Winnett's Harry Potter Fic Journal

New Rec Page Address

Tue, 16 Mar 2010 23:35:07 GMT

My Harry Potter Fan Fic Rec Page has MOVED!!!

So, the new address is:
http://homo-urbanicus.com/harrypotterrecs/harrypotterrecs.htm

Update your bookmarks and lists and where ever you might have it tagged.

Thanks so much to passthesky for hosting! You are Wonderful!

Fic Rec

Thu, 11 Mar 2010 19:42:16 GMT

Title: Tyger, Tyger
Author: ???
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Summary: (my summary) On a quest to save the Siberian Tigers, Tiger!Animagus Harry agrees to help with SOS and work with an unknown animagus for the lofty goal.
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 31,100 words

This story was fun. The writing was fun and full of details, sometimes random, but always descriptive. The characters are charming, and witty. The world is witty. This was written for my prompt for do_me_veela's veela fest. My prompt was: body transformations into something not typical, licking, snowflakes; scenario: the typical bonding veela mate thing complete with territorial nature, marking, almost animalistic protectiveness; squicks: submissive men, feminized men. The author hit all of those PERFECTLY!

When the cats are all purring and rubbing on each other, hunting together, it's awesome. The author describes the cats power just wonderfully. And when Veela!Draco gets all possessive.... Gah! LOVE IT!

Wonderful story.

Public Service Announcement

Mon, 01 Mar 2010 17:19:33 GMT

I have thoughts of taking down my rec page. Just letting anyone know who might care. I'll try to find a free place to stick it, but right now I'm paying (though very little) for the site/service and I don't really do anything with it. I don't forsee myself updating the rec list again. So, I'll leave it up there a few months, but then it will probably go bye bye.

Thu, 21 Jan 2010 21:02:23 GMT

Title: Heads You Do, Tails You Don't
Author: Tori Siikanen
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Summary: Harry's decided to do his birthday over--but what possessed him to invite his fiercest rival?
Rating: Oh so NC17
Word Count: 11 Chapter, ~ 12,000 words

Harry wants to have fun on his birthday, so finds a time turner and inadvertently invites Draco Malfoy to come along. This story was fun. Draco in this story shines with this bundle of hope and compassion, and while a little OOC due to that, I loved him all the more. He doesn't have to be a constant bastard for me to like him.

There is a club scene that wasn't drawn out (I usually get bored of club scenes) and there are announcements and confessions and lots of good sex.

Great story, flowed well, with some of the best First Time Sex moments I've read in a long time. There aren't any dominance games, but it’s a moment of exploration and they are having fun doing it.

Harry definitely liked kissing. He hadn't even so much as flinched at the taste of himself on Draco, accepting it as easily as he had everything--and eagerly looking for more. Yes, he'd said yes, and Draco was ready to scream because they didn't have anything with them to ease the way.

But if someone had tapped him on the shoulder at Gringotts and said, "You're going to have Harry Potter naked in your lap before sunrise, so be prepared," he would have scoffed at the absurdity of it anyway. Draco continued to mentally berate himself even while they communed with lips and hands.

Holiday recs

Tue, 22 Dec 2009 18:00:03 GMT

More Art Recs.

ART. Saw this rec from marguerite_26 or I never would have found this art!

Mistletoe from the mini_fest
H/D, PG-13. SO CUTE!

And More!

Understanding
ASS/S R (NWS). We now know how to take out Filch, anyway. ;)

The Joyous Misdelivery(a.k.a. it was because Hermione always wears granny's knickers)
H/D, Her/R PG13

This one broke me. Too funny.

In the Dusk of Early Winter
H/D R (NWS)

So so beautiful. Really, this is is gorgeous.

And Fic!

An amazing fic was written for me for hd_holidays.

Potty <3 Drakey
H/D PG13

It's short, takes no time to read, and is 100% wit. Go read and comment and tell the author
she rocks for writing me fic. ;)

Also,

Everybody's Hero
H/D PG 13.

Great plotty Auror fic with the characters just beautifully in character.

And from snarry_holidays

Remedial Potions.
Harry/Snape, R.

Gritty, and so very them. Great lines throughout. Wonderfully awe inspring wall!sex scene that's not necessarily hot, but damned well done. And the lessons were fabulous, too. Just a good story.

Fic - "Save Me, I'm Lost" - HP/SS (PG13) Part 1

Thu, 17 Dec 2009 21:39:06 GMT

Title: Save Me, I'm Lost
Author/artist: winnett
Pairing: Harry/Severus
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A secret that should have been carried away by dead men reveals Harry's unexpected, and undesired, heritage.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based in the world created by J.K.Rowling. They aren't mine and I make no money from them. I just like to let them out to play.
Warnings: Creature!fic, a bit of bonding, Harry is not James' son storyline.
Author's notes: Written for the do_me_veela Valentine's fest. Thank you to my amazing betas: kannnichtfranz, megyal, _tehrin, cyn_ful. Harry is a veela hybrid.
Word count: Approximately 21,500
Originally posted here.

~~~

Harry's body chilled through at what he'd just been told. Truly, it could exit only in the realm of the impossible, something beyond even the cruel nature of the universe. It had to be a lie.

"Well."

His gaze was trapped on the center of Snape's chest, the fourth button from the top a bull's-eye focus; the synapses in his brain had ceased firing.

"Potter. Do you understand?"

Did he understand? Did he understand the words, or the entire bloody concept? Words were simple things, sounds strung together. But the concept…

"You are Lucius' son. Not the son of James Potter. Your mother was—"

"Stop!" Harry shook his head wildly and drew away from Snape's aura of annoyance, his pity. "Don't… don't say it." His voice had become weak, a wispy thing.

His mother was raped.

"Potter, I know—"

He wasn't a Potter.

"Please," he said, the word drawn out with every ounce of pleading and pain suffocating his world. "Just stop… Just… stop, please." The strength leaked from his legs and he slumped against the edge of a desk.

Snape stood over Harry, the very harbinger of evil news. As the chilly tingle in Harry's limbs faded to numbness, Snape's arm twitched, but then the man checked himself. Snape had strafed him with the news in an unused classroom, enclosed within walls of large stone blocks covered by draping tapestries depicting serene forest scenes and victorious battles. The room was freezing.

Lucius had raped his mother. He was Lucius' son. A Malfoy.

A shiver of self-disgust ran its skeletal touch up his spine.

Like one of the castle's statues, Snape remained unmoving. His long robes rested against the flagstones, his hands hidden in his wide-mouthed sleeves. Harry didn't want to look at him. Couldn't look at him.

The first thing the man had done after his release from the Hospital Wing was to confront Harry about his true heritage. What a bloody sadist.

Bastard.

Too bad Nagini hadn't ripped open his scrawny neck; then the news would never have gotten out. Nobody would have known. Ever. The truth could have been buried along with the corpses of the two men who had known: Dumbledore and Snape.

Now Harry knew, and he wished he could simply Obliviate himself and go on living a contented life. He'd done his big deed. He'd defeated Voldemort. Everything from that moment forward was supposed to be a new life. Finally, he was going to lead a life that he'd chosen.

Instead, he found out he was Draco fucking Malfoy's half brother.

He buried his face in his hands and prayed not to think.

~~~

Stifling his third urge to check the time, Severus continued to stare down at the young man's head. That unruly hair, strong chin and nose. All Potter traits. The eyes, the cheeks… those were Lily's.

Severus puffed a sigh through his nose. He was positive that a half an hour had passed since he'd first dragged the boy into the classroom, informing him of his true heritage. All Potter did was gape about like a landed fish.

He was sorely tempted to simply cast the counter for Dumbledore's curse and be done with it. That meddling fool had told Severus he'd done it because of Lily's desperate pleas. A low growl rumbled within Severus' chest at the idea of Lucius with his filthy claws on Lily. He swallowed against the dry acreage of his throat. Potter remained unresponsive, a dribbling fool. Maybe he should yell at the youngest Malfoy, taunt him over his new found genetics—but to be honest, Severus had little energy for such vitriol while his body still struggled against the effects of Nagini's poison.

Damn it. Harry Potter was Lily Evens and Lucius Malfoy's child.

Last year Dumbledore had taken Severus aside and dumped the unexpected, and certainly unwanted, knowledge upon his shoulders. He should have realized then that Dumbledore knew he wasn't going to live out the year. Unfortunately, other things had been demanding Severus' attention at the time.

The doddering meddler had cursed the unborn offspring within Lily's belly with the Tegal Texi Charm. It was a spell Severus had heard of but had never seen in action. It tricked the genetic code of an embryo into thinking it had alternate parentage. A year ago—was it only a year?—Dumbledore had convinced Severus that the spell couldn't be left in place, that it would hamper his little hero's adulthood in unspeakable ways if it wasn't cancelled.

With a sigh, he continued to stare down at the bent head. Potter hadn't so much as breathed heavy in the last fifteen minutes.

Poppy Pomfrey had also been told of the curse and its counter. Unfortunately, the Healer wasn’t aware of what poor, unsuspecting fool it had been cast upon. To Severus' relief, Pomfrey would be prepared for the changes Potter would soon be going through; he had only to deliver the potion, cast the spell and wash his hands of the mess.

The potion, a small vial of blue syrup, rested in his pocket.

He fingered the vial, bounced it against the tips of his ochre-stained fingers.

He stopped fiddling with it and took in another breath.

Hunched against the edge of the classroom desk, the brat still hadn't moved.

Severus wondered what changes would arise in the boy. Would it be instantaneous, or would it take time, months for fair Malfoy features to surface? He tried to imagine Potter as a blond. It wasn't a pretty picture. Maybe he would be a redhead like Lily. But that thought pranced the atrocious Weasley color through Severus' mind. Would he grow taller, lose some of his athletic build? Would his eyes fade from their sharp green?

He also wondered, as he stared down at his defeated student, if Lucius' veela nature would insinuate its unwieldy desires into the mostly asexual teenager. It had skipped Draco—for that Severus was extremely relieved; the boy was a handful enough—even though the traits were fairly dominant in Lucius himself.

Severus allowed a momentary sense of remorse for Potter. Not only was he not a Potter, but soon his entire endocrine system would betray him by flooding his body with entirely new hormones.

It would be easier to just leave him as he was. Easier for Potter, easier for Severus. But Dumbledore had made him promise.

Damn!

How was it, even after fulfilling his damned duty to Dumbledore and all those ungrateful wastes of skin, that these situations were still thrust upon him? Well, this was the last time. The. Last. Time. He would cast the counter curse, poor the thick goo down the boy's gullet and be off. Let his friends deal with him and his screwed up life. It wasn't Severus' problem.

"Potter," he barked. He gripped the vial and lifted his wand. "I grow tired of waiting for you to come to terms with Daddy," he said with a sneer. "Drink this." He thrust out the potion on his open palm.

Potter looked up at the swirling blue, mesmerized.

Severus ground his teeth. "Fine." The word was sharp.

He plucked the cork from the vial and pressed it towards Potter, ready to curse him stiff if the need arose.

"What is that?" Potter finally asked. He looked up, his face pale with a thin sheen coating his upper lip. Every breath he took was a quick sip of air. Severus observed that if Potter kept on this track he'd soon hyperventilate.

"The potion you must to ingest to remove the curse that has been put upon you."

Potter's eyes squinted. "What curse?"

"Have you not wondered why you look like James Potter when you are not, in fact, his child? A curse that stifles your true genetic parentage was cast on you before you were born," Severus said. There was so much more he could say: a plethora of details with little worth. None of them would help Potter, only confuse him. Anyway, he didn't need any help with this decision. There was no decision. He would take the potion and Severus would cast the spell and it would be done.

Potter swallowed, his eyes constantly tracking every movement Severus made, a shift of his weight, the lifting of his hand as he offered the potion, the dipping of his Adam's apple when he cleared his throat. They looked everywhere but into Severus' own hard gaze. "This curse made me a Potter?"

"This curse camouflaged your genetics to have your body think it was a Potter. It is detrimental to your further psychological and physical development and should be removed now that no other pressing business is at hand."

Potter chuckled, a dry, self-depreciating laugh that flittered through the air, unbalanced and odd. "No pressing business at hand. 'Good job Potter, you killed Voldemort, now we're going to really screw your life up.' Thanks, but no thanks."

"There isn't an option here, Potter. You will take the potion. Dumbledore insisted upon it."

Finally, a spark ignited in the boy's eyes. "Who cares? I don't. I don't give a damn what Dumbledore insisted on. This is my life! Nobody else has any right to fuck with it anymore!" Potter had sprung to his feet, his hands fisted at his sides and those green eyes, just like Lily's, bore into Severus' with all the anger and frustration of a teenager who still had no control over his own destiny.

"Potter. You will start having physical difficulties. Your growth will modulate out of control. You might have emotional inconsistencies. Most likely, you will not be able to have children. At some point the curse will begin to weaken and fail, and the older you are when this happens, the more crippling the effects will be on you. Either way, then or now, the curse will break and you will become a Malfoy."

The two men stood facing each other. One much taller, his lanky hair a veil around his face, the other a bundle of tense nerves just aching to lash out at something.

"It would be easier to do this now." Severus held out the vial again. Potter flinched away, as if Severus held a small, spitting viper.

"Would it be better if we went to the Hospital Wing and Madam Pomfrey administered the cure?"

"She knows, too?" The knowledge seemed to embarrass Potter.

"She also knows the counter curse, yes. But not that you are the individual under the influences of the Tegal Texi Charm."

With his eyes huge and lower lip beginning to tremble treacherously, Potter slowly nodded, his gaze locked onto the vial gripped between Severus' fingers. Severus slid the cork back into the vial and turned to open the door.

"After you," he said, and Potter walked out into the hall.

~~~

The potion had tasted like blueberries and Harry wondered why it wasn't as nasty as all the past potions Snape had made him drink.

Pomfrey had assured him the potion would do exactly as Snape had promised. Through her professional veneer, Harry could see that she juggled between concern for him and anger at Snape. Really, as hard as it was for Harry to admit, it wasn't Snape's fault.

Secretly, he wondered if the odd things he'd been feeling were because of the curse. He felt down all the time, and really, he had no interest in sex, and wasn't that abnormal for an almost 18-year old? Lately, he felt clumsy and just two days ago he'd tripped up the stairs. Up the stairs. Luckily, it was just him and Hermione, nobody else had seen. He'd known Ron would have been reduced to tears, laughing so hard.

Now his two best friends were sitting in chairs beside his bed. He'd protested the bed, but Pomfrey had insisted, and honestly, he didn’t care to argue anymore. He wondered if this was what despondency felt like.

At least with Voldemort he'd had a foe. Now he had nothing to fight against, only himself. His own genetic code.

Hermione was holding onto his hand, her palm clammy in his own, and Ron had his typical worried look that bunched his eyebrows up into fat caterpillars. At first they had argued it was a trick when he'd divulged Snape's news. Hermione had been ready to charge off to the library and Ron had furled his fingers into fists to fight by Harry's side. But Pomfrey had supported the git's story—and well, there wasn't much to argue anymore.

As they waited for the potion's affects, the only three in the large medical room within a mostly deserted castle, the shadows grew long, sliding across the tiled floor, the white-washed walls, until they crawled under Harry's bed and up into Ron and Hermione's laps. With a sigh, Harry exchanged hard looks with his friends. The air was thick when they finally rose to leave.

~~~

The dungeons were no longer passable and Severus looked upon the rubble blocking the entrance to his precious rooms with regret.

His skin crawled around his neck, like a living thing, and he resisted the urge to claw at it, peel the flesh away layer by layer until he no longer felt invaded by an alien presence.

The dust had long settled; it had been weeks since the final battle, and the reconstruction was already under way. Only a few inhabitants walked the hallways of the castle; most of the construction mages were housed in makeshift lodges in the grounds surrounding the destruction.

He considered his rare potions, stores of ingredients, precious books he knew he would be forever replacing. His thoughts rested on his half empty vial of phoenix tears and knew that they had already been soaked up by the thirsty floor, dribbling down into the tiny, porous capillaries within the stone.

His hand rose to trace the aching scar along his neck, and then he thrust it down to his side once again, letting the fingers twitch in camaraderie to the muscles around his throat. He regretted the loss of those tears.

With a swish of his robes, he swiveled around and returned to the staircase, taking the steps slowly as he mused over his future. He'd sacrificed everything he'd wagered on long ago… Not because he lost, but because he hadn't expected to win. Oh, surely the side of Light would win. Dumbledore and Harry Potter would win. He had no doubt. But he, Severus, wasn't supposed to survive. The bite from Nagini had been shocking—to be honest, he'd calculated his own assassination to happen later in the game—but it hadn't been unexpected. He remembered lying there after he'd delivered all those memories to that stupid brat, vomiting up his very soul so the boy could do what he had to do. Then the pain had gone and he'd floated in numbness. Nothing existed and he'd thought it truly was the end.

Then he'd woken up to Pomfrey fussing over him. Damnable woman should have let him die, then he wouldn't be in this predicament. And neither would Potter.

Severus would have felt sorry for him, if he wasn't already feeling sorry for himself.

He stormed through the halls, letting his fury overwhelm the growing self-pity spreading like a fungus through his thoughts. He'd only passed two other people, and they were charging by on their own business. It was a bloody blessing the castle hadn't crumbled around the tempest within.

He passed through the Hospital Wing doors for his morning treatment of anti-venom and cell reconstruction charms, when he pulled up short at the sight four beds down. At a bed aligned along the wall opposite the line of windows, Pomfrey was tending to her only other patient; her palm pressed to his forehead. Through the tall windows, the morning's white light washed over the young man and on him it looked like a halo, as if a godly being sat there in the hospital bed.

With a blink, Severus realized that was no creature from heaven, but Potter. Already losing the dark features of the Potter bloodline, his hair had lightened to a honeyed brown, and added length now tempered that maddening fluff. His strong jaw had relinquished the perpetual jut and even at the angle of his head, Severus could see his nose took on a perky upturn, almost giving him a snooty look. And something else about him seemed to glow, seemed to … sparkle.

Severus scowled.

The genetic transformation had undoubtedly triggered Potter's veela heritage.

Severus was ready to turn on his heel and charge out of there when Pomfrey looked over at him. Potter slowly lifted his head, his fingers pressed into his temple, and trapped Severus with his gaze. Severus stood there, unmoving, totally captured by those eyes, stark green, bright and shining and completely overwhelmed with worry.

Something in Severus' chest twitched.

"Severus," Pomfrey called to him as she walked his direction. "Shall we get you looked at now, young man?" She'd taken to calling him 'young man' since Dumbledore's death; it always made him feel guilty.

As she led him to a secluded examination area, Severus turned his head to glance one more time at Potter. Potter was sitting up, watching Severus until he disappeared beyond the privacy screen.

~~~

Stretched out on his back, eyes closed, Harry breathed slowly in and out from his belly like Pomfrey had told him to do. She wasn't sure why his head felt like a sledgehammer banged around inside his skull, but the pain killing potions weren't cutting it.

To his right Ron shifted in his own bed. They'd been assigned a small room in the north end of the castle that had received the least damage from the Death Eater invasion. Hermione had gone to retrieve her family from Australia, but promised to return within the week. Her room, across the hallway from Harry and Ron's, awaited her return.

With a soft snore, Ron rolled over and Harry stared at him through the dim lighting, highlighted only by the moon and stars shining down from the open window. A cool breeze shifted the draperies and carried in the scent of impending rain. His friends had been amazing with the news, supportive, helpful. They didn't freak out… well Ron freaked out a little, and Hermione jumped to research the entire situation, finding her own comfort in something familiar and organized.

Harry still didn't know what to think. The simple thought that he was a child of rape churned his stomach, sent him into cold shivers.

And then… he wasn't James Potter's child.

His whole life… his existence… it was just so fucked up. A small sob bubbled up through his chest; he curled over onto his side, pushing the palm of his hand to his forehead. In the spot right before his temple the sharpest pain picked away.

He felt so lost, confused, and there was nobody to explain why all this had happened to him. He had no father, no mentor, no godfather. His entire collection of role models, gone and ground to dust. Somehow, deep within his soul, he felt that his life should have been better than this.

More pain, aching and deep, stretched through his limbs, up along his legs, across his back and down his arms. Straight through to the center of his bones. Pomfrey had said that there might be some discomfort as that fucking rapist's genetics took hold. However, she didn't say it would feel anything like this.

Quietly, under the building clouds, Harry wept.

~~~

"Now, Severus, quit squirming."

"I am not squirming, Madam," he groused. He was sitting on the examination table impeccably motionless and the Healer had the gall to tell him to stop squirming.

"Not your body, your mind."

He shifted his gaze over to hers. Perhaps, since Dumbledore's death, Pomfrey was the only person on the planet who could read him like that. Lying just under her thick shield of professionalism, he could see the tiny crinkles at the edges of her eyes, the slight bunching of her brows. She was worried about him. Bitter, stodgy, unlikable Severus, and this matronly woman was worried about him.

He grunted and she poked him in the ribs with her wand

"Watch it." He found he could find neither the proper focus nor desire to flay the woman currently rubbing a thick ointment across the still gaping wound across his neck.

"I know you are worried about Harry Potter, Severus." She waved her wand over him and golden sparkles landed over parts of his body. She began diagnosing those areas with another charm.

"Harry Malfoy, you mean." He felt chilled sitting in only his trousers and shirtsleeves. A golden patch settled over his left knee that had ached him since before he'd become Headmaster the previous year.

"Oh come now. He will always be Harry Potter, Potter bloodline or not. He has more ownership to that name than any other Potter had claimed in many generations." She tapped his knee with her wand and warmth washed over it. "Don't you think?"

Severus only knew the one other Potter; that little bastard had certainly laid down a legacy.

He was about to respond as such when the double doors leading to the Hospital Wing burst open. Severus leapt to his feet, wand in hand. Tumbling in, panting like a marathon runner in the last two miles of his race, was Ronald Weasley.

"It's—It's Harry. He's—" Weasley, still dressed in brown and white striped pajamas, was leaning over to catch his breath, his hands braced against his thighs. "There's something wrong."

Weasley was actually squeaking, sounding like a boy balanced on the edge of puberty and true panic was etched into the lines across his face. Pomfrey promptly grabbed her medical bag, and she and Severus rushed through the doors with the young war hero leading the way.

During their brisk walk, Weasley babbled about Potter crying and screaming, about his complaints of pain in his back and head. "He tried to come see you," he said to Madam Pomfrey between pants, "but he couldn't stand."

Severus, first to the room, rushed through the door, only to have the scene stop him cold.

Blood. Blood everywhere. Coating the bed on the left side of the room, the sheets, duvet and pillow; everything was splattered. It dripped down the walls like spring rain, painted the windows. The metallic scent of it dredged up unwanted visions and memories, and for a moment Severus' vision swam.

Then he heard a whimper, a small noise that could have been dismissed as the sound of the wind or the scuff of a shoe. But he'd heard such noises before in his long history of working under the command of a truly evil man and he turned to peer into the corner of the room.

"Sweet Merlin, Harry!" Weasley's voice screeched at the sight of the blood, strained to the snapping point.

Drenched in pain and blood, hunched over like a beaten crup, was a form. Potter. His hair, that newly mutated light brown with honeyed streaks, was a closer match to the churned earth in a cattle yard during the rain. Pooling around his feet, a growing puddle. Severus marveled that Potter was still alive if all that blood had come from his body. He was gripping his legs, his head pressed between the wall and his right knee, burrowing it away from the morning light streaming in from the window.

And sprouting from his shoulders amid tattered T-shirt and shoulder flesh were two fully-formed wings, quivering and fluttering with the erratic motion of a twig caught up in a gale.

"Oh my," Pomfrey gasped, and hurried over to Potter.

At her movement, Potter's head lifted; his eyes reflected the light from the rising sun. Then he screamed, scrambling away from the Healer's outstretched hand, slipping in own life's blood.

From the doorway, Severus examined the young man flailing away from Pomfrey's soft cooing. He brought up his arm to block Weasley's blind rush to his friend's side. Pomfrey kept saying 'Harry, it's just fine now. Harry, everything is fine,' but the words were simply blown air.

"Madam Pomfrey, might I suggest a sedative and a pain reliever." Severus examined Potter's stark eyes, the flashing whites of an animal in panic. "I don't think he recognizes any of us at the moment."

~~~

While Weasley kept to Potter's side like a Siamese twin, Severus and Pomfrey discussed what had happened to Potter. Weasley clung to Potter's hand, entwining their fingers as if his very grip was the sole reason the Chosen One wasn't washed away into the unknown beyond.

"I've never seen anything like it, Severus. His wings, for one. Just ripping from his body like that." This woman who had seen every type of magical malady and disaster shivered. "It is hard to imagine the pain that must have caused him."

Severus had a very firm grasp on the amount of pain a set of wings spontaneously sprouting from one's back just might inflict, but he chose to remain silent.

The Healer shook her head. "And those are not veela wings, Severus." He had noticed that fact. They were sea green and scaled leather. It reminded him of dragon hide. "Are you certain that Lucius was half veela? Perhaps some other being's bloodline can be attributed—" she trailed off, pressing her lips together in frustration.

Weasley looked over his shoulder at them again. At times he looked hopeful, at other times it seemed all faith had been lost. "No. To my knowledge, the Malfoy's have the genetic strains of veela and human and that is it. Though, how far back one takes the search might reveal others—" He grew silent. Something quite preposterous had slithered into his mind.

"Severus? What is it?"

With a shallow nod, he continued, "Perhaps it isn't Malfoy's bloodline we should be researching."

Pomfrey's eyes widened at his implication. "But Evans was a Muggleborn."

"Yes, but she was still a magical person. Perhaps her magic came from something in her ancestry. Muggleborns do not have the ardent dedication to genealogy of wizarding purebloods. Who knows what might be mixed into her bloodline from generations past?"

Pomfrey nodded at this, mulling his new theory over. "Perhaps. I'll have my assistant research her bloodline. As it is, I will need to keep Harry sedated until we can find out something." She clicked her tongue in concern. "Not only about his wings, but this degeneration of his mind. That has me worried most of all."

Severus nodded. Though Potter never had been the brightest star in the sky, he still hadn't been a feral animal.

"And Severus, just to assure we are not missing something, will you speak with Draco Malfoy about what other magical bloodlines the Malfoy's might have. It could be Lily Evans, or it might not be. I want to cover every possibility."

"Of course." With Lucius incarcerated and Narcissa a bitter, old bitch, Draco was the most obvious choice for the inquiry. Unfortunately, he was certain Draco would want to know why and he didn't feel the information of Potter's true lineage would be welcomed with open arms.

Severus looked over to the hospital bed once more, to Weasley earnestly gripping that hand, studying Potter's face, slack with potions and spells, drool bubbling from his opened lips

It was insane, really, and Severus attributed it to the fact that he'd been watching out for and protecting the boy since he was eleven, but seeing Potter in such a state did something to him. It caused its own breed of anxiety.

It made him sad.

~~~

"And why do you need to know, Severus?"

He resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. He knew that Draco would make this an inflated ordeal and… Damn it! The war was over, didn't he deserve a moment's peace?

"I've taken up genealogy as a hobby to fill my excessive free time, and I thought I would research one of the most prestigious wizarding families," he said in a monotone, his gaze boring into that of the twitchy Malfoy Jr.

Why did he twitch so much? It grated on Severus' nerves. He'd never called Draco on it before because Lucius had been one step closer to the Dark Lord's inner circle.

"Stop that incessant convulsing," Severus said. Draco stilled, a look of shock flittering across the young man's face. Even his expressions twitched.

"Thank you. Now give me your bloodline records." Draco stared at him, arms akimbo. "Please." Severus added.

The blasted man had the gall to raise his eyebrow at Severus. He'd taught him that trick, the little brat!

"Severus. Sir."

Severus glared at Draco, just daring him…

"Why do you want them?" So much for being a threatening figure.

"Don't ask questions." Then, as an after-thought, "I've a right mind to curse you into giving me what it is I want." He had neither the energy nor the time to sweet-talk Draco into giving him the information.

Draco scoffed. "You would not. You like me!" He announced it like a grand title.

Severus' surprised flinch caused Draco to chuckle. "I do no such thing," he said in affront.

"Alright, then," Draco said and began to pace the receiving room of the small estate he and his mother now lived in. It was the only property in Britain they were allowed to keep. The Manor and their other holdings had been sold off in a flash for reparations to war victims. Severus had inwardly laughed at the whole predicament, knowing that as Draco easily agreed to the sale, Lucius was cringing in his cell. Narcissa kept to herself, angry at the world. "So, you need my genealogy. Why would you need it?" Draco cupped one elbow in a palm and then pressed his chin into the other, tapping his cheek with his forefinger, raising his eyes up to the ceiling in a mockery of thoughtful contemplation. "Let's see… Could it be the Malfoy line is attached to another bloodline…" he trailed off and glanced over at Severus.

Whatever he saw in Severus' face caused him to drop his hands and grip them behind his back. The entire show would have amused Severus if the blasted blueblood wasn't potentially going to figure out why Severus wanted the information.

"Could be that my line crosses that of another person of personal interest to you… Or those you work for. Hmm, Professor Severus Snape. Death Eater. War Hero. Double Agent… For whom is it that you are seeking?" Draco stopped his pacing and looked Severus straight in the eyes. "Or is this search personal?" Oh, the cheeky brat.

Then Draco's eyebrows flew together in a moment of awe. "It isn't you, is it? Are we related?" Severus snorted, and opened his mouth to respond, but then with a toss of his fair hair, and a twirl on his heel, Draco turned away and began pacing again. "No, not us, because then you would just tell me, and it certainly would be something we'd know about. This has to be someone else. Someone of a certain importance who is not already close to the Malfoy line."

Then Draco stopped cold. His shoulders tensed and in those stiffened lines, Severus read that Draco had figured it out.

"Oh no. Do not tell me."

Severus didn't. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

Draco whirled around like a miniature typhoon and came bearing down on Severus. "Don't tell me—"

"Fine. I will not. Now kindly get me the genealogical records I have requested."

"Who? Who is it? I already know about those idiot Weasleys being related, and not to mention Potter. Oh, please don't tell me it's Filch." Then Draco paled. "Oh Merlin. Not a Mudblood."

Interesting. Even Severus hadn't known about the Potters and Malfoys. More importantly, Draco hadn't figured it out after all.

"Are you ready to hand over—?"

"Severus. Please." The little snob was begging. "Please promise me it isn't Granger. Please."

Severus rolled his eyes. "One of the most intelligent and magically inclined witches of this generation and you are whining about possibly being related to her? Oh, Draco. Do grow up."

That pulled Draco out of his fit, if momentarily. "Fine. I'll take you to the library—" Severus turned to the door, ready to begin so this fiasco could be concluded in all due haste. "—but really, you have to tell me who it is."

He stepped around to face Draco, who'd dropped the contemplative visage, as well as the sniveling begging act, and he looked, for once, like a normal human being.

His thoughts turned to Potter, bleeding and huddled in fright. "It is nobody of your concern, Draco."

There was a flash in Draco's eyes, defiant and burning with just a touch of enmity, but then it was gone. If he was anyone other than Severus Snape, he might wonder if it had actually been there. But even with a near fatal snakebite, he knew what he'd seen.

"Very well. I'll take you to the hall."

~~~

With a spike of adrenaline, the teenager lurched to his feet and nearly fell off the bed he'd been lying on.

In two blinks of his eye, he scurried underneath it, and then held his breath, listening for whatever it was that had jolted him from his dreamless sleep. The room was dark, but he could see the outlines of other beds in the long room. On the air was the scent of something familiar.

Ron.

Then he heard it. Breathing. The soft breathing of sleep.

But that wasn't everything. There was something else on the air. The tang of bitterness, the sharp hint of musk. The hum of anticipation.

He took in a slow, deep breath, then held it. Listening.

There it was. More breathing, hidden, masked by that of the person asleep on the bed next to his. There were three people here. He, and the familiar, and another. Also familiar, but something about the other sent his wings shivering.

He tried to still them, tried to hold onto his anxious nerves and muscles, but they seemed to control him more than he controlled them. Right now they hurt, ached with the need to spread out, to move, and flap and …

Fly.

Reaching out a hand, then a leg, he frog-walked out from under the bed. The room was dark, but he could still see shadows and shapes. He blinked. His eyes felt dry, grainy.

His wings quivered against the tight constriction of the cotton that surrounded their base. Like a cat, he stretched, pulling his hands into claws against the floor, his fingernails catching against the grout between square tiles as his back arched up.

Then he lifted his face and sniffed. Short, quick inhalations that brushed air against the receptors in his nose. There it was again.

Earthy. The scent was earthy.

He crawled forward again. One palm against the floor, followed by another, then a quick step of his feet. He was silent as he crept forward, catching the scent, eyes wide to collect every spark of light in the darkened room.

Keeping close to the line of beds he slunk as low as he could, slipping from under one bed to the other, hidden in shadow. He didn't have to go far before he found the other.

Three beds from his, across the isle, the other sat in a chair. It was a man, older than the one that was sleeping next to him. This man also slept; his breathing near silent.

With careful exertion he rose to his feet, hunched over in a squat, and stepped towards the sleeping man. Standing before the man in the chair, his wings almost purring they were vibrating so quickly, he studied the form all wrapped up in dark clothing, dark hair. He leaned forward and inhaled again.

Ah, that was it. Musky, earthy, and strong.

Now his wings did purr, a faint hum but loud enough that the man's eyes slowly opened.

Neither said anything as they shared time and space. The man remained stoic under the examination, until finally the teenager settled on the ground and placed his chin on the man's knee.

Soon, he fell asleep.

~~~

Slipping over the lip of each window, the rays of morning sun crept into the Hospital Wing in a silent stride. With a flutter of his eyes Severus awoke, and a cramp in his lower back roared to life as his awareness took stock of his surroundings. Half of Potter covered Severus' lap, the other half spilled onto the floor like one of those rag doll cats. Though the whelp was soundly sleeping, a soft buzzing noise emanated from his leathery wings and Severus could see the minute vibrations of the taut skin.

The very situation was strange and creepy. The fact that Potter had snuck up on Severus was enough to shock him. But that he was here, head in his lap, limp hand wrapped up in Severus' robe, was enough to send even the most stable man to the St. Mungo's wards. And Severus wasn't the most stable man.

A groan from across the room alerted Severus to the impending explosion due from the young man's best friend. Severus inwardly cursed, but dared not move or talk or do anything in case Potter awoke and jumped to the ceiling in panic.

A groaned out yawn, the sound of bare feet slapping against the floor, and then Weasley emerged from beyond the privacy screen centered on Potter's bed—the bed that the genetically confused brat was not sleeping in. Weasley saw Severus, with Potter draped across him, and stopped with one foot still in the air.

Severus glared.

Weasley gaped.

Potter stirred.

Both Severus and Weasley looked down at the honeyed head as it rose and then Potter blinked myopically up at Severus, then over to Weasley. Then he yawned, stretched, and set his chin back on Severus' knee, looking up at him with curiosity and peace.

"S—sir," Weasley stuttered. "What's going on?" Potter shifted and looked over at Weasley. A leathery wing stretched long up to the ceiling, shivered a bit, and then relaxed. Then the other. Weasley and Severus watched. Potter sighed.

"As is quite obvious, Mr. Weasley, Potter is resting on me." Severus' back ached. He shifted slightly, and Potter lifted his head again and looked up at Severus. "Go fetch Madam Pomfrey."

Weasley trotted off as the two men continued to contemplate each other.

Soft footsteps revealed Madam Pomfrey's arrival. "Hello, Mr. Potter," she said in warm greeting.

Potter recoiled and practically crawled into Severus' lap. Pomfrey had spoken in her most soothing voice, but something about it frightened the flappable young man. Pressing his head into the small gap between Severus' side and arm, he tried to bury his way into the thick fabric of his robe.

"Oh," she said with a disappointed sigh. Then, "Severus, please see if you can get him to drink this."

He reached for the cup the Healer held outstretched. The contents were clear and cool. Looking from the glass to the form half-burrowed in his lap, he returned his attention to the two observers.

"It might be more beneficial if you two were to remove yourself from his sight at this time. He seems to… be uncomfortable in the presence of too many individuals." And comfortable with him. Wasn't that a wonder?

Pomfrey grabbed Weasley's upper arm and dragged him away; the entire trek to Pomfrey's office, Weasley watched them over his shoulder, practically stumbling over his uncoordinated feet.

When they were gone, Severus reached up with his right arm and tentatively touched the back of Potter's head. Potter's entire body shivered and then he pulled his head away from the safety of Severus' armpit and glanced up into his face.

Those eyes. So green.

"Drink this." Severus held out the glass. Potter looked at it, his head tilted to the side. Then he looked back up at Severus. All of the young man's actions were intentional; no movement was wasted. It was eerily similar to that of a bird, or mantis.

With a sigh, Severus sipped from the glass, then held it out to Potter. Slowly, the young man leaned forward and set his lips on the rim of the glass. Severus tilted the glass and watched the overhead light reflect off the silver stream of liquid as it slipped into Potter's open lips.

Once the cool liquid touched his tongue, Potter realized what it was. Eagerly, he gripped the glass in both hands and Severus released it as Potter guzzled down the water. When he finished he looked longingly down into the glass, then up at Severus.

"Would you care for more, Potter?" Potter looked up at him. "Harry?" Something in those eyes sparkled, glowed.

He used to worry about inconsequential things, like the plight of good over evil and his own mortality, but now he found himself focused on one person entirely. And it wasn't a soothing realization.

Potter nodded, and Severus said, "Well, I will have to rise to get it for you."

Those eyes, brilliant and oddly trusting, were uncomprehending. Slowly, Severus moved to stand, letting the broken man slip from his place on his lap. Like a lithe ferret, Potter slipped to the floor, resting on one hip as he looked up at Severus. The way he was sitting, almost demure with those amazing wings vibrating, caused Severus' breath to catch in his chest. He was beautiful, but too vulnerable after everything that had happened to him.

Too vulnerable to have Severus staring at him like that.

"Come on now. Nobody will hurt you."

Severus turned away and began walking towards the sink. He heard nothing behind him, but his attuned perception caught the sense of an adjacent presence, and he knew Potter had followed. He put the glass under the faucet and filled it. Slowly, he turned and Potter was right there. Mere feet away.

He held out the glass, and Potter took it, once again with two hands, and emptied the glass.

Then he looked up at Severus again. Something pure in those eyes, like adoration.

Severus swallowed.

"Hello, Harry."

Potter jumped in the air and quickly dove behind Severus for the safety provided by the sink. Pomfrey and Weasley stood off to the side. Severus glanced over his shoulder at the huddled man and reached out his hand.

"It is fine. They will not hurt you."

Potter looked at the outstretched hand, then up at Severus.

"I will not let them hurt you, Harry." The entire world floated eons away.

Slowly, inch by inch, Harry unfurled himself and crawled out from under the sink, his hand firmly gripping Severus'.

"I think he's taken a shine to you, young man," Pomfrey said with enough joviality to make Severus cringe.

"It appears so."

"But why?" Weasley barked. Harry stiffened and gazed at his friend with huge eyes. Weasley grimaced and said more quietly, "Why does he trust Professor Snape. No insult intended, sir."

Oh, certainly not, Severus thought. "I've no idea," he said.

With a strong hold on Potter, Severus pulled him forward and walked him towards Pomfrey and his best friend. Both stood still, apparently understanding the fragility of the moment.

"Harry." When had he fallen into calling the Golden Boy by his first name? "This is Ronald Weasley. He is your friend. You trust him with your life." Though the gods knew why. Potter tilted his head, examining Weasley like he had the glass of water, then he lifted up his hand, reaching halfway. Something grew bright in the red-head's face and he gently touched Potter's hand.

"Hi, Harry."

Potter smiled.

Ron grinned like a boy riding his first broom.

"This," Severus said, "is Madam Pomfrey. A Healer. She has been helping you for years. You also trust her with your life."

Again, Potter looked up into Severus' face, then over at the older woman, like he had to check first with Severus. He then reached out for her, and she touched his hand, unshed tears building in her eyes.

"Harry. My sweet boy. We're going to help you. We will."

Potter dropped his hand from hers and reached back behind him. Embarrassed, Severus took the hand and held it. It was warm and soft and felt right in his own.

"Come with me, Harry." He led the man to his bed. With a pounce, Potter landed on the mattress, adjusting his wings to hang over the far side as his legs hung over other. Relieved and excited, Pomfrey began her diagnostics.

~~~

With an eye for subtlety and subterfuge that had been honed during the Dark Lord's occupation of the Manor, Draco knew that Severus was hiding something fascinating. After Severus had left following hours of research, Draco himself had dug through his ancestry records. Nothing was much of a shock, the worst of it realizing he was related to that imbecile Fudge four generations back. His eyes traced over the fine scrawl that listed his great great grandfather Marci Rendoran, a full-blooded veela. Draco knew he wasn't fully human and had been disappointed when none of the veela traits had developed in him. It was actually a point of honor for the Malfoy clan. There was the expected twining of most of the pureblooded families in Europe with each other. But nothing else jumped out at him.

He wasn't surprised he'd found nothing. He'd had no idea what he was looking for.

Draco didn't know where else to look, but the mystery interested him enough to plan a visit to Hogwarts, where he knew the old family friend was residing with a few other professors and individuals who were working to rebuild the castle.

Walking through the deserted halls, some of them crumbled and impassable, brought a sense of loss and guilt to Draco. This place held some of his most important memories: his first kiss, his first fuck, showing up that infuriating Potter. The power of being on the Inquisitional Squad. He stared down at his feet. Not to mention the feeling of panic and desperation trying to fix that blasted cabinet. The Death Eaters swarming the halls. So much had happened here in his seven years of residence.

He'd discovered that the passage to the Slytherin common rooms, and therefore Severus' old quarters, had collapsed. Keeping to side passages with his eyes and ears wide, he walked the length of the castle, hoping to find the man and maybe some hints as to what got his cockles in a bend.

He was walking down a northern hallway covered in dust. As he approached a major intersection, he heard footsteps approach and ducked behind a moth-eaten tapestry.

"… And he barely even lets me touch him!"

It was the Weasel. Why was he there?

"It's… bizarre the way he's so attached to Snape. It's obvious this whole… change has had major implications on him. I think we just need to give him time."

"Yeah, sure. By then he'll be…"

Draco strained his ears but couldn't hear the Mudblood and Weasley anymore as they turned around a corner. Why were they even there? And where was the stupid Hero? And wasn't that cute… Weasley had a crush on a boy and his love was spurned. Draco chuckled. He couldn't wait to spread that rumor around.

But his love interest was attached to Snape? That was Draco's first impression; though he knew it wasn't wise to make such assertions based on only a few words overhead. He would have to find out more… Once he'd figured out why Snape was researching the Malfoy bloodline.

He stepped out around the corner and headed the way those two had come.

He met nobody in the halls until he came upon the Hospital Wing. At the door to the Wing he overheard more voices. Pressing up to the door and opening it a crack, he listened. Severus was talking.

"I know the flavor is lacking, but you must eat." There was a pause, then, "One bite and I will let you have more water. But you have to eat."

Draco swallowed on a snort. Severus was feeding someone? Was it a baby or toddler? Could it be a foundling? Maybe Severus thought it was a Malfoy. Draco cracked the door open a bit more.

"What is it?" Severus spoke as if he were talking to a little firsty. "Come back here! Potter!"

Potter?

But Draco didn't have much time to process that thought because the door was slammed open and Draco was mauled by someone, the force enough to practically launch them through the air to crash into the other side of the hallway. In the brief moment before his head cracked against the stone he saw the face of someone familiar, but it certainly wasn't anybody he knew.

~~~

Severus felt like a rat gnawed at his belly, and the sympathetic twitches churned under the length of his neck. The gnawing came from watching Potter clinging to a comatose Draco Malfoy, and the twitch came from the snakebite that caused Severus to take stock in his near misses.

He glared across the aisle at Draco's pale form lying underneath a starched white sheet, wishing his gaze alone had the power to vaporize his victims. Pomfrey had administered a potion to pull the boy into consciousness, but it took time, so Severus insisted on watching the privileged wanker lie there while Potter clutched onto his hand.

What was he thinking? He was acting like a jealous teenager when his favorite girl smiled at the school Seeker.

