FIC: "Occam's Razor", Chapter Six


Chapter Six

Harry needed to catch up on his caretaker duties, so he worked throughout that day and most of Wednesday before he had a chance to sit down and talk to Snape for more than a few minutes at a time. This had given him the chance to map out his strategy for tackling the subject of the journal with the man. By the time he was ready to broach the subject, he decided that he felt positively Slytherin about what he was about to do.

He'd retrieved the journal from the library and left it lying on the settee while he took his time to shower and pour himself a Firewhisky. At last, he settled himself in his armchair, laying the journal on his knees in plain sight.

When he finally looked up, he knew that Snape had seen that he had it, as a scowl was already in place. Good, he thought to himself, ready to take the offensive.

"Listen, you know why Draco was here. He's had a good look at the journal, and we're in agreement. We're going to do what we can to puzzle it out. Just wanted to tell you. It only seems right, as it belonged to you," Harry told him, seemingly neutral.

"I suppose telling you to piss off would be useless," Snape said as he crossed his arms and leant back against the desk.

Harry continued on as if the man hadn't spoken. "There's a mention of Gringotts here, so I'm owling Bill Weasley—see if he can track down if you had a vault or any other dealings there. Seems the reasonable person to ask, don't you think?"

Snape opened his mouth, but Harry barreled on. "And I've owled Hermione as well, asking her to look into the area where you and my mum grew up. You see, we think there might be a St. James there. She's quick off the mark when it comes to finding places, working out where people lived, family histories, that sort of thing. You know how she is…."

"I don't see how—"

Harry interrupted, "Draco has some things to ask his mother—he seems to think she knew you fairly well. I'm not sure when, but he's visiting his father and we hope he'll be able to tell us who Birnum is." It was a stab in the dark, since they hadn't actually decided that Birnum was a person.

"He was irrelevant," Snape bit out.

Oh ho! Draco was right. Birnum is a person, and I didn't even have to ask….

"Draco's reading through Secrets of the Darkest Art. I told him where you got the book—hope you don't mind? He's going to use the library at the Manor to do some more research on those potions—so much better at it that I am—he's already made some headway on ingredients I couldn't find in the Restricted Section." He stopped and looked up from the journal that lay open on his lap. "That is what's in the phials?"

Snape looked almost horrified. "Of course not! Whatever gave you that impression?"

"If that's not what's in them, then what is?" Harry pressed.

"It's no longer of any importance, least of all to—"

Harry cut him off insistently, "Then help me here. If it's not important, then why all the secrecy? What's the harm in telling me?" Snape had turned, and for a split second, Harry was afraid that he was leaving. But when he saw that Snape was only circling his desk to take a seat, he continued, "You locked this stuff in a trunk, then took great pains to make certain it was secure. Seems like something you'd do if what was inside was important." He stared at the stony face staring back at him, and suddenly felt cheated, if only because Snape wouldn't trust him on this. "Fine. You're dead, and we can do whatever we want with this. Chip away at it forever." He then laid his trump card.

"Unless…it's something you regret…something you're ashamed of…."

He saw it happen in Snape's expression before the man even spoke. A mixture of outrage and the desire to defend himself against this attack on his character were at war on his face. Then, suddenly it was gone. Harry watched, fascinated but alarmed, as Snape's facial features hardened and the eyes became icy, almost hostile.

"You had a mission, did you not?" Snape asked intently. When Harry slowly closed the journal and nodded, Snape added shortly, "So did I."

Harry knew that his time for talking had passed, so he sat back to listen.

"That summer, when you escaped the Dark Lord in your flight from Little Whinging, he was inconsolable in his wrath…for days. Many people suffered, one person lost his life." He stopped as he saw the look on Harry's face. "This was not your fault, you imbecile! When will you learn that you were not responsible for what he chose to do?" His voice softened when he saw Harry hang his head. "As we've both discovered, Potter, people can change. Perhaps this is one area you might need to consider—your penchant for assuming responsibility for the actions of others." Harry looked up at him, surprised.

"I'm working on it, sir."

"Good," he sighed. "In any case, during that time I realized that I had need of a contingency plan, in the not too unlikely event that the next time he lashed out at a victim, I might be well within cursing range."

Harry understood instantly. "So…if something happened to you, then someone else would've been able to tell me what I needed to know, at the end?"

Snape elucidated further. "Given the nature of the information, it was not something that I could tell anyone beforehand; you recall that the timing had to be precise? No, it had to be something arranged to occur in the event of my death."

"Tricky," Harry thought out loud.

Snape hesitated for a moment. "So, I selected someone I trusted, someone I knew you would trust as well."

"That had to be a short list," Harry muttered, looking down at the journal. Snape wouldn't have trusted many people on a good day; given that he'd killed the headmaster, Harry couldn't imagine who he might've…. Wait, he thought suddenly, gripping the journal. He considered the possibility, dismissed it as too outrageous, then sat back with a sigh. He knew he was right.

"It was Remus, wasn't it?"

Snape inclined his head.

Harry was still incredulous, then shook his head. "Good thing you didn't need to fall back on that plan, seeing how he died at practically the same time as you."

A look of pain flitted across Snape's face, then was gone. "Nevertheless, he was the only one who would've trusted me."

Harry was fitting the pieces of the puzzle together in his mind. "So, the trunk…it was Remus who was meant to open it. But I don't see how…with what was inside…how would he know…." His eyes widened. "The phials…they're memories!"

Snape wouldn't look at him for a moment, and still sat studying his hands atop the desk as he spoke. "In the event of my death, I had an arrangement with Gringotts. It was a charm, triggered by my death, that would dispatch an owl to Lupin with instructions. Unlike you, he would've had the password and whereabouts of the trunk, along with very explicit instructions on what to do with its contents."

Harry's mind was reeling with the possibilities, as he guessed at what would've transpired. "He would've seen your memories and then found me, and told me all the things I needed to know," he said as he worked it out. He glanced up suddenly. "Wait. Why three phials? Are they the same memories as the ones I saw?"

Snape measured him as he seemed to decide what to say. "What would've made you trust me weren't necessarily the same things Lupin would've needed to know."

"Memories," Harry scowled, then looked more closely at Snape. "So, the ones in the trunk were meant for Remus, and no one's ever seen them?"

Looking more than slightly alarmed, Snape stood and rounded the desk in a flash. "And no one ever shall. Don't you dare open them!"

