FIC: "Occam's Razor", Chapter Eight


Chapter Eight

That afternoon, Draco followed Harry down to the Quidditch pitch. After a brief game of one-on-one with the Snitch, which Harry managed to snag this time, the two of them sat and serviced the last of the school brooms, readying them for the term to come.

After supper, they walked down to Hagrid's hut, unable to put off the man's persistent invitations to visit any longer.

Draco was warily eyeing the raison scone on his plate, while Harry went to great lengths to avoid Fang, and made small talk with the gamekeeper.

"Hagrid, are there any parts of the forest that you'd say are safe?" Harry finally asked him.

"Safe? Well, I don' righ'ly know. Lemme think abou' tha'," Hagrid replied, eyeing Harry suspiciously. "Yer not thinkin' 'bout wanderin' round in there, are yeh?"

Harry shook his head. "Just curious."

Stroking his beard for a moment, Hagid thought, then sat back in his chair. "Well, not the west part, that's fer sure. Aragog's brood still lives there. And the north, all of tha' there's where the Centaurs stay." He darted his large eyes toward the window, then lowered his voice, as if what he was about to say could be dangerous, if overheard. "Jes off the main path, to the east, yeh know where I mean?"

Harry felt an involuntary frisson of foreknowledge. "Yeah, I do. Where Voldemort and the Death Eaters were that night?"

"Yeh, tha's tha place," Hagrid muttered, his eyes still flicking to the window and back. "When I go lookin' fer ferrets fer Buckbeak," he paused as he shuddered, "I stay clear. Nothin' lives there anyways. Like they're afrai' o' it or summat."

"Makes sense. There're probably enchantments and wards still there—ones that they cast," Harry mused out loud.

Hagrid shook his head. "Nah, t'ain't it. The Ministry and P'fessor Flitwick made sure 'o tha', summer before las'."

"It's just creepy, then," Harry muttered, shooting Draco a meaningful look.

They stayed for almost an hour, and just when they were about to leave, Harry noticed Hagrid staring at Draco, his forehead wrinkled. Harry knew that look well, so braced himself for something outrageous. Hagrid didn't disappoint him, Harry discovered, when they followed the man out his back door to 'take a look at summat.'

"Buckbeak," Hagrid called to the creature, "look who's come teh see yeh!"

Harry moved down the steps into the garden, watching as the shimmering gray creature struggled to its feet. He glanced over his shoulder to see Draco rooted to the spot, a foot behind him. Smiling, Harry turned and bowed to the creature, which immediately bowed in return, then gracefully slid back to a standing position, taking a few steps toward them, its brilliant orange eyes fixed on the figure between Harry and Hagrid.

"Draco," Harry warned, "get it right this time. Bow," he gritted through his teeth.

Shooting him a terrified look, Draco bowed, swooping low, his head almost to his knees. "Draco," Harry whispered urgently, "look at him." Draco's head came up at that, and Harry held his breath, as Buckbeak cocked his plumaged head to the side, seeming to consider, then finally bent his knees and sank into a bow.

"Tha's it, Draco! See, I was jes' tellin' Buckbeak here tha' yeh jes needed a second chance, was all." Taking him by the hand, Hagrid pulled the reluctant man toward the creature, then placed Draco's hand on a wing, instructing him, "Go on, touch 'im."

Harry watched, amused, as a paler than usual Draco stroked the silvery feathers. Then in a flash, before Draco could react, Hagrid was coaxing him upward, guiding his leg onto the wing, then shoving him further as the mighty beast stood.

"Hagrid, I don't think this is—"

"Mind his feathers, tha's all yeh need to know," Hagrid warned as he slapped the hippogriff on the behind.

With a swoosh of powerful wings, and a yelp from Draco, the duo was airborne, circling once over the hut before they swooped off in the direction of the lake.

Harry shaded his eyes from the setting sun, watching until they were out of sight. "Think they'll be all right?" Harry asked, not really worried.

Hagrid let out a belly laugh. "Righ' as rain, s'long as he holds on teh 'im."

The two of them walked through the garden, Hagrid showing off his prize vegetables, some of them questionable varieties that Harry'd never seen before. When one large crimson blossom snapped at Harry's hand, Hagrid cautioned, "Careful, tha' one's not bin fed yet."