The last few days with Potter clinging to him, relying on him, had initially confused Severus, but it also had the added effect of softening something cold and hard within him. Ever since the curse had been removed, Severus realized his eyes kept being drawn to Potter. And though he felt stupid even thinking this, it was like Potter had an inner glow that held precious promises. Logically, he knew it must be the entrancement powers uncontrolled by the fledgling veela, or a mix of whatever it was that Potter also had hidden in his bloodline. Logically, he knew that in Potter's current state, the teenager couldn't control his reactions to outside stimulus. Logically, Severus knew he was as old as Potter's father… both of them. Logically…

Oh, screw logic. Severus wanted him. Wanted to take care of him. Protect him. Wanted to wrap him up in his arms and carry him far away. Wanted to burry his nose in that soft acorn-colored hair.

Merlin! Severus wanted to hide his face in his hands, hide away from his improper thoughts and school boy impulses. Instead he watched Potter stare into Draco's face. Every so often he would reach out and run his finger along the upturn of Draco's nose, and then do it to his own.

Then he would smile.

And the darkness in the room would cease to exist.

Severus stood to leave.

The scrape of the chair against the floor startled Potter, and he looked over at Severus. Severus stopped and realized that as Potter glanced from Draco to him, a worried, fretful jerk to his mannerisms, he couldn't just leave. In five strides he was by Potter's side, and the nails digging into his arm as Potter pulled him close to his side were a comfort.

"You don't want me to leave."

Potter looked up at him from under a mask of anxiety, holding each man by one of his hands, stuck in the middle like an iron link.

"Fine." Severus lifted his wand and summoned his chair. He sat down next to Potter on the side of Draco's bed.

It wasn't terribly long before Draco woke up; Severus was in a light snooze. A Nancy-like squeal jolted him to complete alertness. Draco was jerking on his arm, trying to pull it free from Potter's grasp, but Potter kept hold of it, his frantic gaze switching from Severus to Draco, a low whine filling the air.

"Draco. Calm down," Severus said in an even voice.

"But… Wings! Who…? What…? Gah! Make it let me go!" He continued to tug and flail in the bed and Potter continued to hold fast, on the edge of a complete terror attack if Severus could read the man correctly.

"Draco. Stop this instant."

Draco stilled and looked from Severus to Potter. Then his eyes landed on Potter's face and he looked, really looked, and his mouth fell open.

"Potter?" he asked in a squeak.

Severus observed the longing in Potter's eyes, though for the most part his face was completely unresponsive to Draco speaking his name.

"Yes," Severus said. "This is Harry Potter…. Harry Malfoy, to be exact, but we've decided not to change his name."

It took three heartbeats and then, "What?" Finally, Draco had managed to pull his arm free and Potter was on his feet, his wings held stiffly away from his body, giving him the impression of being poised for flight.

"Fucking Morgana's tits!" Draco said as he scrambled to the other side of the bed. Severus heaved a heavy sigh.

"Potter." No response. "Harry," he snapped. Potter turned and looked at him, his wings performing their odd little hum as he faced Severus. Then he glanced back at Draco, reaching out for him. In the incandescent lighting, Severus saw his eyes glistening.

Thought played no part in Severus gently holding onto Potter's elbow and guiding him close to Severus' chest.

"It's okay, Harry. Draco isn't running away." Severus wasn't sure why Potter had become attached to him; it made a little more sense for him to want to be with Draco. Perhaps, something in his blood called out to his brother, and wasn't that a barrel of jokes?

Draco panted, using the hospital bed as a shield against Potter, currently being held by Severus. Part of Severus felt silly. A larger part didn't give a damn how this might look.

"Draco, why don't you sit down and I will explain."

Draco remained standing. "So this," Draco gestured towards Potter, whose wings quivered as he stared hard at Draco, "Is why you needed to go through the Malfoy records?"

"Yes."

"What…" He swallowed whatever it was he was going to say and refined his question after a cleansing breath. "What has happened to him?" The worlds trailed off into something small and full of pity.

"His genetics have kicked in." Draco looked at him curiously. "Do you want the succinct story or the long drawn out epic?"

Draco did a quick shake to his head. "I don't care. Just tell me what's going on."

"Fine. Draco Malfoy, meet your half brother, Harry Potter. He is the progeny of an unwilling tryst between your father and Lily Evans." Draco looked like one of those mutated goldfish with bulging eyes and constant gaping mouth. "His genetic code had been masked until he fulfilled his duty to defeat the Dark Lord. Now that concealment is no longer needed his genetics have been allowed to revert to their natural state. Unfortunately, the Malfoy veela gene and something possibly inhuman from Lily Evans' genetic line have somehow… affected each other. He doesn't appear to know who he is and the only people he seems to truly trust are me… and apparently you."

There was a moment of silence, and then, "What?"

Severus raised one eyebrow. "Well, I had assumed you wanted the short version."

After a long drawn out conference with Draco, at times attended by Pomfrey, Severus convinced the Malfoy heir that Potter was in fact his younger half-brother, that he was a partial veela, and that his brain had gone Neanderthal.

That last part hadn't been a hard sell.

Draco's gaze rarely left Potter, and Potter appeared more relaxed when under the scrutiny of his brother. When Severus had finished, Draco stood, his face hard. "This is ridiculous. He might be my father's son, but he is not my brother. I am the Malfoy heir, and no mixed breed son of a Muggle will ever be equal to me." With a last look of disdain, he turned away from Severus and Potter, and rushed out of the Hospital Wing.

Potter cried out, reaching after the retreating man.

~~~

“I can't see why it matters to him. I mean really, it's Rat Face! Why does he care about what Rat Face does?”

“Ron, quit being so insensitive. From what Professor Snape said, it really affected Harry when Malfoy left the room.”

Surrounded by Potter do-gooders, Severus felt strangely integral to the energetic crowd. Though he had planted himself far off to the side, away from the teenagers and Pomfrey, he still felt cemented by a common cause. One that—as odd as it seemed—he had actually chosen himself. Potter, thankfully, was drugged and sleeping peacefully in a bed nearby.

“But... Why would...” Weasley continued to struggle against the concept that somebody, anybody, would be inclined to spend time with Draco, let alone his closest friend.

“I believe,” Severus interrupted Weasley's vague attempt to put multiple words together to complete a sentence, “that Potter, in his current state, recognized Draco as blood.”

Granger looked up at Severus and he saw that she'd long ago come to that conclusion and the little know-it-all had a pile of other questions she wanted to ask that Severus sorely wished she wouldn't. But stars and wells had never worked for him before.

“Excuse me, sir.” She was being overly polite. Severus steeled himself for the inevitable. “That explains his connection to Malfoy... Draco. But, it doesn't...” she stopped and Severus silently dared her to continue. “Well, it doesn't explain his interest ... well, to be blunt, attraction to you.”

The two held each other's eyes. Her audacity was par for the course. “No. It does not.”

He lifted up his tea cup and took a sip, everyone's attention on him. He didn't have an explanation for Potter's... attraction. He did have an assumption to his own interest in the young veela, recently sparked with the changes his genetics had undergone. He would never act on it... To give into a veela's charms was purely a symptom of a weak mind and will, either of which Severus most certainly did not have.

“It appears to me,” Pomfrey said as she flipped through a sheaf of papers on a clipboard, “that he finds you comforting, Severus. Whenever he is in close proximity to you, his heart rate decreases and his breathing evens out. The only odd symptom is the fluttering of his wings, which only seems to happen near you. But it appears to be a soothing reaction, not one of agitation.” She scribbled something towards the edge of one page, the feather of her quill dancing with her sharp strokes.

Granger stirred in her chair, the movement drawing Severus' gaze. She was staring right at him. Damn, the girl had no subtly. For a moment their eyes were connected, but then she looked away. Good, maybe this time she would hold her tongue.

“I have alerted Professor McGonagall to Potter's current situation," Pomfrey said. "She expressed interest in returning from the Hogwarts redesign meetings in Edinburgh, but I told her to stay put, that unless she was an expert in creature bloodlines, she was more useful at the meeting.”

“Good. The place is already overrun with eager Potter lovers.”

“Hey! He's our friend, you're just--”

“Ron!”

Weasley shot his gaze towards Granger, then glowered at Severus. He sat back down, but Severus could practically see the steam rising from the teen's ears.

“Well, sir,” Granger turned her attention to him. “As you said, we are all eager to find a way to help Harry. Obviously, we can do nothing about the genetic anomaly he's currently coping with. We know he's got veela genes from Malfoy. And something else from his mother, something... dragon?" She pursed her lips, resembling McGonagall in one of her contemplative moments. "I've done some research but without a full ancestor lineage, I can't really tell what else he might be. But these two genetic bloodlines are rampaging through Harry and if we can offer him any comfort, then I say we offer it." Though her voice was even through her entire speech, Severus could hear the crackle of anxiety tempering each word.

Severus dipped his head. "And I will offer what I can," he said. Granger and Pomfrey nodded while Weasley looked like his head might fly off his shoulders at any minute.

Severus hoped it would, he needed a little mindless entertainment.

Movement drew Severus' attention away as the two continued speculating and bickering. Close to the ground, Potter was slinking up to them, walking on all fours like a gecko clinging to a wall. His movements were slow, calculated, but enough that eventually Granger noticed him.

"What are you looking at?" she said. "Hey, Harry!"

Potter lifted his head, his eyes sparkling; then he giggled, burst from behind the desk he was creeping around and launched himself at Severus.

In less then three seconds Severus had a lap full of cheery, winged Potter. With open innocence Potter looked from his friends to Severus, a contented smile on his thin lips.

"Hello, Harry," Severus said. This close to Potter, Severus felt the skin across his arms and face tighten, the beat of his heart increase. Like the reactions of adding a potion ingredient to a bubbling cauldron, Severus cataloged his body's changes as well as the shifting of Potters weight as he leaned forward and saw exactly how this recipe was about to explode. It was out of his control. Like a mouse trapped by the gaze of a swaying python, Severus froze as Potter leaned forward and kissed him gently on the corner of his mouth.

Silence settled upon the room like it did upon the dead.

With his wings purring like a damned cat, Potter wrapped his arms around Severus and rested his head on Severus' chest right above his thudding heart.

With a force of will, Severus looked up at his three companions. He saw horror and resignation, neither was unexpected.

onto part ii

Fic - "Save Me, I'm Lost" - HP/SS (PG13) Part 2

Thu, 17 Dec 2009 21:36:17 GMT

~~~

Snoozing in the afternoon light, curled up next to his person on a short sofa they'd moved to the big room, he thought about the other, the one who smelled like he did himself. It had been days since the smellalike had run away, and he wished he would return.

He understood there were many things he didn't remember, including something about the smellalike, and that brought its own special sorrow. His mind was like a vast, empty room, walls lined with safes, each one tiny and charmed tightly shut, holding within it one experience from his life. There was no ceiling and the room stretched on forever; there were uncountable safes. He knew all this, and yet he also knew he didn't have the proper password.

In his doze he twitched, thinking of flying with his person, holding onto each other as they soared high into the moist clouds, then diving together into the lake, swimming with the fishes. His wings fluttered. Then a touch to his head, soothing fingers massaging his scalp, and his wings began to purr.

"Harry."

He pressed his nose deeper into the scratchy fabric; he was relaxed and felt so safe. The feeling of safe held value beyond belief and he wanted to clutch it tight and keep it close.

"I know you are awake."

Like sun-warmed honey, the words of his person coated his skin, dipping into his pores and invading his very cells. They caressed him entirely from the bottoms of his feet to the ends of his wings and his core soaked them up like chapped earth. His entire body shivered. Still buzzing from the feather light brush of every syllable, he looked up into those black eyes.

And his breath caught.

His person was so lovely. His scent, the feel of his skin. That voice. But he knew that beyond all of those observable aspects was something more magnificent. His person was a well of protection and caring. His person overflowed with power and capability. His person loved him beyond all else.

With a slight shift of his body, he lifted and kissed the man. He tried to be gentle, because he could sense his person was off balance. He started by simply pressing their lips together, softly. Then another peck, and another. Nothing could stop each precious touch of lips; his heart swelled with joy and he kissed him again and again, rejoicing as his person's arms encircled him, and began kissing him back. Soon their mouths lingered, loath to be torn away and as his lips parted his wings grew stiff, stretching high, reaching for the ceiling.

"Severus Snape, should you be doing that with Mr. Potter?"

His person stiffened, his lips stilled, and though he growled in protest, he pulled away.

Looking up into those dark eyes, he could see they were shimmering, wide with disbelief. Those thin lips glistened; he leaned forward to capture them again.

His person pulled away.

"No, Harry."

The words pierced the balloon that had been inflating within his chest.

Again, he leaned forward.

"Harry. No." Gentle hands held him away. "Stop."

His person shifted his eyes from his face to something over his shoulder. He turned to look. The kind woman with the white headdress stood here, a full glass in her hand. He turned back to his person, unsure.

Did he do something wrong?

Did his person not want him?

His wings lowered, slumped until their tips hit the tiles of the floor; all that pent up energy evaporated. He let his gaze slip from his person's rigid frown to the center of his chest.

Tightness filled his chest this time and he struggled to keep his eyes lowered, not wanting to see hatred or disappointment or… disgust. Memories of those things flared up in his mind like flames and he withdrew from their heat.

"Harry…." The voice was low, and a hand ran through his hair. "I didn't mean to alarm you. But… Ah, well… We can't be acting in such an inappropriate manner." A swallow intersected the words. "It's not that—"

"Oh Severus, you're giving the lad mixed signals now."

The petting stopped. He lifted his chin and searched those eyes. He knew something was in there. Something he needed to see, or know. The truth.

So he pushed his gaze, injected his thoughts into the other man's. His person's eyes flew wide and with a sudden release, his mind was flooded and the doors of a million little boxes all slammed open, and with that, all of his experiences and life spilled into every crevice of his mind and with that knowledge, he promptly blacked out.

~~~

Draco had refused to wait amongst the gathering of his peers. Like wretched character witnesses waiting for the final verdict that would shunt their wrongly accused benefactor to his well deserved prison, they wrung their hands, shared worried looks and generally dirtied the place up with their concern.

It was funny, with moments like these, how some people pulled together. Draco remembered standing by his mother's side as his father's sentence was announced to a room full of hatchet men. Nobody there had worried, had gripped each other's hands fretting about fairness. They had drooled like rabid beasts, waiting for the victim to fall.

Severus had intruded on his quiet dinner and dragged Draco back to Hogwarts because his brother had collapsed after some unintentional Legilimency. Severus himself had been overwhelmed by the event and had also briefly lost consciousness. He wouldn't tell Draco what had happened in that snap of time where their minds had melded, but Draco could tell by the man's stiff set to his shoulders that it had affected him more than he would let on.

Since Draco was Potter's next of kin—the thought nearly bringing about a fit of giggles—he was brought to the Hospital Wing and quickly extricated himself from the small waiting room to wander the familiar halls.

"Don't go far," Severus had said… threatened, really. Draco knew that tone of voice. Merlin, the whole fucking situation was laughable. That Potter had pierced Severus' shield was enough, but the fact that they had called him in because he was next of kin. Now that… that was priceless. There had to be more to it, like they would need blood transfusions or magical compatibility tests, but just looking at the little freak—famous scar and green wings!—it was obvious to see that there was no compatibility there.

"Draco."

Draco paused his pacing and looked up to see Severus standing in the hall. He looked paler than usual, which was something of note. The snake bite still hadn't healed, and for that he felt sorry for the man.

"He has awakened and I think it would be beneficial—" Draco was already walking towards the Hospital Wing, brushing past Severus who spun around to follow behind. The sooner he joined the little party, the sooner he could get out of there.

On a bed near the entrance sat the winged freak smothered by his fans. Over Granger's bushy hair he could see Pomfrey waving her wand over Potter's head, and next to Weasley stood his older brothers, if the hair was any indicator.

At the entrance Draco stalled. Potter looked like hell. Discounting the mutation sprouting from his back, he'd gone pale, starkly white, and he had this defeated kind of hunch that Draco a few years past would have rejoiced at, but now, Potter just looked depressing.

The moment Severus stood by Draco's side, Potter looked over at them. If Draco had lived his life in a bread box without any human interaction, even then he could see that stark longing on his old rival's face, bald and flashing like a neon sign. Then Potter tore his eyes away, gaze planted on something near the foot of his bed and nodded as if he'd actually been listening to anything his friends were saying.

Granger turned and faced them. She took a deep breath and approached.

"Can I speak with you two?"

"You are doing so now, Granger," Draco said.

She rolled her eyes. "Cut the crap, Malfoy." She grabbed Draco and Severus' arms and pulled them out into the hall. Neither put up a struggle.

In the hall, she stood facing away from them, her head tilted down, her shoulders stiff.

"He remembers almost everything now." She spoke as if speaking in a funeral home, surrounded by mourners and their dead. "He says he knows who he is, what he's done—" She turned around and faced them. "But now… he says he remembers what he used to think about certain things, how he used to feel, but he doesn't feel it anymore." She leveled her gaze at Severus. "He doesn't know what is real and what isn't. It's like there are two different halves warring inside him."

Draco harrumphed. "Oh come on. Poor, poor Potter. He's all confused. Give him a potion and send him on holiday to Jamaica. I'm sure soon enough he'll be right as rain."

He waited for Severus to scoff, to mock Potter's weak mental abilities, maybe include some remark that now with two halves he might add up to a complete idiot… but his mentor was silent. Draco glanced up at him. The man's lips were a charcoal line across his face, his nostrils held in a mid-flare.

"Sir," Granger said. "Please… could you talk to him?"

To Draco's shock, Severus nodded and returned to the Hospital Wing.

~~~

Once again, Harry hated his life. Hating it had become such a regular thing, that he took little notice of its coming and going anymore. Like a chronic rash that kept appearing and disappearing at random intervals, stupid, crazy shit kept happening to Harry Potter.

He could sense his most despised teacher (his person) standing just beyond the double doors. He knew the man stood there. Not all that far away.

His wings began to vibrate.

"Damn it," he said under his breath, reaching back and batting at his own flesh, alien and unresponsive to his desires. A ping rang from a monitor by his bed, it'd been doing that a lot, pacing Harry's thoughts, the beat of his heart.

The doors opened.

Harry tucked his hands back into his lap, buried them in the folds of the blanket. It was suddenly very warm.

Loud, almost echoing, the footsteps approached. Clack. Clack. Clack. Harry didn't want to look up, see condescension in that face, or worse, some sick amusement. He'd been hanging all over the man for the past couple weeks. Cuddled him.

Kissed him.

Oh Merlin. How could he face that down?

His wings stirred.

"Harry…."

Overwhelmed by a feeling that he'd sum up to 'what the fuck,' he looked at Snape.

Snape's face rearranged itself from something almost human, to a completely stone façade. "Potter. How are you?"

Niceties?

He swallowed, and then said, "Fine."

"Your memory has returned?"

"Appears so."

Silence now took up residence between them, slipping from the ceiling down between the flagstones. Flooding their ears, coating their tongues.

To his astonishment, Snape looked away first. "Harry," he said again, his voice low and even. Harry's wings vibrated.

"Fucking hell," he cursed, twisting around to bat at them again.

Snape had the audacity to laugh at him. Only it wasn't a mocking laugh, but something warm and shockingly welcome.

"It appears your wings tend to hum whenever I am in close proximity to you."

Harry gave up on stifling his wings' actions and let them build to a purr. He faced forward again and slumped where he sat on the bed. "I know."

"Harry, this is certainly something you can work through."

He glanced up through his lashes at Snape. His throat had grown tight and he had to focus to push the words out. "Why are you calling me Harry?"

Snape stood straighter and his eyes darted from Harry's, but were back before he was certain Snape ever looked away. And then he knew: the man was nervous. "I've grown accustomed to it." It rang like defeat.

Harry laughed, it was harsh and self-deprecating, almost a bark, and Snape frowned.

"You shouldn't be here," Harry said, his voice rough, grating like two stones running against each other. He began to fiddle with his thin blanket, a soothing blue, and the bed sheet pooled in his lap.

"And why not?" Snape asked, his frown growing more grim.

"I'm sure you've better things to do. More important places to be." Harry began rolling up the edge of the bed sheet against the plane of his thighs. Soon he had a tight, little, cloth tube.

"Harry," Severus said. The word, his name, was a dense entity hanging in the air. Finally, Harry looked up. "I'm exactly where I need to be." Harry swallowed, and so did Snape. "Where I want to be," he amended. Harry let go of the sheet and it raced to unravel.

"You—What…?" Everything around him had gone pale: the black of Snape's robe, the magenta of the monitoring screen, the bright tulips Hermione had brought earlier that day. Everything was muted and so, so far away and the air was filled with an odd humming and then, like speeding backwards through a long train tunnel, Harry's world again went blank.

~~~

Years ago he'd shared a conversation with Albus that made little sense until now. It was after the first fall of Voldemort, and for three years he'd been attempting to impress the precise delicacy of potions upon the thick-skulled children at the school. At times he and Albus would share a quiet moment by the fire, savoring a bottle of wine. He didn't remember if it was winter break or summer break, if the wine was a zinfandel or a pinot noir. He didn't remember what exactly had brought them to discuss the future and the especially trite subject of happiness, but he did remember something the man had said that he'd then dismissed as optimist's drivel.

The exact words had long ago unraveled, but the true essence of the tale he remembered well. Albus had said, when happiness crossed your pathway you had two choices. You could hang onto dignity and pride and turn away from the possibility to remain independent and in control. Or you threw away dignity. You threw away the need to control every aspect of your life and you opened that door, letting both chaos and hope in.

It was so … Albus. That man and his wingdings and widgets. His blind and defying optimism. That fierce expectation that if you just put your faith in people they would pull through for you.

Severus had fallen into that trap a long time ago. Albus Dumbledore was not someone anyone wanted to let down. Just his faith in you gave you super powers.

Severus shook his head, stirring up the memories and ache that had settled on his mind.

He remembered Harry crawling across the floor. He remembered the feel of his cheek pressed against his chest. Whenever Harry smiled…. Just the sight of it constricted his cantankerous heart; dutifully pushing the blood through his body without realizing its more romantic calling. He held his breath, awed at the feeling, the utter loss of his own destiny, loss of control of his soul, because right now, that smile held the ownership of that heart.

And just like that, Severus no longer regretted throwing away his dignity.

~~~

"Snape admitted he wanted to be with you?"

Harry nodded.

"Ew! That's grosser than barfing up slugs…"

"Ron!"

A few hours after he'd regained consciousness, Harry had been released from the hospital. Now he sat in the kitchens with Ron and Hermione, the house-elves scurrying around to make sure they were wanting of nothing.

Hermione's eyebrows were performing extensive calisthenics all over her forehead. They went from high on her head in concern to scrunched up and low in annoyance, bouncing up and down, up and down, depending on if she spoke to Harry or Ron. Now she was scowling at Ron and the usually unflattering and disrespectful things he was saying about their Professor. Any other time, before… everything, Harry would have laughed along with his friend, now it was all he could do to keep eye contact and swallow past the log jam that had caught in his throat.

"Harry?" Hermione said, and he tore his eyes away from the zit on Ron's forehead he'd been using as a focal point to her upturned nose. "Ignore Ron. He's an idiot." His throat was dry and he wanted to drink his tea, but he couldn’t seem to make his hand lift his cup. He continued to stare at Hermione's nose.

"Oi!" Ron spat chewed bread on the table and Eppy the house-elf quickly wiped it away.

Ignoring Ron, Hermione continued. "Harry, how do you feel about Professor Snape?"

He'd been wondering that himself. He shifted on the stool and his wing caught a passing house-elf who squeaked and trotted away.

Ron swallowed and shot a queer look at Hermione. "Obviously Harry thinks he's a right git, with stringy hair and skunk breath."

"Actually…"

Hermione pushed her nose higher into the sky. "Ronald, stop trying to put words in Harry's mouth. And drop the insults, we already know what you think about Professor Snape."

"I don't think…" Harry tried again.

"Of course I'm not putting words in Harry's mouth. We both know what Harry thinks about that bloody bat. How anyone could…"

Hermione rose from her seat, throwing her napkin on the counter. "But things are no longer the same, Ron. If you hadn't noticed, Harry's mind was a blank… And look at him!" She gestured wildly towards Harry. "He's almost blond and has wings."

"Way to point out the obvious, Hermione…."

Harry watched the two arguing his position without the slightest idea of what he really felt.

Their words battled midair and he grew frustrated with the sound of their voices. His pulse throbbed in his temple and he could hear the pounding of his heart in his ears. With tenacious dedication his thoughts continued to return to Snape, of how he'd held Harry, of the way he made Harry feel with just a look. Safe. Like nothing in the world could hurt him ever again. Resting on the man's lap—and how will he ever live that down?—had given Harry a comfort that he'd never before felt. And his wings… Every time his wings did that vibration thing, he felt it to the center of his bones; it stirred his blood. He grew hot simply evoking the memory of the feel of it.

He'd felt nothing like it before. Like elemental phosphorus flowed through his veins.

Harry jumped to his feet. His friends dropped their half-spoken sentences as he stole their attention. Both were panting, but they caught their breaths at the sight of Harry standing tall, his wings stretched out and a nimbus of power stirring his hair like it was caught in a soft breeze.

"Actually," he said, his voice steady like stone. "I think I like Snape. There's something…" He shook his head. "He makes me feel safe." And randy. "I don't know what's happened, but things aren't like they were before."

Ron grimaced. "But he's old, and unclean, and ugly as hell and…

"… and he's not very nice," Hermione interrupted.

The house-elves had all gone still. Not even the clatter of wooden spoons on bowls could be heard. "I know…" he said to Ron, then he faced Hermione, "…but he is to me."

~~~

At the edge of the great lake, nestled between two patches of evergreens, Harry found some peace. Between Hermione attempting to hammer her version of sense into his brain and Ron flying off the handle every time he took a breath, Harry hadn't had a moment of quiet for three days. Every instant of every day, one of them was by his side. Every instant of that, Harry wished he could escape.

It was the arrival of McGonagall and Sprout that helped in his break away from his friends. The Professors and other school employees had discussed the arrival of more construction mages and a pack of volunteers who were going to begin the major clean-up of the castle. She gave Harry the once over, didn't even comment on his wings, just told him she was happy he was safe and again expressed her appreciation of his 'stalwart determination to see it all through.'

She'd asked Hermione to help her arrange the work schedule of the volunteers, and Ron had followed along. If he weren't so annoyed with them, he'd be amused. Actually, he was jealous. They were normal. They didn't have to smother recurring urges to go cuddle up with dirty, old men.

And speaking of dirty, old men—he hadn't seen Snape the whole time. Though he tried to shove the man out of his mind, he couldn't help his ever-watchful survey of everyone who passed by, of searching after every sound that creaked around him.

The July sun blazed above him and a gentle wind ruffled the edges of the lake, stirring up sparkling embers. Since his change, the water called to him. The water and the sky. He looked up and saw a bird soaring on an updraft. It was a feeling in his bones; he should be up there with it.

He glanced around. Nobody else was near the lake.

Right after Harry'd regained his mind, Hermione had modified all of his shirts with an ingenious charm, so that a single phrase caused a seam to split down the back and he could pull it on over his wings. It would seal again at another phrase. He really was lucky to have such a brilliant friend. He spoke the phrase and his shirt seam split and he slipped it off. Raising his wings, he flapped.

It was so freeing, like running around naked. First, drawing his wings up high over his head, then snapping them down, he stirred up a draft that caused the tall grasses to dance. Another flap, another, repeating the motion over and over, but no matter how hard he tried, he didn't lift off the ground.

Maybe he needed to jump off a height, like the Tower, or cast a Lightening Charm on himself.

It didn't take long for him to exhaust himself, and streams of sweat slid down his chest and between his wing bones. The July heat had toasted his skin and the lake gave off a cool radiance. With a quick inspection of the hill above the lake to assure he was still alone, he slipped off his trousers and shoes and then leapt into the water.

"Holy shite!" he cried out as he broke the surface for air. The lake was cold, even as the end of July approached. He treaded water as he caught his breath, and then inhaled deep to dive back down, for once pleased his wings weren't angelic. Underwater, he found that he could propel himself in sharp spurts. Flap, flap, he raced through the water, then surfaced for air, and down he went again. The water slid over his skin and the sensation soothed some genetic agitation. It was suddenly obvious to him; in the water, he belonged.

And as he cruised through the depths of the lake, startling the merfolk and grindylows, Harry's thoughts kept returning to Snape. Something about that man belonged, too.

~~~

From the shadows of the trees Severus watched Harry. He couldn't help but stare at the young man. His body was toned, long and lanky. And his wings, like those of dragons, broad and powerful as Harry flapped them in his attempt to fly. Severus had always thought Lucius a handsome man, but that pompous nature always had a sobering affect. But Harry. Right now he was innocent, pure, and for some reason had innately chosen Severus.

Harry had been under for a long time and Severus began to worry, but a boiling over the water's surface announced the arrival of the strange young man. With the power of a geyser, Harry burst from the embrace of the water. As he erupted from the water, his body glistening and stretched taut, his wings fully thrust downward, Severus caught his breath in awe. Nothing on this earth held such beauty as Harry Potter.

With a splash he landed in the water again, and like a porpoise, he dove in and out, laughing as he caught his breath, then down he would go again. Watching, Severus emerged from the trees and step by step drew near to the water's edge, completely and totally enthralled.

He wasn't quite aware of standing on the lake's bank until the young man emerged from the water, dripping and totally naked. And staring at Severus.

"Uh… Hello." Harry ran his hand through his hair, then as if in afterthought, shrank back into the water. "I'm… uh… naked."

Severus chuckled. "I realize."

The wind rose and pulled at the tips of his hair, causing them to cross his field of vision so that at brief, unwanted moments he couldn't see Harry.

"You must be cold. Why don't you come out?" Severus inwardly cringed. Where had that come from? He sounded like a child molester offering candy to little boys. But, he reminded himself, Harry wasn't a child. In about a week he would turn eighteen.

Severus pulled off his summer robe, and lifted it in Harry's direction.

Severus waited, he'd always been good at biding his time, and it wasn't long until Harry moved towards him. Harry's progress cut a wake in the water's surface paralleled by two smaller clones created where his hands trailed in the water along his sides.

As he emerged, Severus allowed his eyes to roam over that body again and he swore Harry stood straighter, as if presenting himself for inspection.

And soon, the wings began purring. Tiny droplets sprayed through the air.

"Damn," Harry said, looking away from Severus as he took the robe. He studied it, and then draped it over his front like a chastity garment. "I don’t know why they do that."

"It is because something innate within you is attracted to something innate within me." And what that something was, Severus wasn't sure. All he knew was that it was unexpected and completely welcomed.

Unsure of what the next step was, Severus knew that Harry laughing wasn't it.

"Yeah," he said with a chuckle. "I guess you're right. I'm like a cat who purrs when petted. I can't not purr when you're around."

He looked at Severus then, and offered up one of his shy smiles.

Suddenly, the world was spinning and Severus took a step to steady himself.

"Snape, are you okay?" Harry asked, grabbing for his elbow.

Harry was standing right next to him, and Severus reached out to capture his waist with an arm. Pulling him close, he brushed the length of his nose up along Harry's shoulder, along his neck, dipped it into the sensuous curves of his outer ear. The perfume of Harry's scent saturated the air.

Harry brushed his hand along Severus' spine. Up and down, soothing. "You okay?" he asked again.

Severus pulled away and faced the young man in his arms. He was smiling up at him, those eyes completely unguarded and brimming with emotions that Severus himself had long ago snuffed out. Or thought he had. That person he was, that he'd built to withstand a life defined by bad choices and even worse tattoos, was long lost and Severus realized he had no regrets.

"Yes." With feral instinct he pulled the shorter man tight to his chest. Burying his nose in the pillow of soft hair he hmmed. That scent, it held romantic notions like hope and happiness. Forgiveness.

Merlin. Was it even possible?

Then Severus felt something wrap around him, and he opened his eyes to see the two of them encased within a cocoon of leathery wings.

They fit. Perfectly. Like the crazy DNA swimming in Potter's genes, an entwined double helix. He was no longer hopeless, no longer homeless. Perhaps he had finally been found.

Harry sagged forward and rested his head against Severus' chest; he was shivering like a scared kitten. So close, he was touching him. It seemed impossible that he couldn't feel Severus' heart racing like a bird's, ready to burst from his chest at the fear, the excitement, the need.

"Snape… Severus, I—" Harry swallowed, his hands roving up Severus' chest to grasp onto the thin fabric of his shirt. "I can't stop this anymore. I can't—" Then Harry's face tilted up. In the filtered light, murky through the membranous layer of skin, his eyes were huge, frantic and of the deepest green Severus had ever seen. The scent of him tantalized Severus' nostrils, bombarding him with veela pheromones, and something else completely unknown. Suddenly, he was dizzy. Then a shudder ran through Harry's body, along his arms, his torso, down his legs, like an earthquake, and the tremors passed on into Severus' own bones. "I need you."

He held Harry tighter. "I'm here, Harry. I'm here."

And then, Severus kissed him.

~~~

Completely bored and out of sorts, trapped in the small manor he and his mother shared, Draco decided to join the volunteer crew repairing Hogwarts. Merlin knew that his final year at Hogwarts had been a waste and McGonagall had informed the seventh years that if they returned to volunteer, they could also receive class instruction. Draco didn't lie to himself, he knew that replacing his disastrous final year would require hiring magical tutelage. However, he'd become quite handy at basic household furniture repair. He figured he could teach the rest of these plebeians a thing or two.

There were about twenty-five students from his year who chose to volunteer for the lessons. Only six of them were Slytherin, including himself. Most were Ravenclaw, and wasn't that a shocking revelation? Most volunteers had arrived by the Express, including the non-students. People who needed to work off community service, people who just wanted to help. Draco thought that that breed needed to find a day job.

En masse, the group left the train station and began the trek over the hills to Hogwarts. Lovegood and Smith smiled and waved at him. Draco nodded in return. Back in school, where he'd been Prince of his kingdom, he'd often walked this road, spurning the carriages that most of the students took. The path was lined with beech trees, and in the early spring he knew where a patch of snowdrops would sprout every year. His mother had grown snowdrops.

She'd been so good to him when he was younger. Her words were sacrosanct, her touch could heal the plague. He respected his father, even after all his irresponsible mistakes, but he loved his mother. Now his mother held a chip on her shoulder the size of Gibraltar and she hated the world.

She'd supported his father till the end, and Draco harbored the assumption that she resented her husband for how it had all turned out. She'd lost everything. Her husband, the manor, the respect she'd earned as well as the deference to her bloodline. The only thing she now had left was Draco.

He hadn't yet told her about Potter. Breaking his mother's heart wasn’t high on his list of things to do. Though he knew he'd have to tell her eventually, before the tale of the great winged freak got to the presses.

Which wouldn't take too long to happen, Draco thought as he scanned the pack of volunteers and the few reporters jockeying to get the heartwarming story of a community pulling together to move forward after the evil atrocities of the Dark Lord and his followers. Draco snorted, and then shook his head as he saw another glare aimed his way. Old and young, most of them knew exactly who he was. Amidst this crowd, he walked alone.

They were greeted at the school gates by none other than Granger, hair pulled back into a long braid with a clip board in hand. Though she wasn't dressed in school robes, she still had that prim look of a Prefect.

"Thank you everyone for coming to aid in the rebuilding of the most prestigious wizarding institution in Great Britain. Every one of you is invaluable…"

Blah blah blah, Draco thought to himself. He ignored her and stared over at the castle. The south wall was pretty bad, and he already knew the area around the Room of Requirement to be practically devastated. A huge chunk missing from Ravenclaw Tower brought back memories of the giants throwing trees and boulders through the sky, aiming for targets the comparative size of toy poodles. And of course the dungeons were impassable. There was so much to do, and Draco would admit that much of it was his fault. But only to himself, and only on those days when he couldn't face a mirror.

"Isn't that Draco Malfoy? Wasn't he a Death Eater?"

"I thought so. So was his father. Why is he here?"

"Shouldn't he be in Azkaban?"

He turned an icy glare on two women, both dressed in Muggle jeans. Their whispers grew louder and louder until the entire crowd was listening to them instead of Granger. A large doughnut of empty space had widened around Draco.

"Is there something wrong over there?" Granger called out.

"Yeah!" the woman on the left said, middle aged with of a line of ducklings printed on her shirt. "Why is a Death Eater here?"

Her companion nodded, her voice haughty. "He could be here to kill us all."

"I don't want to be working with him."

Granger lifted her wand and a shrill whistle louder than the Hogwarts Express shocked the dissidents from their pre-mob frenzy. As one unit, they turned to look at her.

"Draco Malfoy has gone to excessive lengths to pay back society for the crimes of his father." He was intrigued, and thankful, that she didn't mention the cabinet. "As many of you might be aware, he willingly sold off much of his ancestral family holdings to help cover war victims medical costs and to pay for any damages his family's participation with Voldemort's—" half the crowd shivered, "—attempted coup might have incurred. He has helped many people. Do not hold a father's actions attributable to his son. Now, I would like to split everyone up based on…"

Draco followed Granger's orders and went with a quiet crew out to the greenhouses. The riotous women were shuffled off to work in the dungeons. He passed Granger with a lift to his chin and she offered a simple nod.

~~~

People teemed all over the school and Harry's only sanctuary had been whittled down to the north side of the castle. Hiding in the north side had many downsides. The kitchen was to the west, and though not damaged, the main corridor to reach it was heavily trafficked. He had to avoid a small section near the Hospital Wing in the mornings due to the planning meetings held in those classrooms.

And perhaps the most important, Severus apparently did not come to the north side of the castle.

After that moment on the edge of the lake, after Harry's own embarrassing pronouncement, after the taste of Severus had implanted itself into his tongue, he found he could not get the man out of his mind. Severus lived in his dreams and waking moments. Harry spotted him in dark corners and in the faces of paintings. Sometimes he swore he could smell him, that earthy scent that tugged at long dormant parts of his brain. And every time he thought he glimpsed the man, his wings would begin to tingle along the membrane and across the bony outer ridge, but nothing further would happen, and the truth of that let him know it wasn't Severus. He wasn't hiding in the shadows or somehow slipping through the castle via portraits.

He remembered those words. "I'm here, Harry. I'm here." He remembered the meshing of their lips. Had something changed?

The part of his mind that controlled his body during his mental trip to La La Land, a real and solid part of him now, had curled up and was withering. He couldn't describe it exactly, but his non-human mind wanted Severus. To touch him, be near him.

No, that wasn't right. He didn't want Severus.

Severus was vital. Like air, like food. He needed the man for the pure joy of existence.

Standing outside on a small stone balcony drenched in shadow, Harry leaned against the wall, pressing the back of his head against the cool stone. He'd been trying to find ways to deflect that ache. With Hermione and Ron organizing the volunteers, he couldn't even use them as distraction. It had only been two days, but those two days had been drawn out thin with loss.

Memories of the lake returned like spring flowers. Severus. His embrace. The afternoon light seeping through his wings. Flying through the water. Pondering Lightening Charms or jumping from a height to take to the air.

Then he thought he could try that again. At least it would take his mind off Severus. His person.

He stripped off his shirt, tossing it to the floor and shivered as a crop of goose bumps sprang up over his skin. Gripping his wand, he climbed up onto the edge of the balcony, the great rounded stone railing that fenced in the small area. Then with a twirl and chop of his wand, he cast a Lightening Charm.

He felt his body warm, then nothing. The breeze brushed past his body, ran gentle fingers through the edges of his honey colored hair. The scent of the open air sparked a song within him that rejoiced. He looked up at the sky.

He was ready.

Or at least he thought he was. Steeling himself with a breath, he looked out over the northern hills.

One flap, two. Harry flared out his wings, a span of almost twelve feet, and stepped off of the balcony.

Immediately, the air beat against the thin leather, pressing into it, forcing him to stretch his wings to his maximum reach until the tension kept them firm against the bracing airstream. With alarm he noticed the ground coming up at an unexpected rate, and at the edge of terror, he began beating his wings.

Flailing his arms, his body tensed to maintain his wing motion, Harry screamed as the earth raced to great him. He'd had worse falls from a broom, but something about falling from his own actions, of his wings failing him, brought him closer and closer to panic.

Then, with a twist of his wing angle, a gush of air filled the membranes and like a kite, he began to glide slowly downward, the ground now flowing under him until, with a stumble and terribly ungraceful fall to his knees, he hit the ground.

He made it. He'd flown and lived and Harry rolled over onto his back, wings spread along the grass over his head, and laughed out loud.

"Oh my gods, did you see that?"

Harry stopped laughing, and sat up to see a gathering of people by the greenhouses. He glanced back over to the balcony. Had he flown that far?

"Is it a beast?"

"It looks like a man. A man with wings?"

"Must be something Dark. You-Know-Who used Dark creatures to invade Hogwarts, you know. It could have been hiding!"

The cries and screaming grew muddled, one twisted accusation after another building upon each other until the crowd churned itself into a mob and rushed towards Harry, wands and tools business ready.

"What?" he cried out. "Wait! I'm not a Dark creature!"

The mob didn't seem to care.

Wearing floral blouses and work robes covered in patches, men and women, some older and others on the young side of twenty, people his own age, charged towards him, faces twisted by violence and hate.

He didn't want to fight them. They weren’t the enemy. He'd already fought that battle and he was so tired of fighting. He jumped to his feet, wincing from his scraped knees and sprinted for the castle.

He pulled his wings in, keeping them close to his body and despaired when he realized the pack was closer to the castle than he was and would easily cut him off. He lifted his wand, preparing to cast his Patronus, but a stone zipped through the air and cracked his wrist, disrupting his spell.

"Stop it!" he screamed, stepping away from the tidal wave of men and women. A small piece of lumber struck his chest, then a hammer sailed inches over his head.

Holy fuck, he was a dead man. He tried to cast again, but his wrist flared in pain, mucking up another spell. Still within the Apparition wards, he couldn't escape that way. He turned towards the people, lifting his hands up high in surrender. A Stinging Hex sizzled at his feet, driving him to the ground.

"Stop! I'm a wizard, like you!" Disbelief transformed into terror at the cruel faces looking down at him.

"Monster!"

"Foul creature."

"Chase it away. Kill it!"

Harry threw an arm over his face, waiting for the next blow, scrambling away as best as he could.

Then a loud bang crashed through the sky and the crowd began screaming, words beyond ken as their anger morphed into fear.

Over the frantic din a voice rang out, enhanced by a Sonorus Spell and Harry looked up to see his unlikely savior.

"You will stop this imbecilic, mindless behavior this instant."

Draco Malfoy stood towards the rear of the crowd, a silver robe of fine material fluttered around his heels. His chest was heaving and unadulterated fury shimmered off of him in waves. His brother. Harry's brother had come.

"Stand back," he said again. His voice was stiff with false calm. "Touch this man and I swear the Cruciatus will seem like a tickle compared to what I shall do to you."

The mass of people milled about, shuffling around, making a wide berth away from Draco. Many looked dazed, seemingly shocked to discover that they weren't by the greenhouses but out here in the northern field. Others still snarled at Harry, feral ferocity turning their faces into something of a mad animal's.

"But, it's not human," one wizard said, pointing his wand at Harry. His jowls rocked as he shook his head in disgust.

"Of course he isn't, you fool." Harry could just hear the eye roll. A chuckle bubbled in his chest, tinged with the madness of relief.

"What is it?" another woman asked, more curious than violent. Her large sun hat had slipped from her head and dangled around her neck from a string. A sick urge to strangle her with it sprouted in Harry's head.

Draco came forward to stand next to him. Harry looked up and Draco seemed a giant from his angle on the ground. The two men looked at each other. All the fear, the loneliness and worry, were gone now. Draco, his enemy, his brother, was there, and would save him.

He turned away from Harry and proudly said to the crowd. "Obviously, he's my pet."

At that, Harry busted his seams laughing.

Realization of what had almost happened sobered up the crowd and they quickly filed away. Harry's giggles kept him off balance. It was too preposterous. His wrist had to be broken, his knees ached, the adrenaline of near death surged through his veins, and yet Harry was most relieved at the simple fact that Draco Malfoy was near him. The only thing that could have made this even better would be Severus, but Harry tried not to dwell on that.

"Are you quite finished?"

With a swipe at his eye, Harry shook his head. "No. I don't think so."

Draco gave up and sat down in the grass next to him.

With a swallow and hiccup, he turned to Draco, still grinning like a fool, and held up his arm. "Arm's busted."

Draco glanced at it and nodded. "Looks like it."

"Your pet?"

Draco shrugged. "Well, you'll need some training up, but you might do."