Taken aback, but perplexed, Harry reassured him, "All right, all right. What'd be the point anyway? I get it, sir, they're private."

Snape sighed. "It's all inconsequential at this point anyway. As it was, it wasn't necessary to drag Lupin into it at all." He sat on the edge of the desk, looking weary and defeated. Harry couldn't remember ever seeing him this way—either in real life or here in his residence of oil on canvas. He remembered the last and only time that the man had seemed so distraught…the night he'd learnt of Remus' death.

Harry's mind made the connection easily, now that the proverbial cards were out on the table. For some strange reason, he knew he was right, but as Snape would never freely acknowledge it, Harry would have to provoke it out of him.

"I didn't know you liked Remus," Harry said gently, knowing that he had to tread lightly.

"I would've thought your recent experiences with people might've taught you that there is a great deal you do not know," Snape chided.

Harry thought about this, remembering how Snape had been responsible for Remus losing his job at the end of third year; he recalled the tension between the two of them during fifth year at Grimmauld Place. He suspected now what this had been, but he still had to wait for Snape to say it.

"I think you're wrong, though. Remus wouldn't have trusted you."

"He would've, believe me," Snape disagreed, his voice sharp.

"I don't think so," Harry challenged.

"You think you knew him because of his association with your father? How much time did you spend with him?" Snape sneered.

"He was like family!" Harry declared hotly. "I knew him better than anyone!"

"Even better than his lovely wife?" Snape scowled maliciously.

"Don't you dare belittle her memory. Leave her out of this!" Harry shot back.

Snape seemed suddenly taken aback, almost mortified. Standing rigid and immobile, he stared at Harry, then moved to sit heavily in the chair beside the desk. He bent his head to the side, looking at the floor, whether to collect his thoughts or to avoid betraying his emotions, Harry couldn't decide which it was.

When he looked up at last, his face was calm, but Harry thought there might be misery in his eyes, then knew it to be true when Snape said quietly, "We were lovers, Lupin and I."

Harry stared at him and swallowed hard once. Given Harry's reaction, Snape seemed to think he needed to repeat himself.

"We were lovers and we kept our secret very well," he told Harry soberly.

Harry dared to ask, "How long?"

Snape shrugged. "From when he taught here…until just after Black's death."

That made sense to Harry, although he wondered…how it had started, how they had managed to hide it all those years. He was certain that no one in the Order knew; he thought back to the night when Dumbledore had been killed, how Remus had been so devastated…. But they all had been, so his grief and outrage hadn't seemed out of the ordinary.

Harry's eyes drifted up to find Snape watching him. "So…he was your back-up plan?"

"Yes," Snape confirmed.

Harry shook his head slowly. "I still can't believe…you and Remus. No one suspected, that's for sure."

Snape stiffened. "It's none of your affair. As you've already pointed out in case I'd forgotten, we are both dead."

Knowing he had to do it didn't make it any easier. "At least now I understand why you were so upset. But still," Harry softly accused, "you're not telling me everything." He saw the storm gathering in Snape's face, so was anxious to ask what remained. "What is St. James? And why does the number beside that entry match the number on one of the phials?"

Snape's knuckles whitened as he rolled his hands into fists in his lap. "Stop it now. Stop all of it! I've given you more than enough. I owe you nothing further! Nothing at all!" he thundered as he stood.

Harry sat back, stunned by his fury, grasping both arms of his chair. His eyes wide, he fought the urge to flush, this time in shame for having manipulated the man.

Snape must've noticed Harry's consternation, for his face softened as he wearily told him, "Let it go, Harry."

oooOOOooo

That night, there was a full moon that filtered through the latticework of the window, casting a crisscrossed pattern onto the coverlet. Harry lay on his side, bemused by the strange turns his life had taken in the past month. He had two new friends, although he could imagine the look on Snape's face if he were to term him as such. Draco, though…. He smiled at the pillow, where the indentation testified to where the man had lain just the night before. Who could've ever guessed…not just friends, but lovers?

His smile faded as the question echoed in his mind… Who could've guessed? Friends…and lovers? Once upon a time, he realized, on a night very like this one, Snape might've possibly entertained such a question, as he drowsily contemplated a similar dent in the pillow next to his.

Harry was suddenly awash with the heart-wrenching knowledge: of how much had been lost because of one man's insatiable thirst for power and immortality; of how twisted and torn and damaged they all were because of his pathological need to dominate; of the pain that would echo through the years because of his delusions and others' inability to resist him.

And yet…here he was, alone in a bed, two years after the war, but alive. And hopeful. In the past two days, he'd flown his heart out, fucked with an erstwhile enemy, heard a heart-breaking confession from a once-hated professor, and deep inside, felt the stirrings of a mission, once again imparted to him by fate. He suddenly knew who he was. Everything had changed, and nothing had changed.

oooOOOooo

Draco didn't appear until late Saturday afternoon. Harry'd experienced a moment's worry over whether he'd show at all, when noontime came and went, then shook his head at himself and went about his work in the castle.

"I would've been on time," Draco explained when he arrived, "but Mother decided we should have lunch together in the sitting room, which she hasn't done in ages, so I stayed."

"How is she?" Harry asked as they walked to the great doors.

"Same as always. She brightens up when I arrive, but after a while she's distracted. I've become used to it." They took the stairway toward Harry's rooms. "This time, though, I think I upset her with all the questions about Severus. She never wants to talk about the war…or people who were in it. So she had nothing to say when I first asked about him, but then at lunch, she gave me quite a bit, actually."

They stopped just outside Harry's door and leant against the wall. "Severus' parents moved to a place called Spinner's End, right about the time he finished Hogwarts. Mother remembered that Severus' father died, the summer before the Dark Lord…died the first time. She and Father went to the funeral. His mother was sickly at the time—couldn't have lasted much longer, Mother thought, from the looks of her."

Harry nodded, then told him, "Hermione owled today—she found the place where the two of them grew up—no St. James' there, so Spinner's End is our best shot. And I didn't even need to owl Bill. You were right, all I needed to do was push a little." At the look on Draco's face, Harry waved him to the door. "It's a long story. Let's say hullo to Snape, then get to supper."

Later that evening, they were once again in the Restricted Section. Draco listened, expressionless, as Harry told him of what he'd learnt from Snape during that extraordinary conversation.

"I'm a bit shocked." Draco broke the silence that stretched out after Harry had finished. "Severus and the werewolf. But the fact that no one knew doesn't surprise me at all—he was a master of stealth, and Lupin wasn't an idiot either."