They sat on the porch, waiting for Buckbeak and Draco, who'd been gone almost half an hour. When the dot in the sky reappeared at last, Harry stood and walked to the middle of the garden, watching as they gracefully flew in ever narrowing downward spirals, finally touching down in a soft landing just feet away.

Draco's hair was wild and wind-tossed, his cheeks rosy, his eyes gleaming as he slid from Buckbeak's back. Without prompting, he bowed, keeping eye contact until the hippogriff bowed back. Reaching out, Draco patted his beak, grinning as he said, "Thanks, Buckbeak. That was amazing." When the creature closed its eyes and nuzzled at Draco's hand, Draco added, "Sorry about…you know. I was a berk."

Watching the two of them, Hagrid said quietly to Harry, "I was righ' abou' im. He's changed his spots, tha' un."

Harry smiled, still watching Draco. "Yeah, he has."

When they were saying their goodbyes, Hagrid said to Draco, "P'fessor Dumbledore told meh yeh were makin' amends, an' I though' 'bout yeh and Buckbeak here."

Draco nodded his head soberly. "Thanks, Hagrid."

They were already out of the front garden, when Hagrid called after them, "Yeh two be careful in the forest, wha'ever yer up teh."

oooOOOooo

They passed the evening in Harry's rooms, taking turns reading to Snape from the by now dreaded Treatise. As Draco took the last shift, Harry sat and read from the Rilke anthology, lost in the emotion and pathos of the man's poetry. He looked up when he felt Draco nudge his bare foot with his own.

"Severus, I was wondering about Pettigrew," Draco said as he closed the book, then set it to the side.

Snape looked wary, glancing to Harry, and then back. "Pettigrew."

"Yeah, no sympathy lost on that one," Draco said. "But how'd you do it? Get…flesh and blood from him?"

Narrowing his eyes, Snape told him, "Pettigrew often provided the human elements needed for the Dark Lord's potions. The flesh was given willingly enough, but the blood…that took me months more to procure." He paused. "Does that answer your question?" he asked softly, intently watching the two of them.

Draco looked non-committal. "Sure, just curious." Leaning over Harry's shoulder, he peered at the poem that Harry had selected to read, then said under his breath, "There. Wasn't so hard."

oooOOOooo

That night, they stayed up later than usual, Snape in a rare and jocular mood, entertaining them with stories of run-ins with students they had known, until Harry and Draco dissolved into snickers and snorts.

Alone in the bedchamber, Draco sat on the edge of the bed and watched, stroking himself, as Harry undressed. He stood then nodded toward the wardrobe.

"You still have your school clothes?" he asked, trailing a finger down the middle of Harry's chest, his tongue stuck out at a provocative angle.

"Sure," Harry replied, puzzled. "Why?" He craned his neck forward for a kiss, but Draco stepped to the side.

"Ties—Gryffindor ones? Four would be good."

"Four…oh," Harry breathed, his voice dying out as he got it.

Draco smiled slyly. "Are you game?"

Already rooting around in the wardrobe, Harry's reply was a muffled, "Am I ever."

oooOOOooo

Hours later, Harry sat in the chair again as Draco slept. He smiled at the way the man lay helter-skelter in the bed, arms and legs askew to take up most of it. The Gryffindor ties were still knotted to the four wooden posters, and Harry's cock twitched just at the memory of how he'd strained against them, as Draco'd had his way with him.

He wondered, as he fingered the journal in his lap, what lay in store for them—this fragile relationship, barely a month old—once they finished their plan. He had no doubt that they'd remain friends, but as he knew he'd be leaving soon, he could only hope that they'd manage to stay in touch. The reality was that Harry didn't have many friends at all, and as Draco was the only one these days who seemed to accept his idiosyncrasies without question, his absence would be sorely felt.

Sighing, Harry opened his journal, lit his wand, then paused with his quill at his lips.

oooOOOooo

Draco looked up from the wizading almanac. "This is it, then. The waxing gibbous moon's a week from Friday. Has to be then, or we wait another month."

Harry sat back in his chair, taking a moment as he looked around the library. Shaking his head, he said, "No, we can't wait. Too complicated, come September. It's now or never," he decided firmly, thinking to himself how fitting it was, that he'd be ending his tenure at Hogwarts with a ritual in the Forbidden Forest. "Can we do it by then?"