Harry's laughter could be heard by all the would-be murderers and a formidable silence inhabited the crowd.

~~~

Weasley and Granger sat directly across from Draco and Potter, a table of food between them. "You saved Harry?" Weasley asked as he grabbed for a roll. His face had gone so pale his freckles stood out like flecks of pepper on a mound of mashed potatoes.

Everyone was watching Draco, and he preened a moment like a great, egocentric peacock. "Of course, I couldn't let a mad mob of commoners get away with doing injury to a Malfoy." He grabbed a strawberry and popped it into his mouth. It was sweet and juicy, perfect fruit for the time of year.

"Then you admit it?" Granger interrupted. "Harry is your brother."

With a pained sigh, Draco nodded. "It is apparent that he is indeed my brother." He glared at Potter. "A little brother, mind you. Don't be getting uppity."

Draco expected some back talk, a 'stuff it Malfoy' or something, but Potter only smirked with amused nonchalance and a little bit of adoration. Obviously blind adoration, but it was adoration nonetheless, and a little off-putting.

"Really, Potter," Draco forged on. "It's nothing but pitiful to be taken down by a small gathering of such cattle armed with sticks and stones."

A mad grin burst upon his face and Potter said, "But they did break my bones." He held up his healed arm and Draco just shook his head. The craziest things seemed to come out of Potter's mouth.

"Why didn't you use your charm? You are a veela after all." Though Draco had to admit, he never felt any of the affects of Veela Charm coming from Potter, nor did anyone, other than Severus, seem to be affected by the changes in his brother.

Potter's eyebrows bunched and a tiny frown pulled down the left corner of his mouth. "I don’t know. I don't think I have any charm like that. It's like the veela part and the other part from mom have cancelled each other out or something." He stared down into his cup; tiny flakes of tea leaves floated on the surface.

After Granger had documented the incident, gotten names and descriptions of the perpetrators from Draco, Potter had insisted that he join them on a kitchen raid.

"Harry, we can't let these people get away with this. They must be reprimanded now," Granger had insisted. But Potter had argued he just needed a break, a little time before he had to deal with reprimands and picking out people from a line-up. The idea of a kitchen raid had surfaced fond memories for Draco of he and Blaise commanding the house-elves into cooking fillet mignon and duck a l'orange at 2 a.m. during end of term exams. Brain food, they'd called it, and it was the house-elves duty to provide the proper nutrients for them to pass their tests.

Now he was here with the Gryffindor Trio and it wasn't as awkward as past history would have dictated.

"Malfoy." Weasley drew his attention from mulling over then and now, his features serious, and Draco wanted to inform the redhead that the look seemed a tad silly on him. "Really, thanks."

The air grew too heavy to breathe. Draco looked away. "It was nothing." Then, a half shrug and eye roll allowed him to inhale again. Briefly, he wondered what it would have been like with these three as friends. Then chuckled to himself. There was no chance that such a thing could have happened, the breeding grounds had been all wrong for such friendships to grow.

"By the way," Draco said, looking over at Potter. He still couldn't believe the change that had taken over the once gawky teen. He was downright handsome now, though not as good looking as Draco was. "I saw Severus outside the Hospital Wing when were you guzzling down Skele-Go." He didn't include that as soon as Draco had told Severus what had happened, and that Harry wasn't on death's door, the Professor had charged off down the hall. Draco wondered how many of the volunteers would be left tomorrow after Severus and Granger had their ways with them.

Potter perked up like a puppy. "Really? He's still here?"

"Yes. He's been around the entire time. Anyway, I have a message to give you."

"What? Why didn't you say something earlier! What did he have to say?" Potter had leapt from his stool and had grabbed onto Draco's arm, clutching it as if breaking Draco's arm would speed up his response. "Well?"

Potter's wings shivered and Draco leaned back to take a good look at the man, carefully prying his arm away. The force of Potter's focus on Draco and the knowledge he held threw him off like a curving Bludger. Fire danced behind his eyes, flashed around the black of his iris. And Draco recognized the same blaze in Severus' own eyes just a few hours earlier.

"He said that he would see you on Thursday."

"Thursday? Why? Why not until Thursday?" Harry looked to Granger, his utter faith in her ability to solve his every problem a crutch Draco would have to disarm him of someday.

"Harry." It was Weasley who spoke up, grinning. "It's your birthday, you idiot. The big eighteen."

Draco's brows rose at the news and Harry let go of his pent up fervor, seeming smaller at its release. "Oh." At first he seemed disappointed, but a ripple of thoughts and emotions chased over Potter's face until he settled on confidence. It looked good on him. "I can wait for three more days."

~~~

As Severus made his way through the volunteers, each one of them eyeing him with alarm, he made a splendid show of brandishing his wand. He'd had words with these people. Oh, he'd had more than words with a few and Pomfrey had given him quite the lecture on cursing the much-needed workers on the reconstruction project.

Until she'd heard what they'd done.

He found a certain amount of pride in the fact that none of them were dead. Perhaps this new world of peace and prosperity had a place for him after all.

After he'd gathered the suspects of villainy and impressed upon them the knowledge that they'd just attempted to murder none other than Harry Potter, he worked their own guilt into a frenzy. Following that, a few of the volunteers who did not partake in the violent gang had felt Severus had gone easy on the mob. One crone could cast a Marph Murlap Hex that put Weasley's Bat Bogey Hex to shame.

They'd tried to hurt Harry. His Harry.

It was more than any man with blood in his veins could take, and as he had been recently reminded, he had such blood. It burned with the passion of fury as easily as that of desire.

Now those who had been accomplice to breaking Harry's arm and threatening him with an early grave were all gone. The Ministry hadn't taken lightly to Harry Potter being attacked in such a manner and Severus had faith that Kingsley would push for strict punishments. Unfortunately, Harry could no longer hide here and Severus was impressed that McGonagall had kept the press at bay with such skill.

With a flick of his head, he cleared his rampaging thoughts. He barked at a young man loitering over the schematic of Greenhouse Two.

"Stop your dawdling and help prepare the ground for that foundation," Severus said. The man swallowed, nodded, and scurried off. The rest all found something with which to be busy.

There were only two things that had kept him from cursing those banished fools to within an inch of their life. The threat of Azkaban and what Harry might think of him. He wanted to be someone Harry would be proud to stand by.

Two more days. He kept thinking back to that kiss… well, those kisses. But the difference between the one when Harry had been a mental regressive to when he was an adult was night and day. Severus swore to himself he would wait until Harry turned eighteen. Only two more days.

He pulled aside the old crone with a knack for hexes. She squinted at him, one browned tooth lifting her lip in a sneer. "Excuse me, madam. I have a party to plan, perhaps you can help me."

~~~

Today was his birthday. Severus said they would meet again today. As Harry pulled on his charmed shirt, whispering the phrase to seal up the seam, he thought about last night. He'd stayed up until the moon was fat and high in the sky, talking with his friends and his brother. He was so thankful he had them, even Draco's snarky bark, but at least he didn't really bite. Well, not much. Harry refused to let any of his more bitter remarks affect him, it was just Draco's way.

Pomfrey had told him that there was going to be a special gathering in the Great Hall today. She wouldn't say anything more, but the Healer seemed giddy, like she enjoyed holding a secret of joy for once instead of the heftier responsibility of everyone's health.

Ron had snuck food up to their room, and Hermione had charmed a Muggle radio to play old Beatles tunes and some other band called Credence Clearwater and Revival that he'd never heard of before. At the top of their lungs they sang the lyrics to 'Who'll Stop the Rain' and Draco had formed a certain attachment to "It's been a hard day's night, and I've been working like a dog. It's been a hard day's night; I should be sleeping like a log." It was after they all flopped down on Harry and Ron's beds, panting and laughing, that he'd told them his plan.

"I can't stay around here anymore," he'd told them. Ron had yelled and cajoled, promised Harry things he could never offer. Hermione had just looked sad.

"Everyone will get used to you, Harry. You don't have to leave," Ron said.

But Hermione had nodded, and asked, "Where will you go?"

Harry didn't know. The press knew about him, and the world would know soon enough. People looked on him with fear and hatred. There was probably nowhere like it, but he dreamed of a place where he could fit in, where nobody stared and nobody knew who he was. He was so tired of being different.

But wherever he went, he hoped Severus would go with him.

"Good luck hiding with those wings, Harry. You can't really blend in with those." Even Draco didn't think his leaving was a good idea.

"I just need a break. It won't be forever. I'm just tired. I just want to rest for a while. I'm tired of feeling so lost. I'll come back, though. Before you even know it, I'll probably be back." He hoped they took strength in his assurances, and it wasn't like he wouldn't be able to talk to them. They could owl or Floo every month.

Now he stood outside the Great Hall and a low murmur from beyond the door could be heard.

"I'm not sure I want to go in there." Harry ran his fingers through his soft hair, now so easy to tame. His shoulders slumped as his worried gaze scoured the ceiling, seeking answers in the cracks between the stonework. Then his lips moved, though barely any noise came out. Ron had to lean close to catch the faint words. "People tried to kill me because I'm a freak. I don’t want to be this freak."

"Harry." Leaning away, Ron studied his friend. Harry's eyes lowered, slowly, crawling across the ceiling, down the far wall and finally shifting to rest on Ron's face. "You are not a freak."

"Of course you're not, Harry. You are a Malfoy. Find some dignity."

Ron glanced over at Draco and as expected rolled his eyes. But he smiled too, and then returned his gaze to Harry. "Yes, Harry. Be proud of who you are. Two magical bloodlines! That's pretty damned special."

Harry smiled with an amused shake to his head. Ron, once he came to terms with everything, always stood by him.

Harry's wings shifted, the scaled leather glimmering sea foam green in the dim light of the hallway. He dropped his eyes again, this time to the floor, examining the same cracks once more. Maybe if he traced them from floor to ceiling, each and every one, he'd find the path to answers for the mountain of questions that had piled up in his head.

"Harry." The exasperated drawl of Draco saying his name pulled Harry out of his muddled thoughts. "Pull out of it." Draco squared his shoulders. "They aren't going to tackle you in there. I've had it on good authority that between Severus, Pomfrey and Granger, those mad idiots have been shipped off. Anyway, you've got me." He said this like it was some proclamation and that it should alleviate every insecurity marching in Harry's gut. "And, though I don’t see how this could ever be anything desirable, you've got the Weasel here by your side, too."

For a brief moment the two young men wrestled in a glaring match.

Harry burst out laughing.

Ron and Draco turned away from each other, a mutual disarmament, and each in their own way shared Harry's joy. His laughter shook his entire frame and he couldn't control it even if he wanted to. It was reflexive, like his purring wings. He inhaled shakily, and wiped at his watery eyes.

"Ready?" Ron asked when Harry finally caught his breath.

He could do this. Nobody was going to attack him and his instinct told him that Severus would be in there. Clad in a face splitting grin, Harry nodded. "Yeah, I'm ready."

With Ron on his left side and Draco on his right, Harry marched towards the small gathering of people assembled in the Great Hall to commemorate his birthday. The first ever he hadn't spent alone.

He tried to keep his wings from fluttering, but he still couldn't completely control their minute movements. They would twitch any time he was excited or nervous. Any time Severus was near. By now their leathery flapping sound had become a familiar companion and it lent him an amount of strength.

His entourage pressed against the great doors and they swung open on silent hinges, well oiled from Filch's tender ministrations throughout the decades. Like a herald, Draco cleared his throat and Harry nearly tackled him to the ground, but he'd began his declaration before Harry truly registered what Draco was doing.

"Ladies and Gentlemen." The crowd grew quiet and Harry grew small. Most of the faces he knew, though some were total strangers. He relaxed when he remembered none of them from his most recent nightmares. He turned a glare at the side of Draco's head, but his brother stood regally, ignoring the heat of his glower. "I am proud to present to you this evening, my little brother, the youngest Malfoy heir. Mr. Harry Potter sin Malfoy." Draco turned to face him, his smirk converting into a grin. "Happy Birthday, Harry."

Everybody looked at Harry, stared at him, and then Hermione, standing closest to the door began clapping, then McGonagall joined in, then George and Charlie and Pomfrey and more and more of the crowd put their hands together for Harry. Luna slipped her fingers in her mouth and let loose a shrill whistle. Harry was just glad she wasn't wearing a roaring hat.

His eyes scanned the crowd and saw many faces of friends, people he trusted and some he loved. Then his gaze landed on a set of deepest black eyes, hooded by furrowed brows and his breath was practically stolen from his lungs. It was so overwhelming to be the focus of that much intensity.

Then Severus smiled, a small twist to his lips, and with a rush Harry's breath returned and suddenly, but not for the first time, he felt like he belonged.

"Harry—" he was torn away from that private place he and Severus had both been lost in, "—beautiful wings."

"Thanks Charlie." Harry lifted a wing to examine it. "Do you think I'm part dragon? They're still not sure."

Charlie shook his head. "No idea, Harry. But—" he held out his hand, "May I touch them?" Harry nodded and shivered as Charlie ran his fingertips over the thin leather of his wing membranes. It secretly unnerved him to have someone else touch him there. It was too personal. "Feel more slippery than a dragon's, so maybe not. I'm sure they'll figure it out." He pulled his hand away and nodded at Harry as he stepped away, making room for the next well-wisher.

After many 'Good Luck's and jolly 'Happy Birthday's, Harry needed some space. He'd still hadn't had a chance to talk with Severus and too many people he wasn't that close with had touched him. He needed to feel the breeze against his skin. With his intentions directed towards the doors, his escape was halted by the call of his name.

"Harry." Harry glanced over his shoulder, and saw Hermione hold out a glass and a small pile of papers bound by a rubber band. "I think you might need these."

He glanced at the top paper. It was a glossy pamphlet featuring a lush retreat in the Amazon. "Private," it stated in big, bold letters across the bottom.

"I did some research for you and found a few places you might like to go." A little dimple popped out in her left check as she smiled at him.

Overwhelmed, Harry leaned forward and hugged her. "Oh, Hermione." He couldn't express his gratitude.

He squeezed her tight, and then let her go. For a moment, she studied his face. "You are still you, Harry. Don't forget that. And remember, we will always be your friends. No matter what." A silver shimmer gathered in her eye and she quickly blinked it away. "You know, I'm going to miss you."

Harry nodded, his own voice caught up somewhere in his chest. Then, "I'll miss you too, Hermione."

He pulled away and made for the door again, needing some time. He didn't want to leave everyone, and at that instant, for stupid reasons, he felt incredibly alone. He had all these people. The loyalty and love of Hermione and Ron, and now his newly discovered brother. At the thought of leaving it all behind, an empty hole had opened in his heart.

It was dusk as he made his way beyond the gates of the main entrance, lined with the aging heads of flowers. Fine petals coated the round around the great winged boars standing sentry. He'd always thought winged boars very odd things, now he was odd just like them.

Harry watched as an eagle soared above the green fields lining each side of the road. Caught in an updraft it sailed higher and higher until it was only a speck, smaller than a bee eater. He lifted his hand and held it before the speck of a bird, reaching out like he could touch it, touch the sky.

Maybe an eagle in the sky was like a shooting star. Maybe if he could catch it with his fingers, then he could make a wish.

"Harry."

He looked to his left and saw Severus standing a few feet away. The man was practically buzzing, he was strung so tight. Harry smiled. Maybe he didn't need to catch the shooting star.

Folding his arms across his chest, Severus glared at him.

"What?" Harry asked defensively. His wings shivered, fluttered like they always did whenever Severus' intensity branded him. Harry felt owned.

"I've been looking for you," Severus said.

"Yeah?" Harry asked, then he too frowned, annoyed that he sounded so eager. Being this close to Severus was almost torture, when all Harry wanted to do was throw himself into those arms, capture those lips in his own. Every cell in his body, the siren command of his blood told him that was where he should be, that was exactly what he should do.

Severus cleared his throat. "Are you enjoying your party?"

"Yes, thanks. Though, where have you been?"

Severus' eyes flicked away, then returned. "I thought I would give you some space."

High overhead, the eagle cried. Harry wondered what it was that was crawling around the man's brain, because he didn't seem pleased. Finally, Severus said, "I don't like this."

Harry flinched, staring into his eyes.

"I don’t like not having you in my arms."

Oh. Two strides and Harry was in Severus's embrace. His face swimming in the older man's scent, protective arms wrapped around him. Harry flapped his wings and a flurry of fallen petals at their feet caught the sky in their wake.

Then he looked up. That dark gaze met his own; something in it flared. "I'm leaving," he told Severus.

"I heard," Severus said.

Another flap and the breeze toyed with the petals again. For unknown reasons Harry's body was bunched tight, like he was ready to burst from the starting blocks for a quarter mile sprint. Then, he asked it. "You'll go with me, then?"

Severus nodded, then licked his lips. "I'll go with you."

He took a breath, and let it out. No other words could sound so good. He rested his head against Severus' heart and felt the thrum of the racing organ. Beyond, in the distance, he could see the lake. Tiny stars glittered along the surface of the water, bright and alive in the light of the setting sun. "I'm glad." His voice was barely a whisper.

"Harry… I—"

As the sun dipped beyond the edge of the earth and the little stars blinked out, one by one, Harry shifted his head, chin propped on Severus' chest. "I know, Severus. I do, too."

The End

Fest stuff

Tue, 15 Dec 2009 15:35:11 GMT

hds_belatane is still looking for participants. I've joined every year and this really is a great fest, especially for those who like Harry/Draco/Severus in a nice, tasty, juicy threesome. (did I say juicy?)

do_me_veela is now now in the claiming prompts stage. This was another fun one that had great veela fic (creature fic is so yummy). Most prompts are H/D but you can find a few others not H/D (like the ones I slipped in.) Go join in!

Prompt Claiming starts December 12.
Posting begins February 14th.

hp_kinkfest is also claiming prompts. There are ... what, 400 prompts to choose from, lots of so so so yummy prompts (especially mine!). If you've got a kink, it's probably there to take. And you can post anonymously as well. This one moves quick, is intended for shorter PWP type fics, so go and claim now if you want one.

HD Holidays Rec

Mon, 14 Dec 2009 16:50:15 GMT

So behind, but alas, we've come to expect that from me.

Title: The Art Of Telling A Lie
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione
Rating: NC17
Summary: Harry has become very good at lying. To himself.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): Rimming, EWE, set during the missing 8th year
Word Count: 6,167

Awesome story, and beautifully written. Harry is slowly being eaten by his magic, and in comes Draco to give him something to live for. I love the ambiguity to it, as well as Draco's casual way he enters Harry's life. It has a heavy, slow feel to the storytelling that totally works perfectly for the story.

Quote:
Draco wants to ask what sort of person takes that kind of risk with the life of their best friend, but he looks at the crumpled parchment and the way her lips are dry and cracked and he realises Granger doesn’t want to do this.

Mon, 07 Dec 2009 22:13:57 GMT

More Recs!

hd_holidays

Title: Savage
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Summary: In a post-war world that lives in fear and ignorance of werewolves, Draco Malfoy has taken every step to keep his condition hidden. When the delicate balance of his life shatters in a single moment, it is Harry Potter alone standing in his defence.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 18,700

OMG. This fic melted my brain. Like a little puddle of good. Draco is a werewolf where he's somehow cursed to have werewolfy tendencies while he is still in human form. I love this type of story, full of possessive animalistic urges. When Draco corners Harry and sniffs him, I about died. Love it. LOVE IT. Hot enough to melt the center of hell.

bestmates_xmas

Title: The Contest
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A friendly little contest between friends. Are you master of your wand?
Word Count: 7,500
Pairing: Harry/Ron

I love betting fics. This one has a 'whoever wanks first loses' bet, and it's written splendidly. I'm not a H/R aficionado at all, but I do enjoy how this story laid out the friends secretly pining for each other theme that I've grown used to with H/R fics. Fun, sweet, and just lovely.

Tue, 01 Dec 2009 18:31:33 GMT

So, lots of fests coming up. I doubt I will read everything, I never do. I'll read what I can and share what I like with you.

First is hd_holidays

Unexpected, A Holiday Tail of Mistaken Identity
Summary: After an accident involving a two year old and a wand, Harry (much to his dismay) is sent to Draco, who believes he’s caring for a pet. A large pet with a bad attitude.
Word Count: 24,000
Rating: R

Really, the R rating is only because of the epilogue. The whole story is just a sweet falling in love tale. Harry is turned into a dog and Draco is asked to take care of him, not knowing that the big newfoundland is really Harry. This tale is sweet, pretty fluff, and a perfect opener to HD Hols.

Symbiosis
Summary: sym·bi·o·sis (sĩm'bē-ō'sĩs) n. Biology A close, prolonged association between two or more different organisms of different species that may, but does not necessarily, benefit each member.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~20,300

An 8th year, the boys get together while in school fic. This story has that old classic feel to it, where they slowly develop a gruding friendship/respect/relationship based on outside influences and eventually hook up. Another good feel story where things end up happy. And the sex, lovely and awkward and honest. Great fic!

Fic - "History of the War" - HP/DM, LL/PP (R) Part I

Mon, 09 Nov 2009 15:45:58 GMT

I was going to take a break from writing fan fic for a while. But I saw the Pirate!Harry banner, and read the prompt, and I snatched it up. While my time in fandom is dwindling down, I still find joy in writing and sharing my tales with you. Please enjoy the story.

Title: History of the War
Author: winnett
Rating: R
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, Luna/Pansy
Summary: Draco finds something worth fighting for.
Spoilers/Warnings (Highlight to read): Not Deathly Hallows compliant, character death.
Word count: Approximately 21,000
Author's notes: This is dedicated not only to vaysh11 for the prompt, but also heathen_arcade who created such an inspiring banner. Thank you to my betas (and there are many): melusinahp, marguerite_26, ebethfic, megyal, saladbats, NK, and KF. As usual, I cherish you so.

Written for Prompt 160 (Pirate!Harry, Pacifist!Draco in a Voldemort Wins World.) from the hd_career_fair. Original posted here.

"Deadbones, hard to starboard. Fast, before she hits the open sea!" Luna Lovegood relays Harry's order that stirs the crew, their anticipation frothed into yawning want as Harry's wand juts towards the darkening horizon and the small merchant ship flying the flag of the Dark Mark. Like a black cloud his hair churns in the wind; his right eye is hidden by a black, triangular patch, his other is locked onto the ship, the dip of its sails, the rise and fall of the sea. Terry Boot spins the wheel with quick hands; the creaking of the wooden vessel a cry for blood to the crew of the Gold Marauder.

"Monkey, hoist the colors. We'll give them a flash of the old Jolly Roger before we blast them with our staves." A house-elf, the color of the sea on a stormy day, with ears twice as large as her head, shimmies up the rigging; a whistle, dangling from a string around her neck, sways with each reach and grab as she swings through the ropes like tropical vines. A lemur matches her progress, squeaking and barking its excitement over the laughter of the wind.

"Loony, alert Millie to have the staves at ready," Harry directs Luna, verdant fire in his eye, and she strolls down the deck, a purple feather bouncing in her hat as she calls down the hatch.

"Black Millie, time to ready the staves," she says with breezy nonchalance, her voice just floating over the din of the crashing footsteps, roared out charms and the constant groan of the Marauder's run.

"Primed and ready, Loony," Millicent calls back. "Stave ports open." Then to her powder boys: "All right you maggots, lock and load, time to pay the Dark Lord his dues!"

Luna returns to Harry's side on the quarter deck and surveys the scurrying sailors: Lethbridge and Alsom, picked up in northern Ireland two winters back; old Firebreath; Monkey and her lemur, Piance; and then of course her mates, those she'd schooled with. All of them rebels against the Dark Lord's rule, the bigotry over purity of blood. She tilts her hat a little over her left eye, it gives her the dashing flourish of a Musketeer, and calls out orders that Harry passes on to her with his calm assurance.

To the east roars the Righteous Triumph, Hermione and Ron's three-masted beast, dubbed the Terror of the Irish Sea by the media, the title cursed by Hermione every time she hears it. Together the two barques charge through the sea, sails full of conjured wind and the prayers of those who believe in the Soul of the Deep. The piercing beak of the phoenix masthead points their way towards the smaller ship, merfolk bow ride even as the gannets soar on the breeze.

The staves boom and the smaller ship rocks under impact after impact. Millicent growls at her boys, "Again, don't give 'em a second!" And the staves roar off another volley of spit and mage-fire. Flames of green and gold feast on the sails.

Men mount their brooms and others swing across on ropes like the primates of the jungle. The boarding is swift, the casualties limited as the enemy crew quickly throws down their wands and raises their hands in defeat.

Terry strikes the Dark Lord's colors and the crew cheers.

The few that attempted to resist are now corpses lining the starboard railing, scorched and sliced by wands and dirks, awaiting their watery grave. Luna inspects the bodies; there is a man from her time at the Quibbler, a reporter for a French newspaper of a name she couldn't pronounce. She tallies the dead and turns away, looking up into the blue sky and calls out: "It's harvest day, folks. Gather up the spoils."

~~~

"Last evening the Terror of the Irish Sea and the Gold Marauder viciously attacked and destroyed three merchant ships entering the Bristol Channel. The ships were on a mission to deliver necessary medical supplies and food to Gloucester.

The entire crew from each ship was lost.

Lord Voldemort was not available for comment, but Minister Malfoy offered his deepest regrets regarding the senseless destruction by the country's most virulent terrorists, and offered reparations to the families of the crew.

With the inclusion of the attacks of last evening, a total of 27 ships have been destroyed by the pirate Harry Potter, known as Old Scarface and Captain One-Eye, and the terrorist organization The Order of the Phoenix. Since the disruption of legal magical travel in and out of the British Isles by The Order two years ago, sailing has been the most accessible means for wizards to travel, and now the rebels have turned the seas into a deadly drink.

Minister Malfoy…"

Draco drops the paper onto the kitchen table; the sounds of Spatty pottering about in the kitchen mingle with the ticks of the grandfather clock in the foyer. A large oil painting absorbs his attention: a willow tree, some deer, the sun setting in deep oranges and purples. One deer nibbles on the field grass, then looks up and watches Draco. The painting has hung in that spot since his childhood and it's grown banal in its solicitous calm. He looks away.

Spatty totters in, her too-large feet flopping against the marble tile. "Tea, Master Draco, sir?" she asks, her eyes wide and watery, holding up the silver server as her ears flap at him.

"No thank you, Spatty."

The house-elf bows and returns to the kitchen. More people have died. Draco imagines a sea of waterlogged corpses, Harry Potter surveying his crop of dead proudly upon his vessel of death, and Draco shivers, having suddenly gone cold. He stands and goes to his writing desk in the drawing room, pulls out some parchment and begins to compose a letter to the press.

~~~

"Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Malfoy!" a Quibbler reporter calls out. Draco hides a grimace and nods at the man, tall with a large blue hat teetering on the top of his shiny head. Who had invited The Quibbler? He certainly hadn't.

"Can you tell us what your father has planned for Captain One-Eye?"

The gathering grows quiet.

Draco sighs.

"I am not in the confidence of the Minister on this subject. It is a matter of state security, not something to be gossiped about at the breakfast table." Not that his father has shared breakfast with him in months. He knows he's disappointed the man with his words against Voldemort's Ministry. His father might be the Minister, overwhelmingly elected following the fall of Dumbledore and the defamation of Harry Potter, but everyone knows where the true power comes from. "I would like to stress that I am not here to place conjecture on anyone's actions, I am here to condemn these actions."

Draco lets his gaze wash over the congregation of reporters. He called the press conference because he felt it was time that someone stand up and say something. Harry Potter's violent actions. The Ministry's reactionary tactics. None of it good for the betterment of the British wizarding people. Peace and prosperity, that's all Draco wants.

"It is time that we, the British magical population, confront these violent actions. Harry Potter is a terrorist and our Ministry is mishandling him. He is not a hero. He is not someone to cheer, someone to offer aid to. His actions breed death and destruction. More than 300 people have fallen at his hands, been murdered by his actions. Magical people are rare, we cannot be throwing our lives away. I urge Britain to cease harboring this villain. Once this threat has been eradicated, we can move forward to a new government, away from old wars and old powers."

He knows he is walking a fine line of treason. He can just imagine the affected look on his father's face: the draw to his brow, the tone of his voice alluding to the extent in which Draco has tarnished the Malfoy name. But he doesn't care anymore. His pureblood status should protect him from prison or exportation, and Draco long ago realized he's just tired of fighting, tired of death, ever since his mother was killed.

He hears a mumble percolate from the left. "If magical people are so cherished, why is the government shunting them off?" A hushed silence surrounds the area of the speaker, but nobody looks up to claim the statement. It was said quietly enough that Draco ignores it. There is too much truth and damnation in the question.

Flamingo Smith beams up at Draco, her white teeth sparkling with what was undoubtedly a Makeover Charm. "I agree with Mr. Malfoy. We must dismiss Harry Potter, stop building him up as this vigilante champion of the people. I am the people and I want no part of him." She stomps her foot onto the ground, making no noise in the thick lawn. He nods at the woman's speech, offering her the smile that he knows instills people with pride and the feeling of acceptance, even through he secretly thinks she's an idiot. For the past twenty-six months since the Disapparition Net had been corrupted by the Order allowing nobody but house-elves to instantaneously travel, she has been following him around like a yes-man acolyte, speaking to the crowds that gather as if they are on the same platform, preaching political reformation and the coming of a new world power.

That, in a way, is Draco's goal. But just not with her by his side.

The Ministry has been careening towards implosion with a madman wielding power and a mass of mindless cockroaches following along, surviving in any way they can. Nobody has a mind of his or her own anymore. Draco feels terribly alone in his self-awareness. As he smiles and answers more questions from the reporters, he senses that there is nobody out there like him.

~~~

The echo of Terry Boot's steps rebounds against the high ceiling of the main cavern, the force of his anger impacting the stone with each stomp. "Can you believe what Malfoy said about us this time?" He waves a paper through the air and then slaps it onto the large round table where Harry, Kreacher and Luna are planning their next foray out to sea. Harry's parrot squawks, taking flight to land on a perch not far off. It begins nibbling on a peach, chattering that Deadbones should keep it in his pants.

Their Ministry informant had smuggled them the next two routes for the Snake and Bones to traverse. The ship is reported to carry supporters of Voldemort and the dirty government, and that usually meant Galleons. Pirate militias did not live on fish alone.

Luna glances up at Terry. The furrow between his brows deepens into a ravine with such depth the shadow covers his eyes. He's such a moody Ravenclaw. "What?" he snaps.

Luna shrugs. "He's just telling the same old tale, nothing we haven't heard before." Luna's taken it upon herself to read four papers a day. None of them have the precise reporting that The Quibbler had when her family had run it, though pot-bellied Crups being the latest rage was something she'd probably never have found out about if it wasn't for The Manchester Star. And that there was a plague of snargelpusses in western Wales. She'd read the article covering Malfoy's speech. It was so dull she wouldn't paper a cockatrice coop with it. The Prophet had an advertisement for Quickening Pens, something from the Weasley twins' shop. They still operated in Diagon Alley, protected by their pureblood status, and filtered information to them when they could. Luna hopes they send some of those pens in their next shipment of supplies. And maybe a Seekocular, so they can finally track down Voldemort and snuff him out with the Soul Patch. It's impressive how well that hollow man has hidden himself with so many searching for his deathless body. But, she thinks with a sigh, he's done it before—twice—why is she surprised now? She likes being surprised though, otherwise life would be tedious.

Maybe they could lay a trap for him with snake treats. She hadn’t thought of that.

"What's Malfoy babbling about now?" Harry asks, barely looking up from the lines cross-crossing the naval map. Luna likes to make mystical designs with the lines. She summoned an imp once.

"He's defaming us. Calling us terrorists. Murderers." Terry jabs the newsprint with his index finger. "We are not murderers! People die in wars.” Luna nods at her crewmate and friend. He'd always been an emotional boy. “They make us out as criminals." Spittle flies from his lips and rains down on the paper. The picture of Draco Malfoy calmly nodding with a bucket of compassion in his eyes flinches at the abuse. "We are the resistance! They are in the wrong, not us."

Harry draws a little blue x on the map and looks up at Terry. "Malfoy's always said this…" He lets the sentence die, his arched eyebrows begging for an explanation for Terry's off kilter emotional eruption.

Terry's gaze turns hard. "But Captain," Terry says. "People are listening to him. Malfoy is telling them half-truths about things that he doesn't understand, and the people think he's right. The fence-sitters afraid of supporting us because of Voldemort's DEs side with Malfoy and his… his idiotically idealist views of peace and non-violence, and—" the air is roused by the distress of his thrashing hands, "—they all expect us to lay down like beat dogs and then the world will turn always sunny and the streets will be lined with violets," he finishes with mockery in his tone.

Luna thinks that sounds lovely, if terribly unrealistic.

With a contemplative crinkle in his eyes, Harry turns to Luna. She cocks her head and offers a ghost of a smile. "Well," she says, "If his understanding is less than expected—" she shrugs, "—perhaps a sleepover is in order."

Terry's face lightens in measured degrees. "I think you've got something there, Loony."

~~~

When Draco Malfoy comes to, memories of the last few hours shuffle through his brain like a receiving line. In marched Terry Boot and his pals, ragged and smelly. Draco had just sat down to eat poached eggs for breakfast and Spatty had about steamed at the ears at the thought of all those new mouths to feed that she hadn't planned for. He'd assured his elf that the intruders would not be staying for breakfast. However, Draco hadn't realized that he wouldn't be staying for breakfast, either.

Now he finds himself trussed up in a minuscule cell, cramped and soggy. The closet Harry purportedly grew up in had to be larger than this rat trap. Three sides are constructed from roughly hewn planks and the fourth is a barred door with a little slot at the bottom. The bars are about the length of his middle finger apart. Braided hemp rope digs into the skin on his wrists. He can't breathe for the stench.

“Bastards! Couldn't you have just used spells like normal wizards!”

He immediately regrets yelling as his head bursts into a blinding display of pain.

Oh yes, he'd forgotten the heavy handed touch of Millicent Bulstrode. How she'd ended up on Harry Potter's manifest, Draco has no idea.

The clop of shod feet warns Draco of someone's approach and up walks Terry Boot, a nasty scowl on his face as he surveys Draco, seeming to conclude that Draco rated just slightly above child molester. His hands are hidden behind his back.

“Good to see you're up, pretty boy,” Terry says with mocking joviality. “I hope you enjoy the accommodations we've set up for you.” He smiles at the cell, empty except for Draco propped up in one corner.

“Oh yes,” Draco casually drawls as he shifts his weight to sit up straight. “It's quite comfortable. Now, if you don't mind a little room service.” They had made him miss breakfast.

Terry's smile doesn't possess even an iota of friendliness. Draco remembers the Ravenclaw from Hogwarts; isn't he a Muggleborn? If that's true, then his family—along with the families of all magical people unable to trace their ancestry back at least three magical generations—had been forced to leave Britain or go to Azkaban. “Sure, coming right up, Mr. Malfoy.” He speaks Draco's name like it's a taunt. Then he leans down and pushes a tin plate through the small hole along the floor of the barred door. Draco continues to look at Terry's face, then his stomach grumbles and his eyes slip from the mocking quirk of lips to the plate presenting a single piece of bread.

“Oh, and here's your chardonnay.” Terry leans down again and pushes a chipped cup through. Some of the contents splash over the lip as the pirate flicks it in another few inches. Draco scoots sideways; his face goes blank.

With a snort, Terry turns and walks away. He didn't even undo Draco's bindings.

~~~

“You gave him water you spat in?” Laura Madley asks as she sets a platter full of carved chicken onto the dining table between the other dishes of food. Millicent spears a chunk with her fork and dumps it on her plate next to some discolored peas from a tin and two boiled eggs.

Terry laughs. When he isn't pissy, Luna finds him surprisingly cordial. His dual personality has always been confusing. Bedfellow to living a lie.

Harry twists sharply from the tall table where the tea supplies rest, his mug of tea half-prepared. “You did what?”

The temperature in the room dips and food stalls in mid-air, balanced on forks and spoons before tenuously open mouths. Everyone stops eating to look from Harry to Terry. Everyone, but Millicent. She shovels a spoonful of soggy peas into her mouth, then bites off a chunk of bread. It's truly astounding how much she can stuff into her mouth. Half-pelican.

"What?" Terry asks, his face placid. "He's pureblood royalty, surely he deserves extra flavoring." A closed-lipped smile cracks his face, then a loud snort erupts from his pinched mouth.

Laura joins in. "Oh come on, Harry," she says to his disapproving look. "It's funny."

"No, it isn't." Harry has long forgotten his tea and Luna worries about the bitterness of it as it sits steeping. Bitter tea is bad for the pancreas and their medi-wizard is on leave in Aberystwyth for three days. "It's disgusting." Heat flashes from his remaining eye and Terry shifts in his seat.

Millicent burps.

With a spin on his heel, Harry turns back to the tea, swiftly throws together another cup and stalks from the galley towards the stairs that lead down to the brig.

"What's with the Captain?" Terry scowls. "He's all in a twist over fucking Malfoy."

Silence, and then Laura bursts out laughing.

Terry peers at her, but she only shakes her head at him.

"I have to check the bulkhead," she says breezily and leaves the galley with half a wave of her slice of bread.

"What's up with her?"

Luna only shakes her head; wondering if a snargelpuss has invaded below deck, disrupting her crewmates' minds.

~~~

"Tea?"

Draco raises his head from his hunched-over squat in the corner. As unwilling as he is to touch the certainly worm-ridden walls of his cell, he's grown tired and has to lean against the fetid wood for support. His thighs and Achilles tendons ache. He'd sell his long-tarnished soul for a chair.

Harry is smiling. It is tentative, but it is honest, and though before him stands a force of destruction, it causes something in Draco to unclench.

"Potter," Draco says as the man approaches the bars, refusing to address him as Captain or something as silly as One-Eye or Scarface. Harry is not a crime lord. He does not deserve acclaim.

He raises his wand. Draco follows the snap of the tip and feels the ropes around his wrists release. "I made it myself," Harry says, pushing the mug through the little slit at the bottom of the door. It doesn't quite fit, so Harry has to tilt it over; some of the black tea spills out and seeps into the cracks between the planks of the cell. Harry says the words like they mean something significant. Draco just watches him.

Harry examines Draco squatting on the floor. A shadow flitters across his face and the smile fades.

"Listen… Malfoy… "

Draco waits, but nothing else comes.

He takes this moment to survey Harry's appearance, instinctively approving but stubbornly disapproving of what he sees. Harry's hair, though always shaggy, has grown longer and holds a shimmer that perpetual sun-baking must have broiled into it. The fringe is long, hiding the brand that marks the wizard as more than ordinary. A survivor of the Killing Curse; surely unmatched in any scar. And there is a black patch crossing over his right eye. Does it mean that Harry is missing an eye? Or is it more a sign that the man has truly visited the Witch of Crazy and has abandoned normality and sanity to embrace this rogue lifestyle.

Well, apparently Luna Lovegood is his First Mate…. If that isn't a red, flashing alarm, Draco doesn't know what is.

He looks down at the mug of tea, three-fourths of the way full. The smell is rich.

"For me?" Draco asks, letting a sliver of flirtatiousness lift his words.

Harry's chin is rounded, and his cheeks are deeply lined with dimples that strike Draco the instant the man smiles. And he does smile, quickly and dashingly, and something about the quirk to his lip, the wry parade of straight teeth, draws in Draco's gaze, even more so than the flouncy shirt that hangs open to reveal a hairless stretch of chest that normal wizards purchase charms to imitate.

"Of course." Harry performs a flourish of a bow, complete with outstretched leg and rolling arm. It should be ridiculous, but on him it looks debonair. "I would hate for my guest to have sub-par refreshment." Then the man straightens and his face darkens again. "First, I must apologize for this entire…" he looks away a moment, then returns his gaze to Draco's face, "debacle. It was not my intention to have my crew kidnap you, but they took it upon themselves, with a truly heart-felt desire," he says with a hand pressed to his chest, "to educate you on our stance in this war." Harry tilts his head, those dimples returning. "I'm working to establish new accommodations for you as quickly as possible."

Part of Draco hates him, a very large part. Hates him with a burning passion, but he only nods, nods and waits and listens to all the things that are not being said. Because, though he's trapped on a vermin infested heap of junk, apparently the renegades don't mean him harm. Unfortunately, the real clincher, the part that frustrates Draco on oh so many levels, is the aura of confidence exuding from Harry. The deep self-awareness, the pride, the assurance that he can stand up to anything, race through Hades, and still come out unscathed. That… That is what speeds up Draco's heart, causes his brain to fizzle when he rather wishes to toss off something disarming and witty, but none of Draco's vast piles of scathing remarks are within reach when Potter's full attention is on him.

"I would appreciate that," Draco says after a moment of silence. He swallows; his throat is dry.

"Captain! Oh, Captain!" Harry glances down the hallway, then smiles at Draco again.

"Duty calls. Drink the tea," Harry says with a nod as he turns to leave. "And Malfoy?"

Draco glances up through his thick lashes.

"I would advise not taking anything from anyone but me or Luna."

Curious, Draco only nods and wonders what the hell Terry had laced his uneaten ration with.

~~~

He waits, bound to a chair by more ropes, enchanted this time, that slither along his skin like lengths of roughly braided snakes. He's in a small cave, the floor long ago smoothed over with charms, the entrance widened to allow for easy passage. Long ridges of calcite-washed basalt line the walls, giving Draco another sense of being jailed. Bars everywhere. Beyond the mouth of the cave he can see a larger cavern, brightly lit, with just the tip of a ship's masthead within view, reminding him vaguely of the Statue of Liberty's crowned head.

The scent of salt saturates the air. The chair he is strapped to is metal and not comfortable. He shifts; he has to pee.

Little time passes before in walks Terry Boot, Luna Lovegood, and a Hufflepuff a few years below him whose name he can't dredge up. Draco remembers Harry's words, and keeps his attention on Terry and the Hufflepuff.

"Good morning," Draco says in a practiced drawl of disinterest. Terry snorts.

The Hufflepuff stares at Draco, a thoughtful set to her lips. "So, this is the famous Draco Malfoy. Champion for Peace and Non-violence." Her eyes run from his leather shoes to his slightly mussed hair. "Pleased to meet you, I'm Laura, Laura Madley." She nods at Draco, who dips his chin in acknowledgement. Her hair is cut in a short, sassy bob that tugs his thoughts along a brief trip back to Pansy. "I'm Muggleborn." Draco snaps back to the present. "My parents were almost killed by your Ministry."

Draco sizes her up. "And Harry Potter swooped down, saving them from utter destruction, and now has your undying loyalty." He can hear a bell clanging from somewhere in the larger cavern, the sound somehow swelling with each ring.

She smirks. "Wow, you're a quick one."

"I do try." There's a moment where Terry glares at Laura and she rolls her eyes. Then Draco continues. "However, please attempt to keep up. In my capacity as Champion for Peace and Non-violence, I support neither the Ministry nor its destructive actions, so I can hardly claim it as mine." The ropes slide along the thin skin of his left wrist, already chafed, and the burn almost pulls a hiss from his lips.

Terry clears his throat, turning away from his crewmate to scowl at Draco's pale face. "I believe in the fundamental truth that all wizards and witches are created equal," he begins and Draco resists the urge to laugh, or maybe weep. This is going to be a long afternoon. "I believe that each of us has the right to walk down the street without molestation. Has the right to enter stores, schools, gain jobs we've been educated for. Most of all, Malfoy," he says with bitterness, leaning close enough that Draco can feel the man's hot breath and smell the spicy scent of the sausage he must have eaten that morning. "I believe we all have the right to live and let live!"

Draco flinches as spit hits his cheek, but he doesn't turn away.

"Well, Mr. Boot," Draco says, deceptively polite. "That's excellent: you and I seem to see eye to eye. That being cleared up, why not take off these bindings and drop me off at the nearest port." Draco smiles up at Terry, blinking coyly. Terry pulls away. Draco's gut hardens. He considers exercising his charms on either of the witches, but doesn't have the stomach to even pretend to be interested in a woman. And he doubts Luna Lovegood would even notice.

With a sigh Draco drops his shoulders in a sign of surrender. "Fine. Why don't you just tell me why you kidnapped me so we don't have to waste time on witty repartee and guessing games. I've a lecture I intend on making at Cambridge tomorrow morning." It's a struggle to keep his expression passive.

"Oh, Draco." He's shocked to hear Luna speak. "I highly doubt you'll be making that lecture." She says this so matter-of-factly, that he can't seem to hold a grudge. "We just wanted to give you a taste of the ol' pirate lifestyle." Her eyes trace the columnar cracking crossing the walls and ceiling. "And hopefully you can tell us where Lord Voldemort is hiding," she adds as if in afterthought.

Startled, Draco shakes his head. "That is something I don't know. Nobody knows." Though his father gets his orders from somewhere. "Anyway, you can't touch him even if you knew where he was." There have been attempts. Many failed attempts. In a level voice, he says, "He is immortal."