Harry murmured his agreement, once again struggling to picture the two of them together, when Draco continued.

"I've finished reading the text and…it's disturbing. You do realize that almost half of it's about Horcruxes? How they're made, how they can be destroyed, how they can be undone? And the rest of it's even worse stuff." He suppressed a shudder. "Now I want to go back and reread the passages that Severus marked in the journal, see if I can work out what he was up to."

"What about the potions he has listed there?" Harry asked.

Draco closed the text and slowly looked up at him. "I have a suspicion, but let me work on that a bit more. I could be completely off the mark."

"So…the only thing I can think of to do at this point is to keep talking to him," Harry offered, thinking that Draco was doing most of the work by far.

"There is something you might do…." Draco suggested. "Is there a place, like a storeroom or something, where professors might squirrel away things—things they don't use very often, things they don't want to discard?"

"You mean a place Snape might've used?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, I was wondering about the stone cauldron. It's not in the classroom cupboard; I was in NEWT-level potions, so I would've noticed it."

Harry rubbed his chin. "Yeah, there's a storeroom that's mostly potions stuff. I helped Slughorn put some balances in it at the end of term. It's deep, dark, I didn't see all what was in there," he confessed. "You think it's worth taking a look?"

Draco gave him a smile that Harry knew was forced. "Yeah, I do. Whether or not he had one might turn out to be important."

oooOOOooo

After supper, they returned to Harry's rooms. They'd been surprised earlier to find that Snape hadn't been in his painting, but this time he appeared to be waiting for them, his chair pulled to the front, where he sat almost imperiously, tapping an impatient foot as he watched them take their seats.

"Good evening, Severus," Draco said amiably.

"Good evening." Snape nodded at him, then fixed Harry with a look that made him instantly know what the next words out of the man's mouth would be. "Question number six," he informed him succinctly.

Harry groaned and leant forward, elbows on his knees, as Draco patted him consolingly on the back. "Get on with it," Harry muttered.

Snape tilted his chin up, giving the impression that he was looking down his nose at him. "What were the best and worst moments of your day today?"

Harry instantly had the answers, but felt there was a grammatical point worthy of contention. "That's two questions. So…which do you want to know more?" he attempted.

Giving him a not-so-nice curl of his upper lip, Snape disagreed. "No, it is not. It's one question with a compound object and a single question mark. Although it requires two answers, it is still a single question," he informed him smugly.

Draco leant in and whispered sotto voce, "Sorry, Harry, but he's right."

"Whose side are you on?" Harry asked him with a jab of his elbow. When Draco laughed, Harry sat up straight and glared at Snape, before giving him his answer, rapid-fire. "When the wards alerted me there was someone at the gates, and when Draco was late and I thought he might not show." He'd said the words so quickly that Snape frowned for a moment as he worked the answer out. When he did, he sat back, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes as he waited for Draco to catch up.

When Draco seemed to realize what Harry'd just said, he pressed his leg against Harry's. "I was the best and worst part of your day?"

Harry gave him a sardonic smile. "Up until now."

Both Snape and Draco laughed out loud, until Harry rolled his eyes and said, "I need to get out more."

oooOOOooo

They passed most of the next day, reading; Draco worked his way through the passages that Snape had annotated from Secrets of the Darkest Art; Harry droned his way through first the Sunday Prophet, then on to the mind-numbing Treatise. They'd ended with a game of chess in the evening, Snape playing against the two of them, but they still managed to lose in less than an hour.

They retired early for once, Draco gracing Harry with an enigmatic smile as he closed the door. He was the first to have his clothes off and sat on the edge of the bed, watching as Harry undressed. Pushing himself slightly backwards, he patted the space between his legs. "Come here," Draco told him.

Harry felt a streak of anticipation as he spied the small velvet pouch in Draco's hand. "All right," he said as he positioned himself between Draco's thighs, then sighed at the feeling of warmth from the chest pressed against his back.

Draco's hands were in front of them, untying the ribbon of the pouch, then dumping its contents into Harry's lap. Harry picked up the soft leather strap. "What is it?"

"That," Draco's breath was hot on Harry's neck, "is a cock ring. Something I thought the two of us might enjoy." He took the strap from Harry's hands, then reached down, saying, "Have to do this quick—you have to be soft to put it on."

Harry placed his hands on Draco's thighs, then watched, fascinated, as the long slender fingers deftly secured the strap, circling it around the base of his balls and cock, then fastening it so that is was snug against his body. Just that small amount of manipulation, and Harry was already half-hard. "So…what does it do?"

Draco removed his hands, then Harry felt him move backward on the bed, as he tugged at both of Harry's shoulders. "Oh, the beauty of the cock ring is in what you can't do." He motioned with his hands for Harry to lie back on the pillows. Leaning in close, Draco brushed his hand over the head of Harry's cock, as he kissed him. Pulling away, he sat back on his heels, moving Harry's legs to either side of him.

"It's an exquisite torture, you'll see. You're going to want to come, you're going to want to come so bad, but you're going to have to work for it like you've never had to in your life," he said softly, running his hands along the inside of Harry's thighs.

Harry's cock was throbbing now, almost painfully erect, practically pointing to the ceiling between them. He let his legs fall open, as his chest heaved, suddenly stimulated by the ring itself, the sultry tone of Draco's voice, and the slightly wicked look in his eye.

"Go on, Harry," Draco softly told him. "I want to see what you do with yourself when I'm not here." He licked his lips suggestively, then reached to the side, snagged the jar of lube at the end of the bed and unstoppered it, his eyes never leaving Harry's. He held the jar out to Harry, who scooped out a fingerful, then lay back again. "I want to watch you wank. Show me," he murmured, as he began to palm the lube over his own cock. "I doubt you'll be able to do it, but if you ask nicely, I just might help you out."

Harry had already begun to stroke himself, his mouth hanging open, as he pumped his hand over his engorged cock—it felt harder and slightly larger than it usually did, and he wondered if this was because of the ring, or the fact that he was wanking on command with Draco watching him perform. Just the thought of which it might be aroused him even further, and he groaned aloud, watching as Draco lazily worked his own cock, his smile almost taunting as he observed Harry's growing arousal.

Harry's knees were shaking, his feet flat on the bed, his head and shoulders bent upwards as he tried…tried…tried but couldn't come. He felt himself right on the edge…he was going to come… Just on the verge…he was going to…almost there… He could almost feel himself about to…almost….