Draco shrugged. "I don't see why not. We have everything we need. We should check out the forest this weekend, though," he finished with a frown. "Wouldn't want any unpleasant surprises."

"Yeah, Severus starkers will be enough of one," Harry said darkly, making Draco laugh.

oooOOOooo

Harry walked Draco down to the gates, then let him through. "So, see you Saturday," Harry told him a bit forlornly.

Draco tipped his chin up and stared into his eyes. "What's this?" he mocked. "Going to miss me?"

"Well, your competition is a ten-inch man who forces me to read poetry," Harry opined. "So, yeah, I guess I will…a bit."

Pulling him close, Draco wrapped his arms around him, murmuring at his ear. "You don't fool me, Potter. You love that stuff, the two of you wooing each other with someone else's words."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Draco took advantage of the moment to practically smother him with a heated kiss, holding Harry's head in place with both hands as he did.

They were winding down, just about to pull away, when the distinctive 'pop' of Apparition made both their eyes go wide. They stood stock still, arms still wound around each other, their faces cheek to cheek, staring in shock at the couple in front of them.

"Harry…I…what in…." Hermione stammered, Ron standing rigidly beside her. She took in a deep breath, then said, "Happy Birthday."

oooOOOooo

The three of them walked up to the great doors in silence. Harry was about to take them into the Great Hall, when he decided, what the hell, he was tired of being on tenterhooks around the two of them. "Let's go to my rooms," he muttered, still furious with Ron for the way he'd lit into Draco, and especially for his words just after Draco'd Disapparated. 'You stay away from my sister.'

Hermione had bit her lip and wisely said nothing, having to walk double-time to keep up with the two angry men as they climbed the staircase and strode down the corridor.

Harry didn't even care what they'd no doubt think of the state of his rooms, although he did sweep up the books from the settee and set them aside, not wanting a third degree from Hermione about his choice of reading material.

Snape looked up in surprise as the couple perched uncomfortably on the settee, Harry in the armchair to the side. Closing his book, he looked at Harry first, then back to the settee. "Mr. and Mrs. Weasley," he greeted them coolly.

"Hullo, Professor," Hermione practically chirped in relief. "How are you, sir?"

"Fine," Snape said, seeming not to want to encourage a conversation as he stood and turned to leave.

"We've just popped up for Harry's birthday," she explained, "and to bring him a cake." She gestured to the box beside her, her nervousness obvious.

Snape turned back to pin Harry with a stare. "Ah. Yes, the twentieth one, I seem to recall. Happy Birthday, Potter," he said formally with a bow, then disappeared into the edge of the painting.

"Blimey hell," Ron muttered. "No wonder you've gone daft in the head. Malfoy and Snape both, huh?"

Harry bristled as he leant forward, the dam about to burst. "As for your sister, I've tried to stay clear of her. It's you two who've been the last to get a clue."

Hermione put a firm hand on Ron's knee to make him shut his mouth. "Actually, Ginny's already told us…to lay off. That's why she isn't here, Harry."

"It would've been nice of you to let me know you were coming," he accused. "Seeing how offended you are."

Ron couldn't hold his tongue any longer. "So, explain exactly why we shouldn't be offended, huh? The last time we were anywhere near the bugger, he tried to kill us!"

"Ron, I think we should—"

"Hermione, shut it! It's a perfectly good question." He glared at Harry. "So? I'd really like to hear it. How you went from hating him just like we did to…to…" he sputtered, gesturing wildly. "What the bloody hell was that? Are you out of your bloody mind? Tell me, I really, really, want to know!"

Harry's eyes flashed and he felt his face flush, this time with righteous anger. "Which part really bothers you, Ron? That it's Draco, or that we're queer? Cause, come to think of it, you were never very tolerant of either. So…."

Ron waved a hand in disgust. "So, you're queer now. Nice of you to sort that out, before you married Ginny. It's your life, and you're gonna do what you're gonna do, I can accept that. But Malfoy? That's just…." He groped for words, then when he failed to find them, he shook his head in exasperation.

His voice low and intense, Harry gritted out, "It's been over two years, and he's changed. And if you're honest, you'll admit it—a great deal has changed, for all of us. He's no different on that account."