Gazes and almost imperceptible nods pass between Terry and Laura and Draco knows something intrinsically valuable hangs silently in the air. "Well, nobody is immortal." Along Luna's neck is a necklace of acorn hats speared through with a golden string. She fingers it for a moment then smiles, still studying the lines in the wall. The woman had always been brewing with a poorly stocked potion's kit. "Not even that which feasts on souls."

Goosebumps flutter across his forearms. "What?" Draco says, his tongue a lump of flesh in his mouth.

"I think," Luna says with breathy weight to her words, "that he's trying to replace everything that he's already lost."

At that moment Harry struts in, calm and collected, like the ruler of all he can see, which at the moment was a small ocean cave, but the clarity of his gaze made it appear as if the world would gladly kneel at his feet and he was aware of its fealty.

Draco's attention is drawn to Harry's one eye. Something in it sparkles, like that damned fool Dumbledore's. The man he couldn't kill. The man who'd pried Draco's eyes open with his own death.

"How's everyone's morning going?" Harry asks and it's just so stupid that Draco breaks into laughter.

"Jolly," Draco responds once he catches his breath. "Just trying to convince your friends here that I've no idea where the Dark Lord is, that we all want the same things, and you should all just set me free." He smiles up at Harry and inwardly cheers when a little pink colors the pirate captain's sun-kissed skin. Harry smiles back. Draco is not below seducing his way out of this mess.

With a swoop of his wand, Harry materializes a chair. He repositions it, the feet scraping against the rocky floor, and sits down with a casual lean that makes the entire scene almost chummy. The other three remain standing. Now if only Harry had a decanter of bourbon and a smoking jacket, maybe a hound at his feet. Draco's father had never been fond of hounds. Draco had always wanted one.

He blinks and refocuses, tired. His bladder reminds him of its need.

"Now that your grand leader is here, can we conclude our business?" Draco asks with a sigh. He wishes he knew what these people really wanted. He wishes he could be certain they wouldn't kill him. Their body toll is sky high, and he and these four had never been friendly.

"So," Harry begins, eye twinkling. "You don't know where Voldemort is?"

With exasperation, Draco shakes his head. "No. I've already informed your esteemed colleagues that I don't have an iota of a clue. Nobody knows." Draco pulls against the ropes, leaning as closely to Harry as he can. He locks eyes with the man, opening his soul to him. "Only my father."

Harry just stares at him. Draco's body loses its tension and he slumps back. The ropes tighten, constricting like a hungry python. He wonders how soon until he is crushed to mash and they all feast on his flesh.

Terry squints at Draco. He feels like a specimen floating about in a jar of alaxial fluid, ready for the cauldron. He's sure that Terry will be the first to arrive with fork and knife in hand on the feasting day.

"How often to you see him? When was the last time your father met with him? Have you ever visited with him and if so, what locations?" And on and on the questions continue. Mostly from Harry, but Terry Boot, Ravennerd extraordinaire, has to make sure he isn't left behind.

"When you fled with Snape—"

"How far back are you planning on digging, Boot?" Draco demands. It has been over an hour and a sharp pain claws down his spine. The ropes force him into uncomfortable positions, binding tighter if he shifts left, tighter if he slouches an inch. A lesser form of crucifixion. "I've told you everything I know about the Dark Lord. I have nothing more to offer. Now, either cut me lose, let me go, or kill me now, because your constant droning is a hell unto itself."

Terry scowls. Luna laughs a high tittering noise and actually taps the rope with her wand; it unravels, falling dead around the base of his chair. Draco looks up at her, shocked.

"You probably want to freshen up a bit," she says, then gestures for him to follow her and leaves the interrogation cave.

Dumbfounded, he stands, looking from Harry to Terry to Laura of the bouncy hair. Terry refuses to meet his eyes, but Harry just sits there, expression placid. Draco turns his back on them and that fucking torture chair, and follows Luna.

The cavern he emerges into is immense, a large fissure in the earth that could possibly harbor its own weather patterns. Longer than it is wide, three ships are docked within the safety of its walls. Wizard globes hover every ten feet, lighting the interior, casting contrasting shadows over everything.

And there are people. The cave is teeming, alive with wizards and witches, house-elves, merfolk in the water and even some of the fae. His senses categorize every detail they can. From the scent of the sea, slightly briny, to the fact that he can't see the sun through the cave mouth. The air is chilly and a constant breeze wafts down the passage. The hairs on his arms stand as his skin tightens into gooseflesh.

The cavern floor crawls out of the lapping ocean, a long ago shift in the earth's crust twisting the rock at odd angles to the surrounding basalt. The slope is gentle and the floor provides a general open area where wooden structures have been erected. Draco glances up and round him; dwellings are carved high into the walls and from the ceiling dangle wooden platforms from long strings of spider silk, swaying as children hop from one precarious perch to the next, laughing.

Draped along the section of walls not sliced into Swiss cheese are long tapestries with the image of a phoenix, wings spread out and a wand clutched in each claw, the symbol of the new resistance. It's all scarily patriotic.

Luna leads him to a wizard-made cave and he walks in to find a full-sized bathroom, complete with claw tub and toilet. He shuts the door and a light blinks on overhead, round and harshly brilliant. He fumbles his trousers buttons, urged on by his screaming bladder, and groans softly as he pisses, the warm liquid draining out of his body.

Merlin that's fucking good.

He tucks himself away and washes his hands. Fiddling with the knobs on the sink he discovers there is hot and cold water and a variety of sudsy soaps. The mirror reflects a tired looking man, his once shiny hair lank. A new wrinkle has popped out between his brows.

Leaning forward, he presses his forehead to the cool surface of the mirror, avoiding the truth it reveals.

"You okay in there?"

He glances at the door. On the other side is Luna, waiting to take him… somewhere. Back to the interrogation cave? To his moldy cell on the ship? The chopping block where they can fillet his flank to serve to Terry Boot?

In slow motion, he reaches out and opens the door.

"Are you going to kill me?" he blurts. His gut writhes in anticipation; his shoulders stiffen in annoyance that he even asked.

Her huge eyes blink at him. "Of course not, Draco. I just thought you needed a bit of vacation." She turns her back on him; her long hair reaches the center of her back. He's sure he would have enjoyed Bermuda better. They return to the small cave where he'd recently spent unpleasant hours with people who had a misplaced sense of justice. Staring at him, accusing him.

She goes in, he follows. What else is he going to do? He doesn't have his wand and the place is swarming with Harry's sycophantic followers. He'd never developed the talent to just wish himself away, though he'd long tried.

Only Harry remains. Luna does a little curtsy, then leaves, nodding briefly at Draco. Draco suddenly feels cold, and very, very tired.

"What now?" he asks, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Nothing," Harry says with a grin, those miles of dimples popping out. "I do have to say, though, I'm not sure what to do with you."

"Let me go," Draco says, hope lightening his words from the command he'd intended.

With a laugh, Harry shakes his head. "Not yet. But don’t worry, Malfoy. We're not going to feed you to the fishes."

Dryly, Draco chuckles once. "I was afraid you were going to feed me to Boot."

Harry throws back his head and laughs. It's full and straight from the belly; his dark hair is tossed back and looks like the wing of a crow ready to take flight. When Harry catches his breath, he sits up straight, eye bright with tears. "Oh, don't worry about that," he says. "Deadbones is a vegetarian."

~~~

While certainly better than that small, mildewed cell, his new accommodations, encompassing a little bed and charmed chamber pot, are still a prison. Sprawled upon the wool blanket, rough spun and sheep-scented, Draco toys with his new accessory, a small iron Anchor Charm tied around his neck with a piece of hemp rope. It's scratchy and has an earthy aroma, and Draco can't help but feel collared with this noose around his neck. Like a dog.

He realizes, after this entire fiasco is concluded, he will be forced to refurbish his ego.

The ceiling is charmed to shimmer like a clear Caribbean ocean, nothing like the churning, grey waters of the Irish Sea. Sporadic fish swim by: angelfish, butterflyfish, a cylindrical shaped barracuda. It's soothing, and he hates it.

He stands and tugs on the door, which opens easily. Harry and Luna have given him the run of the ship, urging him to talk to the crew, to understand the pirate lifestyle.

He groans in dismay. He misses his Sleep-Aid bed, Spatty and her croissants, his toothbrush. Hygiene charms never feel the same, and he has to request Harry to cast them on him. He misses his wand. A spiky-haired young man scurries past him in the narrow hallway. The boy might have met his seventeenth year, maybe, and Draco wonders why anyone would chose to live their life on such a heap. Then he remembers the mob of people in the cave, like a colony of termites, eating away the core of the sea cliff, destroying its inner strength.

But they seemed happy, and that was the most incongruous aspect of it all.

From his doorway he can see the entrance to the Captain's quarters. The door is closed. Harry is either asleep or up on deck.

Following the scent of fresh, ocean air, Draco turns a corner and climbs a small ladder. As his head emerges from the edge of the hatch, he leans against the coaming, surveying the main deck. A tiny lemur hisses at him, then scurries up the mast, gripping the polished wood tight with its tail. Up and up the creature climbs, then leaps into the rigging; it throws itself from one line to the next, along side a very agile house-elf, who seems to be realigning the ropes in no discernable pattern.

The sails are up, full, carrying them out to sea, beyond the grip of the Dark Lord, beyond the grip of civilization, perhaps even the gentle hold of sanity. Draco has no idea where they are heading. He'd always been one to know his next move, and how he's floating in the open ocean, following the wind. And apparently Terry's navigation.

Ah, how like the winds of the sea are the ways of fate.

Terry Boot has a thing for Draco, and not the nice variety of thing. Most of the rest of Harry's crew are tolerable, either ignoring him or downright nice to him. Terry hates him. It seeps out of his pores and gives him a sour odor, it flashes like death curses from his eyes. And while Draco isn't too worried about Terry, the wizard does have his wand, while Draco is without.

The main sail bulges round, pregnant.

Gradually, his view of the rigging, the snapping wings of the phoenix flag, the endless sky is blocked by a large hat embellished with a giant, fluffy feather. Back lit, the person stands there and Draco has to squint to distinguish who the fashion-doomed individual is.

"Hello, Draco."

"Oh, good morning, Luna."

"Would you like to meet some of the crew? Oh, I hope the wulfones have all been disposed of. We had a nasty infestation about a month ago and everyone had to rub the soles of their feet down with banana. Things were a little slippery for a while." She tilts her head and her face emerges from the shadow of her hat brim, full of concern and determination.

"Oh?"

She nods. "But I'm fairly certain the fumigation of burnt banana leaves did the trick. Though," she adds as an afterthought, "do keep a look out for snargelpusses. We might have one or two of those stowed away now."

Taking the last few steps, he ascends through the hatch to stand upon the deck. A few people flutter about like eager hens, brushes scrub away on the foredeck working up a foam, and Terry Boot leans against the forecastle, scowling at him.

"Deadbones, look sharp," Luna says, her tone suddenly exsanguinated of its usual breathy calm. "This area's being patrolled at regular shifts lately." With a definitive twirl on the ball of her foot she turns her back on Terry, whose face stiffens as Draco watches him. However, without argument, he turns to the helm.

"Trained like a dancing bear," Draco mutters under his breath.

Luna stops walking before him and turns her head to look at Draco. "Don't mock my crew."

The plume in her hat bobs in a playful breeze, but Luna's eyes hold no sway for any ridicule. Draco dips his head in acknowledgement. She continues their stroll, her voice reverting to the airhead tone he's used to.

"This is Firebreath Archer." She gestures at an old man with blackened teeth and half a left ear. Suppressing a shudder, Draco ponders instructing the man in hygiene charms—even those are better than nothing. The man is hunched, his back a long arch as he gracefully twists rope together with gnarled hands. The left pinky is missing and a red scar brands the hand, trailing up under the open cuff of his shirt. "A stripey with some of the sharpest eyes on ship. I'll leave you to talk." She breezes away, continuing towards the aft of the barque.

The sailor squints at Draco and he can't quite imagine a sharp eye out of that scrunched face. "Hello, Mr. Archer." Draco does not reach out to shake the man's hand.

The old geezer wheezes out a strangled noise that might have been laughter. "'taint no needing to be so formal, boy."

Draco's eyebrows jump. "Boy?"

He nods once, sharp and distinct. "What's it you want ta know, boy?" His hands weave and twist, subtle magic flittering across the length of the rope as the splayed ends mend together.

A cringe scrambles along Draco's shoulders. He steels himself against the rudeness and the dragon breath and the uncleanliness of the geezer. "Well, sir, I'm curious, what drove you to join this marauding pack of terrorists?"

That laughter again, and then a hacking cough. Draco takes a step away. Once the man steadies himself, he chuckles. "Terrorists? That's some Double Speak, 'taint it? We don't much think that word o' yours fits. Call a spade a spade, boy." His eyes shimmer. "Pirates, we is. Outlaws, seeking our own form of justice from tyranny." The weaving stops as the old sailor's zeal rises. "We sail the Irish Sea, taking what 'tis we want, helping them who cannit help themselves. We is gunna save this country from people like you." He jabs Draco in the chest with his fist, still closed around the rope. Not a punch; not a love tap, either. Draco brushes the spot, haughty indignation etched in his expression.

"Kindly refrain from touching me."

"Kindly refrain from yer ponciness," Firebreath shoots back with a tiny bow.

Draco gathers himself to eviscerate the man when bells start clanging, loud and reverberating, rattling Draco's heart loose within his chest.

"Frigate on the starboard bow!"

The old man's eyes pop and then he lunges for Draco. The rope whips round Draco's middle, binding his arms and legs as he thrashes for freedom, but the sailor had the jump on him and Draco had never excelled at physical violence, being the dueler, the verbal slayer. Before three blinks of his eyes he finds he's trussed up against the mizzenmast of the ship.

And then the volley of fire and light begins.

The sailor scurries off, one rat in a mass of writhing activity as the crew of the Gold Marauder enters into battle. Overhead spells race across the sky, and then a shudder wracks the ship as something collides into it beyond the perimeter of Draco's vision.

"The Staves! Shoot the Hex Stones," comes one desperate cry followed by the calm command from Luna. "Dive! Dive!"

He can tell the voice is Luna's, clear over the bedlam of foot clatter and the whistle of curses sucking through the air. And abruptly his world tilts, teetering on its axis, and then he is plunging into the deep, blue sea. His heart thuds, crashing against his ribcage, echoing the bells as the cold ocean water slaps against his feet, his thighs, rising up his fluttering chest and then slowly swallowing his neck. He gasps for air, gulping it down as his face descends below the surface. The ship continues her dive deeper into the gloom.

How could they do this? How could they tie him here to suffocate, to drown? Bubbles bead up along the hairs of his arms, gather along the surface of the ship, one or two escape, ascending with casual ease. Shifting left, then right, he strains against the charmed ropes, his lungs seizing.

Though his mouth is sealed, he calls out; the sound dull and muffled, the plea of a desperate man. And he is desperate. As his chest flutters, the breathing reflex chiseling against his will to cling to his last reservoir of air, he screams, closed-mouthed, for help, for a Bubblehead Charm, for anything because he does not want to die. Not in the ocean, on a ship, surrounded by enemies. Not here and not now. He's young and healthy and has so much to contribute and finally, as the pressure becomes too much, he opens his mouth and gasps, sucking in a mouth full of air, then another, and as the frantic need dissipates he realizes all the trapped bubbles along the ship's body, the sails, along his arms, legs, chest, that it has all been collected for use and he nearly weeps in relief.

The ship slices through the water like a great whale, the sails unlatched and undulating like flippers and tail. The rolling motion is sickening and Draco closes his eyes to trick his mind into thinking he's strapped to the back of a hippogriff. Something normal and above the titanic pressure of the sea.

Sounds are dim; he can't smell. In tiny sips he takes in air, afraid his bubble supply might vacate from one inhalation to the next. He's afraid he might have wet himself, just a bit, because he notices the majority of his clothing is dry where it is pressed against his skin by the weight of an ocean of water. His ears have already popped twice.

He inhales again praying that the air will last. Inhale. Pray.

Then the deck shifts and his spine presses into the mizzen as they rise. He opens his eyes; the gloom fades and the shimmery promise of sky glistens above him.

And with a crash, they erupt from the ocean's control, the top end of the ship hanging eternal in the air, then it slams down to the surface. With an 'oof' Draco's body is shaken like a baby's rattle and he whacks his head against the wooden mast.

Blackness tightens its noose around his neck as the sharp shout to fire hits his already fading senses.

~~~

Just as Luna had planned, they rise twenty-five feet off the port side of the Ministry frigate. She has a knack for this kind of spot-on precision. She'll allow herself a victory squash shake once the battle is over; she deserves it.

Millicent already has the staves ready and the exact second they resurface, she bombards the Ministry's ship with explosive charms, scorching and chomping against the sleek walls. Luna feels bad for the ship, for she is a beauty. Probably straight out of the yards in Falmouth. It's not the ship's fault who owns it, but Luna doesn't let such sentimentalities overrule her duty and judgement. The Ministry's corruption has already tainted it. Its potential has already been drowned and buried.

Her wand is drawn, as are the rest of the crew's as the move to board the ship. She's got a sword strapped to her belt, but it's mainly for show. Harry presented it to her when she made First Mate, a sign of her power, her position, but she's always felt the Tasmanian emu plume is all the mark of accomplishment she needs.

Settling her enhanced Spectrespecs onto her nose, she prepares for those enemies wily enough to board the Gold Marauder. Her ship does not take kindly to trespassers, nor does she.

Over half her sailors flood the deck of the frigate, spellfire filling the air. Golds, reds, purples; the occasional green pledge of death. Some of the Hex Stones slam into the frigate's keel, dissolving the wood into pulp. Luna's chin is held high as she waits; the waiting is not long.

Galator Cullpepper and Pansy Parkinson blink step onto the main deck from their own, the farthest instant travel available since the Order damaged the Disapparition Net. Then blink again, Galator's long blond hair a sunspot in her vision. Luna's specs sparkle, seeking out the invaders' intermediate presence, where their bodies are in that transitional movement phase, trapped in the in-between.

A dazzle, a little pizzazz and she lifts her wand. "Petrificus Totalus Detello." Galator slams back into reality as he tumbles to the deck, stiff as the plank that doomed men walk. Luna stands up straighter, a smile, pleased yet modest, touches her lips before she slumps to the ground, the curse from behind unexpected.

Like a ragdoll, her bones go soft within her frame; her head rolls over and she spots Pansy, a wicked gleam to her eye. 'It is really too bad,' Luna thinks in her last moment. She'd always thought Pansy beautiful, proud. One of her teeth has been replaced with a diamond and it shimmers like a miniature star when her head is turned just right and the sun washes her in brilliance. She'd have done far better as one of Harry's crew--

Then out of nowhere, like a man-sized Monkey, swings Harry, her Captain, from a stretch of rope that lengthens and lengthens until he's spot on behind Pansy, feet held out in some dashing display of acrobatics. Pansy whirls on him, slapping a curse across his chest that etches across his pectoral muscle.

A flinch wracks his body and he drops to the deck—the sound echoes in Luna's ears. Pansy laughs; it's shrill and theatrical. Luna closes her eyes and waits, unable to move, unable to speak; she can only hum softly through parted lips.

A thump snaps her eyes open again and Pansy is on the ground, her legs flailing like a landed fish, as Harry jumps to his feet, a small dagger in one hand, his wand in the other. His shirt is painted red, his face a ghastly white, but he lunges at her as she pops to her feet, his dagger flashing like her tooth, both worshiping the star hanging low in the sky.

Pansy curls over, hollowing out her belly as the blade whiffs harmlessly through the air. Then she backflips away; Harry stops his attack, his eyes impressively wide as he nods in Pansy's direction. "Pretty fancy move," he says.

"Thanks, Old One-Eye," Pansy replies with a flip to her hair. "A little more elegant than swinging from vines." Her voice is snide, but the Captain continues to smile, feigning meekness.

"I thought my Tarzan move was classic." He shrugs his shoulder; the blade glitters.

Luna barely notices the jerk of Harry's wand.

Pansy shakes her head, blinks. "Whatever, Potter. Why are we talking anyway?" She raises her wand, pauses for a breath, then sends off a zap of magic.

The hex pierces the air like a sting; Harry shifts his weight, eyes still on Pansy, and it impales the sail behind him, lodged into the reinforced weave of unicorn hair and charms.

"Come on, Pansy." Harry's eyes have grown serious as he studies Pansy, and Luna wishes she could smile better. The curse has moved from her bones to her muscles and she struggles to suck in a breath. But her Captain has turned serious; he is going to recruit Pansy, save her from her lineage, from the Dark Lord.

Save her.

Because Luna had asked him to long ago.

Her sight growing dim, Luna wheezes. All she can see now are shoes, black neat slip-ons with a sliver buckle.

Luna remembers those last moments before everything flipped arse up and Lord Voldemort took over. She and Pansy worked together for The Prophet. Luna saw it as a jumping off place—to get some experience at a lesser paper before returning to The Quibbler to work with her father. Pansy ignored her at first, but everyone else ignored Pansy. Luna plied her with baked goods from Madam Leaflie's shop in Diagon Alley. She thinks it was the spinach turnover that finally won over Pansy; eventually, they were friends.

The shoes turn and Luna hears a shocked gasp. "Oh fuck!" And with relief her muscles reengage. Luna breathes, sucking in huge chestfuls of air as she rolls onto her back, watching the willow-the-wisps hovering in the air above her through her specs, ready to whisk her soul away to the next great adventure.

"Luna!" Harry cries out; he slides to the deck beside her, his one eye bulging with panic. "Luna, are you okay?" He presses his fingers against her clammy brow, the side of her face.

Her eyes zone in and out of focus and she finally looks at Harry. "Yes, Captain." Behind him is Pansy, one hand fluttering before her mouth, her face pale, pale like the belly of a ray, a lift to her brows giving her a hound dog expression of fear, worry, shifting to horror like she's pulling on a new layer of skin. Or shedding one.

And right there, Pansy is free.

"Luna."

Luna smiles at the sound of her name on Pansy's lips. It's just a breath, but the weight of it carries the significance of a sonnet, like her gazes, the rare smiles she would pass to Luna late nights at the newspaper setting up type-printing and sizing photographs.

With a twist, Harry jabs his wand at Pansy and her hands are wrapped in twisted vines sprouting from the dead wood of the ship. After a half-hearted struggle she grows still.

"I'm so sorry," she says and Luna smiles up at her.

"Can you stand?" Harry asks and Luna gets to her feet with little fuss, casually brushing away the flittering wisps dangling around her face. Only a few remain. One of them sparkles around the buckle on Pansy's shoe, perhaps preening in the reflection or in the belief that it's found its true mate.

As Luna rises, Pansy falls, an elegant settling to the floor, like a falling leaf in autumn. Her robes billow, and then deflate. They land on the ground around her, a frame to her own horror.

"Oh fuck, Luna." Luna looks down and their eyes meet, a connection that traps them for a moment. "I didn't mean to, I didn't…"

"It’s time to decide, Pansy. Back to Voldemort, and his control, or here with us… under probation of course," Harry says, his wand aimed at Pansy. Starting with small circles, he stirs his wand before the sitting woman—then the circles grow, a spiral of magic woven together in a dance as old as the stone gathering places littering the British Isles, the land of her people, the land that Luna wants to return to, she wants everyone to return to. The spell Harry casts reaches out, stopping before Pansy's chest, and Pansy eyes it, watches it grow and swell, fat and ripe with meaning. Harry simply watches her, an expressionless mask painting him with the same strokes used by da Vinci and Monet.

Luna hopes. Wishes. But follows Harry's lead and just waits. And as the battle dances all around them, Pansy reaches out and touches the spiral of magic. Completes the spell.

"I'll ally with—" Pansy begins, looking up at Harry, eyes sharp, then her gaze snaps to Luna and they soften, warm brown. "—Luna." Luna gasps. "And I'll follow her lead until the end of this war."

The spiral of magic rises, like Whalebone Spout, then rains over Pansy, shadowing her skin in golden hues as it soaks in, penetrating her with the magical vow, seeping into her very core. Harry steps to the side, swaying from just having harnessed the ancient magic.

With a crooked smile, he bows once to Pansy, then turns to Luna. "She's all yours."

Luna nods, unable to encompass the joy that threatens to set her afloat. "You know, Harry. Doing this magic, in the middle of battle. We'll, you're a bit of a drama queen."

"Yeah." Harry grins. "I know." With nothing else said, he rejoins the fight, leaving Luna to help Pansy to her feet.

Pushing her specs up onto the crown of her head, Luna asks, "Will you stay here with us?"

Pansy smiles; it's soft. Everything about Pansy is softer. Their gazes are level and Luna finds herself leaning, just barely shifting like a new gravity well has been introduced into her universe.

"Yes, Luna. I will stay here with you."

~~~

Onto Part II

Fic - "History of the War" - HP/DM (R) Part II

Mon, 09 Nov 2009 15:44:23 GMT

~~~

Draco feels slightly guilty when he discovers he's not the only captive on the ship until he realizes Pansy's not Anchored with a charm, but free to come and go.

"I chose to stay here, Draco." Her eyes have changed, her posture eased. There's almost a smile on her lips as she catches something far away and stares at it, then tugs her focus back to Draco when he attempts to engage her in conversation. One of her teeth sparkles.

They are propelled under top sails only, running on westwards with another ship close on stern. The sky looks angry.

Over his shoulder Draco sees some of the merry gang of the Marauders. With Terry, Luna and Laura are Hermione Granger and her pet twit Ron Weasley. If that wasn't a mismatched pair…

He doesn't see Harry.

"What are they doing here?" he wonders, mumbling the words aloud, not really expecting an answer. From the crowd gathering he hears, "How many skulls." He swears it is Hermione that asked.

"Oh, they're exchanging crew, sharing supplies, having a gam."

With a snort, he stares down at Pansy. "How do you know?"

Her recent metamorphosis is shunted away by a familiar Pansy eye roll. "Come on, Draco. I've been sailing for a year now on the Dark Lord's ships. I know a thing or two about why ships do the bump and brush. Tonight—" she pokes him in the bicep with her red fingernail, "—there will be lots of drinking, sex and bad singing." She looks back up at the crew, he tracks her attention again. The crew has swarmed the rigging and shouts fill the air as people transfer from one ship to the other.

"But…." These people consider themselves soldiers in a war, how could they just get drunk out here on the open sea? "What if somebody attacks them during the night?"

Harry appears from below deck. Today the wind is sharp, the sky a dove-wing gray layered upon charcoal, layered upon a bleak swirl of black. The wind tugs at his hair, the open collar of his shirt. The man still wears indecent clothing that bares his chest, an angry scar now bisecting the tanned flesh.

They'd been talking lately.

"You were a prat, you know," Harry offered helpfully, pointing a crust of toast at Draco as if they weren't sure exactly who the prat was.

"Oh, well at least I wasn't a high and mighty Chosen One with the world fawning at my feet." He meant it as a joke, but Harry's face still took on a shield of annoyance, automatically pulled on and ready for battle.

Hermione's hand is held tightly in Ron's. They look cozy. Harry grins when he sees them; a parade of dimples line up in greeting. It seems wrong to Draco that someone who's killed so many can smile with such joy.

"You kicked me in the face."

Alarmed, Draco said, "I'm sorry. Really." He hadn't expected this change in direction, didn't want to remind Harry of his other misdeeds, lengthy and enough to leaden his soul. "You can't imagine the stress I was going through that year, with the Dark Lord's…" He stopped speaking. Harry's face had changed, turned into something amused, his great grin cracking his face. Draco couldn't look away.

"Oh, Malfoy. I'm teasing you." He offhandedly shook his head, shifted his shoulders. "All that was ages ago. We were boys back then."

"Potter, it was only five years ago."

Harry shrugged. "But in those five years, everything has changed."

And didn't they. Harry glances in his direction and catches Draco in mid-stare, and he smiles. Brighter than he smiled for Hermione. Draco finds his own lips slipping into an easy grin and beside him he hears, "Oh, yeah. Now I see how it is."

He lets the smile fade to something less brilliant than a star and raises a sardonic eyebrow at Pansy. "You see what, dear friend?"

She smirks. "Can't hide shit from me, Draco. I've known you far too long."

He starts, suddenly cold. "Well, at least I'm not lusting after Loony Lo—" A wand to his throat cuts off the majority of his next word. Wand? "Wha— What are you…? Why do you still have your wand?"

Pansy is livid, smoking like he hasn't seen her since Vince practiced the Crucio Curse on her puffskein. "Be good to her." The words menace, attack with subtle grace and Draco categorizes what Pansy must be thinking and feeling to push her to this precipice.

"Pansy." They both look over and see Luna, Harry standing right behind her, his Captain's persona pulled on tighter than an officer's cloak, stern, commanding. Draco shudders.

Pansy releases Draco and steps away looking off into the building storm like a cat who'd just knocked over the fish tank and had discovered the koi missing. A displeased cat.

"Pansy." This time it's Harry who speaks. "If you insist on attacking people on my ship, we will remove your wand." Pansy faces the two pirates, a casual glance at Harry and then her gaze halts on Luna.

Luna offers a conciliatory smile, a small lift to her shoulders that seemed to say 'well you did threaten someone.'

"I'm sorry, Draco." Pansy doesn't meet his eyes. "But please, don't insult Luna."

Dryly, Draco explains, "You do realize that everyone here calls her Loony." Pansy's eyes flash at him and Luna laughs, a high giggle of someone much younger.

"That is my name. Ivory Loony," she says with pride.

Pansy drops her eyes and simply shakes her head.

"We'll have to think of your name if you want to stay," Luna says. "Maybe Plundering Pansy or Buccaneer Parkinson or …"

Luna leads Pansy away with a look and Draco finds himself standing with Harry, the wind howling through the silence separating them. Harry moves to the railing as the house-elf Monkey scampers over the rigging preparing the ship for the high winds. Her whistle fills the air with shrill commands that Draco can't interpret. Harry's parrot and that lemur are nowhere to be seen, hiding from the weather. The sea roils and Draco's stomach does a dance. He'd taken a potion not long ago for sea sickness, but still, the flips continue.

Harry looks serene, at peace with himself and the world.

“You enjoy it out here... out at sea.” Draco's shocked.

"I love it." His voice is caught and carried away by the wind that races them across the white caps of the stirring water. "Always on the move. Never a dull moment." He turns away from the grey sea and looks at Draco. There is a smile on his face, a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, the rows of teeth attempting to belie the truth in Harry's soul. And suddenly, Draco tallies up another discovery. "I live on the edge of the world. Heaven is just beyond that edge."

A splash of cold spray surges over the bulwark; Draco hisses in a breath.

"But, aren't you tired of this?" he asks, wiping down his face with a lace napkin. "The lack of stability? The constant fighting?"

Before Harry can even open his mouth, Draco knows the truth, and nods to himself.

"Potter," Draco interrupts the impending lie. "You can be honest. I'm not your friend—" he sees a brief flash of something in the vibrant green of his left eye, "—and I'm not your supporter. I'm your rival. You don't have to soothe my ego or sway my opinion. Think of me as the one person you don't have to dazzle. To each other, there can be complete candor."

The wind pulls at Harry's hair, and his gaze slips down to a spot at the center of Draco's chest. Above them sea birds screech, heading for solid ground to weather out the impending storm. Harry turns back to the sea, his gaze soft.

"The sea is a fickle mistress, Malfoy. Some days she loves you like nobody can, cradling you, protecting you. You can read the wind by the waves and the shift of the gannet's wings and it's almost like flying when you're cruising across open water." Harry smiles, a shallow dimple popping up on his cheek, and glances briefly at Draco. Then his smile fades. "Other times, it's rough and tumble. There are squalls, late nights…. " A gust descends and ruffles the two men, causing Draco to reach out for the railing to keep his balance as the boat dips. "All the fighting."

Harry stops speaking and turns away from the sea. A wall rises between them and Draco wonders if he should regret the question. "Let's get below deck. There's a storm coming."

~~~

“Pass the mashed yams.”

Millicent slides a bowl across the smooth surface of the dining table, cramped with officers and guests. It bumps into a glass of pumpkin juice, almost knocking it over, but Draco stalls the tilt with one finger. Millicent grins at him, her mouth full of yellow mush and he shakes his head at her.

“Manners, Millicent,” Draco scolds. The clank of cutlery on tableware ceases and everyone gawks at him. “What? A Slytherin has more pride than that!” He jabs his knife at Millicent, who sticks her tongue out at him. Laura laughs.

Pansy clears her throat and mumbles something that sounds like, "Well, I can agree with that," but nobody stops and stares at her, nor Millicent as she shovels enough food down her throat to sustain a small horse, and Draco can't get his brain around this meal of yams, boring cheese and stale bread. He misses his clotted cream and fresh croissants. Fresh fruits. Flavor.

The lemur scampers through the door, crawls along a little net bridge spanning the roof of the galley, dangles by its tail and nabs an apple that has developed a patchwork of spots and then creeps away. Nobody seems to notice. Draco notices, he notices a bit of fur that shed from the animal onto the plate of yams, and pushes his plate away.

"I'm done." Standing, he ignores the looks and walks out onto the deck.

Terry and Harry are standing near the helm. They are close, heads bent together in conversation that looks equally as hot as it is cold. Harry's face is a stiff mask, his body rigid; Terry's hands are active, reaching out every so often as if to touch Harry, but are stopped short by some invisible shield.

The wind tears away words and phrases and carries them along the barque's deck to Draco's ears.

"I've told…" "…wont' you just…" "…the last time…"

Draco can't hear everything, but when Terry finally generates enough courage from his dance of reach out and pull back, he touches Harry, gently. Far more gently than a subordinate to his Captain, a friend to a friend.

For a moment, Draco thinks that Harry will melt into that touch. There is a softening to that impenetrable line of defense he'd built up, but then he recovers from his moment of weakness and shakes off Terry Boot's hand, turns away, and then he notices Draco.

So does Terry.

Draco can't help it, he smirks, and then returns to his room, just across the hall from Harry's.

On his way he passes through the galley again; he hadn't eaten enough and he remembers some peaches that Hermione's ships had unloaded during their gam.

"… like that batch we got three months ago. They all seemed happy about it. I mean, it isn't like Greenland is hell."

"Close to!" Laura says with a chuckle.

Draco slows his progress, watching Pansy whose eyes betray her interest in the conversation, her wonder.

"So Seamus has us intercepting another vessel off of the Glouchester tomorrow. We'll have to see who wants to go on the Greenland haul," says a sailor whose name Draco can't remember, other than he played Chaser for Hufflepuff when Draco had first started at Hogwarts.

"Maybe we can get some fresh veg; I so want some fresh veg," Luna mumbles.

"So, you haven't been killing everyone," Pansy asks. Blunt, but at this moment Draco appreciates her candidness.

Luna places her hand over Pansy's. Pansy takes on a little glow as a smile touches her lips. "No. We don't kill our prisoners," Luna says.

Draco can't help it. He steps forward, as shocked as Pansy, and asks, "But, then what do you do with everyone you capture? You can't keep them in that cave." He points his finger some random direction. The papers, the Ministry… Draco's father! They all say that the Order of the Phoenix, the Gold Marauder, Terror of the Irish Sea, and Black Death have been capturing merchant ships, passenger ships, all of the travelers going into and out of Britain via the sea, and robbing them of their cargo and sinking them. A watery death to half of the British pureblood wizarding population.

Everyone agrees to this!

Millicent barks some indignant noise at Draco. "Draco, do you think I'd side with those who are killing all the magical people? Come on, you dumbshit." Her voice is mocking. "I'm fighting the Ministry that is killing people. Your side killed off a quarter of the Muggleborns before the Order realized what was going on and shuffled them out of the country. Killed off or jailed in that Dementor infested hell."

Draco mumbles, "It's not my side," but nobody listens.

Millicent springs from her seat, her chair screeching loudly as it's roughly pushed away.

"We are not the Ministry!" Her eyes are wide, her lips pulled back to reveal square teeth.

Draco takes a step back, the paleness of his features lightening. "Then what do you do with them?"

Laura calmly takes a sip of her drink. "We Mind Alter them and drop them off with our people on Greenland." Draco's heart squeezes in his chest. "Then we set them up with new lives in other countries. Same with those unwanted by the Ministry." All this time, he thought that Harry Potter was killing off witches and wizards, innocents. "We have the Diggorys, Pliths, some of the Notts, Fudge and his lot, most of the Muggleborns we'd schooled with. We even have Andromeda Tonks and Teddy Lupin, your aunt and cousin, all safely tucked away." She pops a bit of cheese into her mouth.

He spares a glance at Pansy, who stares down into her plate of yam mash, her hands resting in her lap. He looks back up at Laura, whose large eyes study him.

Harry is not a murderer. Can it be true? Has everything he'd thought been wrong? How could he be so stupid, so duped? His father… His father told him that all of those people were dead. But then again, he might think that true. But Draco now knows the truth: Harry is not a murderer. He's a strong, confident, attractive non-murderer. Something in Draco's chest— maybe his lungs, maybe his constricted heart—flutters, does a little flip, and he knows right there that he's so fucking doomed.

He turns from the open stares and rushes back out to the deck. Harry is alone, facing the dark horizon.

"Potter." His voice is dry and the name comes out feeble. He swallows. "Potter!"

Harry turns and looks at him. Draco realizes he must look something odd if that reaction of Harry's is anything to go by. His eye opens wide; his shoulders lift as if ready to spring into action, something daring and heroic.

"I didn't know," he calls out across the open deck. "I didn't know you weren't killing everyone. I…" he swallows again. "I believed what they told me, what the Ministry told me." Harry's shoulders relax and a hint of pleasure crosses his face. "I'm sorry." The words just flow out of Draco and he doesn't care. "I'm sorry I thought you a monster. I'm sorry."

And he turns and flees.

~~~

Draco's sudden realization, the unbalancing of his world view, keeps him ensconced in his tiny room under the pretenses that he has a stomach ache.

Really, he is trying to think. A school of white minnows span the length of his ceiling. One of them stops and stares down at where Draco lies on his cot.

To think about home, about his office, his nice bed.

Think about that latest speech he'd delivered to the media and how he now feels like an utter fool.

Think about how long he's been single.

Not thinking about Harry.

He finds the task daunting, if starkly impossible.

From his vantage point in the entrance to his private room—now he finally realizes what a treat that is—he can see the Captain's quarters, the large table piled with maps and little sea-faring doohickeys of which he has no idea of their function. He can hear the low mutters of Harry, Luna and Terry as they plan their next trip, either to rescue some hapless wizarding folk standing up against the Ministry or perhaps to attack an incoming merchant vessel. If he bends his head just right, one eye peeking around the edge of his doorjamb, he can see into the room.

Harry hunches over the sea charts with Terry by his side, their fingers tracing lines that mean nothing to Draco, just squiggles and numbers that could mean the death of the next navel ship or the liberation of prisoners. Harry's finger taps one spot and Draco tries to crane his neck to see what it is that has drawn their concentration so keenly, but he can't see any detail from the border between his seclusion and Harry's world. He refocuses on Harry's mouth to read the words forming on lips chapped and pink, handsomely shaped with a full bottom lip. Terry and Harry talk. Harry nods. The bottom lip gets bit. Another nod.

It takes some time before Draco realizes he hasn't interpreted any of the rise and fall of lips as words and has only noticed the pinkness, the chapped scabbing, the joining and parting of motion.

Those lips.

Remorse unites with his tenaciously clutched denial, which has been whittled away, layer by layer, since he'd learned of the true fate of the pirates' captives. It isn't just the shape of Harry's body, or the fact that Draco has been abstinent for far too many years. It's the smile on Harry's lips when he sees Draco, the light in his eye when he laughs. The determination and fever that burns within him when he faces some injustice.

Draco crawls back onto his bunk. Thirteen days. He's only been here thirteen days.

When was it that Harry had caught his attention? Frightened his heart into this rabid pace? Upon the knowledge of his non-murdering status? The day of his capture? Perhaps it was their graduation ceremony, cut short by the Dark Lord's intervention and Harry's going to ground. Maybe it was that moment when a careless curse cut him in two, leaking out his life's blood.

Or perhaps, though Draco is loath to admit it, it was that moment when Harry refused Draco's hand, so many years ago. Immature and haughty, he wanted to be friends with the famous boy, and now he's the man's captive, locked away on a bilge heavy ship, mere feet apart from where he sleeps and Draco can't quite face what that does to him, in the dead of night.

~~~

Aberystwyth greets them with the cheery façade of Victorian buildings rising up five stories from the promenade. They rotate in color from blue to yellow, to pastel orange and green. All reminiscent of calm Easter shades that Luna finds comforting, unlike the idea of a rabbit that runs around to each person's yard planting colored eggs he'd recently laid. Who'd ever heard of a male rabbit laying colored eggs? Brown eggs, maybe.

The surrounding hills embrace the city, hold it close, protecting it from the Irish Sea and its annual revenge upon the land. The Rheidol River fades away into oak midlands, through the valley of lead mines and over the Devil's Bridge.

The city is a center of education, and has been a pirate headquarters for centuries, as is proper for a town fed by a river that runs the gauntlet through hell.

"Heave to," Luna calls out. The crew bustles about the ship like a meerkat mob, busy with this chore and that, readying the ship for their portage at the bay. The Skull and Snake of the Ministry camouflages their mast, as well as a Disillusionment Charm used to redirect interest from their vessel. Three other Order ships are docked here as well, under the same concealment.

"Lower the killick." The capstan winds, the anchor drops, the grinding sound heralding their arrival to solid land as much as a little bell once caused a dog to drool in a Muggle training exercise. The men ready themselves for a little R&R, eager to crack Jenny's tea cup as much as the dog was for a bit of kibble.

Luna watches it all with a keen eye, watching for the snargelpuss she's sure has boarded their ship since last they'd landed. Last week she thought she'd caught the flash of spotted tail. Maybe it would disembark, too. She's been leaving bits of fish around the ship's four levels and when she later checks on her bait, it's always missing.

Harry approaches her and she dips her head towards him, he nods stiffly at her, prim and proper as a Captain, then winks. Draco follows behind. His skin shimmers in the sun, as pale, or even paler, than her own. His eyes are glued to Harry's back, and she wishes the slow man would finally do something about his crush. Doesn't he realize that all he has to do is say, "Hi Harry, you're fairly keen, fancy a snog?" and her Captain, weak kneed for Draco that he is, would nod eagerly and drool, a mere suggestion from their guest triggering his need? Probably not. Men were slow that way.

One by one three-fourths of her crew disembarks. She will remain on watch until Harry or Terry returns. Pansy steps up beside her. Luna looks over and smiles. Pansy will be staying.

"Kiss me," Luna says, and Pansy does. See, it is as simple as that.

~~~

Though he is free to walk the streets of Aberystwyth, he is still a man on a tether, and not a long tether either. His nerves are strung high as he follows Harry around the town from one shop to the next.

Harry is cordial, sickeningly so. "Draco, did you need any new clothes? How about some treats, we can smuggle them into my quarters so the crew doesn't revolt. Interested in anything to read?" All said with charm, an edge of teasing that Draco, for all his experience—which isn't much—can't interpret.

It almost seems like Harry is flirting with him.

"Potter, if I smuggle my goods into your quarters, I'll need free access to come and go… all hours of the night." A flush simmers below Harry's tanned complexion even as he tosses off one of those cheeky grins, dimples, teeth, left eye so open and warm Draco is certain he'll fall into it.

"Well, I'll have to give you a key, then."

At this, Draco almost trips on the pavement where they are walking along the waterfront, but covers his surprise by leaning over and picking up a ball of paper to toss into a trash can. Harry watches him and that grin goes up three notches when he sees what Draco has done.

"Malfoy, I'm positively charmed. You even clean up the streets with your own two hands. I'm sure their list of skills is endless."

Damn, Harry is totally flirting with him and Draco's heart rumbles away as he attempts to walk normally down the busy streets with a half-masted erection. It's been far, far too long.

In the city, Harry has at least buttoned his shirt to the top and is wearing normal trousers. All of the crew have dressed to blend in with the Muggle population. The chest that Draco finds he has to bite his tongue more and more often to not pounce on and lick is hidden away. He's tired of waiting. He wants to get back to the ship and let his body do the thinking, maybe he'll pin Harry up against the wall, devour that chest, his neck, those chapped lips that are so fucking perfect. Maybe he'll strip and await him in his bed… there, Harry couldn't misconstrue that, now could he? They walk past a drug store and Draco wishes he could slip away and purchase lube, but he can't be more than twenty feet from Harry as a safeguard for him making a break for it. Not that he's gone beyond five, but still, the Anchor bruises his pride.