"Unnnnnh!" he cried out in frustration as he pumped faster, biting his lower lip.

"The ring won't keep you from coming," Draco said dreamily, watching him, his eyes glittering gray. "It just makes you last longer. Some find it…distressing, but others like that feeling, of being on the edge…forever. Which are you, Harry?" He laughed softly as Harry's groan seemed to give him his answer.

Moving quickly on the bed, Draco rolled Harry onto his side, then slipped in close behind him. Nudging a thigh between Harry's legs, he snaked one arm beneath his shoulders. Harry could feel Draco's other hand, slick from the lube, caressing his arse, then, after a brief pressure, Draco penetrated him in one slow, smooth thrust.

For a moment Harry saw stars, the blissful full feeling making him forget to stroke himself. He groaned as he was rocked from behind, as Draco buried his face in his neck, nipping at the flesh of it. It was sublime, it was pleasure, it was pain, it was sensation so acute that Harry cried out from the intensity of it. He needed to come, he wanted to come so badly. "Draco…Draco…I have to…I can't…" He swore as he found his cock with his hands again.

But Draco swatted them away, then took up a furious stroking, timed to his none-too-gentle thrusting from behind. "Do you want to come?" Draco gasped at his ear. "Do you? Ask me nicely." Then his mouth was sucking noisily at the skin of the soft spot just below Harry's ear.

Harry hardly had enough breath for the words, but he threw his head back and begged shamelessly, "Please…please…want to come need to come oh god let me come," he stammered.

Without missing a beat, but with a soft laugh, Draco released the ring. Harry felt the 'pop' of the leather as it slid away, then there was no more time for rational thought, as he erupted with a cry of abandon, vaguely aware of Draco letting go and clenching his shoulders, letting out a muted sound of his own as emptied himself into Harry.

It was a climax like Harry'd never before experienced, as he seemed to pulse on and on; the warmth flowed over his fingers, plopped up on his chest, and spurted to his chin. He felt disconnected from his body, unable to move for a moment, his arms and legs still vibrating from that violent discharge of energy. He was hot, sweaty and sticky, Draco still draped over him as they lay there, scotched together, trembling and panting.

"So…" Draco was the first to speak when the room was finally quiet, "what do think of the cock ring?" Harry could hear the amusement in his voice.

Harry turned slightly, and said over his shoulder. "I think it's your turn next." Then he rolled all the way over, so they were face to face. "It was brilliant."

Draco spoke the cleansing charm, then reached down to pull up the coverlet. "I wasn't sure.... I know you said you don't like playing games with people," he teased, then leant over to plant a kiss on Harry's forehead.

Harry reached out and trailed his hand down Draco's chest, then twisted a nipple, hard. Draco let out a gasp of surprise. "That wasn't what I meant, and you know it," Harry muttered.

Draco pulled Harry closer. "So… I have other things…we can try," he ventured. "Are you game?"

Harry shivered, but he had no choice but to agree, "I'm game."

oooOOOooo

In the morning, the two of them poured their tea, then sat on the settee, this time so close that their legs were flush together.

"Interesting phenomena," Snape remarked. "I've noticed that the distance between the two of you on the settee appears to be inversely proportional to the number of times the door to the bedchamber has been closed."

Harry lowered his cup, then tilted his head to the side. "The…what?"

Draco sputtered, choked, then laughed out loud. "He thinks our sitting closer together has something to do with our shutting the door at night."

"Oh, well…" Harry shot a dark look at Snape, in anticipation of question number seven. "'Spose he's right, then." Snape only half-sneered, half-smiled, but didn't ask anything further. He seemed to content himself with Harry's lack of comprehension.

"It must be a Slytherin thing, not making sense," Harry muttered. "Speak English, for god's sake, both of you." But he smiled as he tipped his cup.

oooOOOooo

The days seemed to pass more slowly, Harry noticed, now that he had something, and someone, to look forward to at the weekends. Not that he didn't have work to do, now that mid-July had come. He spent his mornings in Minerva's office, finalizing the list of names of children who'd be receiving their Hogwarts letters. The first-year letters were the most complicated, of course. Although the contents of each letter were identical, it was the address that proved the most challenging. Every day Harry received an update from the Ministry, and it wouldn't be until the night before they were to be sent out that the actual address would be magically imprinted on the envelope. The letters for the higher years were easier, but even these required that Harry adjust the list of supplies to the classes that each student would attend.

It wasn't until Wednesday evening that he set out on his mission to explore the dirty, cluttered storage cupboard in the dungeons. Because of its location, it was only used by the Potions master of the moment. He didn't relish the task, remembering how boxes and books and rusty cauldrons had come tumbling out when he and Slughorn had opened it in early May.

He stood in front of the double doors of the cupboard, idly wondering if he shouldn't call Kreacher to help, or to at least be available in the likely event he was buried under the rubble the instant the door was open. Pulling out his wand, he leveled it at the door, then said, "Alohomora." As the bolt slid open, Harry stood back, then flicked his wand to unlatch the doors. Cautiously, he reached out and pulled on the handles, opening the door, inch by careful inch.

Although everything thankfully stayed in its place, Harry sighed at the sight before him. Jam-packed, dusty, oddly smelly, and something from within seemed to be making a hissing sound—never a good thing. Rolling his sleeves up, he muttered, "Draco, this could possibly be worse than what you have to do." Raising his wand, and putting a safe distance between himself and the junk pile, he set to work.

An hour later, the cupboard was almost entirely empty, its contents arranged in sloppy piles on either side of him. He'd just removed what appeared to be a camp tent, of the variety that the Weasleys had commandeered for the World Cup, when he saw it, stuck in a corner in the back, its insides overflowing with yellowed scrolls of parchments, ladles, and stirring rods.

"Well, bloody hell," Harry muttered as he levitated the contents to an empty box. He crept inside the cramped space, then got down on his knees to examine it more closely. It wasn't a large cauldron—not even as large as the standard size two pewter ones that the students used. Its surface was rough and hewn, discolored by what appeared to be moss stains, and other stains that Harry didn't want to even consider, and it stood on a pedestal, instead of the rounded bottom and feet with which most cauldrons were usually fitted.

He couldn't budge it on his own, so levitated it to a nearby classroom, where he lit his wand to take a closer look. The lip of the cauldron, as well as the bottom of its interior, was engraved with runic symbols which Harry could not decipher. Draco had taken Ancient Runes, so perhaps he'd be able to sort them out.

