like now.

He moved in and stroked a hand through soft blond hair. He searched Seamus's eyes. "You're feeling well, then? You slept nearly fourteen hours."

Seamus smiled, but since he knew how serious the question was intended, he didn't break the gaze. "I'm alright. Lazy, that's all. This bed's the nicest thing I've ever slept in."

Severus nodded, satisfied.

"Do I look that horrid?"

He snorted. He had yet to see Seamus look horrid, and he'd seen him in the worst situations a person could see another in. It was something that would have made Severus contemptuous of anyone else. But this attractiveness wasn't an annoyance, because it belonged to Severus.

He shook his head, the suprise of it all coming back to him as it did often.

Seamus slid his hand around the back of Severus's neck and pulled him in. "Don't you go thinking bad things. You're here, I'm here, this big beautiful bed is here. It's a sin, you know, not to accept the blessings you're given."

"At this point I've sinned enough for-"

"Severus."

He met Seamus's eyes, mouth twitching in a smile.

Seamus laughed. "Shut up." He tugged him in.

Severus moved in against his young lover. Their mouths met and mingled, familiar and comfortable. As strange as it was to him, comfort was something that was more important to him than he would have believed in his younger years.

He had asked Seamus once, long ago, at the beginning, what he would say if Snape demanded to tie him up and take him as roughly as he could. Asked with a sneer, back when he was still trying to convince his lover that he waas far too ugly and wicked to be with him.

Seamus had held out his wrists, cocked a careless smile, and granted Severus without a word all the power he needed. Trust in his eyes. A foreign sight back then.

But no longer. That same trust shone in Seamus's eyes as he pressed the young man back on his back. The same willingness to surrender all control was present in the way he kept his wrists resting on the pillow on either side of his head after Snape had pinned them.

Severus shook off his fears, that mark on his lover's neck that he knew boded poorly. He lost himself in soft, strong, heated flesh and soft sighs and moans. Comfortable, and still somehow the most passionate he'd felt since...the last time they had joined.

But careful. Always careful. There was too much to worry about. Severus cared less for his own health than Seamus did, but the fear in his lover's eyes any time there was the smallest chance he had passed on his illness made Severus sick to see.

He was probably the only wizard in London who kept a box of condoms beside his bed.

When they joined it was overpowering. Severus knew in those minutes with a certainty that was unshakeable that it didn't matter why Seamus was there, because there was obviously where he belonged.

It was only away from that bed and Seamus that Severusever forgotthat.