Hopefully, Harry already has lube.

Harry waves down a crewman who is looking wistful.

"Harry, sir," the man says with minimal fawning. Nobody calls each other by their Pirate names or ranks out here on the streets.

"Good afternoon, Barlow. Could you get these things back to my quarters for me?" Harry hands the sailor their purchases and the man simply nods and runs off.

"You probably just derailed that man's date, you know?" The sun has begun painting the sea; the mosquitoes arrive for their evening meal. Draco slaps at his arm.

Harry looks at him then waves his arm about. A passing Muggle ignores them, but Draco can feel the charm settle over his skin like a comfortable shirt, worn and soft. It feels like Harry. "That should help with the bugs," Harry says. "And don't worry about him; he's just come out of Jenny's. He's already had his date."

"Jenny's?"

"House of Pleasures," Harry explains with a wriggle to his eyebrows.

Something in Draco bristles. "Oh, I see. Go there often?" He finds that he's crossed his arms and taken a step away before he even registers his body moving.

Harry's eye widens; the lines of his face smooth out. He looks young, young and innocent. "No." One word, but it carries truth even as it's spoken with a tenderness that Draco can't quite suss out. "I don't go there. I've never been there." Harry looks away, a brighter pink than even before, and all of his confidence, his pure sense of self that just burns under his skin fades away, and before Draco stands a twenty-something, lost and alone in the world.

Draco reaches out, brushes the tips of his fingers up Harry's arm. Harry practically leaps at the touch, looking down where Draco's hand touches him as if amazed that such a thing could happen. Then, the distance and time lodge between them and suddenly Draco feels silly and lets his arm drop to his side.

Harry looks up at him, again he looks completely vulnerable. "Harry," Draco begins, taking a step closer, eyes on that single green window, blown wide open. Then his gaze drops, catches on the peeling skin, the swipe of a tongue as it moistens his lips. All he has to do is lean forward and he knows Harry will be his.

And so, he does.

In the middle of the street, on a warm spring evening, Draco Malfoy kisses Harry Potter, Pirate Captain, Bane of the Ministry. His lips are rough, his taste hot, but the gentle flex of mouth, dart of tongue, is tentative, untrained and Draco knows, knows that Harry has even less experience than he does, and he sums up all the reasons that that could be—war, the Dark Lord, fame Draco now knows Harry has never wanted—and hopes that however much trust Harry surrenders to him, Draco doesn't fuck this up.

There's a whimper and the heat from Harry's body practically scorches him. He wants to slow the kiss down, drive Harry to the edge of sanity solely with the tease of his tongue.

"Come on now. Gentlemen don't snog in the streets. Now look, you're drawing attention."

Harry pulls away first, turning his head towards the speaker; his arm still rests against Draco's back. Draco's hand is holding onto Harry's hip. It feels natural, like an embrace that they've always done since the moment they gained their walking legs. Draco can't seem to move, he's frozen by the sight of Harry, flushed, lips glistening, an inadequately suppressed smile as Harry says, "If we don't draw a crowd it won't be any fun."

His dimples herald his joy.

Finally, Draco looks over at Laura. Her hair has extra bounce today and she's grinning brilliantly. Everyone here's a laughing fool. Even himself, but he doesn't really care.

"See you at the Bildge," Laura calls as she continues down the street towards a cross alley. "Everyone's expecting you and I'll tell elaborate lies if you don't show up!"

Harry and Draco exchange glances. Draco knows what his choice is. He's hard, and Harry's still in his arms, and Merlin fuck it, who gives a shit what lies she tells. But Harry wants to go, he can tell by the look in his eye, staring off after Laura even as he clutches onto Draco. Torn.

Draco drops his hand and jerks his head towards the retreating woman as she disappears between two pale blue buildings. Harry nods and the two men go to join the pirate crew.

~~~

Luna introduces Pansy to everyone as if they'd never met. And that is kind of true, because this Pansy is allied with Luna in more than just will. Magic has been spent to prove it. Magic that Pansy has agreed to, unlike the spell she'd been under before. She's akin to a slave, a serf, a bonded servant, but Luna would never abuse her power, she isn't like that. She doesn't want to be seen by anyone as mad.

Everyone is there; well not everyone, but a lot of the old gang. A lot of the DA. Luna thinks back on those days with a smile. Before joining up with Harry, those were the best days of her life. It was the first time she'd ever had any friends.

"Seamus!" calls out Neville as Seamus strolls through the room. He's got a new tattoo of a woman on his arm, breasts disproportionately large, that dances like one of the girls at Jenny's when he flexes. Luna knows, she's been there once to see what all the excitement was about. She didn't quite understand the allure of such a place. What was the point of being with one unknown person for just a night?

She squeezes Pansy's hand. Pansy squeezes back. Luna knows it's better to wait for just the right person.

Then everyone gets quiet and without even having to look she knows the Captain and his Captive have just walked in. Harry's like that bloke Crusoe, and he's found his Friday. Though Luna thinks they kidnapped Draco on Sunday. Either way, it's obvious how powerless Harry had been before when she can see his strength now, with his right person by his side.

She smiles to herself. Can't they all see it's just better to wait?

"What the hell," Seamus says under his breath. Luna quells his next words with a look. Then with a shrug he downs his drink and hails the waitress for another.

"Are you all ready?" Margie, their waitress, asks. She counts up the forty-some people in the banquet room and starts numbering her notepad. "Separate checks I assume?" She's done this before.

Everyone orders. Seafood and steaks, steamed veggies, fresher than anything you can get on a boat at sea. They even retain their color. Millicent scarfs down five bowls of salmagundi. Luna orders a slice of banana cream pie. Disgusted, Pansy glares down at the plebeian place setting before her with only one fork and one spoon. Harry finds that funny, to the enjoyment of the entire back room.

"Here Pansy, take mine." He surrenders all of his utensils and picks up his chicken wing with his hands. All the purebloods look at him with a kind of mesmerized curiosity. When he finishes his chicken, fingers licked clean, he examines his mashed potatoes.

"Here, I'll make do with one fork," Pansy says, placing Harry's fork along the side of his plate and then patting it like an old pal.

Fingers poised over the fluffy pile, Harry seems disappointed.

"It's okay." Everyone stares at Draco Malfoy, whose face is impassive, eyes studiously sticking to his own plate of something Hungarian and full of mushrooms. "Eat it with your fingers if you want to eat it with your fingers." His voice is hard, but supportive in an offhanded way that is completely feigned. Luna smiles around her own spoonful of pie.

Harry grins and plunges two fingers into the mash, picks up a glob, licks off the potatoes, squishes it around in an attempt at chewing, and then swallows it down. Draco watches him, nose crinkled, but all judgement locked away. "Hmm, tasty," Harry murmurs as he sucks his fingers clean, very slowly and very thoroughly.

Pansy elbows Luna lightly in the side, jerking her chin towards Draco. He's gone pink, his mouth slack as Harry licks down one finger, sucks on it a bit, then dives in for more potatoes.

Pansy laughs, and Draco looks away, casually, like none of the laughing is directed at him. He eats another forkful of his meal, a tiny bite, and chews. Harry gives Pansy a sidelong look and a wink.

"I hear Red Beard Riley's in town," a sailor for the Righteous Triumph says.

"Red Beard?" Luna looks over at Harry, who is now slicing up a bean with his relinquished fork and knife that he's pilfered from somewhere, his remaining pile of potatoes marred with finger divots.

"I saw him," pipes up Billy, one of Millie's powder boys just signed on a few months back. "He was at Jenny's."

The pirates nod, eat their meal.

"Harry, sir."

Harry looks up at the young man, an amused quirk to his lips. "Billy."

"Did Red Beard really take your eye in a poker match?"

Draco's head snaps to look over at Harry, his gaze challenging, brow bunched in disbelief.

Harry shrugs. Everyone's already heard the story, but Billy is new to the crew. "He had a good hand," Harry says with a chuckle. Nobody else says a thing.

"Is that true?" Draco demands. "Someone plucked out your eye due to a lost bet?"

The smile on Harry's face wilts, then totally disappears. He resembles a man who'd just delivered the funniest punch line and nobody laughed. He brushes his knuckles against the rounded tip of his chin, and then shifts his shoulders.

"Well, sorta." He's gaze drops from Draco's face down to his own hand, still resting against his chin. Then his features lighten and he looks back up at Draco. "But it got me to fix my existing eye. I don't need glasses anymore; I can even see magic with it."

Luna feels sorry for him as he tries to convince Draco the Pacifist that losing one's eye is not a big deal, and was, in fact, an unexpected gift.

Draco opens his mouth to say something else, but Millicent calls out his name. "Draco." Everyone looks at her, her voice booming over the silent crowd.

"Millicent." Draco's tone is hard.

"What's with all this pacifist crap, anyway?" She continues to chew, looking at him with sly curiosity.

Draco glares at her, then Harry, then returns to Millicent, skewering them each on the heat of his anger. Then he deflates, the wind just dies, his sails laid flat. When he speaks, his voice is hollow like a breeze blowing over the edge of a cut bamboo. "The Battle of Ulcaster. Two years ago." Groans and nods, and more than a few of the diners stop to study their meals. "My mother, being an elected member of the Parliament at the time, was visiting with the Brevediers." Draco pauses, a shadow deepening across his brow. Luna's breath is held tight along with Pansy's hand in her own. He's remembering, like Luna does every September seventh.

"The Brevediers, if you remember," his words have developed steel, each one enunciated to a razor's edge, "had been fighting against the Ministry for better treatment for," he pauses, glances as Laura, "for Muggleborns. They disagreed with the deportation, they disagreed with the imprisonment."

"Yeah, sure… they were still going to ship us all off the Isles." Laura's fingers are pressed white as she grips her steak knife. "This is our home; this is where we were born!"

"Yes, but they were fighting for your lives!" Draco stands, slamming his fist against the table rattling silver and glassware, startling the tense flock of pirates as if they were yearling sheep. "It wasn't like you people were stopping it. She'd never been a member of the Dark Lord's people, you know. She was trying to help you."

He is disgusted, vile revulsion dripping from his scowl, from the pit of his gaze.

"But you killed her."

Laura takes to her feet, leaning towards Draco, both hands braced against the table. "We weren't the only ones there. The Death Eaters were hitting the place, that was why we even showed up. We weren't there for the Brevediers or your mother. We knew the Death Eaters would be there!"

With a scowl, Draco dismisses her argument. "You and them. You and the Ministry. Everyone else is just stuck in the middle. Terribly regrettable deaths. All you know is violence and pain. You people are insane, you know that? Read any Muggle psychology manual and you will find people like you labeled psychopaths." Blank faces all around stare at him. Seamus looks insulted. Harry won't meet Draco's eyes.

"Harry lost his eye." He points at Harry where he sits motionless. "His eye, and all you can do is laugh about it. That is the very reason I can't support you. You all thrive on violence and where exactly has that ever gotten any of you? Eyeless. So blind no one can tell their arse from a hole in the ground."

He throws his napkin on the table, an impotent action, but still Pansy flinches next to him. Draco turns to storm away, but is stopped short, pulled tight by the Anchor around his neck.

"Potter. I want to go." His voice is a smidgen above a whisper, sharp like glass.

Harry stands up and takes a step towards Draco. "Okay, Malfoy. Let's go back."

~~~

The Anchor hangs loosely from Harry's fingers, the enchantment broken. Draco is free to come and go, though he feels more trapped than he had when strapped to that cold aluminum chair. The rigging creaks around the two men as they lean against the railing on the quarterdeck, the wood worn smooth by endless caresses.

Harry relaxes his hand and the charm falls to the water to lose itself among the rocks of the bay floor.

A heavy stillness holds court between them: lack of words, lack of actions. Draco wonders how he will ever get off this ship, away from these people who have no earthly idea of the price of their peace. Peace cannot be gained by violence. All it gains are broken hearts and lost limbs… lost years.

He could walk away, but somehow that seems like a dead end. He's trapped, his will, his heart, eaten away. Perhaps it isn't Terry Boot he has to worry about after all.

"You okay?" Harry asks and Draco wonders how anything can be okay.

"Sure."

The breeze is soft, the night air cool against his skin. He remembers when his mother used to blow against his face, teasing him into closing his eyes so she could magic up a lemon drop or licorice wand when his father wasn't watching. He remembers everything.

"It's all history," he says under his breath, staring at the fading ripples the Anchor's plummet had conjured.

"What is?" Harry asks, though Draco is certain he has to understand. He's got his own history to survey like an army of old wounds.

"Everything. Everything gone and buried; everything behind us, in the past." He looks over at Harry; he's brushing the tips of his fingers against the leather of the patch.

"I guess you are right." A pause, then Harry dips a shoulder, shifts towards Draco. "Listen Draco… about my eye…."

Draco shrugs. "It's all history." Maybe he doesn't want to know.

"By losing my eye I gained respect from one of the most important men on the seas. By gaining his respect I got a ship, the knowledge of sailing, a crew… a chance to do something, to undermine Voldemort in some way. It gave me power. I gave up my eye for power."

"Whatever," is all Draco says. In a way, he can understand. But it was years earlier when he would have agreed.

Harry pushes himself to standing, crosses his arms as he studies Draco. "Draco."

Draco adopts a bored expression and turns towards him.

Harry reaches up, his fingers shake a moment, hesitate, and then in one swift move he pulls off the patch, his lid closed, sunken. Then with deliberate slowness, Harry opens the eye.

Draco catches his breath. He doesn't see a mar of flesh, a scared up wound. Instead he finds an endless pit, a gaping hole that sucks in light and magic and everything that comprises the essence of the living.

Harry closes the eye, replaces the patch.

"What…" Draco's voice trembles. He tries again. "What is that, Potter?"

With a sigh, Harry turns away, the weight of an honest answer pressing on his shoulders like the weight of the world's expectations. "It's a long story… But it's the last trace of Voldemort's soul."

Draco doesn't know what to say, doesn't quite understand but he realizes that Harry is right, whatever it is in that maw of blackness is twisted and consuming, just like the Dark Lord.

Harry faces the sea spread out beyond to the very edge of the earth. "When he killed my mother, he split up his soul. Part of it implanted itself into me."

"You're a Horcrux?" Draco asks, catching his breath even as the words escape his verbal editor.

"Oh, so you do know of his immortality." Harry doesn't seem surprised. "Yes, I am…" Then suddenly, Harry faces Draco again. "But we've got something planned. All the others are destroyed…. And mine…" he touches the leather, "well, let's just say that with Hermione on our side, we've figured it all out. My Soul Patch keeps the power of the soul in check. It sucks the energy from it, constantly gaining intensity as Voldemort's soul feeds it. All that's left now is a small shard in my eye, a weak thing. If we put Voldemort and the patch in contact, it'll activate, smothering both souls."

Draco's breath catches. "You mean…?"

"Yeah." Harry smiles. Draco's heart catches against his ribs. "Put old Voldy together with my eye patch and it's no more Voldy."

Right there, before Draco's eyes, is the end. The end of the violence, the end of death. Kill one insane man, no, half of a man, to save many. Could he condone such a thing?

"That's it?"

"Yep. Their contact is all that's needed."

It seems so simple. And to think, all these years, Harry has been carrying around a piece of such evil, and still he struggles to do the right thing.

"Does it hurt?"

"My eye?"

Draco nods.

"When I was younger my scar hurt all the time. Did you know that?" Draco shakes his head. "Yeah, like Voldemort was chiseling his way through my brain. That was nothing, Draco." Draco isn't sure he hears that right.

"What?"

"That pain, it was nothing. This hole in my eye, the patch sucking the power from Voldemort's soul. I hurt all the time." Harry says this with a casual air that can't be real.

"How can you deal with it?"

He shrugs. "You just deal. I figure, someday I'll kill his sorry arse and be done with it." He grins wide. "It will all be history."

Draco can't understand him, and as he shakes his head in disbelief Harry's smile softens, the light in his gaze grows warm as it brushes across Draco's face.

"This is all history, you know. My eye, the patch, pirates, you being on the ship. This war."

"How can you call this history? The war is going on, right now. History implies something in the past, Potter." Here he can correct, drawl, point out faults. Here, Draco feels on solid ground again. He doesn't have to think of Harry in constant pain. That his only release is the death of another individual, even if that man is a warlord.

"I know. But we are living it. Living history. Our children won't have lived through it, it will be something they study in a dry class that gives dates and figures. But we'll tell them. We'll tell them all about what happened. The injustice, the horror. We will tell them everything and make it real, this history."

Draco nods. And wonders if any of them will survive this history to pass the truths on at all.

~~~

It's been a week since Aberystwyth and the revelation about the Horcrux and Harry's eye patch. Draco can't look at Harry in the same light anymore, seeing him as a walking bomb, a smiling, dashing, walking bomb.

And he can't look at Harry and not be drawn to his lips, remembering the brush of them, wanting more of it.

For long hours Harry and Terry pore over the charts, Luna adding her own opinions on where they should sail next. Draco watches it all from the entrance to his room, the flicker of Caribbean blue from above giving him a feeling of seclusion. When Harry looks up, trying to catch his eye, Draco turns away and walks amongst the crew, below the shrouds, along the deck, talks to the phoenix guiding their way, watches the weather and the moody sea. At times the phoenix looks at him, carved of wood and soaked with sea brine, but it never offers any answer to Draco's questions.

What should he do?

Where should he go?

Who should he help?

All answers lead to Harry, like the ancient roads across Europe led to Rome thousands of years ago.

"So, I've decided," he tells the masthead, "that all I can do is wait."

"Wait for what?"

Draco turns and there is Luna, hat askew blocking most of her face in the dim of the evening. She wears a sword at her waist and that is enough to make Draco handle her with care.

"For you and Potter to let me go," he says with a nonchalance he doesn't really feel.

"Oh, do you still want to go?" she says, genuinely shocked. "We're not keeping you."

What should he do?

"I'm quite invested in my personal freedom and safety." The masthead's eye rolls back to look at him. "And it isn't like I can just jump in the sea and swim for shore."

"I thought you would be happy here, Draco. I've even been working on a new name for you." She looks up into the rigging for a moment, watches the lemur shimmy along the ropes. "Death's Head Draco. Marauding Malfoy." She looks back at him. "Though that's too close to the ship's name," she pats the ship's railing, "and people might think she's yours."

"I don't want to be a part of your pirate crew."

What should he do?

"We could stop somewhere to drop you off, but I think now probably isn't the best time."

"Why?" Draco demands. Have they found the Dark Lord?

With a wistful brush of her hair from her shoulders, she says, "Well, there are plans being laid out. And Harry seems happy to have you here, even though you're avoiding him." Draco flinches. "Are you mad at him? Has he done something?" She cocks her head at him.

"No," he mumbles. Then the silence tears from him, "He hasn't done anything."

"Oh, well that's too bad. I thought he'd have you moved to his cabin by now."

Draco's eyes bulge, then he coughs, pulling his dignity in tight. "I'm not so easily had." Even to his own ears it sounds frantic, unplanned.

"Neither is Harry." Luna nods at him, her plume bouncing with the bob of her head. Then as if summoned by magic, Harry's pops his head up through the nearby hatch. He notices Draco and smiles.

"What are you guys talking about?"

Luna stares down at her Captain. "You." Then she whisks away like a leaf on the breeze.

Harry leans against the coaming, that grin still playing on his lips, chapped yet full. Draco forgets himself and readily smiles back.

What should he do?

"I hope that's a good thing," Harry says; a look in his eyes lets Draco and the night sky and the sea all know he's certain it's a good thing.

And finally Draco surrenders. "Yeah, it is."

~~~

That night Draco doesn't sleep alone. He's wrapped up in Harry, lips and limbs and fingers crawling through hair, over skin. Harry tastes like the sea, salty and a little fishy, with his own musky flavor that calls to Draco, calls to the cells in his body, the core of his magic.

They balance between gentle and frantic, a kiss, then a bite, fingers toying and plunging. Draco prepares Harry as Harry murmurs to him how long he's wanted this, how long he's waited. Draco can't grasp that right now with Harry's hot breath ghosting across his skin. He can't comprehend the words of 'so long' and 'never before' and as Draco positions himself he looks directly into Harry's face and is lost.

The potency of the moment is cemented by the desperation painted there with sweat and spit, and then Draco sinks into Harry, his nerve endings sparking with life and passion and hope.

That night Draco is no longer alone, like he's been for years. For as long as he can remember, Draco has always felt alone.

That night he dreams. He dreams of Harry, his body, his cock. He dreams of those dimples smiling at him forever. He dreams of future possibilities.

And he dreams of the void behind the eye patch, the promise of dark eternity.

That night the bells rip him from his dreams and there are shouts that they are on the move. Harry leaps from the bed, dressing with fervor as the Gold Marauder races over the midnight sea, cries letting all that can hear know that Voldemort's location is known.

"Captain! Captain, we've got him." Terry barges in, is brought short by Draco, still half undressed, chest covered in bites, hair an array of startling chaos. Harry stands up from tying his shoes. Silence, then Terry nods. "Cardiff, Harry," he says in a steady voice. "Voldemort's in Cardiff.

~~~

The Dark Lord is supposed to be here because of a new potion laboratory and a Philosopher's Stone that he had commissioned. Just what the bastard needed, more means to endless life.

With the merfolk's aid, they make it to the shores of Cardiff an hour before dawn, their movements hushed by the lap of the sea. The spy planted close to the bosom of the Ministry had informed them that the Dark Lord was traveling on the Serpent's Skin, a fast, well-armored ship, cut to the bones to lighten her. She didn't even have lifeboats. And now there she floated, asleep in arrogant, uncaring grace, the soft slap of waves against her hull a lullaby to seaman's ears.

But not to Draco's. He'd insisted on coming along and his wand, now returned to him, is drawn and he waits, like everyone else, by Harry's side

What should he do?

He had decided. He would be by Harry's side. Protecting him as he could, along with half the crew. Luna and Pansy remained on the Gold Marauder, along with a few able-bodied pirates and the powder boys who were too young and inexperienced for dueling and wand combat.

Like ghosts, they rise from the ocean brine, water sloughing off like a selkie's skin. Ropes shoot from their wands, digging into the hull as eager as the roots of spring flora. As they prepare to climb, Draco lets himself consider the cost of this endeavor, the price of friendship, possibility… freedom. He swallows, grabs the rope, and hauls himself up.

Embraced by the night, the pirates search the ship, first the deck, then below deck and finally Terry Boot stomps up the stairs with all the elegance of an elephant. "It's a trap. There's nobody here."

As one unit they all look towards the Gold Marauder and through the developing fog see the false dawn of flames.

Without Apparition, all they can do is summon the long boats and beg the merfolk to pull them fast on charmed currents. Like watery knights, the crew surges towards their ship, towards their friends, towards the end, breaths held, prayers repeated in a mantra to every god imaginable that this night they would succeed.

While Draco watches Harry, the Captain watches his ship. And Draco is not the only one turning to Harry. The air about the crew is sharp, tinged with anger and desperation. This isn't about the war, tonight, this has become personal. The man stands at the prow of their little boat, back straight, a silhouette against the black velvet of the sky, the glow along the horizon. The bob of Harry's Adam's apple the only hint that everything wasn't in his control.

Without the need for stealth the trip is fleeting and soon enough the wizards and witches mount the ropes, summon brooms, are pressed up by hands and shoulders. They climb each other in haste and sooner than they hoped, the Dark Lord's men meet them in war.

He's the fourth over the bulwark, the flood of pirates behind him pressing him over the railing, tumbling him lemming style, thrown into the unknown. Someone steps on his hand, another kicks him in the shin, and still they come, even as the Death Eaters swarm them with a volley of stunners, Cruciatus, and the green flash of death.

Someone to his right drops and Draco dives for the scant protection of the main mast, screaming out Deprimo to a cluster of black-robed wizards, taking no time to watch as the explosion throws the men to the four winds.

"Not my ship!" screams Harry, and Draco's shoulders loosen. The fallen man is not Harry.

He snatches a glance around the mast and sees MacTavish shooting jets of electricity from his wand. An arc of it jumps to the metal in the rigging, leaping from pulley to pulley. Draco watches as it zips for the lemur, scurrying as fast as it can, and then in a crack Monkey appears, grabs the primate and pops away again as the lightning continues to fry a path to the crow's nest.

"Diffindo." A rumble consumes the sounds of battle as the main sail slips from its gaff, thundering as the weight of it pulls down rigging and the sail's supports. Flames rise over the side railings and the ship groans as they eat away at its flank.

He spots Harry near the forecastle, stunning and disarming when he can, and lashing out with the pure power of his magic when the non-deadly fails. Draco stands, back pressed to the reassuring solidity of the mast, and then he dashes forward, shielding himself with defensive charms as he skips over bodies and broken pieces of ship, and is finally by Harry's side.

"Have you found the Dark Lord yet?" Draco asks, breath shallow with adrenalin and fear.

"I saw him." Harry stuns another invader. "He's towards the stern, and Luna's back there too."

Draco nods, though realizes Harry probably can't see him so says, "Let's get up there, then."

Together, they push through the mash of pirates and foes, keeping close to the port side to avoid the no man's zone in the center of the deck awash with the deadly crackle of magic.

Time slows, a rusty beast that ticks one moment to the next, and Draco brings up his shield as Harry rockets the Dark Lord's men with a volley of explosive curses that rip and maim. There is blood and Draco feels he'll go blind with it all, even as he protects the men and women of Harry's crew with his own power, warning them of attacks from hidden places.

"Boot!" he calls out. "Duck!" And Terry obeys. The Slicing Hex lodges into the wood and in the next tick of the clock Terry petrifies the attacker with his own spell.

All Harry has to do is get close enough, bring that patch in contact with the Dark Lord's skin, pale, sickly, no longer that of a pure wizard. He's so far from blood purity that Draco finds it amusing, in a maddening way, that the man still promotes such bigotry.

It's all just a lie.

Insanity.

The battle roars around them, but where Draco and Harry are waiting behind a shroud the air is still and silent. Like the universe is holding is breath. Waiting.

A pink glow of the dawning morning sends its tendrils over the deck of the ship, the rigging, the blinking eye of the phoenix masthead causing the wooden bird to look alive with a burning fire.

A curse slices the main mast, snapping the rigging. Draco knows that to Harry it would be like the flaying of his own skin. He looks up and casts "Reparo" before the stalk of wood topples and hopes that Harry can battle on.

They are almost to the mizzen when he hears Luna cry out, followed by the rapid-fire casting of Pansy, and Draco is torn, torn between helping his friend, or watching out for Harry as he dives and dodges, dancing an act of wicked determination.

"Help them," Harry manages to order as Terry attempts to disarm Graham Pritchard, maskless now in the day of the Dark Lord's rule.

Draco turns and sprints for the two witches.

He scans the deck, cataloging loss and damage, fallen allies and fallen foes. Luna is down; the once fluffy feather sprouting from her hat snapped into two, the sword at her side now drawn as her broken wand lies useless at her side.

Pansy, in a very Gryffindor charge, lunges at a man in his august years--Clothius Prince, a distant relative of Severus'--stunners and Sectumsempra rolling from her wand like ocean spray on a stormy day. The man is skilled and he twists and guards, a tribal power to his writhing body.

Draco flanks him and cries out Expelliarmus, but the man tosses up another shield even as he dodges a Dismemberment Curse.

"Fuck!" Draco tries again and with a swirl of fabric the man faces Draco and Draco realizes, in a stark moment of self-awareness, that he is scared. Shitless. The wand raises, even as Draco swishes his own, pulling the armor of magic around him that will (hopefully) stop whatever it is the man has planned for Draco.

The curse light is green, and Draco watches as it charges for him. Green in one moment, a bottomless void in the next. His mind finds Harry in this instant before death; he thinks of his life and hopes that he's done a little good, made Harry proud somewhere in their short interlude beyond swapped insults and immature threats.

Draco closes his eyes.

But the curse never hits.

"No!"

The voice is Luna's and he's loath to open his eyes and see Pansy, lifeless, but he knows he can't stand there struck blind and dumb, so he braces himself and pries open his eyes. The sight he sees is nothing that he expected. His heart is pounding like a rabbit's that has just escaped the wolf's jaws. Because like the rabbit, he's given a reprieve.

Next to the fallen body of Clothius Prince is the furred body of some animal he'd never seen before. Luna is crouched over it, petting the long spotted tail, brushing the pointed ears tenderly.

"It saved us," she says, true sadness weighing down her words.

Pansy is standing behind Luna, breasts heaving with her wand arm hanging heavy at her side, eyes wide.

"What happened?" Draco asks.

Pansy looks up at him, her expression slowly gathering itself to something more fitting. She shrugs. "I don't know. This cat thing just ran out and leapt into the way of the spell and I had a chance to curse the fucker."

In a quiet voice Luna says, "I knew you were on this ship. I just knew it."

Draco opens his mouth to ask something, anything, but he's frozen when he notices the Dark Lord and Harry facing off. They are circling each other like tigers on the quarterdeck, painted rose by the rising sun. How did it get to be morning already? Draco wonders if the minutes were counted off with each arrested heart.

What should he do?

He has to be up there. Nothing has ever felt so essential, not the death of his mother, not his peace activism, nothing. With his head low he runs for the stairs, taking them two at a time until he's on the quarterdeck behind Harry, the wizard's back straight, his shoulders relaxed.

His wand held firm.

"Ah, young Malfoy," says the Dark Lord, not taking his eyes from Harry. "I see you've given up your pacifism to betray me and your father."

The Dark Lord has a stench; it saturates the air and Draco can taste it on the back of his throat. It's an odor of putrefaction. The scent of damnation. His eyes gleam, reflecting the crimson flames.

In a calm voice Draco says, "It's the British magical citizens that I've chosen not to betray."

"Ah, such green idealism. I see nothing much has changed with you, even though you've had every opportunity to become so much… more." The Dark Lord chuckles, a dry sound too reminiscent of desiccated leaves rolling across hot pavement. It stirs within Draco loneliness, and dread.

"I'm a better man than my father… Or you. You've drowned everything in lies, stolen away choice."

The two are no longer circling each other, only calculating and watching for movement. Draco knows the timing is everything. Timing and speed.

"The people do not need choice," the Dark Lord says with contempt. "They need to be told what to believe. Then, and only then, will there be peace, will there be productivity. I am creating a utopia, Draco. I'm sorry that you cannot see that for the truth that it is. The most important truth of all."

And then Harry flicks his wand, jutting it out like a fiery brand and the Dark Lord swipes his through the air. The blue and green meet in the air, intermingling into colors as vibrant as those of nebulas and newborn stars. Then they separate once more and Draco reaches out, ready to push Harry because he's just not moving quickly enough. Just not quickly…

The green envelopes Harry and this time there is no mother to offer up her love and Draco doesn't comprehend how such a thing is done. From the corner of his eye Draco watches as the Dark Lord slams into the quarterdeck's railing and slumps against the timbers.

Draco's heart stops, then beats a heavy thump. Maybe… Maybe Harry is stunned. Maybe he's just dazed.

What should he do?

He looks from Harry's to the Dark Lord's forms. With hands shaking, fucking shuddering with palsy, he fumbles with the eye patch, avoiding that hollow recess. Harry had said that all that was needed was contact. The patch and the Dark Lord's skin. Patch in hand, Draco stumbles towards the fallen Lord and with little finesse, he drops to his knees and presses the leather patch to the bare skin of the Dark Lord's hand.

A wave of invincibility swallows Draco down, blocking out the world, the war, the dawning of the broken day. A gust whips his hair, tugging it with anger and with greed as lightning flashes between the clouds above like silverfish dance upon the waves. There is so much energy, it spills over with nowhere to go; sucking, drowning, swallowing him and soon he is lost in it, unable to surface.

"Draco."

Within the tempest Draco hears his name. A fragment of breath.

"Draco."

The heat burns him, chars his core, his spirit. He struggles to rise, to surface and breathe and he wants to live, to fucking live even in a shattered world.

"Draco."

His name. He focuses on his name and he follows the soft word through the maze of destruction and in the end he sees him, Harry, standing near a doorway, arched and hollow and telling tales of old bones.

"Draco."

"Harry?" A flash of intuition, instant. He knows. "No."

And like the dew settled on desert sands, Harry evaporates in the rising sun and Draco stands over the prone form of the Dark Lord, breathing no more.

And neither, he knows without checking, is Harry.

~~~

They look down upon the body. Captain, Oh Captain! From the fogged-in seacoast the doleful ringing of bells rolls across the shallow waves as the crew gather around their Captain, lifeless. Another soul lost in the feast of violence.

Harry had said the gentle touch of heaven could be found at sea; Draco can see only death in the chilling waves, the Kingdom that swallows down promise as an afterthought and then slackens to smooth glass in the next shift of light. Mercurial.

A tear finds its escape and flows freely along Draco's cheek. Their connection, Harry's death, these tears, they all seem a part of some destiny, like the fateful wind, driving him along a path he has no power over, just trying to stay afloat, trying to drift along the most gentle channels, only to lose himself in the storm.

He fights this battle, a hard crusade that he will never win. He had wanted peace, he had wanted freedom, but all he'd found was the ebbing tide, pulling him out, pulling him out, pulling apart all that was gentle within him, thread by thread.

And now he has killed. Voldemort is dead, a dawning world at his feet. But the murder tastes like ashes in his mouth. To save so much, he has killed. But it was all for naught, for nothing. Harry, his Harry, is gone.

There he lies, Captain, My Captain! a cold corpse.

Draco's tears are not the only ones raining in the awakening day.

He looks up and stares out to the sea, flecked with sun-jewels dancing upon the cold gray through parted mist. The wind is dead, nothing stirs. The sea mourns, she has lost yet another lover. Draco hates that the sea held Harry longer then he ever would.

The mournful bells ring out. 'Harry!' he wants to scream. 'Harry, rise up and hear the bells. Rise up and be with me.' But all that happens is he swallows words he cannot say and Harry lies where he has fallen, cold and dead.

The End

Passages from O Captain! My Captain! by Walt Whitman are used in this story.

Harry Potter Themed Art Card/Craft Exchange

Mon, 19 Oct 2009 14:54:07 GMT

It's that time of year again.

What is it?

It is an exchange where people draw art on a blank post card, make some sort of crafty item, make a collage, write a poem on handmade paper, cookies (note allergies), or maybe even knit a Weasley sweater, and mail it to your recipient by the Holiday season. Last year there was a good smattering or beautiful art, as well as amazing crafts and stories. (I love my SOCKS!) The point is to send something creative to your recipient with a Harry Potter theme. Who doesn't love getting fun stuff in the mail?

Even if you think you aren't creative, can't draw or paint or write, join up anyway. If all you can do is stick figures, by all means, draw stick figures!

Who can participate?

Anyone with a love for art, getting things in the mail and Harry Potter. You don't have to be on my Flist, so pass this on if you want.

And yes, International participants are of course welcome!

Note: those who signed up but did not fulfill their obligation last year are not allowed to participate.

When are sign ups?

Sign ups go from now until Friday, October 30th. That gives people almost two weeks to sign up.

When do I mail my card?

The point is to send something out during the Holiday season. So please send it with the arrival time close to the recipients holiday of choice (or near the end of December if no holiday is chosen.)

How do I sign up?

Fill out the form on my other LJ and post it in the comments there. Comments are screened.

NOTES:

Your art does not have to be holiday themed, but by all means focus it on the holiday if you wish.

You can sign up for up to three cards/exchanges. But remember, signing up to get three means you have to mail off three.

Please scan or photocopy or somehow send me an image of your art so I can post it by January 1st, 2009. Send it to winnett at gmail.com with a heading telling me your LJ name, your recipients LJ name, as well as the 'title' of your work.

Please make sure anything rated R or higher is sent in a separate envelope for privacy purposes.

Here is the collection of amazing work from last year. Harry Potter Holiday Exchange 08

Thu, 15 Oct 2009 15:09:30 GMT

Art Rec

Snarry, Top!Harry, Bondage, R

Subjugation by himlayan

Wow. *wipes away drool* Umm.. I think I have a new artist to fangirl.

Tue, 13 Oct 2009 23:48:45 GMT

HD Career Fair Art Rec

Draco's Post-War Prophesy
Summary: Draco consults an oracle for insight on repairing the wards of Malfoy Manor. The poor man gets a prophesy, which, of course, comes with a Potter. And jewelry. Gaudy, gaudy jewelry.

Oh, so much cuteness and fun. It's a large comic and totally worth the five minutes it will take you to read it. The author/artist had a ton of fun with this one, you can tell. The baby dragon (Skree) and Defense Owls OWN, but Harry is sweet and Draco stunning Draco with his cheese Tudor heirloom.

Mon, 28 Sep 2009 19:41:57 GMT

More recs from the weekend.

The List
Draco needs to get married before he turns 30 in order to claim an inheritance. With the help of his little black book and restaurant owner, Harry Potter, Draco dates as many women as possible in order to find the one worthy of being his bride. NC17, 15,000 words

This story has a bit too much 'talking heads', where there is dialogue but no action, but it works perfectly for the way the story is laid out. It is funny and witty and just too amusing on many levels.

Draco has a list of prospective brides and the info in each list entry is straight from Malfoy's brain. Then Harry comes into the scene and we have Draco refusing to acknowledge his attraction while Harry deals with a little side plot of working the accounts of his restaurant.

It’s a fun, quick read, full of wit and charm.

Thu, 24 Sep 2009 19:45:49 GMT

Stories from America
Harry has built a new life for himself in Florida. Draco is the journalist who stumbles into it. R

Okay, this is that true love story that gives you a rollercoaster of happiness, worry, glee, understanding. It gives you hope. Draco stumbles on Harry in his new life, intent on getting his story, but instead he ends up getting something entirely different.

The relationship build was beautifully paced and very natural. All from Draco's POV, you can't help but love him from the opening as Solarius Karp, who, Draco decided, was kind to old ladies. Insightful, warm and just a good feel-good story.

Career Fest Recs

Thu, 24 Sep 2009 16:28:20 GMT

hd_career_fair. Read it.

I mean, really. It's got some good stuff.

I wasn't planning on reccing, because I just don't have time to put a ton of effort into reading and editing… but well, you know me and my obsessions. Anyway, I'll be reccing as I'm reading. First I want to say everything is good and has charm. If I didn't rec something, it doesn't mean you shouldn't read it. It is only one person's taste. And I am saving the long ones for when I have more time… so you won't find my recs in order.

Anyway, enjoy!

Fashion Advice
Draco is a personal fashion stylist to the rich and famous. His biggest challenge yet is his old school rival, who is determined not to listen to a single word he says. NC-17

This is a comic strip done by an artist that most of us known well (but it's a secret). Lovely, hot and fun. I love the characters expressions, Harry's bulge in his shorts (that's one of my favorites), and the fact that they switch!

Incidental Charms
Draco Malfoy has spent the last twelve years trying to build a successful business in a post-war world where the Administration has replaced the defunct Ministry for Magic and pure-bloods' rights are almost non-existent. Now his company, DACH Inc., is under the scrutiny of Senior Para Investigator Harry Potter and Malfoy must tread carefully. Administration Crossover. NC-17.

I haven't read the Admin Series yet, though I do want to one of these days when I have a year of time to do nothing but read. ;) Anyway, this story defines the world well enough that you don’t have to read the Admin Series to understand it, yet still keeps it very Harry Potteresque. There's some hot bondage scenes, and the right amount of angst that keeps you on the edge. This Harry is not a Harry that I can … forgive. But I can still love him. Harry and Draco are just trying to get by in a broken world. Amazing writing, create descriptions… Definitely a gem.

Fic - "Not Forgotten" - Harry and Teddy, Gen, G

Mon, 10 Aug 2009 16:50:09 GMT

Title Not Forgotten
Author winnett
Prompt Written for leochi's 50 Kid's Table Prompt #14: He's Gone.
Characters Teddy and Harry
Rating G
Summary Teddy's dad may be gone, but he's not forgotten.
Words ~330

Originally Posted Here

Teddy grabs for the hovering ball, brilliant and sparkly. Larger than a snitch with the lumbering quality of an airborne turkey, it dangles before the small hands eagerly reaching. Like a psychedelic rainbow, Teddy's hair shifts from one primary color to the next, mimicking the ball.

His Uncle Harry gave him the ball. His uncle gives him lots of toys.

The mantle above the Floo is lined with photographs, grinning people, friendly and always happy to see Teddy. Many pictures of his ma jockey for space, a flock of brightly haired mothers smiling with love and joy at her son. There are fewer pictures of his father, a lonely looking man, scarred but with warm brown eyes.

Uncle Harry talks about dad a lot.

"Hey Teddy!"

Teddy turns from the ball, excited to see Uncle Harry. Harry leans down, reaching for Teddy who willingly lets himself be lifted and wrapped up in Harry's arms. "You been good?"

Teddy nods. "Yes!" He wonders if Uncle Harry has another toy for him. He snuggles up to the man, smelling his scent of leather and sweat, comforted by the familiarity of it. This is what a father must smell like.

"Look what I have, Teddy." Harry sets him back on the ground and Teddy waits patiently. From his pocket Harry pulls out a picture set in a wooden frame and enlarges it. Uncle Harry squats down and shows Teddy the picture. It's one of his father and three other men. One of them looks a lot like Harry.

His father looks happy.

With a steady hand, Teddy reaches out and touches the picture. Photograph dad reaches out and touches him back.

Suddenly, Teddy feels an overwhelming sadness and he hiccups a, "He's gone," before the tears splatter on the glass covering. He'll never meet his father; sometimes that realization smothers his joy.

"I know, Teddy," Harry says with a kiss to Teddy's mousy brown hair. "But he loves you so much, and between you and me, he will never be forgotten."

Art for 'Not Forgotten' by leochi

Fic - "Secrets of a Mushroom Ring" HP/DM/SS (NC17) - Part 1

Mon, 15 Jun 2009 23:47:43 GMT

Title: Secrets of a Mushroom Ring
Author/Artist: winnett
Pairing/Threesome: Harry/Severus/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Fairy induced loose tongues. A bit of Animagi!bestiality. A bit of fluff and a bit of porn. EWE
Word count: 19,000
Summary: The Ministry needs Snape to stop the deadly spread of poisonous potions. Harry is hired to find him, and with aid from Draco, they stumble into a mess that forces them to realize their true desires.
Request: Singing, bondage, Parseltongue and Animagus aspects.
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of JK Rowling, et al. This was created for fun, not for profit.
Author's Note: Written for mae_linda for the hds_beltane exchange. Thanks to my betas: cyn_ful, joanwilder, marguerite_26 , melusinahp, and KF. You are invaluable.

originally posted here

"And as you can see, Miss Garfield—" His wand swished through the air and the teakettle glided into the shape of a grey pigeon. "—it is all in the lower arc of the wand movement. You must be smooth; stop treating the spell like you're threatening Mr. Artney with a Trelor Hex." The pigeon strutted across the desk, cooing and pecking at stray bits of parchment.

"Yes, Professor Malfoy," Yolanda Garfield said with a sharp nod. The third year focused the entirety of her attention on the second of her two assigned teakettles and flicked her wand at it. Just by the sharp snap of her wand, Draco knew that she'd end up with a chicken, or possibly a pumpkin.

The light of the hovering candles caught on the copper of the teakettle as it began to slowly slip into the shape of a feathered gourd.

"Hmm," Draco said, spelling the pigeon and gourd into their original teakettle shapes. "Try again, Miss Garfield."

"Yes, Professor Malfoy," she said as Draco moved by to examine his next student's progress.

A bang of the doors jerked his attention away from his explanation to Mr. Delaney that no, a pigeon shouldn’t be copper-colored. The minute he saw the costume of Sartory's Flowers from Hogsmeade, Draco pulled himself to his full height and scowled at the cheery delivery woman.

"Hello, Mr. Malfoy," she said with a bright smile. "Delivery for you." She tipped her coral-dyed chauffeur's cap at him and performed a little curtsey.

"Miss Hathaway, please remove yourself and those—" he glowered "—carnations from my classroom. Their very presence will have disastrous effects on the ability of my students to perform their assigned tasks."

Ida Hathaway laughed, and then winked at him. Merlin, he hated it when she did that. "I've spelled them to keep their scent to themselves until your classes are finished for the day, Mr. Malfoy. They shouldn’t even be a bother."

The entire room of third year Hufflepuffs and Slytherins watched as the delivery woman paraded through their midst, grinning at each upturned face until she arrived at Draco's desk. There, she set down the glass vase filled with the distasteful blooms, pulled off her cap and bowed with a rather fantastic flourish.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and looked up to the ceiling in prayer. Please, don't let her sing.

With an extended inhale, Ida Hathaway began her rendition of "Fly Me To The Moon."