When he returned to the corridor, he felt suddenly deflated by the prospect of replacing all of the untidy piles back into the cupboard. The house-elf seemed to be a very good idea, now that he'd removed the item in question.

Kreacher eyed the stacks that towered over him. "How would Master Harry Potter like Kreacher to organize it?"

"Just get rid of anything that's wet, smelly, or hissing. Other than that, do it any way you like," he told the elf.

Kreacher's eyes grew wide with anticipation. "Oh, Kreacher loves to sift and size and sort and stack," he said gleefully.

Harry smiled at his excitement, then, setting out for his rooms, muttered, "Good thing one of us does."

oooOOOooo

In the evening, Snape had been brooding and uncommunicative, so Harry'd gone down to see Hagrid. The two of them had taken a walk around the lake, the large man amazing Harry, as usual, with his stone-skipping skills. They'd shared some obscure Firewhisky that Hagrid had tried to explain the lurid tale of how he'd come by it, but Harry had told him he'd rather not know. In the morning, his head informed him that in the future, it'd perhaps be best if he got the story before he drank.

By Thursday afternoon, Harry knew he was definitely looking forward to Saturday. Despite the hangover potion, his head throbbed whenever he bent over, he was seeing ghosts in the castle that weren't part of its usual population, and worst of all, he found himself thinking of Draco…and even talking out loud to Snape as he worked. It was the first time that he could remember having felt so restless, being alone. He didn't much like the feeling and refused to think about why it was happening.

After supper, he headed for his rooms, anxious for the company of his tenant in residence, irascible and irritating as he sometimes was. Tonight, Harry couldn't have cared less. He felt maudlin and lonely and sex-starved, and for some reason, all he wanted was to talk to Snape for a few hours, wank off to a fantasy, then wake up in tomorrow.

He actually welcomed the familiarity of it, sipping his drink, as he read to Snape from the Prophet. He didn't mind the ever-running commentary, heard in snippets when he paused to take a breath. Snape's eyebrow lifted when Harry picked up the Treatise without prompting.

Harry read through an entire chapter, then looked up at the end of it to find Snape considering him as if he'd grown a second head.

"What?" Harry asked him.

"We're finished with that for the night." Snape dismissed the book with a wave of hand. "Top up your drink, if you like." Harry narrowed his eyes, then shrugged and Summoned the bottle. He'd just turned back to the painting when Snape proved once again that he missed nothing, so far as Harry was concerned.

"Why the long face?" Snape asked him directly. "I'd think you'd be on top of the world."

"Why would you think that?" Harry asked, understandably wary when Snape broached such a personal topic.

"You're young, healthy…with love on the horizon," Snape told him.

Harry snorted. "Love on the horizon. Yeah, right, that's me," he replied glibly.

Snape didn't respond for a moment, but the solemn look on his face made Harry cringe on the inside. That never boded well. When Snape finally spoke, his voice was surprisingly gentle. "I'd think that you'd have a rather stunning capacity to love."

Now, this was something new, Harry thought to himself. They'd bantered on about sex and noble dedication to an ideal, but never love. "Yeah, well, one thing I've learnt is that life'll disappoint you every time." He took a swallow of his whisky, then added, "So far as love is concerned."

Snape looked shocked. "Why would you of all people say such a thing?"

Harry sat forward, his chin in his hands. "You'd think life would've left me at least one of the people I loved."

Snape's expression softened. "Ah. I see." After a lengthy pause, he reminded him, "You have your friends."

Harry stared back at him. "That's the thing, see. They're my friends. Don't get me wrong, I love them and they love me. But they're still only friends." He sat back in his chair, and when he spoke this time, his voice was harder. "But my parents, Sirius, Remus, even Dumbledore…? Life didn't seem to give a rat's arse. One by one…here today, gone tomorrow," he quipped cynically. "So pardon me if I feel a bit skittish." He tipped his glass bottoms-up, then caught Snape's eyes as he finished, "So far as love is concerned."

Snape pulled his chair closer to the edge of the portrait, still considering Harry. "How old are you?"

Harry sighed; he knew what was coming. "Twenty this month."

"Hmmm, so jaded…at twenty," Snape said softly.

"I'm realistic," Harry disagreed quietly.

"You're pathetic," Snape shot back immediately as he leant forward. "If anyone deserves to have love in his life, it's you."

For some reason Harry had difficulty getting the words out, as that same warm feeling spread through his chest, the one that occurred every single time Snape said something even remotely resembling approval. "Oh right. The love expert speaks," he said mockingly.

When Snape finally answered, his eyes narrowed intently, part of Harry marveled at how the man was able to command attention by the simple action of lowering his voice. "I did not die so that you could live your life alone, cynical and bereft of love."

Without thinking, Harry reacted, then regretted it almost instantly. "Did you practice what you're preaching? No, you died, alone, to keep a promise to my mother," he said with a bitterness that surprised even himself.

Snape shook his head, then the creases around his mouth relaxed as he sat, looking at Harry, who had slid to the floor in front of the painting. "That was only part of it."

"Really? Because that's the part you told me," Harry reminded him.

Snape looked down at his hands for a moment, then looked back up at Harry. "I believe, then, that I did not make myself sufficiently clear. And given your astounding ability to discount your own personal contributions and worth, I'm going to say this so that even you can understand." He paused.

"All right…I think, go on," Harry said uncertainly, vaguely aware that he might've just been subtly insulted, but at this point he didn't care.

"Before the end came," Snape said, "despite my mission to protect you, and my promise to the headmaster to relate those terrible tidings, long before the end came, I respected and admired you for yourself. For you alone." He leant forward and placed his palm outward against the surface of the painting, as if he were leaning on it for support. His voice was low and intense, but Harry caught every single word. "And if you don't realize that by now, there's nothing more to be said. I do not dispense respect either lightly or unreasonably."

"So," Harry said hesitantly, wondering when it had become so important that he know, "there at the end, when you looked at me, it wasn't just because of my mum?" Almost reverently and definitely without thinking, he lifted a finger and gently placed it against the surface of the portrait where the hand seemed suspended in midair.

Snape startled in surprise, but didn't move his hand. He stared into the green eyes which were now the topic of the conversation. "I saw both of you, but you…you I was seeing for the very first time." He dropped his arm, then took a step backwards and slowly lowered himself into his chair.

