A couple of weeks went by. Elizabeth Quirke was astonished, and clearly a little terrified, to be offered the job of research assistant, but she agreed to start in January, working on Sunday and Wednesday nights. Severus did a little more low-key experimentation with the coconut ingredients, when he could be sure he wouldn't be rumbled by Dumbledore or another teacher, but mostly he stuck to a much gentler routine of teaching, marking, preparing the Wolfsbane for Lupin, regular small sessions of Occlumency, and reacquainting himself with chess. He spent four hours walking in the hills the next Saturday, protected by a few concealment charms, and returned pleasantly tired and resolving to walk more often. He was calmer, and less hostile to the students. He even found himself beginning to smile at one of George Weasley's jokes, before he realised he was being watched by twenty astonished students and clamped his face back into a frown.

He spent two evenings playing chess with Flitwick, and lost every game. 'You're getting better,' Flitwick said after the third defeat. 'Just think a little more about pawn placement.' Severus nodded, hating to have things explained to him, hating not to be brilliant at something where he'd once excelled, but knowing he needed the help. He wondered if he could be good enough to beat Flitwick or McGonagall by the summer, if he worked hard.

Of course, along with chess came memories of Pyotr – sitting beside him in a Muggle concert hall, the two of them lying at either end of the sofa reading with their legs comfortably entwined, watching Pyotr himself perform a concerto with his dark cello between his knees – but Severus was relieved to find the memories were mostly not overwhelming. There was no insomnia, of course, and there were no dreams. If Flitwick saw a slight tremor in his hands from time to time when he was playing chess, or saw a momentary clench of the jaw, he didn't comment.

The Christmas Hogsmeade visit took place, and Severus did not join his colleagues for a drink with the Minister for Magic, but wandered around the village keeping an eye on students, making sure Potter hadn't snuck in somehow, and taking the opportunity to stock up on ink and his preferred type of quills. Towards the end of the day he caught sight of Lupin, coming out of Horatio Hawkins Son Fine Stationers and Bookshop with a couple of wrapped parcels, but Lupin didn't see him and went off towards the apothecary in the darkening afternoon. Severus cast one glance up at the Shrieking Shack up on its gloomy hill, and decided it was time to head back to the castle.

Nothing was heard of Sirius Black.

The Yule Feast was approaching. In the final week of term, Severus counted at least thirty-four times when he'd found himself fantasising about Lucius while he was meant to be doing something else. There had been a few more notes from him, all extremely short but highly suggestive:

One night only, I'm afraid. But we will make it count. L.

Can't deny I'm looking forward to seeing how oblivious the old man is to the fact I'm fucking you. L.

Would you rather I confiscated your wand for the whole night, or that I give you mine and put myself entirely at your mercy? L.

I hope you don't have much to do the day after the Feast. I don't imagine being finished with you much before dawn. L.

The slips of parchment all carried a scent he knew was Lucius, but couldn't quite name – something with juniper, a little musky? – and although it was faint it was enough to make him glow with the heat of longing. Lucius would be here, in the staff room and in the Great Hall, dressed for celebration, anticipating a night of pleasure with him. No one else would know, no one would understand what they were feeling when they met each other's eyes. It made him light-headed with excitement to think of it.

He sent a note back to Lucius:

In case we don't have a chance to arrange things – I will come to your room. They disable the Floo for guests and I have much more reason to be in the corridors late at night. Let me know which room he gives you. S.

And he let his anticipation out slowly, like a rope.


Two nights before the Yule Feast, two house-elves appeared suddenly in his bedroom while he was reading, just as he was starting to think about bed. 'Please sir,' one of them said, 'we is delivering you a box from London! We was instructed to bring it straight up to your rooms, it is not for potion-making sir, it's, um' –

'Personal,' supplied the other elf.

'Ah,' Severus said, putting down his book, trying to betray no curiosity. 'Thank you.'

The two elves bowed and vanished, and immediately he got up and strode over to the box, which was huge and flat. Levitating the whole thing onto his bed, he unfastened the cords around the box, threw them to one side, and lifted the lid.

The lid was printed on the underside with the initials MH: for Musters and Heaton, the most expensive wizarding outfitters in London. In the box was something large wrapped in tissue paper; when he lifted the paper aside, he saw a small card sitting on top of the black material.