No matter how often he protested, she always fulfilled the entirety of her delivery contract. For some reason the woman was immune to the Laryngitis Curse and Silencing Charms, and her voice had even cut through a Deafening Hex he'd cast upon himself. Weeks ago he'd given up the fight to cut her choral antics short, and he stood by in resignation to weather through the onslaught and just hoped the torture ended soon.

"In other words, I love you," she finished, cap gripped to her chest, voice holding onto that 'you' until the last ounce of breath was squeezed from her lungs, and to Draco's horror, the class politely clapped.

"Stop that this instant," he ordered and they all fell silent. Well, except for Billy Montague. Draco could hear the Slytherin's stifled chuckle in the otherwise morgue-like silence of his classroom.

Then with another wide grin and wink, Ida Hathaway bowed a final bow, turned so sharply on her heel the tails of her jacket flared out, and marched out of the room, waving and nodding to the students as wing flaps echoed off the high ceiling above them.

As the door clicked close, Draco stood expectantly at the front of the class until the gaze of every one of his pupils was on him.

"Now, I expect to see pigeons, not pumpkins. Not teacups. Pigeons. It is all in the…"

Fucking hell. Rodger had to stop.

~~~

"Ron! Catch!"

A peanut sailed in a high arc through the air and landed in Ron's gaping mouth. With a grin, he smacked loudly on it, plucking another nut from a small cache in the palm of his hand. The half-full Planter's jar sat on the desk between them next to a small stack of papers and Harry's propped up feet.

"Nice one, Harry. Your turn."

Another peanut soared through the air to its doom.

Harry ducked his head to catch it and then gobbled up the nut. "Hmm. Good aim. So, umm. Ron. How's Ginny?" Harry asked as he focused on aiming another nut.

"Harry…" Ron's tone had that protective best friend whine to it.

"Oh, come on. It's been six months; I think I can ask after her once in a while." Harry threw the nut with too much force and it bounced off Ron's forehead. Ron stared at Harry, and with a shake of his head readied another nut. Focusing on Harry's mouth, he tossed the peanut.

"She's fine. She and Zabini are talking about moving in together." Harry had dipped to grab the latest volley, but stalled in mid-motion, his mouth open like a waiting hippopotamus. The nut had sailed over his shoulder and tinged against the painting of the Scottish highlands hanging behind him.

"Excuse me, Mr. Potter. Mr. Weasley."

Harry's feet clumped against the floor as he straightened up in his chair. He hadn't even heard the door open. "Yes, Madison."

Madison Morley, his office assistant, stared reproachfully down at him through her small-lensed spectacles. "You have a client, Mr. Potter. Shall I inform him that you are engaged in enhancing your reaction speed to potentially dangerous situations and have him wait for your training to cease," she glared at Ron, "or shall I show him in?" Here she tilted her head and offered a surprisingly sweet smile. Harry knew better than to trust that smile. She'd used it on him to land the job when Harry had started his private investigation business three years ago. Though she was younger than Harry, he'd always felt liked a scolded toddler when she did that whole disapproving-spectacle-gaze-thing she did.

"No, show him in." He grabbed the jar and dumped his handful of nuts back into it, slamming the lid on tight. "Who is it, by the way?" Ron got to his feet, brushing nut detritus off his robes.

"Mr. Michael Rosenbloom, from the Office of the Minister's Affairs," she said with a smirk, and then walked out of his office.

Harry knew Rosenbloom; well, knew of him. He was a man whom Kingsley trusted, and had been assigned to assist with the trials at the end of the war. He was fair, and though Harry had only worked with him peripherally, he'd done his best to make sure that only those who deserved it were sent to Azkaban, and he'd been instrumental in clearing Snape's name postmortem.

"Ooh, Harry. Big league clients," Ron said appraisingly. "I best get back to the shop, let you earn that fat paycheck." Harry rolled his eyes and with a casual wave, Ron walked out right as the shorter man walked in.

"Mr. Rosenbloom," Harry said as he offered his hand. "Welcome to D.A. P.I."

Rosenbloom shook it firmly. "Mr. Potter. Thank you for meeting me without an appointment."

"No problem at all. Please, have a seat." Harry gestured to the chair that Ron had so recently vacated and hoped it wasn't covered in the thin skins of peanuts.

"Thank you." Rosenbloom sat and handed Harry a scroll case. Harry took it with a raised eyebrow. "I believe everything is explained on that scroll," Rosenbloom said.

~~~

After Rosenbloom had left, Harry immediately contacted Draco Malfoy and made an appointment to meet him the next day. Now, Harry stood outside of the Transfigurations Office, knocking.

He hadn't seen Draco in months, but after the war they'd come to some sort of warm camaraderie. They weren't friends, but they were far from enemies and he figured that Draco might be the first step to helping him fulfill Rosenbloom's contract.

And an unexpected contract at that.

Harry wondered if Draco had gotten pulled away on some pressing business and had to miss their meeting. After his knuckles began to go numb, Harry decided to step away and kill some time talking to McGonagall or Hooch, but then he heard yelling from behind the closed door.

Pressing his hand to the wood, Harry leaned close to the seam between the door and doorjamb. "Draco?" he called.

"…bloody… Idiotic." It suddenly seemed that all Harry could hear was cursing. "Damn it to hell!"

"Draco! You okay in there?" He knocked again; this time he put a bit more bang into it. "Draco!"

"…ing Merlin…"

"Draco, I'm coming in." He twisted the knob, pushed open the door, and almost fell in his rush to save Draco from… flowers?

Draco was attempting to blast a rather enthusiastic bunch of white roses from following him around his office. The man would run a few paces, turn and cast a spell. The hovering bouquet would swerve delicately out of the way and then move to float over him again, dusting him constantly with white petals, as he tried in vain to scurry out from under them once again.

"Fucking hell! Potter, come save me, damn you!"

Well, that wasn't something Harry had ever expected to hear. "What's going on?" he asked, as he tried to wrangle the bouquet from its determined perch over Draco's head.

"Stupid… Gah!" Draco dove under his desk, peeking out as the flowers held a position about a foot over the desktop.

"Are they gone?" he whispered.

Harry chuckled and shook his head. "No." He proceeded to cast a series of spells on the roses, from a Deflating Charm to a Burdening Hex, but finally it was his Magic Disruption spell, a fair bit of magic if he did say so himself, that finally dropped the flowers with a dead 'thump' on the clean desktop.

A tag was wrapped around the stems and Harry couldn't help but read it.

"'Draco. My Heart and Soul. Please attend me for dinner on Friday, April 25th. All my love. Rodger Huxley.'" Rodger Huxley? "My heart and soul?" Harry stared down at Draco, who now had his face buried in his hands. Harry chuckled, then sing-songed, "Draco's got a boyfriend."

"Potter, you will shut up."

Draco slowly extricated himself from under the desk, and brushed at the knees of his trousers, carefully not meeting Harry's eyes. Some petals had settled onto his hair.

"So," he finally asked after his trousers met muster, "how did you single-handedly stop that nuisance from turning my life into a living hell?"

Draco looked up and one petal slid down to his shoulder.

"Well," Harry began, staring at the perfect curve of the rose petal. "I used the Disruption Spell."

Draco started, and the petal slid down the line of his shoulder and slowly fluttered to the ground to join its brethren under Draco's feet. "You've got that down, then, have you?"

Harry tore his eyes away from the crushed flower bits littering the floor. "Yes," he said, meeting Draco's gaze. He could tell Draco was surprised by the slight rounding of his eyes. "It took a while, though," he added, with a little grin. He'd worked hard on mastering that spell.

"Well, I will be the first to admit, I'm impressed." Draco turned away and Banished the evidence of the bouquet's existence. Even the faint scent of roses was gone.

They stood in awkward silence and Harry wasn't sure how they'd ended up there. "So, not so into this Rodger bloke then?" It took him a few seconds to realize the air was suddenly a few stone heavier. He'd never been one to avoid pointing out the elephant in the corner.

With a haughty toss of his fringe, Draco turned and faced Harry. "Not so much. So, now what was it that was so urgent you had to meet with me today, Harry?"

With a shake of his head, Harry pulled up a chair. Fine, if Draco didn't want to talk about it, Harry wasn't about to force it. He just hoped Draco didn’t feel ill at ease because of the whole gay thing. Harry held no prejudices, and he'd had his own… interests back in school, so he kind of understood. At least Draco had someone who wanted him.

With a twinge of his heart, Harry adamantly pulled his thoughts away from anything roughly Ginny-flavored.

"Yeah," he began as Draco sat across from him. "Well, I was hoping you might be able to help me find Severus Snape."

Draco's lips dipped into a frown. "Severus? Last you told me he was lying on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, most of his throat missing from a nasty snake bite."

Harry studied Draco. By the tilt of his head, and the fact that he solidly met Harry's own gaze, he knew that the blond was keeping some valuable information to himself. Harry sighed. He'd thought they'd moved beyond this.

"Yes, that is the last I saw of him. How about you?" he asked.

Harry had long ago filed away the fact that the fewer 'tells' Draco expressed was inversely proportional to the degree in which he wanted to give nothing away. Right now his old classmate sat still—if apparently relaxed—met Harry's eyes, and gave not one extra twitch or shrug away.

"I haven't seen him. How could I?" He raised his eyebrows. "Isn't he dead?"

"You seem awfully blasé about that, Draco."

"I wasn't there. There was nothing I could have done and I see no benefit to myself in worrying about what might have been done."

Just as the petals had fallen earlier, silence settled between them. Frustrated, Harry huffed. Then he sighed. He shifted in his chair and waited as Draco sat, casually resting one elbow on the arm of the chair.

"Draco, drop the act. You know something!"

"Let dead men lie," Draco said, his voice growing soft.

"But he's needed." Harry bounded to his feet and began pacing before Draco's desk, speaking as much with his hands as he did with his mouth. "Michael Rosenbloom asked that I seek him out because they'd discovered a sickness that appears to be spread by the use of Pepperup potion. They can't figure out if it is a bad supply of Pepperup, or if it's simply acting as a catalyst. They need Snape and his potions expertise. They've already got their best Potions Masters in the Ministry on it, but none of them have figured anything out."

Draco's gaze lost its confident hold of Harry's and slipped away, staring beyond Harry's shoulder to something far off, perhaps something dwelling in the long buried past. "What gives you the impression that Severus is even alive?" Draco drawled, his shoulders dropping in a slump.

"Well, Rosenbloom knows." Harry dug around in the pocket of his denims. "He gave me this."

He held out his hand and Draco reached out to take the small locket from him. It was crafted from silver and had a single moonstone imbedded in the front. With his fingernails, Draco pried the locket open and Harry leaned forward to get a good look at Draco's expression.

The jaw drop was more than he'd hoped for.

"Severus?" Draco's eyes squinted, then he leaned back against the chair. "A portrait?"

"Yes. The only portrait commissioned for Snape, that little one in the locket." Harry scowled; he thought it completely unfair. "Anyway, because he isn't dead, the portrait hasn't come awake yet. And plus," he said as he reached out with one finger and gently closed the lid. "See this stone?" He ran his fingertip over the cool moonstone. "It's charmed to glow whenever the locket is close to Snape himself. Apparently he had it made years ago and it was locked away in a vault at Gringotts. The Ministry opened the vault after his trial since he had no next of kin. That's where they found this."

"And a lot of other interesting things, I'm sure."

"Oh, no doubt. He wouldn't tell me what else was in there, though." Harry had asked, but Rosenbloom had remained tight-lipped. "Anyway, they had generalized Snape's location to the Lake District. They sent a pack of wizards and witches through there, but couldn’t find him." Draco looked up and the two men shared a glance. "I was hoping you knew where he was."

"He—" Draco stopped and cleared his throat. "He didn't want to be bothered anymore."

Draco's voice was dull, and by Harry's same filing system, he knew that this knowledge affected Draco profoundly.

"But… he is alive, then?" Harry asked, perched eagerly on the edge of his chair.

Draco looked at Harry again. "Yes. He is alive. But he asked me to keep his whereabouts a secret. He doesn't want to be bothered, Harry."

"Come on, Draco! People's lives are at stake. This Pepperup problem could get out of hand; the sickness could progress into something epidemic. They've pulled all of the potions off the market for now. I can understand Snape's desire to be away from everyone, but all he has to do is come in, do this potions thing and then he can go back to his estranged hermitting."

Harry watched, fascinated as a flurry of emotions crossed Draco's face, so subtle that Harry was possibly unique in his ability to read the turmoil going through the professor's head. Finally, Draco nodded.

"Fine, Harry. I'll help you. I don't know exactly where he is, but I have an idea, and it is indeed in the Lake District." Harry let escape a sigh of relief. Not only would they save lives, but he would also be keeping his perfect missing persons track record. He chose not to let Draco in on that little bit of information, though.

"I'll have to go with you," Draco added, and Harry nodded.

"That's fine with me. When can you go?"

"I won't be free until Friday following my final class, then Hogwarts is shut down for the week-long Spring Holiday. I can escort you then."

Harry smirked. "But won't you miss your date?"

A dark cloud shadowed Draco's face. "Potter. Never mention anything about the flowers, that man, or the never to happen date. Is that clear?"

Laughing, Harry complied. "Fine, Draco. You got a deal. When should I be back here to get you then?"

"My last class ends at four o'clock. So five, if that works for you."

"Perfectly. See you then!" Harry said with a wave goodbye.

~~~

Draco brushed the hair out of his eyes, dislodging a lock that had stuck to his forehead due to the unhealthy amount of sweat that had beaded up there. He cast another Cleaning Charm on himself, but he still felt sticky and tired, and he was sick of tromping around in the forest.

A fat fly flew by and he zapped it with a crackle of magic. It fell like a pebble to the spongy earth below.

Malfoys were not made for tromping and forests and sweat.

"Harry, I'm tired. I'm going back to the inn."

"But… Draco, look at this!"

Draco turned to his right and sought out Harry. The man was squatting behind a venerable oak, had probably found another bug cocoon or pile of squirrel crap. This was day three of wandering around the national park and the moonstone had been glowing steadily since they'd arrived.

Lifting each foot up high to pass over bushes and low-growing creepers, he made his way to Harry. The lighting through the trees had been dim in the thicket they'd been investigating, but now Harry sat in a circle of light filtering through a window in the canopy created where a tree had fallen that winter.

He'd always thought Harry had been a bit on the cute side back in school, but after the Gryffindor had grown out of his gangly stage and told the world and their expectations to piss off, he'd changed. He wasn't exactly Draco's type, being straight and all, but he now had confidence and a cheeky wit when he tried. After his rollercoaster ride of love and heartbreak with Ginny Weasley that everyone and their fifth cousin knew about, thanks to The Daily Prophet, Draco knew that Harry had pulled away from anything resembling a relationship and he didn't blame him.

After being stalked by three different men in a row, ending with the profound catastrophe that was Huxley, Draco considered a break, too. Though a portion of him was terribly lonely. In part, he'd agreed to this trip with Harry because he didn't feel like being alone for the holiday. And sharing time with a sane—subjective diagnoses really, but after the last three dates he'd been on, Draco was feeling generous—fit man, even if straight, was better than reading dry Muggle literature or catching up on his correspondence.

Finally, he stood next to his hapless companion and looked down at what he was examining.

A fairy circle.

"Potter, be careful not to poke that," he said, as Harry's finger hovered inches away from a fat, spotted mushroom.

"Why?" Harry said, looking up at Draco. His eyes sparkled in the light.

Draco frowned, then shook his head. "Oh, you have fun fighting with fairies if you like. I choose not to." With that, Draco turned around and stomped back to where he'd left his pack containing all his food and a waterproof blanket. "I'll see you back at the inn.” Everybody knew not to mess with a fairy ring.

Without another glance at Harry—and damn it, why did he look good all sweaty and grimy—Draco Disapparated.

~~~

And was sorely regretting that decision when Harry didn't return to their lodgings that night. Perhaps those raised by Muggles didn't know not to mess with the Fae.

~~~

Harry blinked against bright light. The brilliance lanced his eyes, piercing straight to his brain, and he groaned as a full-blown migraine settled in for the duration. With his first attempt to roll over a complete failure, Harry proceeded to rock his body, gaining momentum to finally flop over onto his side. And that was when he came face to face with the longest snake that he'd seen since Nagini.

He scrambled away, shocking his brain into greater heights of torture, and eyed the large reptile, blinking his blurry eyes several times to clear out the unshakable sleepiness. The snake didn't move.

It was six, maybe seven feet long, its body as thick as his calf, with a geometric design of black diamonds down its green back and sides. The first half of the creature was wound up like a length of rope and it was staring at Harry with black, beady eyes.

Well, at least Harry thought the snake was looking at him. It was hard to tell with snakes due to their lack of eyelids. For all Harry knew, the snake was sleeping. He stifled an urge to yawn.

And then the snake hissed at him.

Harry had thought that once he'd defeated Voldemort and had been freed from the taint of that evil man's soul, he'd lost the speech of snakes. But as he focused his tired mind on the hiss, the leisurely flicker of forked tongue, some of the sounds took shape into words

"Thhsss, ssshhhh, sooo cold … thhhsss."

"What?" Harry asked, as he pressed himself into a squatting position, ready to leap away if the snake should strike.

Of course, he realized, it wasn't a striking kind of snake. Still, he felt it prudent to be prepared. And then the yawn escaped.

The snake remained motionless and Harry sighed wearily. He was so tired, heavy, like he'd just finished a marathon. With resignation, he lay down on the ground again, his head resting on the cushion of his arm. His mind felt foggy and grey, his eyes like lead, and in this moment, somewhere in the middle of a forest with a snake watching over him, all seemed at peace.

~~~

Draco passed one final time over the lush area where he'd last seen Harry. The moss and spongy soil had already filled in, leaving little trace that he and Harry had been there just the previous day. He'd been searching for approximately 45 minutes and kept returning to that circle of mushrooms, one tilting a little inward, a small indent in the rounded top.

"Idiot," Draco muttered to the empty air. Then, with a heavy sigh, he began setting up a ritual that would outline the doorways into the realm of the Fae. He's wasn't the hero, why did he have to go to the rescue?

~~~

A complete sense of contentment washed over him, soaked into his bones. He was warm and snug, somebody's arms were wrapped tightly around him. It felt good. It'd been a long time since he'd slept with anyone… since he and Ginny…

He stiffened.

If this wasn't Ginny…

An image wrapped up in pale hair and long limbs fluttered to the surface of Harry's thoughts, but the thrill and uncertainty that accompanied such thoughts were banished by the oddest feeling of those arms contracting around him, tightening until his eyes popped open and he realized he was wrapped up in the embrace of a very large snake.

"Guh!"

He squirmed, wriggling left, then right, a twist to his hips, and finally he'd tugged his left arm free from the snake's confinement, and then dug out his wand from his right jeans' pocket.

"Thhh…" the snake said.

Harry stalled his poised Stunning Hex. "What did you say?" he asked.

"Thhsssooo warm. "

With an ever deepening furrow to his brow, Harry stared down at the thick body of the snake as its coils shifted, already burrowing its large head into the now open territory of his left armpit.

"Hhmmm, smells good. "

Now, that was all wrong.

As the blunt end of the snake's head pressed into his armpit, Harry jumped, a shiver just shy of a tickle coursing down the length of his arms and legs.

"Stop!"

The snake's undulating body stilled, then slowly the head emerged from the folds of Harry's shirt and it looked up at him, flickering the long, forked tongue through the air inches from Harry's nose.

"Why?"

Well that came out clear. Clear and sarcastic. Harry peered at the snake.

"Because," he stared down his nose at the snake, "you were tickling me."

The snake hissed at him, but for all its bluster and threat—or maybe it was just tasting the air—it didn't return its seeking nose to Harry's side. The heavy head lifted until the snake could look directly into Harry's eyes. Harry quickly looked away, suddenly unnerved by the intense, dark gaze.

The thick coils shifted, slithering the main bulk of the snake's body up Harry's torso another few inches, and then the snake seemed to settle in, resting its head on Harry's arm, going still.

Harry examined the top of the snake's head, the beautiful pattern of small diamonds morphing into rough ovals as they crossed over the nose of the reptile.

He wanted to talk to the snake some more, ask him where he had come from—because Harry had a feeling it was a male snake—why he'd chosen Harry to cuddle up to, but he captured his curiosity and pocketed it away for a more lively time. Right now he felt content enough to nap again.

~~~

With a shake to his head, Draco reinforced his Occlumency to ignore the insidious Fae Charm that was attempting to cast him into slumber. He was no Potter. And though he did cross into the realm of the Eternal Ones, he at least did it of his own accord—however stupid that was—instead of stumbling there like an ignorant troll.

Entering into the land of the fairies was not something to be done lightly, and though throughout his childhood Draco had read fairytale books about such places, he'd never traveled here before. Previous tourists to this magical place had described in vagaries how the Fae lands differed from the mundane lands of the British Isles; Draco wasn't completely prepared for what he'd walked into.

From forest he entered into forest, but this was a step sideways from the large leafy maples and the thick underbrush. It all looked strangely at odds, the light too brilliant, lending everything a brand new color tinged with a fluorescent hue. Shadows dancing across the forest floor seemed alive, not quite moving to the same cadence that the wind stirred the leaves. There was a crackle in the air that felt like the cusp from spring to summer—even the taste of it held promise.

A small bird that Draco didn't recognize hopped about in the underbrush, releasing a series of sharp piping sounds.

The next thing that caught his eyes as he stepped from beyond the mushroom ring's border was Harry, prone, and being slowly suffocated by a snake.

"Potter!" Draco cried out as he leapt to Harry's side, wand brandished as he catalogued which spell he wanted to use against the vicious python. Should he use a Slicing Spell, to cut those tight coils away from Harry's body, or just stun the beast and hope the effect would cause it to release the stupid oaf who'd gotten himself into such an imbecilic predicament?

Harry groaned and Draco stopped worrying about what spell would be best and cast a stunner, worried that a Slicing Spell might fillet the man beneath the snake.

The red flash zapped through the air and smacked into the snake, causing it to flinch, and then it slid from around Harry's torso, flopping to the ground in a dead 'thump.' As the last coil came to a rest on the spongy ground, Draco let loose a shiver.

The snake had to be longer than that boor Hagrid had been tall.

Stirring, Harry pressed himself up into a sitting position, his movement languid. Draco was certain that Harry had almost certainly expired from lack of oxygen, and he preened, just a little, at saving the other man's life.

"Potter, while I recognize the lifestyle of a private investigator is one of leisure and stagnation, I'd no idea that you were lax enough to let a giant snake sneak up on you!" His voice had grown from reasonable and disinterested, to something of an unmannerly screech, and so he quickly stopped speaking and swallowed, forcing himself to meet Harry's gaze.

"Draco! What the hell did you do to the snake?"

"What do you mean?" Wasn't it obvious? "I saved you." He pointed his hand at Harry, his index finger aimed at him accusingly.

"Saved me? It was just a snake."

Oh, this was too much. Draco dropped his arm and said, "Potter. Let me speak slowly for you…. That snake…was going…to eat you."

"Oh, no it wasn't." Harry leaned over the snake, running his fingertips along the rough hide. Draco's eyes tracked the motion, a little knot of envy growing in his gut. “He just wanted to get warm.”

Draco's eyebrows rose. “And how would you know that? I didn't think you could speak to snakes anymore?” Was what the Dark Lord had done to him affecting Harry here? Draco took a step forward and examined Harry's eyes, seeking the soul within, but they were quickly rolled upward in exasperation.

“I know what you're thinking, and no, this has nothing to do with Voldemort.” Then Harry paused, a sad expression flittering across his eyes as they lingered over the snake. “He wasn't going to hurt me.”

Draco huffed. “Oh, don't be such a nancy girl, Potter. I didn't kill it. It's just stunned.”

Harry's eyes narrowed to slits as he examined the snake. “So you say,” he mused, then apparently he realized the snake still breathed, and his shoulders relaxed and he looked up at Draco, his greens eyes sparkling with relief. “I'm so glad.” With a tilt of his head, Harry smiled, and all the breath suddenly left Draco's lungs.

It took only a moment for them to revive the monstrous snake and it was then that Draco became aware that his pocket had grown warm. The heat had slipped into unbearable without even his notice, and he quickly dug into his trousers to pull out the locket with Snape's portrait, the moonstone glowing white hot.

He dropped the necklace, fanning his hand through the air to cool the burnt skin. It landed on the earth with little noise, the only sound the whisper of the chain as the links brushed against each other.

The snake's long tongue tickled the air as it slid towards the necklace. Then it hissed, a long series of sibilant sounds, and Harry's jaw dropped, and Draco grew annoyed with the realization that he was missing something.

“What?”

The snake ceased its noise and Harry looked up at Draco through the fringe that covered up that infamous scar. “This snake... It's Snape!”

~~~

When the moonstone glowed and the snake began to sardonically berate them for bothering him in his well-earned retirement, Harry realized why the cadence of the words, the tone, the pacing—the voice for lack of a better description—sounded so familiar.

And now that the snake had embarked on a long diatribe about the majority of wizards' lack of mental faculties, all Harry had to do was imagine deep tones, a dark voice slow and sensuous, and his body began to react.

Oh Merlin, that was something he'd thought long dead and buried. He tried to think of Ginny, but a log jam blocked his windpipe at the attempt.

Snape. For some reason, this snake, in the Land of Fairy, was Snape.

“Harry… Potter!”

Harry looked up at Draco; his normally neat hair had escaped its impeccable style and a long lock now danced before his face. His grey eyes stared at him, sharp and annoyed.

“Harry, are you even listening?”

“What's wrong?” he asked, his face heating for a number of reasons, most concerning things he wasn't quite ready to confront.

“How do you know that's Severus?” Draco sounded perturbed... but under his haughty, snapped words, Harry could tell his friend was also excited. Relieved.

“I can talk to him, and—” Harry pointed at the locket and brilliant stone, bright as a miniature star, resting among the acorns and pine cones, "—I think that makes it fairly obvious.”

Draco approached the head of the snake and looked down. With a quick tug, he hiked up the legs of his trousers so he could squat down next to the animal. “Severus? Is that really you?”

Snape flickered his tongue. “Of course it is. Can't you see that it is me?”

Harry shivered.

Draco waited, watching the snake do very little. “Stupid snake,” he said as he pushed himself up to stand once again. He then studied the forest around them, searching the ground, mumbling. Finding the locket, he cast a spell over it and pocketed it once the glow dimmed.

“I cannot imagine how I got dragged into this folly." Draco swept back his fringe and huffed a sigh. "Oh yes. I listened to Potter. The wonder dunder himself. Brilliant me. Only a Muggle raised wizard would poke at a fairy ring." He attempted a glare, but Harry recognized it as affected and nothing backed by real annoyance. "Perfect, tempt the Fae, just what we need.” Draco was actually worried.

Harry got to his feet, dusting off brown pine needles and clumps of dirt that clung to his clothing. “Draco, quit your muttering. You sound like a mad hermit when you do that.” Draco glared harder, that lock of blond hair dancing over the tip of his nose, and Harry offered a smile. "Don't worry. Now that we've found Snape, we can go back."

A sick look crossed Draco's face.

“What?” Harry asked, reaching out for Draco in case he suddenly collapsed.

“Isn't it obvious, wonder dunder?” Snape hissed, his tone awash with a hint of the unimpressed professor.

“What's obvious?” he asked Snape, keeping his eyes on Draco.

"I have no idea how to get us back. You stumbled here and I tore open a one way portal. We need to find the Fae and get them to tell us how to return." Harry nodded, then stifled a yawn. "And Harry," Draco sounded put out, "you need to strengthen your Occlumency to counteract the Fae Charms of this place. You'll end up sleeping your life away if you succumb to their power."

"I find that lifestyle quite relaxing," said Snape.

"You have too much to do, Snape. You don't have time for naps," Harry said.

Draco brushed his hair out of his face once more and lifted his chin. “Would you quit talking with that snake, Harry? And to think, you make the poorly postulated assumption that I'm the mad one.”

"Wait." Harry looked sharply up at Draco. “You can understand my words?”

“Of course, why wouldn't I? I learned this thing called language at a rather young age…”

Harry cut him off with a quiet snort and a slow shake of his head. “Normally, when I speak to a snake, it's in Parseltongue. Nobody but snakes can understand me.”

Draco's eyebrows bunched together. "Well, you're not hissing."

Harry focused his attention back at Snape, his long body shifting as he slid across the duff and dried leaves towards Harry's foot. “You can talk to me, understand me?”

“Of course. And Draco. I understand you both perfectly, though your constant bickering is a bit wearing.” The black tongue flicked as the forefront of Snape's body glided over the leather of Harry's shoe. You sound like a couple of old men who need to kiss and make up. Hmm, warmth." Snape tried to press his nose up the mouth of Harry's trouser leg.

"Oh, would you look-y here!"

"What are you babbling about, Snape? Oh, wait. Stop it! Don't climb up my leg!" The tongue tickled against the hairs on Harry's shin.

"Potter…" Draco began, warning laced throughout his tone.

"Come look, everyone."

Who had said that? Harry glanced up at Draco, only to be distracted again as Snape's head disappeared up his trousers.

"Is that wizardman having relations with the snakeman?"

The voice was high, tinny and full of amusement.

"Really? I want to see?"

"Snape, that tickles!" Harry hopped backwards on one foot, striving to avoid treading on the long body as he put equal effort into trying to extricate himself from that inquisitive tongue and shift of muscle.

"Harry!" Now Draco sounded frantic.

He let his attention be torn from the sensation of snakeskin brushing across his calf and finally looked over at Draco, who was staring up into the trees with a shocking look of horror, his wand gripped in a white-fingered hold. "What?" Harry asked, the feel of the snake's movements pushed aside by the force of Draco's expression.

Draco caught Harry's eye and gave a quick nod towards the boughs of the trees swaying above them, his pale hair falling clear of his face as he tilted his head back. "The Fae, Potter. We're surrounded by the Fae."

Harry pulled his eyes off Draco and scoured the trees for fairies. He imagined little people, with dragonfly wings and a penchant for nudity. At first, all he saw were layers of greens as the leaves shook in a breeze he didn't feel. Deep green, and emerald, even lighter shades that filtered the sunshine, casting the little hollow in an aura of wild mystery.

Then motion, quick and erratic, like a Snitch.

Fluttery sounds of wings, dry like peeling bark.

More laughter. Merry and slightly feral. Slightly malicious.

Then, a foot length from his nose, a fairy fluttered before him.

"Hello human," the little fairy said.

The fairy was male, or at least he didn't have breasts, though he wore a long skirt of spider silk. His hair was yellow and spiked up in a mad array. Instead of dragonfly wings, they were shaped more like oak leaves just turning into fall orange. And he was approximately eleven inches high.

Harry couldn’t help it, he grinned in delight at the sight. "Hello."

"Don't talk to it, Potter!" Draco scolded. "If you talk to them, they'll just trick you into doing something you'll regret."

The little fairy turned from Harry and flittered over towards Draco.

With a chuckle, Harry said, "Oh, so they're all Slytherin?"

"Funny, ha ha," Draco muttered as he swatted at the buzzing fairy, who laughed and continued to dive bomb Draco's head like a territorial hummingbird. As he flew, Harry saw a little stream of yellow and red sparkles following him like a contrail.

Another fairy, green and goblin-like with a potato of a nose, darted down on latticework wings resembling the skeletons of elm leaves, and another, pink and dressed in a patchwork strip of cloth wrapped around her body with wings like long paddles of reed, joined the oak leaf fairy, flittering and buzzing next to Draco's ears and eyes.

"Away with you, little vermin. To think I thought you were cute when I was a child. Obviously, I was naïve and sweet natured in my youth." Draco lifted his wand, and Harry reached out to stop him.

"Draco, don't. They're just playing."

The air filled with the twittering of the fairies. "Yes, young dragon. We are just playing." Harry looked up at the trio; something about the tone of their words didn't ring true.

"Oh yes, like a cat with a mouse," Draco said, aiming his wand at the one who had just spoken. The little fairy was lifting up his gossamer skirt and shaking his hips—and other bits of anatomy—at Draco, which made the pale man go pink.

"Perhaps you should stop swatting at them, Draco," Harry suggested, agilely turning to avoid the burlesque show.

"Perhaps you should get your wand out, Harry, and help me deal with these little pests!"

"I think the uptightwizardman needs to relax," said the girl fairy dressed in a snood, the loud rattle of her wing beats almost drowning out her voice. "He keeps his words too trained."

"Yeah?" asked the green fairy. "I know just the thing. Let's do to him what we did to the slaveman."

Draco cast a spell, then another; the mischievous Fae dodged each one. Then, as the green fairy began racing around him, Draco ceased his assault and blindly stepped backwards. The fairy buzzed a hoop around Draco's head, over and over, at such speeds that soon Harry couldn’t even track the movement of the Fae; all that was left was a green halo around Draco's head.

"What's going on?" Harry yelled. Fairies were flying, their soft voices overwhelmed by the flurry of their wings, and Draco had begun to blubber in ways that Harry thought had been bred out of the Malfoy genes generations ago. "Stop. Stop it!" Harry lifted his wand, but couldn't see a target. He had no idea what these Fae were doing, these wild ones.

"And him, too!" tittered the girl, as she darted for Harry.

"But we didn't do anything," he cried out, lifting up his hands to shield his face. "Leave us alone!"

"Time for you to act, manwizard. No more reacting."

Harry would have protested, would have insisted that he didn't just react. He'd told off the wizarding world and brushed away their expectations. He was his own man, self-employed, making his own decisions, but he found he couldn't speak. Words had become elusive things that his tongue couldn't remember how to form and suddenly he was surrounded by light, forcing his eyes to squint and finally close as his body began to float, lifting up like he was walking on the moon, a huge burden suddenly gone.

And then it all went black.

~~~

He was still in the forest with the slightly skewed lighting. He could smell the soil and cedar. Throbbing, the back of his head ached. And he was cold.

He opened his eyes and saw a purple butterfly make a lazy tour of the edges of the meadow. It would flap its oval wings, then sail through the air, teetering before it flapped again. It stopped to taste each tiny flower, only to take off again. With a sigh, Draco sat up and touched the back of his head, only to yank his fingers away from a large goose egg. He turned and looked down at the ground and saw a large, rounded stone. Lucky him. Of all the places to pass out, he had to land on a rock.

A groan to his left drew his attention to Harry, sprawled out on his face. His left arm looked painfully twisted and trapped underneath his stomach and his butt was tilted in a suggestive angle.

"Merlin that's a nice arse," Draco said, then suddenly clapped his hand over his mouth, his eyes darting around to see if anyone was near enough to hear what he'd just said.

Had he really just said that?

Harry groaned again, and Draco went to his side, lowering himself to his knees. He grabbed one shoulder and gently rolled the man over, careful of his arm.

"What happened?" Harry said, his voice rough and bleary. Draco helped him to sit up and Harry looked down at his elbow and began rubbing it, his face going stern.

"Is it broken?" Draco asked, finding he had to pull his hands off Harry's shoulders to keep from running them over Harry's arm, his elbow, potentially traveling to other, as yet undiscovered territory.

"Don't think so, just hurts." Then Harry looked away from his arm up at Draco, and suddenly he went pale.

"What? What is it?" Draco asked, alarmed, looking around to see if those blasted fairies had returned. Draco returned his gaze to Harry.

Moments passed and suddenly Harry snapped into motion, as if a Petrificus had just been released. "No—nothing. Just…." He brushed his right hand through his hair, looking away. Draco looked the same direction and saw the giant snake coiled up nearby. "Snape," Harry called out, apparently not planning on finishing that train of thought. "Do you know what those Fae did? I feel…funny."

"Really?" Draco asked, walking on his knees to position himself between Harry and the snake. "How do you feel? What do you mean funny?" Did Harry feel the same way he did? Or was it just his delirium in thinking the snake was Snape?

Harry shifted his attention between Draco and the snake. He was frowning in a way that suggested he was on the brink of understanding something, but didn't really approve of the answer he was reaching. Instead, he cast a minor healing spell on his arm.

Draco released a sigh and touched the bump on his head with his own wand. Then he ran a hand through his hair, straightening it. It fell into his eyes. He needed a haircut. Harry watched Draco's actions, the movement of his hand, the fall of his hair, and then slowly licked his lips.

Draco's throat went dry, and like a prize fighter knocked flat, his arm fell to his side.

"Like what you see, Harry?" Draco said, his voice honeyed and not at all what he had intended to ask. He'd intended to say something distracting, something miles away from things like 'hair' and 'lips' and especially 'liking'. Harry's eyes inched over the surface of Draco's face that now burned, and slowly, like an admission gained through torture, he nodded.

And Draco realized, nothing could ever be the same.

Then Draco's traitorous tongue began to frame something else inappropriate, and he prayed, begged, wished that he could just swallow those thoughts and their immediate transference into words and things could go back to normal, but the snake began hissing and luckily, the words 'then get over here' were downed out by Harry's annoyed, "I'm so glad you're amused."

"Are you still talking to that snake?" Draco was relieved to find he could control his words once more.

Harry turned to him, his eyes boring into Draco's as he spoke of things that had nothing to do with the tension in the air. Draco almost chuckled. When it came to the elephant, perhaps Harry wasn't so willing to point it out when it had to do with himself.

Harry continued to speak to the snake, and Draco let the one-sided argument settle to the back of his brain. What had the Fae done to him? It seemed some of his words had a force of personality all of their own. Bugger this, it just wasn't fair.

~~~

Part 2

Fic - "Secrets of a Mushroom Ring" HP/DM/SS (NC17) - Part 2

Mon, 15 Jun 2009 23:46:42 GMT

Title: Secrets of a Mushroom Ring
Summary: The Ministry needs Snape to stop the deadly spread of poisonous potions. Harry is hired to find him, and with aid from Draco, they stumble into a mess that forces them to realize their true desires.

"They performed the same trickery on me," Snape said, though he had little animosity to his tone, which Harry found unexpected. Snape had been gliding over the littered earth towards Harry's feet again. Harry began to wonder if his old professor didn't have a foot fetish.

"Is that what trapped you as a snake?" Harry asked, striving to keep his wandering gaze off Draco by watching the shifting of light on the snake's scales, yet trying to not shiver every time that stupid snake hissed. He felt ready to burst apart.

"No, I chose this form. It came to me easily after the attack by Nagini." The tone was sardonic, but Harry could hear the trace of amusement.

So, he was in this form by choice? "You're an Animagus?"

Some critter rattled the branches in the trees above. "Obviously."

"Then why don't you return to human form, damn it, and talk to both of us?"

"Because, Potter. I choose not to. I am perfectly happy as a snake."

Dumfounded, Harry asked, "But why?"

"It is my choice. I hold great value to things of my own choosing."

"But Draco can't understand you," Harry said, a bit lamely. He tried to think of another more convincing reason, but then Snape interrupted his thoughts.

"He can if he would try. He's just denying the obvious. It has always been a bad habit of his." The tip of the snake's nose began prodding up along Harry's leg. "Like you, always trying to deny yourself. Here you don't have to deny yourself anything… if you don't wish it."

Harry stiffened. Not only because of what Snape had just told him, but because that was exactly how he was feeling. He wanted to do the things that he'd always held as inappropriate or unattainable. He wanted to be selfish.

But he couldn't. Somehow that just wasn't…right.

He felt the brush of the snake's skin against his sock. "Snape, please don't go up my trouser leg. I doubt you would even fit much past your head."

"But it's warm, and I enjoy your smell."

Harry felt the tickle of Snape's tongue along his leg and squealed.

"Harry, what's wrong with you now?" Draco asked, and Harry really couldn't even dignify that question with an answer.

~~~

A small grey bird with a white tail fluttered in front of Harry's face; the man stared at it with a goofy look on his face. He looked almost besotted, like a love-sick twelve-year-old who'd just seen Macy Maverick on stage for the first time, performing her patented hip thrust before the Weird Sisters began mocking it the following year.

Draco remembered that hip thrust.

He'd thought it the most erotic thing in the world, until he saw a man do it on the Muggle television and then Draco knew, knew what it was that he'd been misunderstanding about himself.

"So," Draco said, pulling Harry's attention away from the bird as it flittered from branch to branch, gleaning bugs out from under the scales of the bark. "You say that snake in your pants can turn back into human form anytime it wishes." At Harry's shocked look, Draco smirked. Things continued to flow out of his mouth, and sometimes he found it easier to hold in the really embarrassing things if he let a few of the more inconsequential comments escape. But the reactions he was getting from Harry were interesting.

Promising.

Then Draco shook his head. The man had whined over loosing that red-headed bint! He was probably just confused; being stuck here in Fairyland confused Draco as well. Nothing was as he was used to. Not even the air.

"He won't leave my trousers alone!" Harry's skin closely resembled the apple Draco was now munching on. They didn't have much food left in their packs, and between wanting to tell Harry how he planned to pin him down and lick him from head to toe and ogling his arse, Draco worried about their food and how they were going to get out of this place. They had tried the three spells Draco knew of to open the magical doors between realms, but none of them had worked as he had expected.

"Oh yes, and I can see you protesting." Draco gestured towards Harry with his heavily bitten apple.

"What else am I supposed to do? He complains of being cold." And amusingly, Harry's color deepened and Draco wondered what it was the man wasn't telling him. "Maybe you could convince him to change," Harry bolstered on. "Tell him you want to talk to him, or something."

From Harry's trouser leg, where the snake's head was lodged, came a hiss and Harry muttered, "Oh shut up."

"So, Harry. You want me to talk to this snake that you believe to be Severus, and cajole the poor beast into taking human form, just for your amusement." Draco took another bite and chewed.

The snake hissed again and Harry scowled as he turned away from his leg and looked up at Draco. "Yes, Draco. That would amuse me to no end." Then Harry shifted his weight and looked away. "Would you stop that?" he said in a low voice to the snake.

That was when Draco actually looked down at Harry's lap. Actually looked. And saw that Harry's shifting and blushing was not only because of the teasing Draco had delivered. Harry reached out and tried to push the snake back down his trouser leg, but Draco wasn't watching that. He was watching the noticeable bulge at Harry's crotch.

Draco was struck stupid by the implication. "Didn't know snakes were what did it for you, Potter," he said, his voice bitter. He tore his eyes away and willed his mouth to stop talking. "I thought it was red-heads, but maybe it's scaly beasts as well." Stop speaking! "If' I'd known that… " He slapped his hand over his mouth as the mumbled words continued a stream of self-deprecation and slander, all mixed up in biting retort.