"Harry, it's not that we don't want to believe you…it's just that it's a bit of a shock," Hermione placated. Ron made a noise of disbelief. She must've squeezed his thigh fairly hard, because he sat up straight, then brushed her hand away.

"If you give me a chance to explain," Harry began, watching the two of them, "it might make more sense. Probably won't make you want to welcome him with open arms, but at least hear what I have to say?" His mind was already working on what he could tell them without giving away what he knew must remain secret.

Hermione nodded, while Ron grumbled, "'Spose we owe you that much."

oooOOOooo

"So, the two of you aren't a permanent thing, then?" Ron asked, a half an hour later.

Harry answered wearily, "I doubt it. Like I said, we're friends, we both happen to be queer and like sex." He bit back the smile when Ron grimaced. "Not in love, though."

"Well, I suppose it could be worse," Ron said, taking the plate of cake that Hermione handed to him. "But still… if there ever was a bloke I'd swear would be a git forever, it'd be him. And you can't tell me you don't understand why I feel that way."

"I do understand. But you're going to have to trust me on this one," Harry said, eyeing the generous portion of cake, for which he had no appetite.

Ron said with a mouthful of cake, "We're just worried about you, mate. You've been sort of strange, this last year, but you know we just want you to be happy."

"He's right, Harry," Hermione told him, handing a napkin to her husband with a disapproving look. "It might take some…adjustment on our part, but whatever you want, well, that's what friends are all about, aren't they?" She smiled over the top of her teacup.

Harry relaxed back into his chair, thinking to himself that he'd missed the two of them, that with Ginny set straight, he suddenly felt as if a wall had dropped from between them. "Thanks, Hermione. I've…not been the best of friends, I know. But I hope that now, with everything out in the open, we won't have to…avoid each other," he finished, slightly ashamed for some reason.

Hermione glanced at her husband, then smiled at Harry. "We're friends for life, Harry Potter, no matter what. Even Malfoy couldn't change that." When Ron nodded his enthusiastic agreement, Harry smiled for the first time since they'd popped in at the gates.

oooOOOooo

Of course, Snape wanted a detailed account of what had happened.

"So, it wasn't a particularly happy birthday," he commented when Harry finished.

"You know, I'd forgotten it was my birthday until they showed up," Harry admitted. "As birthdays go, it wasn't the best one, that's true."

Snape considered him for a moment. "They're your friends; they'll adjust."

Harry shrugged. "I think they will. Still, I had a hard time explaining."

"Which part?"

Leveling a look at him, Harry said, "That it's just sex. Not love."

Making a tsking noise, Snape turned back to his book as he said, "So you say."

Harry stared at him, then snorted. "So I know, and so does Draco."

Turning a page, Snape shot him a look over the top of the book. "Often, those in thick of it are the last to know."

"You're wrong. Believe what you like," Harry said dismissively as he picked up a book to read. But moments later, when he glanced up he caught Snape studying him.

oooOOOooo

If they were to perform the ritual at the end of the next week, Harry knew that he had to work non-stop until then; he was behind schedule, so far as the castle was concerned, but catching up wouldn't present a problem if he worked from sun-up to sun-down for the next week.

Minerva would be returning ten days after he and Draco and Snape had their little appointment in the Forbidden Forest, and as he had no idea of what to expect in the aftermath, should they succeed, he wanted to keep that time free, in case Snape…required something.

Just the thought of it was world-tilting…that in two weeks time, it would all be over. And Snape…would either be flesh and bone once again, or forever relegated to the confines of two comparatively small oil-based paintings.

In the back of his mind, there was another worry: what if Snape returned not quite himself, but perhaps as something or someone foreign, strange, or even worse, uncooperative and combative? Harry supposed they should have a 'contingency' plan of their own, but at this stage of things, he decided that he'd drive himself mad with attempting to plan for every possible outcome. If this fear were realized, then they'd just have to deal with it the best they could.

By Wednesday, the castle had come alive. House-elves where everywhere, scrubbing, polishing, dusting and arranging. The floors and windows shone like mirrors, the classrooms had been aired and ordered, the common rooms were immaculate, and coverlets were plumped on the end of each dormitory bed.