"Are you drunk?" Snape asked him, watching as Harry advanced on his knees to sit almost face-to-face with the painting.

"Noooo," Harry replied as settled to sit cross-legged. "Two drinks. Well within my sobriety limit."

"Hmmm," was all Snape commented, "but it's early yet."

"Ah. So it is," Harry said as he threw a hand back and Summoned the bottle, then decided to dispense with the glass. "I don't even begin to get drunk until after four, five if I have food in my stomach."

Snape shook his head as he watched Harry upcap the bottle. "Fascinating… I must admit I do miss a good jolt of spirits now and then."

Harry took a short swig, then set the bottle on the floor beside him. "Wish I could oblige you," he said sincerely, then studied Snape for a long moment, who returned the look, sober and unflinching. "May I ask you something, sir?"

Looking slightly wary, Snape said, "Go on."

"Did you…like sex?" Harry blurted out, then elaborated, "I mean, when you and Remus…well, when you two were," he stumbled with the words, "together. Actually, I mean when you weren't together. Oh hell," he paused, took a deep breath and another swallow from the bottle. "Did you think of it all the time when you weren't together?"

"Ah. I see. I think you're asking me if I anticipated being together when we were apart?" he clarified, frowning.

"Yeah, that's it. The reason I'm asking is I seem to think of it…a great deal when he's gone," he said, relieved.

Snape pursed his lips. "Only natural, I would think."

Harry rubbed the side of the bottle against his cheek. "All right, then. Didn't know if that was just me…."

Snape laughed softly. "No, I don't think it's just you."

Harry narrowed his eyes for a moment, considering whether Snape was laughing at him or not, then decided, yes, he probably he was. Undeterred, however, he offered an explanation. "Draco says I'm a bit…kinky," he confessed, surprised at how easy it'd been to actually say it. "Just wondering if that's…."

"Normal?" Snape asked, obviously amused. "Variety is the spice of life, so they say, and I'd imagine that would be true in a sexual relationship as well." He watched as Harry chugged from the bottle again, then asked with an indulging smile, "Kinky…are you?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't have much experience to say one way or the other. But Draco should know, I guess." His eyes were slightly glassy. "But that's private," he mumbled. He held the bottle up to eye the level of liquor. "Oops, that's my limit, I think."

"I should hope so," Snape murmured in agreement.

"Anyway, I wanted to ask you, since you've had experience…you and Remus…was it just sex? Or did you ever think about, I don't know, settling down?"

"And why would you be wondering about 'settling down'?" Snape asked him seriously.

"Oh, I'm not," Harry reassured him. "I just like the sex—same for Draco. No love or other such rot. No, I was just thinking about you…." He sat back against the armchair, then angled a leg to either side of the painting. "You have to admit, the two of you together…so, was it like Draco and me? Just the sex, or was it something more?"

Snape eyed him suspiciously. "Not that it's any of your affair, but no, no thoughts of a happy household. Remember who we were and where we were. I was a spy with questionable loyalties, he was a werewolf, and any permanent liaison would've proven disastrous."

Harry shook his head. "Not being entirely truthful, methinks. You were distraught when I told you he was dead." He wagged a finger at the man. "I think it was more than just sex."

Seeming hesitant, Snape took a moment to answer. "It's true that I cared for him, and he for me. We both enjoyed sex and the distraction it provided. Sometimes that is all that two partners want from each other. The prospect of 'settling down' was never even discussed, as we both knew it to be an impossible one."

"I'd like to someday," Harry said almost soberly, undermined by the slight slurring of the word 'someday.'

"Settle down?"

"Yeah, don't look so surprised," Harry groused.

Rolling his eyes, Snape spoke to him as if he were a child. "You recently declined that very chance—to settle down with someone. After a two week lark with Mister Malfoy, you've suddenly done an about face. Unless this is an alcohol-induced proclamation."

"Not with Draco," Harry corrected him. "We like sex," he said, as if that explained it all.

"So, if not Draco…." When Harry failed to take the bait, Snape continued. "What would you look for in a partner, then?"

"First, let's get this straight—he'd have to be a man," Harry said, then sat bolt-upright, a grin splitting his face. "Ha! Get it? Get it straight…have to be a man?" He held his sides as he snorted and snickered, earning him a look of disgust from Snape.

"You're as drunk as a lord," Snape told him.

Harry's smile faded, as he looked at the bottle beside him. Sighing heavily, he looked back to Snape, then guffawed like a donkey. "I think you're right," he almost crowed, then doubled over with laughter once again.

Snape waited until Harry was making only slight sniggering noises to ask, "Now that we have that established, a man, what else?"

Harry stared at him. "Isn't it odd how being pissed makes some things clearer?" He shook his head. "Easier to say?"

"If you've realized that, then I'd advise caution," Snape warned him. "Although, embarrassing oneself in front of a portrait would not ordinarily be cause for concern."

"You're not just a portrait. Draco and I know that," Harry said with a shrug, then before Snape could reply, he moved on. "Tall, dark, and average-looking."

Snape seemed to realize that Harry was back to his list. "A tall, dark, average-looking man. Go on." He'd settled back into his chair, his fingers steepled in front of him.

Harry furrowed his brow as he thought. "Intelligent, good conversationalist, able to talk about ideas." He looked up at Snape, a mischievous look in his eye. "Books too."

"Books?"

Harry nodded, as if the word was self-explanatory. "I like books."

"So, he'd have to like to read…." Snape finished for him.

"And good in bed," Harry said conspiratorially. "A bit kinky as well."

"You have yet to explain…what you mean by kinky," Snape pointed out.

"Tsk, tsk, I told you, that's private," Harry chided him.

Giving him a dour look, Snape said, "Go on."

Harry shook his head. "Wait. Do you like kinky sex?" he asked, his eyes wide.

Snape seemed to struggle to restrain the urge to laugh. "That depends. I think that sex games in the bedchamber…." He watched Harry's face. "….and select accessories possess a certain provocative allure, for both partners, if they're in agreement."

"That's good," Harry said at once. "So what'd I leave out?" He mulled for a moment, strumming his thumb back and forth across his lower lip. He stopped suddenly, then looked up, the levity abruptly gone. "He'd have to've been in the war," he said quietly.

Slowly lowering his hands to his lap, Snape cocked his head to the side. "Why?"