Then he got to his feet, turned away from the little meadow he, Harry and the snake had inhabited for the past few hours, and began to march off in the opposite direction. "I'm going to go look for some food," was all he said, even though other words tried to slip by.

~~~

Draco stormed out into the forest, violently pushing back branches that blocked his path, and Harry watched him go, completely in turmoil at Draco's sudden exodus even as the snake's tongue kept tickling his thigh, the rolling cadence of the hisses sending insistent signals straight to his groin.

"Would you stop that!" Harry began to beg. "It's creepy. I don't want to be turned on by a snake." He encircled his hands around his upper thigh, giving up on trying to push the snake out of his trousers and now just trying to block his progress; he was as wily as a Knockturn whore on Elf Spice.

"So, it's the snake aspect of this situation that bothers you, not the salient fact that it is me?" Another flicker across his skin from the tongue, the slide of the snake's belly up his leg. The hiss… It had never affected Harry like this before, a snake's hissing. But this was different; it was low and flowed with a consistency of warm honey.

"Snape…" Harry said in a warning tone. Normally, Harry could easily say that he'd never harbored any fantasies about his old Potions professor. It wouldn't quite be the truth, but he had gotten good at ignoring certain things about himself. It wasn't what people imagined when Harry Potter came to mind; it wasn't what they expected of him. It was bad enough that Harry had abandoned the path of the Auror, or the Quidditch star. But Harry, being attracted to a man? Nobody would expect that. It wasn't something he would have even let himself think about, afraid to open that Pandora's Box.

Now the Box had been blown wide open, the hinges bent and broken…. Bent, like apparently he was, though he'd long denied any such thing.

He loved Ginny, damn it!

He'd wanted a home and a family. He'd wanted to grow old with someone, be loved by them forever for who he was, not who people expected him to be.

She'd said she didn't feel that way for him anymore, and that he was too mellow in bed. Harry thought back to the sex they'd shared, and realized, maybe she'd had a point.

With a sigh, he continued. "Snape, please stop teasing me. My brain's going to stall if you continue, and I'm sure there's no joy at taunting a comatose man."

The snake stopped his persistent edging against the wall of Harry's gripped hands. "Perhaps. I do enjoy a challenge." Then Snape began to shift his body, wriggling in a different manner than before and slowly slipped out of Harry's trousers. Harry sighed with relief, and pressed the heel of his hand against his groin, willing all sexual desire to go away—far, far away.

Then, he watched as the snake coiled up and began to change, slowly at first, like thick molasses straight from the cooler, then more quickly as the man appeared to remember just how the transformation was done. And soon, there stood Severus Snape. Tall, and pale, his lanky hair hanging well past his shoulders.

And he was totally starkers.

"You're naked!" Harry couldn't stop his roaming eyes. Apparently, Snape was very comfortable strutting about for all the world to see.

"Yes," was all Snape said, his voice a slow drawl, and then he leered at Harry, his eyes gleaming with hunger; Harry pressed himself against the ground, suddenly sympathizing with the mice captured by the piercing gaze from a soaring falcon. Snape was the hunter, feral and full of power, and Harry feared for himself, or at least with a look like that in Snape's eyes, his chastity.

"Do you need a robe?" Harry asked to distract the man as Snape lifted one foot off the ground to stalk Harry. Harry's eyes were drawn to the man's crotch, but Harry focused on his toes instead, which were long with sparse tuffs of hair on them, and then promptly, the man fell to the ground.

Harry jumped up and went to his side where he'd landed in a gangly sprawl.

"Bugger," Snape said. "Not accustomed to being tall."

Having pulled his warm robe out of his pack, Harry draped it across Snape's body, covering the man from hairy toes to collar bones. "You okay?" Harry asked him, squatting next to his head, his hand reaching out to pluck an oak leaf from his black hair.

"Of course," Snape said, and Harry was surprised that he hadn't snapped or sounded annoyed. Then Snape began to chuckle.

Something was wrong with the universe.

"Snape? Snape! What's wrong?" Harry grabbed Shape's shoulders and began to shake him like a misbehaving boy. "Why are you laughing?" Had he gone insane while stuck here in the Land of the Fae?

"Potter," Snape began through his chuckles. Then louder, "Potter, stop manhandling me this instant."

"Harry? What the…? Severus!"

Harry looked up and saw Draco emerge from the trees, a flock of tiny silver dragonflies buzzing around his head, one perched on his left shoulder. The look of shock transformed into delight as Draco ran over to the two men on the ground. The dragonflies followed.

"Severus! Oh Merlin. It's you. It really is. You're alive." Draco began patting Snape's body over his entire length, down his legs, across his torso, and finally he fumbled for the man's hand and held it tight. "You're alive."

"Yes, Draco. It appears so." Snape sat up, the cloak slipping off his body to pool in his lap. Harry made a point of not looking at the man's bare end. Then Snape hmmed, a deep sound rumbling from his chest, and Harry had to look away, hoping the other men wouldn't look his direction. Merlin, the noises that man made.

"Draco, without that haughty sneer, you're quite an attractive man," Snape said. "I think I will have you both."

Harry's head shot up to look at Snape. "What the hell?" Harry said, his voice loud enough to startle the silver dragonflies, which took to the air in a cloud.

Draco examined Snape critically. "Severus, are you quite feeling all right?"

Snape sighed, a long, exasperated sound that almost reminded Harry of the bitter man he'd worked with to defeat Voldemort.

Then, one dragonfly separated from the flock, buzzing a tight cadence, and Harry noticed it wasn't an insect at all, but a very small fairy with long antennae and a skinny body. The men watched it fly, weaving between them. With lightening reflexes, Draco shot his hand out and snagged the fairy from out of the air.

Harry's jaw dropped, impressed.

"Okay, you little shit. You're going to tell us how to get out of the Land of Crazy, so we can get home to our lives." Draco stood, and the other two men followed. Snape hung Harry's cloak from his shoulders, letting it hand open. Harry focused on the sprite.

"Draco, don't squeeze so hard," Harry said. The little fairy's piercing scream had summoned Harry to Draco's side. "Don't hurt him."

"Harry, stop being a bleeding heart. This bug is going to help us get out, aren’t you bug?"

"Let me go!" The fairy squirmed and Draco's fingers clenched and suddenly all the struggle left the little body. After that, Draco's fingers relaxed and the fairy looked sourly upon them

"You can't leave…" he began, but a quick pulse of Draco's grip pushed the next few words out in a rush, "without fulfilling the Law."

Harry exchanged a glance with Draco and Severus.

"What Law?" Draco asked.

"The Law of the Gift of the Fae."

"What do we have to do, then? To fulfill this Law? Tell us!" Draco shook the silver fairy.

The tiny head bobbed about and it took time for the creature to come to, once Draco stopped thrashing him about.

"You have to do three things."

"Oh fucking fuck," Draco growled. "Don't tell me. We have to find the cockatrice that laid ruby eggs and count the dimples on a giant's ass."

The fairy seemed to take Draco's suggestions to thought, but with the threat of more shaking, he denied such quests. "No, you must do three things."

"I got that," Draco said menacingly. Snape snorted, his arms crossed over his chest.

The fairy glared. "First, you must entertain the Queen."

With an impatient shake of his head, Draco said, "And what does the Queen like to be entertained with?"

"I can think of a few things that might entertain her," Snape said, and Harry looked over at his old professor just as the man licked his lips.

Harry's eyes bulged. "Snape, my God, that's sick!"

Snape looked honestly shocked, and then the left side of his mouth quirked up. "Potter, I'm surprised your mind went there."

"Song," the fairy interjected. "She likes songs." He eyed the three men, his gaze flashing from one to the next.

"Okay, what else?"

"You must wash your banality away in the Pond of Lipion."

"Where is it," Harry asked, and Draco looked over at him, his eyes suggesting it was about time he joined in on the interrogation.

"South of here, by the copse of large apple trees. Near the boulder of granite." The fairy gestured in the direction with a lift of his chin. His antennae bobbed with the motion. Harry noticed that his eyes were multifaceted, like the creatures it flocked with.

"And the last thing?" This time it was Snape who asked. He'd stepped between Harry and Draco and now the three stood in a tight knot, all of them looking down at the trapped Fae.

The tiny antennae waved. "Well, the Good-bye Feast, of course. It will happen here, after you fulfill the two previous requirements."

Draco lifted his wand and the little fairy turned stark blue. "No! No, I told you everything."

"Was there any trickery in what you just told us?"

"Everything I told you was true. Do those three things and the passage will open for you."

Harry thought back to the poisoned Pepperup and the reason he'd come looking for Snape in the first place. "And when can we do these things? Now? Just sing a song and take a dip and then we party and off we go?"

"No." It shook its head violently. "You must perform the tasks in procession in one day. Tomorrow is Beltane and the doors open easily on the Quarter days. In the morning you can sing. Height of the sun you must bathe, and at the evening is the Feast."

Draco looked at the other two, and Harry shrugged. He felt he could pose questions to the Fae for hours on end and probably get no clearer answers than what they'd just gotten.

"Well, three tasks in one day," Draco said. "I guess we can last another day. Though our food is running low." He stared down at the creature in his fist. "Is there some food around here? A French restaurant? A curry shop?"

The little head shook again, antennae dancing. "No, but there are plenty of berries and fruit. And a pool nearby with good water for drinking."

Harry stared at Draco. "Curry shop?"

He shrugged. "Well, I had to try."

"I wouldn't turn away potato soup. And fresh bread," Snape added, looking past Harry, a thoughtful expression settled on his lips. Harry shook his head. He needed to stop staring at those lips.

"Okay then, we will let you go. But if we find you've lied to us—" Draco let the threat hang there and the fairy shivered.

"No. I gave you truth."

With that, Draco opened his fist, and the fairy raced away.

Harry watched it gain altitude and then dodge behind the reaching top of a fir tree. "I think we're screwed," Harry said. And sadly, the two Slytherins agreed.

~~~

The night set goose bumps spreading across his arms, and sleep continued to dart and slip away like the dragonflies from the previous day. The ground was hard, he couldn’t Transfigure anything in this cursed place, and he only had his cloak for warmth. He wanted a bed. He wanted….

Draco couldn't stop thinking. What if that little piece of shite had lied? What if they were trapped here forever and Draco would never be able to control the things that spilled from his lips.

Unfortunately, the more he reflected on his recent lack of brain-to-mouth filter, he began to develop a hypothesis of just why the most inappropriate things that popped into his mind just dripped from his mouth like baby poo.

He was cursed by the Fae.

During a dinner of peaches, granola bars and biscuits, he'd had to bite his tongue to stop his inappropriate assessment of the webbing of scars across Severus' back. He knew the older man had transected the surface of hell, as a child and in service to the Dark Lord; the last thing he'd wanted to do was bring out horrid memories. However, he was curious. He wanted to know where the scars had come from. He wanted to know the horrors Severus had gone through that were a testament to his strength. He'd always admired the man.

And now he was stranded here with Severus and Harry. Both men he'd fantasized about on some level, with a horrible tendency to spout out the first thought in his head if he let his guard slip the slightest amount. He was hungry, and cold, and Merlin be damned! He just wanted to be able to relax and not feel so… trapped.

With a muttered Silencing Charm, Draco stood and walked out of their little camp to a small pool they'd gathered their drinking water from. A full moon hung just behind the tips of the trees and a flittering reflection lit up the hollow. His approach, though silent, startled a few dark ducks, and they paddled out into the center of the pond, casting ripples over the surface. Draco stared down at the water and saw his distorted reflection staring back. His hair framed his face, but even in the dim he could see the shadowy edge under his eyes, the drawn ridge to his brows.

He leaned forward and looked, really looked into his eyes. Grey and reflective, like a shield. His armor. But now, they seemed to shimmer, and he knew the barrier he'd built up since childhood, from the early lessons taught to him by his father and his aunt and just living as a Malfoy, was slowly dissolving.

He stood and stared up at the sky. There were no stars; the moon was too bright, hanging there like a fat balloon. In the distance Draco could hear the far away echo of a song and laughter, and realized the Fae must be reveling. At least someone was happy.

He stepped back into the clearing and glanced at Harry, wondering where Snape had gone. Then he noticed the large snake wrapped around Harry's body, twined between Harry's legs and a sudden spark of emotion flared in Draco's chest, causing his hands and legs to go numb. Jealousy and desire and hope. These emotions haunted him. He turned away, lay down on his cloak and closed his eyes.

Sleep remained at bay.

~~~

Severus shifted his body, and wrapped himself along the length of Potter, from neck to foot. The man was like a hot stone and Severus soaked up all the warmth he could.

He'd been enjoying living as a snake. He found the lifestyle to be beneficial to his temperament and he also took alarming pleasure lying in wait and smothering his prey, his actions surreptitious until it was too late, and then slipping into a digestive lethargy in the warm rays of the sun.

But now Potter and Draco had invaded his retirement and he realized that perhaps he'd been lonely with only his food to contend with and a fairy or two. And weren't the two young men tasty in their own ways?

Snape had always been a man of personal denial. Controlled. Sharp. For too long he'd denied himself simple pleasures, because it had been unwise to offer fodder to those who would use anything against him: his job, pets, favored students, heirloom keepsakes. He still hated Lucius for breaking his mother's singing bowl. Then it'd turned into more of a form of retribution. 'Look at me, I'm without love, I'm without home, I'm without joy… Have I suffered fully for my sins?'

But what was sin and what was atonement, for he was just a man who had done what he could to survive and he came out alive in the end. Alive! And shouldn't he accept this gift and live? For once live and have love and a home and joy and all those things the good and pure take for granted?

Snape knew he wasn't good, and he certainly wasn't pure, but he was just as worthy as those who kept their hands as clean as freshly fallen snow, maybe more so, because he'd challenged the world, and through that daring he'd changed the world, and wasn't it a better place now for his audacity?

People should be lining up to make him happy.

And now he saw something that might bring him that happiness, and he decided he would make his own choices.

~~~

Muddled with sleep, Harry languidly tilted his hips against the pressure on his cock. God, so good. How long had it been? Since Ginny? Yes, he hadn't been touched by anyone since Ginny, and he knew… this wasn't the unknowing fumbling of a woman, however skilled she might be. He knew that on a deeper level than his addled brain could muster. The pressure shifted, running up and down his length, rhythmic, consistent.

Utter physical pleasure… A groan slipped from his lips and he rolled onto his back.

A noise, sharp and alien, infested his dream, his very good dream, and he whined, tilting his head away to avoid the inevitable awakening the noise had instigated. In this dream there was no shame, no fear. Only feeling.

"Fine." The word was high pitched, balanced on the edge of sanity. "If you must fraternize with a snake, fine, but please, please put up a Silencing Charm next time."

Harry stopped moving. Slowly, he let his mind wander through the sensations over his body. His feet were numb; they must have slipped out from under his cloak. His left leg was wrapped up in something, his cloak maybe… is that why he was cold? And… oh Merlin. Something was moving across his cock. Just the right pressure, just the right pace, and he knew it had been going on for some time because just then it was all too much, and Harry threw back his head and let the slow boil of his orgasm surge through his body like waves crashing against the ocean shore.

A moment passed, and another, and Harry just lay there, one arm thrown over his eyes and he knew exactly what had just happened, and that fear and that shame swallowed him whole.

"Umm, Snape. Would you please get off me?"

"I think after that exquisite performance, you could at least exchange pleasures, Potter."

Harry sighed. "I'm not jerking off a snake… I wouldn't even know how."

Off to his left, he heard Draco growl.

He kept his face hidden as the snake slid off him and after the passage of barely a few seconds, he heard, "Well, how about a man. I'm sure you can figure that out."

"Oh, fucking hell!" Harry pulled his hand off of his face and looked over at Draco, who was teetering on the edge of some kind of breakdown.

Naked, Snape's cock hung heavy, defying gravity with its fullness. Snape looked over at Draco, his chin lowered, a fierce squinting to his eyes, and said, "Well, I would prefer if you would join us." Another shiver overtook Harry's body. Snape glanced from Draco to Harry. "Would you like that?"

His mouth suddenly went dry and his prick gave a hungry throb, reawakening.

Snape turned from Harry and in five steps stood inches from Draco's chest. Harry watched as with each footfall Draco's eyes grew wider and wider, his mouth tightly clamped shut. Snape leaned down, his nose brushing against Draco's cheek, his skin glowing in the moonlight. "Would you like that?" he asked again, this time his question aimed at Draco.

"Merlin, Severus. Are you trying to kill me?" Draco finally said. Now that his mouth was working, Draco's eyes were screwed shut, like a little boy who thought that if he couldn’t see the monster under the bed, it really wasn't there. Harry watched, his erection racing to fullness once more, as Snape touched his tongue to Draco's chin, and slowly licked the man up along the side of his face.

"Fucking yes, Severus." The whispered words were ripped from Draco's will, and with their release, all the tension washed through his body, from head to toe, like lightning had struck the man from a storm raging from beyond the darkened sky.

And then Snape wrapped Draco's waist up in one arm, and he dove for his lips, which Harry had so recently been noticing himself, and as he watched the two men kissing, awash in the silver glow of the moon, Harry saw a slice of what could be, a piece of another reality that did exist and was possible and something within him unclenched that he hadn't even known was knotted up. He watched them and he longed for them, as if between these two sarcastic men was exactly where he'd belonged all along.

How could it be that he missed their touch when he'd never felt it before?

The kiss slowed, languid, and finally Snape licked across Draco's lips, now swollen and red.

"Get over here," Snape said, tossing the words over his shoulder without turning away from Draco.

And Harry complied.

~~~

Draco blinked his eyes open. The sky above was chalky and stagnant, like a canvas backdrop painted in time. Never changing. There were clouds, soft things that held no threat, only depth; no wind urged them along. Something about the slant of the early light or maybe the stillness carried his spirit. He felt that on the edge of his hearing, if he really focused, he could hear music and he was lost in it.

It seemed an immeasurable amount of time had passed, but nothing had changed.

Then someone stirred and he looked down to see Harry nuzzling into his side, his eyes relaxed closed. His hair stuck up in the back and the remnants of his scar peeked through the part in his bangs.

Maybe it wasn't the lighting after all.

He looked back up at the grey sky, a little periwinkle blue along the gap of horizon he could see through the trees. Grey tinges on grey highlights.

Slowly, the sun rose; the light warmed the periwinkle into sky blue with shades of aquamarine. The colors captured his breath, breaking his heart.

"Hmm, good morning, Draco." Draco looked down at Harry, who was smiling a crooked grin at him. That smile…it had always been something Draco had wanted…just for him. First friendship and now this…the truth of it overwhelmed Draco.

And he realized he could no longer lie to himself.

He smiled in return and Harry's own grin softened into something contented. "Good morning, Harry."

"You two certainly squawk like a pair of guineafowl in the morning. If I'd known that, I would have kicked you straight out of bed."

Draco snorted, then reached over Harry and rubbed his hand along Severus' arm. "You call this a bed?" The hard ground dug into Draco's hip as Severus scooted closer, pressing Harry tight in between the two. Harry practically purred.

"Ready for round two?" Harry asked, then yawned, and blushed. It was all very fetching.

Draco glanced at Severus, whose eyes were heavy lidded as he snuffled into Harry's neck. He pressed his groin into Harry's arse and drawled, "Always."

It was all very surreal. Last night Draco had been with two men…. Two men he knew, not strangers, not anyone he'd pondered dating, and two of them. Two. One of them previously labeled Most Sought After Bachelor by Witch Weekly. Oh, how the women will weep, Draco thought, leaning in for a kiss, which Harry eagerly returned.

And could the man kiss. His lips were pliable, but demanding, and that little nip he did on Draco's bottom lip sent signals coursing through to the ends of his fingers and toes, signals that insisted certain bits prepare for more exercise.

Then they released, and Draco lifted his face to Severus, whose black eyes seemed even blacker when he came in to capture Draco's mouth. Severus' kiss was heady, never giving quarter for Draco to breathe, and it was fast and eager and Draco simply held on for the ride. The man's tongue pulled out groans, his lips swallowed down sighs. Draco marveled at his luck.

One leg forced its way between his two, and he allowed the intrusion and gasped as Harry's thigh pressed into his filling cock. Like the night before, they frotted and rutted, nothing that Draco would call true sex in the greedy sense of the definition, but it was pure sex. As a unit, they moved, rocking and filling the morning air, now alive with birds and butterflies, with the cries of their pleasure.

Each thrust against Harry's thigh brought Draco closer, an inevitable force like a charging stallion. He could hear Severus panting in time with the rock of their bodies, even as Harry's soft litany of 'yes,' 'God,' and 'so close' filled Draco with a sense of accomplishment, and he couldn't wait until they had a real bed, not this hard ground, and he and Severus could show Harry what true sex with men was like and with just that promise he was coming, erratic and never-ending. He cried out with the intensity: names and gods and affirmations, groaning out as his energy was leached from his body.

Draco knew he couldn't speak now, to break the sounds of rutting and loving would be taboo, and honestly his lips were quite occupied with other important duties as he rode out the twitches and jolts. A bite of a shoulder, a lick along wet lips. But he couldn't stop his brain, his thoughts, as he ran a hand along the line of Severus' spine, or felt the puff of air across his cheek from Harry's exertions. He urged Harry, gripped him even as Severus ground into him from behind, the man's head thrown back, radiant with fucking bliss. If he did open his mouth, Draco might say things dredged up from the bottom of his heart. He might say, I've needed you for so long. Or something like Merlin, you're so beautiful. You are both so beautiful. But really, the thing that scared him the most was the feeling of his heart, ready to burst, as the two men looked into his eyes as they found their own release.

I love you, he almost said. Almost.

~~~

Cleaning Charms and a quick breakfast of grapes and rice crackers later, Harry still couldn't stop grinning. Every time he looked at either Draco or Snape, he'd just burst into another inane grin. He suddenly felt like he'd gone round the bend, but then Snape and Draco regarded him with two parts pride and three parts affection, and the ground shifted underneath Harry's feet and he wasn't sure if he could remain upright at all.

Everything was different. Everything.

And that…well, that was okay.

He stared up into the shifting leaves and wondered if they rained down some odd pheromone, like pollen, to make him feel this way, and if his feelings were only due to a spell of the Fae. He looked away not wanting to think about it, his smile a memory.

"So, we must sing for the Queen," Snape broke through his shadowed thoughts. "Any ideas? Though I am sure you will be shocked at this, I'm not much of a vocal talent." He was perched on a log they'd levitated into the clearing since they couldn't seem to Transfigure anything here. Snape suggested the magic of the place was already too chaotic, and such spells couldn't find the true form of an item to transform it. So, they sat on rocks and slept on the ground. Harry didn't mind too much.

"I would suggest something flattering, maybe God Save the Queen," Harry suggested.

"You think the Queen of the Fae would enjoy a song that is sung to the Queen of Muggle England?" Draco asked. As he talked, Harry watched his lips. "Harry?" Draco squinted at him.

"Yeah. What?" Then Harry smirked at Draco, followed by a leer for good measure. Draco's mouth fell open the tiniest bit.

"Boys, boys," Snape interrupted. "While I am all about pursuing my own desires, and I wouldn't mind another interlude with the two of you," he said in his silkiest voice, "I am under the impression that, while I am content here, the two of you wish to leave this place and continue on with your lives back in the normal plane of existence."

Harry and Draco shared a look, and in the silence the two men made a pact.

Then Draco turned back to Snape. "Yes, Severus. We do wish to return. Sing first—" He delivered a heated gaze at Snape. "—then we can get back on the train."

"The train?" Harry asked.

"Yes, do you want to caboose this time?" Draco asked, holding in a snicker.

Harry shook his head, feigning ignorance because it amused him. He'd had his own experience with women, well mainly one woman, and while he'd never been with a man before, in any capacity, he wasn't completely clueless. He knew that eventually they would be naked—well, all of them naked, versus just Snape—and he found it entertaining to let them think he was utterly innocent in the ways of gay sex. He couldn’t wait for Draco to try to explain exactly what the lube was for.

Of course, they had no lube, so maybe it was better they just rubbed against each other like they had been. For now, for him, it was satisfying enough.

"I know an old children's song my mother used to sing to me," Draco said, his chin raised. His shoulders were held low, providing maximum distance between them and his ears, giving him an aristocratic look that Harry recognized as Draco's uncomfortable don't-challenge-me stance.

Snape raised one eyebrow, but said nothing and Harry realized that Snape knew Draco's body language as well as Harry, perhaps even better. The light filtering through the trees washed over the other two men, giving them faint auras as they discussed the Queen's song. Harry shifted uncomfortably; he felt ignored.

Then Snape was by his side, the lighting no longer illuminating his black hair as something noble and gothic. Now, he just looked liked like his old Potions professor, only without that hatred peering from behind his eyes like the devil. He looked years younger; living as a snake had done him good.

"Do you want to learn the words?" Draco asked, his features softening, and Harry nodded.

With patience that made Draco not just an adequate teacher but a damned good one, he taught Snape and Harry a few versus of the song. Harry wished he'd had quill and parchment to write down the lyrics, because the words entered one ear and quickly got lost in a mass of total forgetfulness.

Once they'd gone over the song three times and Harry only fumbled four lines, and Snape mocked him with only half an effort, Draco deemed them ready.

"Well, it isn't going to be perfect," he said.

"Why don't you do it, a solo? It will be grand," Harry suggested, his eyes wide and hopeful.

"No."

Harry slouched. It wouldn't be so bad. It couldn't be worse than proposing to Ginny and having her giggle in his face. "Fine. Let's get this serenade going."

Draco opened his mouth, and began.

"Where did all this virtue spring?"

His voice was soft, and he sang in an off-tune falsetto. Really, Harry didn't think he sounded all that good, a little too fake, and that bolstered his own nerve. He joined in for the next line.

"Spun of silver spider's thread."

While Draco's voice reached high on the upper notes, making his voice go all tinny, Harry knew such feats were beyond his expertise, so he dropped an octave lower and tried to sing in tune. From the ill look on Snape's face, he figured that, combined, they amounted to one big fail.

Then Snape made a huge display of inhaling and he added his own baritone.

"She gives me lilac bells and flying spells, the Queen of Fairy Land."

A little fairy fluttered by them, hovering just over their heads, and then dashed away in a sparkle of lights.

"The beautiful maid in sparkling gown, we dance with buttercups in hand—"

Their song wavered, the different tones brewing up a discordance that caused Harry's ears to ache. He scratched one, imagining Snape dancing around with a buttercup gripped between his fingers. Muttering, Harry hacked his way through the next verse about sunshine or moonshine, or something, and ready for the next line, he added extra volume. The three of them joined together in a truly inspired warble.

"…to this the Queen of Fairy Land."

"Please! Please stop!"

The three wizards halted their song—they had three more stanzas left—and looked up at a very pale fairy. Her eyes were pink and Harry thought she might be an albino.

"I thought we had to serenade the Queen with a song," Draco said as he craned his head back to stare at the fluttering Fae.

"Yes, but you're making the younglings cry. They think monsters have come to the Land."

Snape looked at the other two and threw back his head with a laugh.

~~~

Bushes rustled. "I thought it was this way."

"No, definitely this path. Damn!" A branch snapped.

"Hey, Severus? Draco?"

The other two turned to look at Harry. Snape was full-on annoyed, his eyes shadowed by his bunched brow, and he rubbed at his arm where a branch had slapped him. Draco looked surprisingly like a lost kitten, and Harry wanted to grin at them both, hold them close. But he kept the smile off his face and pointed at a small animal trail through the undergrowth. He could see an apple tree in the distance; heavy, round fruit weighed down the branches. They'd been searching the forest for the pool since the fairy had put an end to their serenade, and now they were lost with little idea of which way was east or west, let alone in which direction the pool lay.

"How about this?" The soil held more moisture here and the smell of the damp earth was prevalent on the air. Harry thought it was a good sign.

"Bunny trail," Draco said dismissively, then returned to hacking at the thick growth with slicing hexes when a vine reached out and twined around his leg.

"Agh!" Draco was yanked to the ground. "Help, it's going to eat me!" With surprising speed, Draco was dragged through shrubs and berry bushes, foot first, until he reached the bottom of a stately tree.

Harry and Snape leapt to Draco's side, slicing and tugging at the thick vine, but nothing even scratched it; it was impervious to even Sectumsempra. The vine continued to coil around Draco, securing him to the pale trunk.

Tired, the skin along his bare arms raw from scraping against the woody vines, Harry leaned over and panted. "My God, Draco. How did you end up stumbling onto the one plant that we are completely impotent against?"

Off to his right, Snape chuckled.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. "Severus, please tell me that you are not laughing at impotent."

The laughing stopped. "I'm sorry," Snape said. "I found it amusing at the time." Then he snorted once more.

"Help me." Draco tried to move. "You're both useless! I once would have called you friends, but now I couldn't even rate you as lackeys. You suck as lackeys. Can't even help me out of this tangle. Useless!" He twisted to no avail.

Draco had been strung up by the fast moving plant. One arm, lifted over his head in a delicate curve, was wrapped tight against the smooth bark of the beech tree by a long coil of vine. His other arm was pulled around to the back side of the trunk. His head was trapped in a tilt, one vine trailing over his forehead, and the wide expanse of his exposed skin, growing pinker and pinker as Harry studied him, suddenly caused Harry to salivate. Other vines had entwined around his body, tugging up his shirt to reveal a flat stomach, wrenching one leg to the side. One creeper was drawn taut at the juncture of groin and leg, the pose wanton and suggestive.

And as Harry's eyes lingered on Draco's crotch, he saw that not only was the vision suggestive, the position and circumstance must have been as well, because a noticeable bulge strained against the tightened fabric of Draco's trousers.

Harry licked his lips and looked over at Snape. Snape, lost in the vision, took a few moments before he turned his burning gaze at Harry.

The spark in Snape's eyes held pure wickedness.

As one, the two men turned back towards Draco and saw that as he watched them, his expression blanked. That clean slate screamed many things to Harry.

Finally, Draco swallowed, opened his mouth, closed it. He squirmed, then opened his mouth again. "Get over here, would you?"

And with that, Harry and Snape lunged at Draco strapped up by vine and branch, their mouths colliding with this exposed skin, hungry and questing. Tongue on belly, lips on throat, and finally, Harry landed on Draco's open mouth and swallowed each groan whole.

"So gorgeous. So… Oh God, Draco," Harry said, panting as he pulled back to sear Draco with the fever of his gaze: the man's body, his skin, the heat of his grey eyes. Somehow Draco's hair had become mussed, and Harry realized he'd probably been the cause of that; he couldn’t keep his hands still.

"You like this, yes?" Snape asked, and Harry nodded, then realized he was asking Draco.

Draco squeaked, biting his lips shut.

"Draco. Do not hold your tongue. Tell us."

Finally, Draco let loose his words and they came in a flood. As he groaned out, "Merlin, Yes. Please, I want you, both of you… just touch me," his voice rose higher, eager and demanding. "Yes, there. Kiss me, Severus. My cock. Merlin, somebody… Please, somebody just suck my cock." Harry tried his best to follow the pleas Draco begged of them.

That is how he found himself kneeling before Draco, one knee squishing a patch of small red flowers, the other braced against a fallen log, Draco's fly open and the angry head of his cock bobbing right before Harry's face.

He'd never been this close to a penis before, an erection, a cock, a prick, and as his mind ran through all the names for it, he almost giggled.

What if he did it wrong?

"Potter," Snape said, and Harry almost came from just the sound of Snape's voice alone. He could say, "Potter, you’re a failure at Potions," right now, and Harry would fill his pants. "Open your mouth," he said instead.

Harry licked his lips again—they were swollen, he could tell—and opened his mouth, eyes never leaving the hard flesh in front of him.

"Now, wrap those lips tight around Draco's cock." Cock. Harry followed instructions, and at the first contact of lips on Draco's soft skin, Draco gasped and thrust his hips forward mere inches, as far as the vines would let him.

"Harry, yes, yesyes. And Severus, do not stop talking."

In spite of himself, Harry hummed in laughter—apparently he wasn't the only one Snape's voice affected—and was rewarded by another gasp, and then Draco slipped into incoherent babbling of 'yes' and 'please' and 'Merlin' and 'fucking right there.'

"Harry." Snape's voice emerged from behind Harry's left ear, and he could feel arms around his waist, hands on his belt undoing the buckle, then moving to the button on his trousers. "Run your tongue along the bottom of Draco's cock." The word cock slipping from Snape's lips carried with it the sin of a thousands rent boys. "Suck and rub. Suck again, deeper." When Snape said 'deeper,' he pushed the waistband of Harry's pants down. Harry shifted to let Snape push them down past his hips. He felt awkward, his bare arse hanging out in the air, a cock head brushing against the roof of his mouth, but when a finger trailed down Harry's tailbone, down into his crack, thoughts of awkwardness were quickly banished by, 'Oh Merlin, Snape is going to play with my hole.'

To his side, Snape murmured, "Suck harder, Harry. Swallow his cock down." Above him he heard groans and wails as Draco's hips shifted with the pace of Harry's sucking. And behind him, Harry felt a tingle as Snape cast a spell, and wetness slicked over him that wasn't entirely comfortable.

Ah, so lube wasn't really a problem at all.

"I’m going to enter you now, Harry. Just one finger. Don't stop sucking Draco. If you stop, I will stop."

Harry nodded, tilting his arse to give Snape ample room. Snape chuckled, then pressed in one finger.

Harry nearly choked.

Then Snape pressed deeper, and twisted his finger, and the groan that Harry released mingled with Draco's in a harmony unattained by their prior singing exploits. It was the most exquisite music made by men.

His body burned, each cell suffused with a fire that he'd never before experienced. Here he was, in the forest, with a cock down his throat and a finger up his arse and Harry had never felt so alive.

"Remember," Snape said so close to Harry's ear he quivered as the puff of breath ghosted across his skin, "if you stop, then I stop."

Harry resumed his enthusiastic fumbling, one hand now gripping the base of Draco's erection as he swallowed deeper followed by a few shallow sucks of the head as Snape inserted another finger, then another, fucking Harry with them in a steady motion.

Draco's body had gone tense and Harry knew that he was close, and with one final swallow Harry groaned, and Draco's spasms thrashed through his trapped limbs, a cry erupting from his lips as he shot down Harry's throat, and in that moment, Snape removed his fingers and replaced them with something far thicker, all in one fluid motion.

Impaled at both ends, Harry released Draco's erection and cried out his own passion as Snape pulled out, then thrust in again, over and over. The pain and fire and desire all went up in a mingled inferno as Harry's own orgasm wrapped around his entire body, as he unloaded himself all over the loamy earth.

A few grunts later Snape too found his own release and slumped on top of Harry, and in that moment, Harry felt the reality of where he was, who he was with, and acknowledged that this was right.

When he took notice of the world around him again, Harry's pants had been tugged up over his arse and Snape lay on his side next to him. Harry looked up and saw Draco had also been tucked away, but he appeared increasingly uncomfortable still bonded to the tree.

"This vine. It won't let me go," he said. "Nice blow job, by the way." His eyes grew wide, and then he just inhaled and shrugged. "I've wanted your mouth on me for forever, Harry," he said, as if resigned to the admission.

Harry looked down at Draco's feet and ran his hand through his hair. "Well, it was my first one, I hope it was okay."

"Merlin, Harry. Don't be a modest idiot. I think you have a knack, but I'm sure more practice wouldn't hurt." Harry looked back up at Draco and beamed at him.

"And you," Snape asked. "How are you feeling, Harry?"

Harry turned to look at Snape, the long length of the man as he lie on his side, propped up on one arm, the soft weight of his dick resting against his leg. The man had to be a nudist at heart. "A little sore, but… " He darted in for a frenzy of kisses, then pulled back and glanced from Draco to Snape and back again. "I really… really fucking liked that." Snape chuckled. "And I hope… Well, what do you think about trying that again? Back in our world?"

Harry was bombarded with, "That would not be remiss," and "Wild horses couldn’t drag me away," both in the same sardonic tone, and he couldn’t help but lift back his chin and laugh, thanking the day he'd poked that mushroom.

Snape stood, wrapped himself up in a cloak, and examined the vines still wrapped around Draco. "I'm unsure what else to use." Spell after spell and Snape still couldn't release Draco from his bonds. A dark cloud settled over the man.

Harry watched him, letting Snape file through his gamut of magic. "While you do make a pretty picture all trussed up, I bet you have a nasty neck kink," Harry said to Draco.

"I think you have a bondage kink," Draco said with a smirk, and Harry agreed, somehow proud that he wasn't as boring as vanilla like Ginny had accused him of being.

"Here, Severus. Let me try."

Harry could only think of one thing that might help: to unbalance the pure magical make-up of the tree.

With a ready stance, he lifted his wand and began to chant the complicated sequence of words that Draco had taught him years ago, one that he'd recently had to use on a pesky bouquet. Draco's eyes grew wide once he realized the spell Harry was using, then relief took over as the vines slithered away from their unending embrace.

"You used the Disruption Spell," Draco said, his tone harsh. "You do realize that it could have unraveled the very fabric of the Fae realm."

Oh. Well, no, Harry hadn't. But he schooled his features and simply shrugged. "Sometimes you just need to take the chance."

~~~

They found the pool and bathed. The water was clear, and warmer than Harry had expected. And while lounging in the spring, it was his turn to prepare Snape, with plenty of guidance from Draco, and as he entered him, it suddenly became very apparent why his sex life with Ginny had been so dull.

~~~

In a single file row, the three men walked back to their clearing and discovered it full of tiny people with wings. They ranged from the size of butterflies to fairies almost a foot in height. Reds, yellows, blacks and golds, each color sparkled and the air filled with the buzz of constantly beating wings.

The raucous joy nearly overwhelmed Draco, who was still in a bit of a daze from his incarceration by the tree and their later languid enjoyment at the pool. Never before had Draco wished, because things he longed for never came to be.

He looked over at his companions. Snape was laughing, noiselessly, but Draco could tell he was laughing by his posture and the squint of his eye. Harry just stared at the fairies, his mouth parted in awe and wonder; they looked, for all the world, amazing.

For a moment, the fairies went silent, then in an uproar they all fluttered about, dive bombing the three in a game of tag, buzzing their heads in greeting, all in welcome, all in play.

Draco thought, 'Oh Merlin, deliver me.'

"It's the wizardmen. The wizardmen! Come to party. Come to feast."

And feast they did.

After a couple of days on rations of nuts and twigs, Draco was ready for the piles of sweets and breads. There were pies and hearty soups made from root vegetables. Potato pies and biscuits. Draco noted there was no meat on the menu, but he didn't mind because his goblet overflowed with Fae wine, and though the mortal man was always warned against partaking in a Fairy Feast, Draco threw caution to the side and enjoyed himself to his fullest potential.

The meadow was lined with fairy lights and throughout the night the Fae came to talk to them, teasing them with innuendo and lewd gestures. Lounging on a pile of pillows sized for humans, Draco popped a blueberry into his mouth and sucked out the juices. He was on his fifth helping of wine and was more than a little muddy in the brain. Severus sat behind him, one arm around his waist and forever nuzzling the back of Draco's neck with his aristocratic nose. Harry was nearby, lying on his back, gazing up at the sky through the swaying tops of the trees. The air was heady with the scent of night-blooming flowers.

"So, we go back tonight," he said. Draco was annoyed that none of Harry's words slurred.

"So we have been told," Severus said, the words bumping into Draco's neck.

Harry rolled over and looked at them. "I know that the Fae did something to us." He eyed Draco and Severus, waiting for their response.

"Yes, we did."

All three looked up to see the fairy from a couple days ago, the one with the oak leaves and gossamer skirt. He did a little bow at them as he hung in the air like a spider on its silk.

"What did you do?" Harry asked, his words urgent.

"It is the gift of the Fae, silly wizardman. Everyone here earns freedom." The fairy flew down to land on Snape's nose, only to get kindly brushed aside. "The snakeman was given the Freedom of Choice."

"What exactly do you mean?" Draco asked. "Severus, you've always been a man to make your own choices."

A bark of laughter erupted from the man and he shook his head, his long hair swaying in a mesmerizing way. "I made one very important choice in my life, Draco, and following that catastrophic mistake, all other choices had been taken from me. Now, I am bound to no master." He leaned back on his elbows and Draco missed his warmth. "And I quite like it."

The little fairy flew to Draco, escorted by a fat honeybee that buzzed on by to a nearby jasmine bush. The fairy looked down at Draco like he was a toddler who'd lost his puppy. "The silverwizardman was given the Freedom of Speech," he said, and with a happy little exclamation, he back flipped through the air and darted towards Harry.

Freedom of Speech? Suddenly, Draco wasn't quite so drunk anymore.

"What about me?" Harry asked, a worry line between his brows.

"Certainly you've figured it out," said the skirt-wearing fairy. Harry shook his head in denial. The fairy tilted his head and clicked his tongue at Harry. "Freedom of Thought."

"Huh? But that… that makes no sense," Harry said, his voice dying in quiet thought.

That certainly wasn't what Draco'd been expecting. He'd figured it was freedom of sexual orientation or something else equally embarrassing as his mouth blubber had been.

"Oh, but yes so darkwizardman. You've kept your own desires packed away trying to be what others want. You'd forgotten to think for yourself. Now, you will."

Then the fairy laughed, and fluttered past Snape, past Draco and off into the darkening canopy. "Enjoy our gifts, wizardmen! Their potential will always remain with you; if you need their power, just remember your time here with us."

Harry watched him fly away and Draco watched Harry. Then Harry said, "So, this feeling, it isn't something the Fae did, necessarily. They just released some of my … inhibitions." Draco studied the back of Harry's head, just stared, looking at the black mat of hair. For a moment he didn't know what to say, so just relaxed and let the words come out.

"No, Harry. This isn't something the Fae enchanted us with. Whatever feelings we have are ours." Harry turned around towards Draco, then glanced over at Snape.

"So then, when we leave here…" Harry grew silent, then looked down at his hands where he tugged on a blade of grass.

"When we leave here I expect you both to visit often, and regularly. I've grown fond of both of you and I don’t think I could be appeased by just one."

Harry looked up at Severus, his eyes bright in the moonlight and fairy globes. Then he sighed and a smile overtook his face. Draco caught his breath at the sight.

"Good," Harry said. "I've grown fond of you, too." He looked from Severus to Draco. "Both of you. I don't know how this is going to work, but I think that it's worth a try."

"I couldn't agree more," Draco said, and lifted his glass with a "Cheers!"

The men ate and drank until the moon began to slide away from its place at the top of the sky.

Then a chime tinkled and Draco instinctly knew it was time. It must be Beltane. The three men stood and gathered up their things.

"Well, time to go stop the potion epidemic," Severus said with an almost optimistic tone.

At the edge of the clearing, a door appeared, outlined in silver light.

Then the air filled with the sparkle of lights and music. As one unit, the fairies turned to them all and bowed. Severus dipped his head and Harry kind of chuckled, running his hand through his hair, stirring up the calm style it had briefly held.

Draco watched the two men. Watched as they turned and headed for the gateway, glittery, the return home. To the place they had come from, to the way things had always been.

He followed after them, realizing that things would never be the way they had been. And that was good. He followed after them and the promises they held. In a way, he was mad. Mad for them. Mad for hoping. But he didn't care. With them he wanted to burn, burn, burn and live. Like he'd never allowed himself to do before. Live like people who had nothing and everything to lose, like vagabonds who rode across the world on touring brooms and each time they burned out their charms, they'd laugh and say 'bugger' and enchant the broom again to keep on going.

First Harry entered, a bright light bursting as he disappeared from the Land of the Fae. Then Severus went.

With a flash of light, Draco passed through.

~~~

"Miss Anderson, that is a very good vase, lovely pattern of roses along the base. However, as you can see from the instructions, you were supposed to Transfigure an urn. Please, remember to stress the hi in the incantation, not the pia. And subdue the decoration. The deceased tend to be more somber.”

"Yes, Professor Malfoy. Thank you, sir." Emily Anderson placed another orchid bulb in the center of her worktable and tried again.

The doors banged against the stone walls and Draco's heart wobbled between the stalled feeling of dread and the fluttery pace of anticipation. Ida Hathaway walked through the open doorway with a slight skip to her step, and a bundle of long stemmed mushrooms in her hands.

The flutter won over.

A low murmur slipped through the classroom like morning mist, low and insignificant enough that Draco almost didn't even notice it. Confusion spread like wildfire at why Draco hadn't immediately stormed at the Sartory delivery woman with curses to her bloodline down to the twenty-second generation.

"Hello, Mr. Malfoy," she said with her typical exuberance. "Delivery for you." Draco watched as she tipped her coral cap and curtsied.

He held himself stiff, his shoulders drawn back and chin lifted, a stance of a prince, proud and not at all his usual pose of simmering resentment. His eyes ran over the mushrooms in her hand, large specimens with spots and he had to swallow to keep a smile from his face. As his eyes met Ida's, he simply nodded, and the woman's answering grin was so brilliant, he almost flinched at causing someone so much joy.

And this time she didn't wink, and for that Draco was immensely relieved, but she did parade down the steps towards the bottom of the classroom, nodding to the students who—with the unskilled awareness of youth—immediately understood that this delivery was different, and giggled and waved back at her.

Once she arrived at Draco's desk, she placed the bundle—he could see they were potted—of mushrooms on his desk with a gentle bow. Yes, they were the same kind, brown flesh with red spots. Slightly poisonous if ingested, and Draco chuckled under his breath at the bumbling nature of Harry, and wondered how he'd gotten away with this under Severus' nose.

Then, the delivery woman stood tall, pulled off her cap…and then she winked at Draco.

"Oh no," he said in alarm. He held his hand out, hoping to stop some sappy love song that Harry no doubt would have found amusing, but then when she opened her mouth and began to sing, he dropped his hand to his side and stared at her in awe.

She was singing the Fairy Queen song. And with her voice, it sounded splendid.

As her voice rose and fell with the tune, all Draco could do was open his mouth and laugh. He laughed at the absurdity of it, of the utter gall of Harry and Severus, and he laughed with joy.

And if a few of his students cringed in fright at the sudden insanity of their Professor, well sod them. Draco was happy. Wishes actually did come true and something as silly as his image wasn't going to hold his tongue.

The End.