This garment has been enhanced with a Perfect Fit Charm (Enchantement pour la bonne taille), a unique spell developed by MH in association with the French outfitters Les Etoiles. This ingenious charm will, when activated, adjust the garment so it fits you exactly, as if it had been carefully tailored. If your shape or size changes in the future, you can re-activate the charm at any time, or bring the item into our Mayfair workshop for a complimentary refitting. Please see instructions on reverse.

There was nothing else – no note, no price tag. He looked at the bulky garment underneath. The material was – he touched it cautiously with a finger – black, yes but not just black. It seemed to be infused with a kind of black shimmer, which swirled under the surface. Had there been some kind of mistake? Surely this couldn't be for him.

When he levitated the contents of the box up into the air to see it, he had to hold back the exclamation that came automatically to his lips.

They were dress robes. Not just any dress robes – they were amazing – they were exquisite. The cloak was entirely made of the shimmering black material; the coat was in plain black silk, just short of knee-length, with sleeves coming to an elegant tapered opening at the wrists; and a pair of slim trousers in the black silk completed the set. They were dark and severe and fascinating. There was no doubt that they were for him.

His first thought was that Dumbledore had been inspired by their conversation to give him new dress robes for Christmas, as well as Lupin. But even as he started to unbutton his own black coat to try them on, he knew this couldn't be it. No employer, not even Dumbledore, would give a present like this, simultaneously so extravagant and so perfect. It could only be a lover – could only be Lucius.

He put the robes on – they hung rather loosely across his chest, and the trousers were a few inches too short – then picked up the card again and began to work the Perfect Fit Charm, placing his wand tip on each section of the robes and murmuring the French words. Once they felt right, and he had admired again the way the cuffs hugged his thin wrists and came to a slight point over the top of each of his hands, he went to the mirror to look.

'Fuck,' he whispered. Even in his stockinged feet and with his hair rather unkempt from a day of potions fumes, he knew he looked good. He could almost understand what Lucius saw in him. The fit of the robes did something to his face, he looked sterner, and when he turned to the side his nose made a pleasingly sharp angle against the light. He looked like someone. Perhaps under Lucius's patronage he might – he envisaged himself in one of the major wizarding cities, Paris or Bologna or Ghent, attending a prestigious ball, being offered all kinds of commissions – he might be able to access wizarding circles of the wealthy and powerful he wouldn't normally get anywhere near. Nothing nefarious, just – ambitious. He was still a Slytherin, after all.

Anyway, one thing was certain: he couldn't possibly wear these robes to Dumbledore's little Yule Feast. All his colleagues would ask him where they came from, and he'd rather die than have to say they were a gift, or even to pretend he'd bought them himself (which no one who knew him would believe anyway). And there was no way he wanted any of the students to see him dressed up like that. He would have to wear his usual modest black dress robes, and express his gratitude to Lucius in private.

He took one last look at himself in the robes, taking hold of the cloak and swirling it out to see the magic shimmering under its surface. He shook his head at the idea that Lucius might really expect him to wear these, but he couldn't help smiling too. What a ridiculous, generous thing to give him.

Warm with pleasure, he took the robes off, folded them carefully back into their box, and went into the bathroom. Even without them on he could feel himself moving differently, and there was something not unpleasing about his slim naked body in the mirror. Had the robes also come equipped with a Self-Esteem Charm? he wondered sardonically. This unique spell will render you suddenly able to find yourself attractive when you never have before! He snorted, and pulled his nightshirt on. 'Don't lose your head,' he murmured to his reflection in the mirror, noticing his slightly dazed expression. He mustn't get attached. Lucius was – all the things he was – and he had expressly stipulated there must be no attachment or expectations – but this – the robes …

He went back into the bedroom and had to resist the urge to throw his nightshirt off and put the wonderful robes back on. Instead he went to the window and looked out at the waxing moon, imagining how it might go. Lucius's cool grey eyes, looking at him with approval, and the flicker of anticipation. That juniper smell coming off Lucius's long pale hair. A slight brush of their bodies unnoticed by anyone except themselves, and, finally, the moment he would arrive in Lucius's room after the rest of the castle was asleep, and allow his face to crease into the sneer of desire he had suppressed for so many weeks.

Oh god, he couldn't wait.