Harry's sight blurred slightly. "'Cause that way we'd never have to talk about it. Unless we really wanted to….and if one of us had nightmares…. No questions," he finished softly, seeming all of the sudden sober.

Snape regarded him sadly before remarking, "There you have him…your mystery partner. Quite an amalgam."

"One more thing. Simple things," Harry said solemnly. When Snape looked doubtful, Harry explained, "A simple life. A modest home, with a cat," he smiled, "staying in, most nights. Food and drink. Sex and reading by the fire. Simple things," he stressed.

"An admirable domicile," Snape agreed.

Harry looked up at him blearily. "Soooo…let's see. I wanna remember this—this is good…to remember." Struggling to sit up straight, he held up a hand and spread his fingers. "Tall, dark and average-looking," he bent a finger down, "intelligent and can carry on a conversation," two more fingers folded in, "books, kinky in bed," the last two down to make a fist. Opening his other hand, he went on, "In the war, and likes the simple life." He stared at the remaining fingers, as if mesmerized. "All together, wrapped with a bow, my dream wizard."

His mouth fell open as he looked up slowly at Snape. The flush drained from his face, his eyes startlingly sober as his lips quivered. He tried to speak, but it took him several attempts, as his mouth suddenly didn't seem to want to work

"You…you…" he stammered as he moved forward on his knees so that he was just inches from the painting. He leant down and almost pressed his nose against the canvas. "I'm pissed, I know. But I'm not that pissed," he said urgently, bringing a hand up to place it against the frame. His eyes were bright with tears.

"You know what I wish? You know what I wish more than anything?" He drew a finger of his free hand along the outline of the figure in the painting. "I wish you weren't dead. More than anything," he almost whispered.

"Harry, I think it's time—"

"No! I'm serious here! Don't you see? You're all those things. And you're…you're never coming back. You're dead! Just think about it….you're trapped, and I…." He shook his head. "It's not fair. I should've done something. Maybe you wouldn't have died. But what did I do? I went off and left—"

"Harry, stop it this instant. There was nothing you or your friends—"

"No, no, you can't know that! Stupid…stupid…stupid. And now you're stuck in there, and how I wish to god you weren't." He sat back and hung his head, his arms dangling at his side. He didn't look up at the sound of Snape pushing back his chair.

"Good night, Harry." He heard the soft voice from the painting.

Seized by the senselessness of it all, Harry got up to his knees again and held on to the edge of the painting. "NO! Don't leave…. God, I'm sorry, but…no! Come back!" he cried into the empty two-dimensional room. Suddenly angry, he shook the frame as hard as he could. "Severus! Come back…Severus!" he groaned, but the man did not reappear.

Leaning his head against the empty painting, intoxicated by the whiskey, his mind sobered by the startling revelations, Harry gave in and for the first time in years, he cried.

oooOOOooo

"So, I've not seen hide nor hair of him since," Harry told Draco. "I know he's angry, but criminy, it's not like I meant to offend him."

They'd stopped just outside the Great Hall, Harry having told the tale over a late lunch between just the two of them.

"Doesn't sound like something that would offend him, either," Draco said as they headed for Harry's rooms. "He's a complicated man, Severus is."

"If I said that, he'd remind me he's just a portrait," Harry sighed.

At Harry's door, Draco reached out and stopped Harry's hand on the latch. "Wait a second. I've an idea. You go on to the office and wait. If he doesn't show in a minute or two, then come back. I think we can flush him out that way."

Sure enough, when Harry stepped into the headmaster's office, he saw a fleeting ripple in Snape's portrait, and then it was empty. He stood and waited for a short while, but when the man didn't return, he smiled grimly and set off for his rooms again.

He could hear the murmur of soft voices as he let himself in. They fell silent, though, as he made his presence known, crossing to the sideboard to pour himself and Draco a cup of tea. He handed one over the back of the settee, then rounded it to sit close to Draco. After taking his leisurely time to stir, he set the spoon aside, took a casual sip, then lifted his eyes to the painting.

"Severus," he said with a nod.

Tit for tat, Snape nodded back. "Harry."

Draco rested a hand on Harry's thigh. "Severus was just explaining why he's sulking."

Snape was sitting behind his desk, but didn't speak.

"He's angry with me. I knew that part," Harry muttered.

Looking up, Snape frowned. "Angry, yes. But not with you."

Harry was perplexed. "With who, then?

"I was angry, full stop." He picked at the frayed edges of a cuff. Harry didn't prompt him, knowing that it was time to just listen. Still fingering the cuff, Snape glanced up again. "Your description of your 'dream wizard' did not leave me unaffected. No, it brought home to roost quite a few things that I'd pushed below the surface and refused to consider."

He crossed his arms, spearing Harry with look full of anguish. "Do you realize how ironic it is? You said you wished I were alive, and it occurred to me with sudden clarity, how it would be if I were. Free of guilt, free of the debt to your mother, free of my promise to Albus, free of any compulsion to do anything other than what I desire. Free to live the life that I was urging you to live." He made a wry face. "I've no delusions about how I would've been received by others, given my past, but at this point, I've learnt not to care what others think. So yes, I was angry. Angry that the Dark Lord, fully mistaken, took my life foolishly and for nothing."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Harry asked softly. "Why let me think…?"

Snape looked uncomfortable. "I'd rather thought you'd spent too much with a specter in a portrait. Your distress over my predicament…was unsettling."

Harry cocked his head to the side. "Seems to me we were angry over the same things," he observed. "Not pity, sir, just a wish that it could've been different."

For the first time in his history with the man, Harry thought he saw regret in his face.

"It was not my intention…." Snape stopped, then began again. "I apologize…." He glared at Draco. "…for retreating instead of telling you the reason why."

Harry felt Draco's hand squeeze his thigh, so he covered the hand with his own. "It's all right," he told Snape awkwardly. "Severus?"

When he knew he had the man's undivided attention, he said, "Drunk or not, I meant what I said there, at the end. Wishing you weren't dead…and the rest of it."

Snape looked chagrined for a moment, opened his mouth as if to speak, then shut it, his face settling into a weary acceptance. The room was quiet for a few minutes, none of them speaking, the only sound that of Mrs. Norris purring in between Harry and Draco.

When the mantel clock chimed three, Draco leant over and kissed Harry on the cheek, then whispered at his ear, "Time to stir the pot a bit." When Harry turned his face to kiss him fully on the mouth, they heard a snort of derision.

When they pulled away, Draco casually said to Harry, "I saw my father this week."