Fic - It Always Rains - Chapter 23 (of 25)

Tue, 09 Jun 2009 16:15:44 GMT

Title: It Always Rains
Author: winnett
Pairing/Characters: Harry/Draco, Remus/Sirius
Rating: PG-R
Genre: Adventure/Romance/Mystery
Summary: Dark conspiracies, unlikely friendships and the endless weeping of the sky. Harry must follow a trail of clues to not only save his friend, but perhaps even the British wizarding world.
Warnings: Male/male sexual situations.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based in the world created by J.K.Rowling. They aren't mine and I make no money from them. I just like to let them out to play.
Author's notes: Thanks so much to my betas KF and megyal who agreed to help me polish up the last few chapters of this story! You rock! I couldn't do this without you.
Word count: Approximately 6,350

***********************************************************************

Chapter 23
"You say to yourself, "Dear God what have I done?"
And hope it's not too late 'cause tomorrow may never come"
Social Distortion – Reach for the Sky

The next morning, the two men Apparated to the small church. Faint energies clashed around the property, spawning anxiety and alarm, breeding a sense of something unbalanced, of a world missing some vital, encompassing piece, yet something else soothed and calmed, abating the more violent charge surrounding the hallowed ground.

Our Holy Weeper sat on the corner of two quiet lanes in a rural suburb known for good schools and safe streets. It was a small parish, holding a hundred members if they were cozy, with crow-stepped gables topped by a wooden cross. A small churchyard surrounded the building, its aging, slanted headstones well tended and moss-free. Venerable oaks lined the pavement, uplifting the pathway's edges as if it rested along the boundary of a great fault.

Harry glanced at Draco and then returned his gaze to the church, frowning at the odd magical tempest. They continued to stand there as a grey cat crossed the street and slid underneath a white-washed rail fence.

"Harry," Draco said quietly. "You feel that?"

Harry gave a slow nod.

Together, they walked up the uneven pavement to the entrance of the church. The doors, wooden and bound by wrought iron, groaned as Draco pushed them open. A small, hairless man shuffled up to them with a welcoming smile. He wore overalls and his teeth rested in his mouth like the tombstones of the cemetery outside, all different sizes and leaning in cock-eyed angles.

"Welcome to Our Holy Weeper," said the man in a high, eager voice. "Are you here to worship, or shall I tell you about our lovely church in a short tour?"

Harry grinned at the man, agreeing on the tour before Draco could halt what would most likely prove to be a long and tedious history lesson of Muggle faith.

The little man smiled, handed them each a pamphlet, and began to lead them through the building. "This is a late-12th century church. In the south aisle, formerly a chapel to St. Mary, is the fine memorial brass to Sir John de Yorse, dated 1476." Harry and Draco looked at the brass. Harry reached out to touch, but quickly pulled his hand away at a tsking noise from the man. Their tour guide continued on and they followed, exploring the rather rundown interior of the church. "The remains of what would have been a substantial funerary monument to Sir Thomas Whirley, his wife Anne and their eleven children are placed on the windowsill there." The little man pointed as they passed the sill. "It is likely that the monument was smashed during some local violence on the grounds in the mid 1680s. It is said that the church had been built upon some ancient stone ring—" then he learned towards them and chuckled, "—probably some bloody sacrifices happened here, if you ask me." He cleared his throat, leaned back and resumed his lecturer's expression. "However, this hasn't been confirmed because the parish has not allowed any surveys to be performed."

Finally, they stood before a small donation box and the man gave them another view of his unkempt teeth. Draco couldn't tear his eyes away from that crooked smile as Harry deposited a few quid.

"Well, sir, do you mind if we look around on your own?" Harry asked, donning his "All Around Good Guy" guise, and duped, the man agreed.

As they returned to the pulpit in the back of the church, Harry scanned for the man before they slipped into a back room.

"It's definitely here. Do you feel that?" Draco asked, investigating the area with his eyes as he sensed the strong magic in the building and air around him swirling like a tempest.

"I felt it the moment we arrived. Only it's really strong here. Right below us." Harry tapped the floor with his toe.

They began to search for a stairway down and found it behind a little cupboard. Hunched over to save their heads from the rough brick edges, they descended into the dark cellar.

Magical energy swiped against Draco, soaking into his skin, into his mind and heart, touching his magical core as he took the creaking stairs one at a time. A cobweb fluttered before his wandlight and he brushed it away. Everything was dim in the cramped stairway, his Lumos smothered, even sound seemed to be soaked up into that dark veil. Harry's eyes were squinting and Draco knew that his every sense was drawn fine, feeling and listening and searching for the slightest change in that silent void. In time they stepped into an open room.

The room measured about ten feet by ten feet, with wooden slats lining the earthen walls. In the center of the room on a high table sat a simple mount and resting on the mount was the orb. Swirling, hypnotic colours danced within the crystalline ball; power pulsed and taunted and swayed.

How the Muggles who worshipped in the run down house of God didn't sense the terrible thing, Draco couldn't fathom. It was a mystery that they could sing their psalms and hear sermons of hell and damnation without feeling that intimate touch of malevolence. Perhaps their virtuous reverence and quiet prayers soothed it, smothering that hunger shifting within.

He had faced both dark wizards and vampires in his day, but nothing seeped of evil like the artefact nestled below the floorboards, hidden away like a dreadful secret. Its magnificence was disarming; its hollow need was far, far worse.

Come to me wizard. It matters not. I can promise eternity. Nothing else matters. Nothing matters but the Abyss. My Shining Son, you are mine.

Harry's arm reached out, seemingly of its own accord, pulled and drawn toward the crystalline ball, trapped under something far more unbreakable than Imperius, far more fatal than death. Entranced. Doomed.

Draco grabbed his hand, stalling Harry's advance for the orb. "No," his voice strained. "Let's go."

As his ego began to give way, gulping up lungfuls of air, Draco wrapped his arms around Harry and Disapparated from the orb's unholy touch.

~~~

The orb pulsed. The Shining Son. Sweet power radiated from the wizard and the orb pulsed.

~~~

Harry had a headache of the severity only a case of home brewed moonshine could have induced.

"Holy Hell, kill me," he meant to say, however only "olyellee" came out.

"Harry?" A soothing hand traced his face. "You alive in there?"

Harry grunted. "'aco?"

"Yeah, I'm here," Draco said, his voice warm. A cool cloth settled on his forehead. It felt like heaven. "Here, take your potion."

Draco lifted up Harry's head and dribbled something into his slack mouth. With saintly patience he helped Harry drink the entire bottle.

"You'll feel better in a few minutes and then we need to talk. I'll be out in the living room."

Harry waited as his murky thoughts and jumbled brain slowly realigned and began to work once more. He rose from bed and examined himself in the mirror. He looked like shite. Patting down his hair he went to talk to Draco, wondering exactly what had Draco in this brood.

Draco was sitting pensively on the couch, leaning forward, his elbows on knees, pressing his fingers against each other then relaxing them. He did this over and over again. When Harry entered, he glanced up and smiled wanly.

"What happened?" Harry asked, concerned.

Draco sighed heavily, but said nothing. Harry walked over and sat next to him on the couch, tentatively reaching out and laying a hand on his shoulder.

Draco smiled thinly at him. Harry's diaphragm contracted.

Draco looked away. "Okay, I'm just going to say it; I've been thinking over this for a while, but I'm just going to say it." The fingers flexed. "Harry… I'm afraid something inside of you is going to snap someday and you're going to kill someone, someone you don't necessarily want to go to Azkaban for killing." Draco took a deep breath and looked up at Harry, his hands now gripping each other tight.

Harry's mind emptied. That wasn't what he was expecting.

"It's like you're not you when it happens, like something else has taken over. I… I just worry." The anxiety evident on Draco's face shocked Harry. "I know that this case is important and I know that that fucking orb isn't a pleasure to deal with… but you can't keep snapping like that."

"I didn't do anything in the church, did I?" Harry asked, wondering if he'd blacked out under the orb's power. Draco slowly lowered his eyelids and shook his head. Then two and two immediately summed up to his interrogation of Riley. "It's about Riley, then?"

Draco's eyes snapped open, practically bulging, as if he was trying to plant reason and awareness in Harry's mind with Legilimency. "It's about Riley and it's about Kogelman and it's about you turning into Mad Auror and I just don’t want to see you really, finally, lose control." Draco stopped and took a deep breath. "I just wanted to tell you how I feel. Just… just wanted you to know." He was looking down at his hands again and Harry sat there, staring at him, unsure of what to say. Of what to think.

Finally, Draco stood and presented Harry with a not entirely passable smile. "Well, I have to get back to Rain." He reached out his hand and Harry grabbed it, squeezed. "Dinner tonight?" Draco asked.

In a daze, Harry nodded, thinking of what Draco had said. "Yeah, sure. Here?"

"Okay, I'll be by at seven."

Then Draco left, and Harry continued to sit and wonder at his words.

~~~

Remus stood waiting next to the couch, looking kindly upon Harry, who simply looked miserable.

"And then he said that he just wanted me to know that he was all worried I would crack. What the hell? What does he mean?" Harry gripped large clumps of his hair in his hands as he leaned forward, bowed head facing the floor.

He sounded defeated, not angry, not betrayed, just wounded, like he'd lost the big game when he was certain he had it in the bag. "I thought…" he began, but apparently couldn't finish. Then he buried his face in his hands, his shaggy hair hiding him from the judgmental gaze of the world.

Remus stepped around to the front of the couch and stood before Harry. "Perhaps he's concerned, Harry. Obviously he cares about you. Do you think you go too far, that your control is slipping?"

Harry's shoulders stiffened and his fingers dug deeper into his hair. A heavy sigh shifted his entire frame and Remus heard a muffled, "Maybe."

"Well, if you think that—maybe—your anger slips, then perhaps you do have some control… issues. Harry, I'm not saying you do or you don't, I'm just saying that I have some understanding on losing control. It isn't easy, but you can rein it in. If anyone can, you can. If you want to talk about it, I'm here. And Draco's here. You have a very dedicated group of people who are all there for you."

"I know," Harry said into his hands.

"He really does care. You do know that, right?" Remus asked.

It was a long, drawn out moment before Harry nodded his head, his hair swaying with the movement. Finally, he sat up, a mix of shy delight and anxiety fighting for control of his features. "I know… and I do, too. Care," Harry amended.

"Obviously," Remus said grinning.

"Well," Harry said with a playful smirk, "I'm not the only one. What's with you and Sirius. You sure seem like more than just old buddies."

Remus shrugged. "I don't know, Harry. I'll be completely honest and admit it: I don't know. It's not like he's here in the flesh and we can grab dinner together or plan a future or anything as domestic as that. But… Well, let's just say that there is something there that wasn't there before." Remus exhaled softly and stared off towards the Floo.

Harry snorted, but didn't say anything else. Eventually, Remus continued. "I feel like I have a second chance, however fleeting it might be. I've always loved Sirius, as a best friend and all, and I know him well." Remus lifted his gaze to the ceiling, swallowing.

"It's just that… don't I deserve this? Don't I get love? Don't I ever get a chance?" He took a deep breath, not quite sure where his sudden diatribe had come from. "I'm pissed that I screwed up my opportunity before and now it's like I have this precious gift, fragile and limited and I want to cradle it, to protect it, but I also want to let it be free to enjoy it. I've never had much, Harry, and I want this."

The two men stared at each other.

"Oh, God. That sounds so cheesy," Remus said, pressing his palm across his eyes.

Harry snorted. "I want this, too," he said.

Remus turned to Harry. "We deserve it."

With a dual nod they smiled. Remus understood that he needed to take these shining moments when the universe offered them up and he refused to turn away from gifts waiting at his feet.

~~~

The Portkey tugged at their navels and pulled them through to a bitterly cold landscape.

"Well, guess this is the Yukon," Draco mumbled at the falling snow. "Not a favourite destination for holiday, I would guess." He clutched his robes tightly around him as he scanned the scant countryside. Long, meandering hills twisted over the flat land, surrounding a large, squat building. The air was clean and sharp, the open tundra empty of life and sound.

Because the weather in England was rather mild, this bitter cold caught them off guard, ripping through their flimsy clothes. A light touch of snow soon began to coat the men.

"Let's get inside," Remus said, turning up the collar to his corduroy jacket. He turned from the others and walked towards the short warehouse large enough to cover a city block. All of the windows were small and no light shone from them. One thick, metal door waited near the far end. It was painted gray, like the gray cinderblocks the rest of the building was built out of. Not a speck of colour could be found.

Remus banged on the door with his knuckles as Draco spelled them warm with a charm. Harry smiled at the gesture causing that nugget of warmth to grow even stronger. The snow dusting their shoulders and heads began to melt.

A loud snap echoed through the building and then the door opened before them. "Yes?" came a disembodied voice. "State your business."

"Professor Argyle Popicon sent us to meet with High Priestess Apis. We are Remus Lupin, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy," Remus said into the dull blackness of the open door. The secrecy and ordeal to enter the place intrigued Draco and he was more than a little interested in seeing what lay within.

A short, well-endowed and substantial woman walked through the darkened opening. Her thick hands where clasped before her and her smile was so electric that Draco found himself smiling back. At the awareness, he dropped the smile and glanced at Harry and Remus to see if they'd noticed, but they were apparently mesmerized by this happy person as well.

"Oh! We are so excited to have you here," she twittered. "Welcome, come in, come in. Sorry for all the cinematics, but we must maintain a certain appearance, I'm sure you understand." Harry caught Draco's eye and winked at him. "I'm Alissa McCormick. It's an honour."

With enthusiasm she fluttered her hands about, ushering them in. She wore a floor length, flowery dress that held no curves and made her look like a head and arms attached to a bell.

The men walked through the darkness and Draco sensed an array of spells tingling against his own magic. After a few steps they emerged into the light and the tingle morphed from intrusive, to sustaining. He felt his own power flex with a surge of energy. This place must to be a magical conduit of a particularly stout type.

Alissa's voice was high and chirpy. "Excuse me, but is there a fourth with you?" She craned her neck, looking around. Again, the men exchanged glances.

"Well," Harry piped up, "We do have an attending… um, spirit I guess you can call him. He only shows sometimes. He's the one that has the staff and feather under control right now."

"Oh? Oh! Well, that's certainly something to talk about, isn't it?" she bubbled, her hands framing her jowly cheeks.

The entire building housed a large open area with a few smaller rooms lined along the western side. A bustle of people were milling about, moving things from one table to another, or on hands and knees inscribing sigils into the floor within a protection circle that covered most of the centre of the building. Some wore robes, but most of them were dressed in Muggle styles. One young man even wore overly baggy shorts, though Draco could still see traces of his own breath within the warehouse.

"Please, follow me. I know everyone is eager to meet you. We've brought all of our Masters in for this ritual, and of course Marissa Apis and David Wolfwood are here as well." She stopped in mid-speech and whirled around to face them; her dress floated in the current. "Though, I must warn you, Wolfwood has a bit of a harsh demeanour."

She escorted them through the open room introducing them to everybody and anybody and each witch and wizard was eager to shake their hands; apparently English wizards were a rarity in the Yukon.

"It isn't that," Alissa explained at Harry's inquiry. "While yes, they are excited to meet you, being who you are and all, but this Staff… You don't understand what a legacy the Quetzalcoatl Staff is for our coven. The legends are passed down to every new initiate and the fact that it now returns to us, well it just defies probability!"

Short, quick steps transported Alissa up to a tall, elegant woman reviewing a map hanging from the wall. Little sparks of light periodically highlighted different sections of the map that looked to cover the world. Her blond hair, highlighted with the silver of impending age, was pulled back into a lose bun on the top of her head and she wore slim spectacles on a chain that Madam Pince would have admired. The similarities didn't end there, for the woman had a pinched look to her face, a disapproving moue to her lips, however, when she saw the three men approach, she smiled and a light in her eyes washed all discontent away.

"These must be the three young men from England," she said warmly, holding out her hands to shake each of theirs. Draco noted her grip was firm and her hands warm. She smelled of fresh violets.

"Hello Miss Apis, I'm Harry Potter, this is Draco Malfoy and Remus Lupin," Harry introduced them all and Apis nodded to each one.

"I want to thank you for coming, and bringing us the Staff of Quetzalcoatl. It truly is a monumental moment for all of us." She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and Draco noted a slight shake to her hand. "I dare say, it seems we will need a new purpose for our coven after this." Everyone chuckled at that, except for a man who walked up to stand next to her. He looked upon Apis with respect, though his features looked incapable of any sort of amusement.

She turned to the new arrival and introduced them to the dour man. He was middle-aged with a scruffy looking beard and almost no hair on the top of his head. Dressed in more traditional wizard clothing, he had an appearance of royalty in his posture and presence. His sharp eyes caused Draco to feel a slight itch along his spine, as if the wizard was examining him under an amplioscope, dissecting needle poised at the ready.

"This is my second, Mr. Hart Wolfwood," Apis said. "Hart, this is Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy and Remus Lupin."

"Ah, I see, the hapless British wizards who'd stumbled upon the Staff during a routine smuggler bust have arrived." He turned from Apis' disappointed look to the men. "Charmed, I'm sure." He looked down upon each of them through heavy lidded eyes and Draco smirked, cocked an eyebrow and shared an entire conversation on the status of the louts they were forced to share company with in the span of five seconds.

He felt vaguely guilty afterwards.

"Mr. Wolfwood," Harry said, offering his hand to shake. Wolfwood looked at Harry's hand and stood there, as if waiting for a better offer.

"Oh Hart, don't be such a sour puss," Apis scolded.

"Ah, this brings back memories," Harry mumbled towards Draco and Remus: the first snorted in response and the latter chuckled under his breath.

"It certainly does," Draco said happily.

Draco and Wolfwood hit it off so quickly they'd begun sharing potions theories within the first few hours of their arrival. He knew he would always have a Severus shaped hole in his life and never expected it to be filled by a Canadian of all people.

Popicon arrived later that evening with a satchel full of potions and scrolls and little instruments that could have made friends with those odd whirligigs in Dumbledore's office. He and Apis huddled together discussing an aged parchment. On it were lines upon lines of ancient words that crackled with power. Wolfwood organized a workbench and then poured himself a glass of whiskey. Finally, at close to midnight, after most of the witches and wizards departed for their homes for the evening, a handful of people sat together and discussed the upcoming ritual.

Draco, Remus and Harry sat to one side with Popicon on their right. Apis, Alissa, Wolfwood and a few other wizards and witches sat in the remaining circle of chairs.

Wolfwood scowled at the group. "So, you have all of the portions of the Staff other than the orb," he began in a gruff tone as Apis shook her head in amused resignation at him. "And of that you know of its whereabouts. Why didn't you bring it as well?" Wolfwood asked but didn’t wait for any of them to answer. "As for that, where are the staff and the feather; we should put them under containment immediately."

Harry sat forward in his chair. "Well, we currently have them under control. Are you sure your containment spells will work adequately?"

Draco held his tongue, though his eyebrows did rise at the query. Certainly if they'd expected this group to destroy the artefact, they could trust them to have the know-how to house it.

Wolfwood harrumphed as if his family line had just been defamed. "Of course we can contain the parts of the artefact, Mr. Potter." Harry flinched, and as Wolfwood dove into explaining the exact detail on how the containment field was established and the specific spells used in its creation and maintenance, Harry's eyes glazed over.

Finally, Harry raised his hands in surrender. "Fine. Alright, alright. I get it."

"Oh, but I was enjoying that little lesson," chuckled Popicon.

Harry snorted at the man, then turned back to Wolfwood. "Are you ready to receive them, then?" he asked.

"Of course," Wolfwood snorted. "But where are they?"

Harry looked over at Remus, who nodded then called out, "Sirius, can you show up now?" The circle of witches and wizards all looked up in shock, one even jumped to his feet, as Sirius shimmered into existence. "Sirius here," Remus gestured, "is containing the two artefact pieces."

"What? How is this possible?!" one red-faced witch exclaimed, her cheeks rosy. She vaguely reminded Draco of their old Herbology professor, all ratty and cheerful.

Remus shrugged. "Not quite sure. But when you're ready, he can bring them forth, right Sirius?" Sirius nodded, his form shifting with flashes of contrasting black and white.

"Well, this is interesting. I would like to study this… ghost?" Apis looked at Harry for confirmation.

"We're not certain what he is. He walked through a magical, possibly necromantic, archway that we have little information on. We thought he was dead for many years," Harry explained with a warm smile at Sirius. "We're happy to have him around—" his face became shadowed "—even if we don't know for how long."

Remus looked to Harry and offered him a wan smile. Sirius watched them silently.

"I see. Terribly fascinating," Apis said as she squinted at Sirius who continued to shimmer in negative.

Wolfwood nodded in agreement, a crinkle developing between his eyes. "Something to study later, I think. We should get this done." The man stood and the others followed his lead. The crowd walked to a stone locker, about six feet in height, tall enough to contain the staff. "It's made of blood basalt and has been enhanced with dampening spells. It has three containers to separate each portion of the Staff. I'm sure you don't want me to continue with the details." He looked poignantly at Harry, who raised his hands in surrender and shook his head.

He again looked around to the gathered assembly. "Are we ready?" he asked and many eager heads bobbed, all eyes on Sirius. Sirius, too, nodded.

Wolfwood donned a thick glove and reached out to Sirius. Sirius held out his hand, then pinching his fingers together, he turned his hand towards himself and then pushed it into his chest. Draco squashed a sharp gag reflex as Sirius' chest's surface tension gave and his hand sunk in through clothing, skin and flesh. He heard a soft gasp over his shoulder. With a flash of light, Sirius pulled out his hand, his ethereal fingers gripped tight around the staff.

And Draco could have counted the second between the presentation of the staff and Harry's lurch next to him.

"Harry?" Draco asked in concern, gripping Harry's arm to keep him upright. Harry pulled against him; his glazed eyes scarily familiar, taking Draco back to the bone riddled hall. Continuing to pull, Draco dug his heels in to stall Harry's forward motion.

"Hurry up, would you!" he called out to Wolfwood.

The wizard had taken the wooden shaft from Sirius and now stood there, staring at it in adoration and awe. Apis gaped in shock, taking a step back from Wolfwood as the rest of the gathering all shared expressions of worship and Draco cried out to Sirius, "Take it back! Take it from him and put it in the box." He returned his attention to Harry, calling to him, funnelling energy into that golden dragon he'd left safely behind. "Be strong, Harry. Be strong. You can do this."

It all happened so quickly, from Draco struggling against the shaft's dominion of Harry to its entire subjugation of the coven. It was hot, so hot, and Draco couldn't breathe. Then, in a separate instant, a loud click filled the room and everyone stumbled to the floor, panting, exhausted, released from the puppeteers strings. Draco almost fell upon Harry as he too was freed from the infinite power of the artefact.

Clinging to each other they looked up and saw Sirius and Remus standing by the stone locker; Remus, with his back to the box's door, panting heavily, his eyes the sharp colour of the wolf's, his mouth distended with a definite hint of fang protruding from his lip. Slowly, the wolfish features faded, soaked into his skin and smoothed away; even more slowly everyone rose up off the ground.

"Wow," said Wolfwood. Alissa tittered, a tinny madness to the sound. Someone else sobbed.

"So, you've had your first taste of this artefact. What do you think now?" Draco asked the crowd.

"Holy fuck," the rosy cheeked woman said, causing Draco to re-evaluate his perception of her demeanour. He could never imagine Sprout saying such epithets.

Apis shook her head in disbelief. "I had no idea… No idea."

Remus surveyed the crowd, who stared over at him and Sirius with wide eyes and open mouths. "One more. Though the feather doesn't have the power the shaft does. Anyone plan to clear out after that last display?" Remus asked. The teenager in shorts took a few steps away from Sirius, but the rest seemed ready to try their mettle against the Dark one more time.

With an equal mix of fear and anticipation, the coven watched as Sirius reached within himself again and pulled out a feather. A collective sigh echoed through the room as they looked upon the beautiful plume. Remus popped the locker door wide and the pull of the shaft kicked in, causing the group en masse to take a step forward. Then Sirius dropped the feather in a small partition of the blood basalt case and Remus slammed the door closed.

"Wow," Wolfwood said again, scratching at his bald head.

Remus slumped against the locker and slipped down the length of it, exhausted. Draco and Harry went to him. "You okay, Remus?" Harry asked, offering his hand.

Remus looked at it, then looked at the three men standing above him. "Wore me out, is all. Between that damned thing and Moony… just wore me out." He took a deep breath and let it gush from his lungs as he rubbed one hand across his temple. It was covered in a sheen of sweat.

"So," Draco said to Remus, though he surveyed the group, who seemed quite happy to be chatting amongst themselves on this astounding display of power. "You can still manifest the … wolf? It helped fight the Staff's power?"

Remus nodded. "Yeah, I think I'll always be able to bring forth Moony if I need to, just sometimes I still get that whole rabid animal drive." Remus laughed depreciatingly. "But I needed his stubbornness to help fight the shaft. Damn. I need some sleep," he said, then rubbed his hands through his hair, bringing out the gray as it shimmered in the incandescent lighting.

"Excuse me." The men turned and saw Apis standing there. "It's awfully late and everyone's exhausted… and you don’t look so well yourself." She smiled down at Remus, who slowly climbed to his feet with Harry's help. "Why don't I show you to your rooms; we have a few guest quarters. Nothing much, but it's better than trying to find a hotel out here in the tundra." She chuckled softly.

"We can share a room, we don't mind," Harry said with a gesture at Draco, red flags of embarrassment gracing his cheeks. Draco stared open-mouthed, then smiled. What the hell. What did it matter? He had no concern for how others would perceive him, because here was Harry and he was smiling. At him. Openly accepting him for all that he was.

"Yeah, not a problem. We're shagging anyway," Draco added for the benefit of the swooning girl in the back. He clearly heard, "Damn, why are all the hot ones gay," and smirked up at Harry, who kept smiling.

Remus chuckled and slapped them on the back. "Well, guess I'll see you in the morning," he said, and they followed Apis to the line of small rooms hugging the side of the building. Harry and Draco nonchalantly entered one as a few women watched in dismay, and Remus entered the other, followed closely by the ghost of Sirius.

~~~

Remus lay on his fold-out cot, the middle bar dug into his back causing him to toss and turn, to search for a position less backbreaking. The room he'd been placed in was small and square, only separated from the ritual site by thin plywood walls and a coating of insulation charms. The magic in the room flowed through everything, from floor to ceiling to the damned uncomfortable cot, and he wondered how it might affect the people who lived here for any duration. After five minutes of contemplating the spell-work and wriggling around for comfort, he climbed out of the cot and transfigured it into a proper bed with mattress and sheets.

He crawled under the covers, ready to doze off after the very busy day, when he felt a tingle in his brain. His eyes popped open to search the room.

Sirius stood next to the bed, looking down on him.

"Hey there," Remus said with a tired smile. Sirius shimmered at him. His mouth moved, saying what looked like, "Hey there," but it was soundless, only a mirage.

"Care to join me?" Remus asked as he tossed back the covers, his heart in his throat, a downward turn to his mouth. Why hadn't he done anything when they could actually touch? Be together? Live?

It'd actually been an odd action, something he hadn't even put any thought to and almost admonished himself for doing something so foolish, when Sirius's form seemed to grow opaque. And then he sat on the bed.

The bed dipped.

"What!" Remus cried out as he sat up. The blankets fell from his torso to settle at his waist.

He stared at Sirius. Sirius stared at him. With one tentative hand Remus reached out… and touched his oldest friend.

Remus jerked his hand away. "How?" He seemed capable of only one word sentences.

"I think it's this place, Moony. So much magic—" Sirius glanced around, his eyes oddly glowing in the dark room, like a cat's, "—that I seem to be absorbing it somehow to—" he held out his arms in presentation, "—to grow some substance. Or maybe it's 'cause I'm not holding that Darkness within me."

A smile, full of teeth and pleasure, bloomed on Remus' lips. He reached out again and gingerly ran a finger along Sirius' hand, rubbing along the ridges of his tendons, brushing against each fingernail.

"It's really you. Here. In the flesh." His words ended with a sob and then he gripped Sirius' wrist and pulled him into a fierce embrace. "Merlin," he breathed into that dark thatch of hair. He smelled freshly washed. "God. It's really you."

Sirius twisted so they were chest to chest and he wrapped his own arms around his old friend. "Yes. It really is."

With sudden awareness, Remus tensed. He was in bed, holding onto his old friend, who he'd recently thought of in romantic terms, who was a man.

"Uh…" He wasn't sure what to say, but he knew he didn't want to let go. Instead he began drawing his hand up and down Sirius' back, wriggling his fingers in the hair at the nap of his neck. Feeling him.

"Feels good," Sirius murmured into Remus' shoulder, leaning into his embrace. "Feels so good to touch you, Moony. God, I've wanted this for so long. Back in the shack and before…" Sirius' words died on his lips and he clung roughly onto Remus, holding on like something might tear him away from that embrace and bury him in an ocean of lost memories and despair.

"Shh," Remus said as he stroked Sirius' hair. Silken ebony. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was so obtuse. I'm so sorry I didn't see. You know me, I can be so dense; I needed a hard kick in the arse," Remus said with a chuckle and then he gently kissed the top of Sirius head, just to see what it was like.

And it was bliss.

If that was all he would ever get, Sirius in his arms, a gentle kiss to the top of his head, Remus would be content, for it was more than he had ever hoped he'd be given.

Sirius lifted his head and that goofy, half-cocked grin on his face caused Remus to laugh again, only this time full and joyful. "What?" he asked, happy but a little self-conscious.

"Moony. Remus, do you think…" Remus watched as Sirius' gaze darted from his own amber ones down to his lips and then returned to his face. The moisture in Remus' throat evaporated at the suggestion in that shift of eyes. He swallowed, then darted out his tongue to wet his lips, shocked at the spike of desire he saw in Sirius' gaze as he watched Remus' mouth.

"Sirius." Inexorably he found himself leaning forward, gaze set on his prize, those soft, full, real lips. And just like that, they met.

I'm kissing a man. I'm kissing Sirius. And damn, it is so good. Random thoughts played through Remus' mind as his lips brushed against his best friend's. Though Sirius was only a corporeal ghost, a half person if Remus wanted to be cruel, every part of himself felt more genuine right at this moment than he had during the last few years of his life. This was no shadow, no reflection of a life better lived; this was truly happening and his heart's racing pace let him know with each beat that he loved every minute of it.

Sumptuous, his lips were sumptuous, and Remus prolonged the kiss, tasting and licking and lying back as Sirius leaned forward, spreading beneath this dark and sexy man. It was new and right and Remus surrendered to it. "Sirius. God, Sirius. I need you," he groaned out as his erection was pressed between the two men's bodies. Sirius reached up and brushed a finger over Remus' face, his eyebrows and lips, his cheeks and every scar.

"I'm here, Remus. I'm here." Sirius leaned forward and kissed away Remus' fears and warmth bubbled within him as he realized wishes really do come true and, even if brief, second chances were always worth taking.

TBC

Posted Chapters

Fic - "Still Hungry" GW/PP (NC17)

Tue, 02 Jun 2009 15:06:21 GMT

Title: Still Hungry
Author: winnett
Pairing/Characters: Pansy/Ginny
Summary: Ginny caught more than the snitch at the final game of the season.
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based in the world created by J.K. Rowling. They aren't mine and I make no money from them.
Warning(s): PWPesque
Epilogue compliant? EWE
Word Count: ~2,800

Author's notes: Thank you to everyone who betaed this story: sesheta_66, marguerite_26, scrtkpr, melusinahp KF and megyal (Yes, a lot of people poked at this!). Written for woldy for the fem_exchange, who requested snarky flirting that leads to smut, Quidditch pads, walls and showers.

originally posted here

In a flash Ginny barreled through the atmosphere. Faster. Faster. Faster. It was a most inelegant move, nothing so glamorous as a feint or cut; she merely whipped through air, plummeting from hundreds of meters above the Quidditch pitch to the Terra Turf below, chasing the flittering gold.

A black shape danced in the corner of her eye and she pulled up sharply, looping through the air at such speeds her stomach squashed against her spine. The sensation might have felt less nauseating if she'd been stepped on by Hagrid's massive little brother. And straight down she continued. The Bludger sailed by.

Inch by inch she gained ground on the Snitch. A roar echoed through her ears; anticipation tingled down the length of her fingers as her hand slowly closed in on the fluttering wings, barely brushing against the tips of her neatly trimmed nails. Close, so close.

She leaned forward, pressing herself to the oak shaft of her broom, the cheering and cries dimmed to a dull thrum in the depths of her consciousness and finally, with a delicate touch usually reserved for puffskeins, she captured the Snitch.

And pulled hard on her broom as the green presence of the Tuft loomed before her, the broom bristles nicking against green stems as she shot away from the ground.

"Pride of Portree's Seeker Weasley has caught the snitch! The Prides win the final game of the season, 345 to 260."

With a grin wide enough to overshadow even the nose on her face, Ginny circled the pitch, the struggling Snitch held high above her head as her team flew circles around her.

"Great job, Weasley!"

"Nice catch, Ginny!"

"Sticky Fingers, you did it again."

She rolled her eyes at the stupid nickname, but beamed at the praise anyway.

The team gathered together for a photo shoot. The bright flashes of the cameras sparkled through the primary color wheel and blinded her, draining her smile into a tired grin by the end of it all. Her friends waited through the press's giddy fawning by the edge of the pitch: Luna, Harry, Hermione and her brother Ron. They waved every time she looked up, milling about as they huddled together in a cloud of their own breath as they pulled tight the fronts of their thick robes against the chill of the winter's day.

Finally, after the last reporter's Quick Quotes Quill grew still, the team dispersed to the showers and Ginny trotted over to her friends.

"Wow, Ginny! That was an amazing catch," Harry said as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders for a brief squeeze and then stepped away.

"Thanks," she said with a recharged grin as Luna hugged her, followed by her brother.

It was Hermione's turn for her hug; they were collecting them like Quidditch cards. "I'd say your air speed in that dive probably broke the speed flying trials. Maybe even broke Mach 1." Ginny's eyebrows rose in her utter incomprehension of the words Hermione was speaking. "Oh, never mind. It's just, you were so fast." Ginny giggled at Hermione's impressed assessment.

"I was, wasn't I?" she said. Unconsciously her eyes continued to scan the stragglers still out on the pitch. Nobody left of her team; they were probably finishing up with their showers by now, and nobody else…

"I didn't see her." The whispered words yanked Ginny's attention to Luna, who stood so close they were sharing the same foggy air. Ginny's eyebrows drew together even as her eyes grew wide in one of those expressions that attempted to command someone to shut up, but never seemed to work. If only she could wordlessly cast a Muffliato. Luna just shrugged.

Ginny turned back to the others. The boys watched them a little too closely; Hermione wouldn't meet her eyes, and… was she smirking? "I need a shower." She brushed at the sweat, already dried to white flakes on her temples, with the arm of her purple robes. "I'll meet you guys in the south entrance, then dinner with the team?" With eager nods they agreed, waving as she headed towards the showers, still glancing over her shoulder along the way, just in case she'd missed someone.

But she hadn't.

As she walked through the locker entrance, two of her teammates, Walker and Nakahara, were leaving, already showered and changed. "You just getting in?" Walker asked, staring down his long nose at her. He vaguely reminded Ginny of Snape, except that he smiled and had a personality warmer than that of a stone gargoyle.

"Yeah, got caught up with the gang," Ginny said with a shrug. "You know how chatty they all get." Nakahara barked out a very unlady-like laugh at the sheer understatement. "We'll meet you at O' Conner's in about a half hour," Ginny said as she walked to her right, into the woman's section of the locker room.

"Alright," Nakahara said, her voice already fading through the privacy charms. "We'll see you there. Make sure you bring Potter. He's always a hoot loaded."

The area around her locker was puddled from other people's drips. "No problem," Ginny called over her shoulder as she began unbuttoning her outer purple robes.

With a thump, she tossed her goggles onto the bench and over those she dropped her gloves. The locker room was quiet, eerily quiet, as she unstrapped her shoulder and knee pads. Slowly she stripped down, rubbing at her shoulders, still tense from that winning dive.

She smiled at the memory. And then her smile faded.

Naked, she padded for the showers, which were more of a cattle wash rack, open with six showerheads lined up along the tiled wall that shimmered in aqua-blue waves. She pulled on the temperature tap and nearly scalded herself under the hot water. Springing out of the stream, she dialed the heat down until the water cooled. Shaking her head, she took a deep breath, focusing on the joy of winning the game instead of the disappointment that seemed to be gnawing on her nerves with vicious teeth, distracting her from even simple things like washing herself. She stepped under the spray, letting the heat relax her shoulders and back. She pumped some foaming bubbles, pink and lightly perfumed, out from a nozzle and began scrubbing down her body.

She enjoyed how the heat seeped into her muscles. With practiced movements she ran her hands over her body, digging deeply into the sore spots, and then began washing her shoulder-length hair. With her eyes closed, she faced into the flow of water and practically jumped to the moon when she felt something touch her shoulder.

She spun around, brushing sudsy hair out of her eyes and spitting the water from her lips.

"You," she said, her heart giving a little patter when she saw Pansy standing there, dressed in a silk robe quickly darkening under the spray of water. That gnawing ceased. Pansy's hands were resting on her hips and her eyes flared with hunger, something Ginny had imagined, but had never seen. Imagination paled compared to reality.

"Me."

Pansy's chin tilted forward and Ginny caught a glimpse of her eyes peeking through her dark bangs, piercing and sharp.

"You came," Ginny said, and looked away at the needy sound of her voice.

"I did." Ginny's gaze returned to Pansy. Pansy smirked, and then took a step forward, and another, small, tiny steps. Ginny suddenly had an inkling of what a mouse might feel like under the scrutiny of an airborne hawk. Pansy was stalking her.

They'd been playing this weird flirting, catty game over the last few months at bars and parties where they'd continued to cross paths, and Ginny had all but revealed her hand to get Pansy to make a move. It wasn't that Ginny was shy, oh hell no, it was just she wanted to be pursued this time, just this once.

Pansy's gaze traced over her body, and despite the steaming shower, a shiver scurried across Ginny's skin. Pansy licked her lips, and then said, "You look like you're enjoying yourself."

Ginny nodded and then closed her mouth, only just realizing it'd fallen open.

Pansy's smile was sly. "I think I'll join you."

Ginny reached out a hand in silent invitation, but Pansy, apparently, was taking her role as pursuer quite seriously. It was then that Ginny found herself pressed against the wall.

~~~

Pansy had run her eyes over every patch of Ginny's skin—the rounded arch of breasts, the slim hill of stomach, the red patch between her legs. Her long hair, dark from the water, contrasted against the shimmering blue of the shower room's tile. She looked eager, anticipatory, her lips open and chest rising as her eyes captured Pansy's own; Pansy marveled at the magical crackle that saturated the air between them.

"You don’t mind do you?" She might as well play polite, not that Ginny's refusal would have stopped her. Not that Ginny would refuse. A smile quirked upon her mouth when Ginny shook her head. Pleased, Pansy leaned forward to taste the water gliding down the upper reaches of Ginny's right breast.

A hand clenched onto her arm and one word was spoken, moaned. "Pansy."

The sound of that one word, her name, drew wetness down between her legs that had nothing to do with the hot rain of water. With her tongue, she traced a meandering path up along Ginny's chest and collar bone—her skin was so smooth—and ended at the edge of her ear, where even in the fall of the water around them she could smell the light perfume from the soap, the lingering smell of leather from the Quidditch pads, and the sweet, sweet scent that was all Ginny.

Pansy pulled back to look at the woman she'd trapped against the tiles. Ginny's eyes were closed, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

"You taste good enough to nibble on all day," Pansy said, more purr than actual words. With a quick step back, she slipped off her soggy robe; the splat of it hitting the floor was discordant against the rhythmic patter of the water and undulating hum of Ginny's breathing. It only took one long stride and her body was pressed against Ginny's. Skin on skin. A soft gasp injected shivers all along Pansy's nerves as sensual as the magic that snapped and sparked at every spot their bodies touched.

"Who am I to starve a hungry woman?" Ginny managed to say before Pansy bit at her ear, drawing her tongue along the edge and then darting it inside. She wrapped her lips around the sensitive lobe and sucked gently, distracting Ginny as she ran the tips of her fingers down along her sides, along the dip of her waist and onto her hips, slowly circling her thumbs along Ginny's lower abdomen, where leg met hip.

Then the kisses traveled from ear to throat, dancing up to Ginny's mouth. The gentle parting of lips twisted under the fervor of dueling tongues, Pansy wrangling control, ending it with a suck to Ginny's bottom lip. Like the sliding of a snake up a yearling tree, Pansy felt Ginny's hands ghost up her arms, over her shoulders and down Pansy's back. Pansy's own fingers, never idle, were trailing along Ginny's smooth stomach, petting along the dip of a hip, the curve of her breast, drawing her fingers across her heated skin to tweak one nipple to firmness.

"Fucking hell." Almost breathless, Ginny pushed their bodies together.

The noises Ginny was making were going to unravel Pansy's plans of seduction. Groans and moans, little pleases that drew something tight within Pansy. She leaned back to examine Ginny's face, her eyes, her glistening skin as water streamed down over her head, catching on her lashes.

"Why… why you stop?" Ginny asked, full sentences no longer in her power. Her face held no worry, no concern. She blinked—one fat drop hung on her left lash—and smiled at something she saw on Pansy's face.

"I haven't. Just a momentary pause." She'd waited so long.

She pressed forward again, her elbows braced against the unyielding tile on either side of Ginny's head. Their breasts brushed against each other. "I should hope not," Ginny said, her eyes searching up into Pansy's.

"Don't worry. I'm still… hungry." Lowering herself, letting her body rub along the full length of Ginny's torso, Pansy licked across Ginny's right nipple, eyes looking up at her face, then sucked gently, playing the nub with her tongue, rolling it over and over. Then she freed the right and turned her attention to the other, performing each tender stroke in replication.

Urged by Ginny's panting, her eagerly roving hands, Pansy left her breasts, trailing tiny kisses along the central line of her stomach to her navel and dipped in her tongue, circling the edge as she worked her palms up and down the length of Ginny's tense thighs.

Pansy was amazed at how beautiful Ginny was, flushed with passion, soaking wet and moaning out nonsense words. Part of her wanted to say something, make some promise or assess some observation, but she didn't want to tarnish this moment with words, with attitude. This was the thing she'd wanted. Amused, she wondered if she too had that same glow. She felt powerful and sexy with Ginny at her mercy; like she could tackle the world, take on all those people who cursed her name for her breeding, cursed her lineage and values.

The draw of lips along skin continued, made a path across the smooth surface of Ginny's inner thigh. Briefly, she nuzzled between Ginny's parted legs, inhaling the musky scent of her arousal. Then she rose, teasingly swiping her tongue along that firm abdomen, sliding her body up Ginny's and captured her lips in her own as her fingers trailed down through her dark patch and began teasing over her clitoris, diving between her moist folds.

Ginny gasped and tilted her pelvis, opening her legs in welcome. "About time."

With a chuckle, Pansy dragged her fingers through Ginny's natural lubrication. So wet, and Pansy moaned at that simple sensation. Brushing her finger over Ginny's swollen clitoris, she circled it gently as the woman trapped against the wall groaned out again and again. The sound shot to Pansy's core and her own pussy throbbed in response.

"Ginny. Ginny. Ginny," she chanted like a spell, casting passion and desire.

Another finger slid in and began trailing a lazy path up Ginny's folds to her clit and back again, coating Pansy's fingers with her juices and without warning she plunged them into Ginny, pressing up inside of her, and at the same instant she bit hard, right above the collarbone.

"Merlin, Pansy!" The writhing of the body below her continued to stoke Pansy's own unbridled lust.

It was like velvet inside, soft and mysterious, and Pansy marveled that she'd never slammed this woman, her woman, against the shower wall, or any wall, before. They'd been sharing coy glances and flirting maddeningly for months. Why had she waited so long?

With her thumb rubbing over Ginny's clit, Pansy drove her fingers in over and over, fucking Ginny as she commenced rubbing her own leaking pussy over Ginny's firm thigh. She fucked and she rode, never quite working enough friction, but eagerly drinking up every moan and cry Ginny offered, kissing her, devouring each and every breath until Ginny stilled, caught in a silent cry of pleasure. Her head was thrown back against the wall, mouth open and body twitching, the little sparks of magic, of power, exploding across their skin.

So beautiful.

Finally, Ginny slid an inch down the smooth tile, relaxed and boneless, and Pansy slipped out her fingers, softly massaging the sensitive flesh just to watch her lover squirm.

With tenderness, Pansy leaned forward and kissed her, trying to express her pleasure through each brush of tongue, each press of lip. She was still randy, randy as hell, and couldn't wait for Ginny to make her scream.

"My turn," Pansy said. Ginny's lips quirked and with her gaze latched on to Pansy's, she slowly dropped to her knees.

The End

Mon, 01 Jun 2009 18:33:27 GMT

The Harry and Draco Career Fair: Prompting is Now Open!

artwork by heathen_arcade
hd_career_fair:
Submit your prompts: June 1st – 14th
Claim your prompt: June 16th – 28th