"Oh, that's right, I'd forgotten you were going."

"We had an interesting talk about Birmun." He glanced at Snape. "You knew him, didn't you, Severus? He was a Death Eater, a new recruit, in fact. A Muggle-hater. Do you remember him?"

Snape didn't reply, his face expressionless.

"Edwiss Birnum, mid-twenties. Joined up mainly to torture Muggles. Went on a few raids, then something peculiar happened." He squinted at Snape. "You're sure you don't recall him?"

"I remember him," Snape said flatly. "Sadistic little bugger. Earned a reputation quickly. Didn't just want to kill Muggles; he liked to play with them," he spat out.

"Yeah, that was him. My father said he was downright vicious at it. Then one night," he said as he turned to Harry, darting his eyes meaningfully at Snape, "he was killed in a raid. Odd, that, because there'd been no resistance. When they came out of the house, he was just lying in the garden. No physical damage, just dead. Killing Curse, they assumed."

Harry's eyes widened. "One of the Death Eaters had a gripe with him, then?"

Draco shook his head. "None that was known at the time, and the Dark Lord was so furious he had Priori performed on the wands of all the others who'd been there. Came up clean, every one of them. Never solved who did it. Did they, Severus?" he asked, as he turned back to him.

"I seem to recall it remained a mystery, yes," Snape ground out.

Draco didn't hesitate. "Why's his name in your journal?"

Snape shrugged. "It was a diary. Perhaps I'd been thinking about him at the time."

"Hmm, speaking of your diary, all those portions you marked in Secrets of the Darkest Art are ones about Horcruxes. I suppose that's because you wanted to know more, since you figured that's what the Dark Lord had done…."

Nodding stiffly, Snape said, "As well as suspecting that Albus had charged Harry with finding and destroying them."

Draco seemed to ignore this, as he said, "What I don't understand, then, is why the potions in the journal—you know the ones I mean? The two at the beginning that I'm positive you brewed—are ones used to create a Horcrux." In the next breath, he changed direction. "Why the familiar, Severus? After so many years, and so many times I heard you flat out scoff at students who had one. Why'd you change your mind?"

Snape leant forward, slamming his fist atop the desk. "None of your affair! I'll remind you that I was a potions master. As for the familiar, I had a use for it." He narrowed his eyes as he sat back, still glaring at Draco.

Harry looked from one to the other, then back to Draco, who was staring straight ahead. Something in his posture, in the way his head was angled, made Harry lean forward in concern.

"Draco?" When there was no reply, Harry put his hand on his shoulder. "Draco?"

Alarmed Harry stood and knelt in front of him, passing a hand back and forth in front of Draco's face. "Severus, what's…Draco!" He shook him roughly by the shoulders.

Draco seemed to shudder, then his eyes focused on Harry. "What?" Seeing Harry on his knees in front of him, he shook his head as if to clear it. "What happened?" he mumbled.

Sitting back on his heels, Harry shot a suspicious look at Snape. "Did you do something?" he accused.

Snape looked shocked. "Certainly not!" He looked over Harry's shoulder, his eyes so worried that Harry suddenly felt sheepish. "Sorry," he murmured, then studied Draco worriedly. "You were just…gone for a minute there."

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Draco grumbled, "Must've dozed off—haven't got much sleep lately."

Harry rose up on knees, then draped his arms around Draco's shoulders, bringing their foreheads together. "Well, you'd best take a nap now—I have to water greenhouse three before supper." Their lips almost touching, Harry said, "Cause you're not getting much sleep tonight, if I can help it."

Just before they gave in to a long kiss, too long delayed, Draco laughed, "You can count on it."

oooOOOooo

Harry returned to collect Draco, now rejuvenated by a nap, to take supper in the Great Hall with Hagrid. As they passed the painting, Draco stopped to tell Snape that they'd be out for the evening.

Not even looking up from his book, Snape replied, "You needn't inform me of your itinerary."

Draco studied him for a moment. "I know we don't. Just thought you'd like to know we're going to check out Spinner's End. See the sights," he said casually.

Snape did look up then, glanced at Harry and back to Draco. "Not much to see. Only Muggles. Have a good evening." He returned to his book.

oooOOOooo

"Why tonight?" Harry asked as they left the Great Hall. "It's nearly seven."

"I've been there already—yesterday. I found St. James," he told an astonished Harry. "It's a church. I'd like to take a look at it; it won't take long."

They Disapparated just outside the gates, Draco Side-Alonging Harry, pulled snug against him.

It was a small church with a single steeple, built with stone that'd been blackened by the local mills of the town. The two of them read the plaque to the right of the door, then walked cautiously around the structure to the right of it. It reminded Harry of the small church in Godric's Hollow, with the cemetery at the back, enclosed by a wrought-iron fence with a gate. It creaked ominously as they swung it on its hinges and then passed through.

They walked along the rows, stopping every foot or so to examine the tombstones, most of them darkened by age and the elements. They were perhaps a third of their way through the rows, when there they were, two tombstones smaller than most that they'd seen thus far.

"This is it," Draco said softly as he fell to his knees to push the leaves away from the base of the stones. Etched into the granite were the names: Tobias Snape…Eileen Snape. There was no inscription on Snape's father's stone, only the dates of his birth and death. His mother's, however, bore the words, Grant to her Eternal Rest. Harry stared at the words and dates, thinking to himself that Snape had lost both his parents in the space of only a few years.

"Look at this," Draco muttered urgently. He'd found a flat plate, recessed slightly into the ground in front of the father's stone. Overgrown with weeds and caked with dirt, it took several moments for him to scrape it clean.

Harry felt a surge of surprise, even though it was what they'd hoped to find. Roughly carved into the flat rock were the numerals: 6418.

"That's it, then," Draco said grimly. They stood, side-by-side, looking down at the weathered stone and its numbers.

"That's it," Harry echoed. "Question is, what is it?"

Draco shook his head. "I've an idea, but let's leave it for now. I need to talk to Severus again."

oooOOOooo

Snape was strangely gone from the painting when they returned, so the two of them sat on the settee and talked about their week. Draco told him of his visit to Azkaban; Harry related how he'd found the stone cauldron.

When an hour had passed and Snape still hadn't put in an appearance, Draco sighed and stood, reaching a hand out to Harry. "It can wait until morning. I'm knackered, and I've been waiting all day to get you into bed."

Harry didn't need any further encouragement.

CHAPTER SEVEN