Harry oversaw it all, as he checked the kitchens, the dungeons, the turrets and the owlery. It felt as if a giant beast were slowly reawakening, as day by day the start of term drew closer. Harry was pleasantly taxed, working from dawn until dusk, sufficiently tired at night that he should've been able to fall asleep when his head hit the pillow. For some reason, though, sleep proved elusive on most nights.

At mealtimes and when he took breaks during the day, he'd take out his notebook and write. He'd find a nook or cranny and settle in for a half-hour, then commit the thoughts of his morning or afternoon to parchment. In the evenings, he spent his time with Snape, reading or talking, and sometimes, when Snape was away or otherwise occupied, Harry'd pull out the journal to read over what he'd written that day, sometimes to revise or tweak, sometimes to erase or embellish. He knew that Snape had been watching him all week, and so wasn't surprised when the man finally asked.

"What is it you're writing? You've been at it for some time," Snape queried, eyeing the journal on Harry's lap.

"You gave me the idea, actually. It's a diary," Harry told him, then looked back to the page.

"A diary…so you're writing about your days?" Snape asked.

Harry looked up. "Well, yeah, I do…and…things I think about," he added, trying to be truthful.

It seemed that Snape had caught the scent of something. "What sort of things? The past? The future?"

"Well, not exactly. It's…more like a way to clear my head," Harry attempted, but knew that this wouldn't be enough.

"So, you write about things that bother you?" Snape pushed.

"Yes, well, no…I mean, maybe both," Harry muttered, staring at Snape. There was a subtle and silent contest of wills that lasted until Harry was the first to cave. "Oh, all right. Most of it's poetry," he confessed, looking down at the words on the page.

"Poetry?" The soft voice made Harry glance up warily.

"Yeah. Poetry. Don't look so surprised."

Snape graced him with a small smile. "But I am." He studied Harry for a moment, stroking his chin, then sobered. "Of all the things I'd like to give you, a love of poetry, no, even more, the desire to express oneself in verse, would be beyond what I'd hope to impart. I'm immensely pleased," he finished gently.

"You are, huh?" Harry couldn’t help but smile in reply.

"Oh yes. There's a catharsis that comes with keeping a journal of one's thoughts. But I must ask…because poetry," he shook his head, "poetry is hard work. So...why poetry, Harry?"

Harry'd thought about this for himself, when he'd first begun, so he didn't have to struggle for how to put it into words; they just tumbled out.

"Writing poetry makes you think about what you feel. And for me, at least, what I feel is sometimes just a jumbled mess. It's love, it's hate, it's happiness, it's grief, all rolled into one." He paused as he warmed to his subject. "But if you want to put it down on parchment, then you have to untangle it bit by bit, so that maybe, just maybe, when you put it all back together, someone else who comes along and reads it might have half an idea of how you feel, of what you are." He stopped, out of breath, then added quietly, "Of who you are." He gave Snape an uncertain smile. "But probably not."

Snape was sitting up straight and stiff. "Still…I'm surprised. I wouldn't have thought you to have such…."

"Depth?" Harry asked wryly.

"No, I know there are very deep parts of you. What I meant to say is that I'm surprised you'd have a desire to share such a personal part of yourself with someone else."

"While I'm sober," Harry smiled.

"That too."

Harry sighed. "Well, I suppose it's my week to surprise everyone. Why should you be spared?"

"Why indeed?" Snape murmured, eyeing him critically.

oooOOOooo

Draco arrived late on Saturday afternoon, and was immediately apologetic.

"Crisis with Mother," he muttered as they took their seats in the Great Hall.

"Oh, there a problem?" Harry asked, concerned.

"There's always a problem. Usually money ones. I fixed it this time, but I don't know how much longer I'll be able to bail her out."

Harry passed him the porkpie. "And when you can't?"

Draco met his eyes. "We'll have to sell. She's known it all along…just postponing the inevitable."

"That'll be hard for her," Harry said as he shook his head.

"You're telling me—I don't even want to think about it. Neither does my aunt, because that's where she'll end up," Draco said matter-of-factly.

They ate in silence, until Draco turned to Harry with a smile. "Could be worse. Enough of that. How was your week?"

Harry rolled his eyes.

oooOOOooo

After supper, Harry and Draco retired to the Restricted Section, where Harry now imagined he'd spent more time than he had in the library proper during all of his years as a student.

They sat at the end of a row of shelves, seated at the carrel where they'd begun this journey only a month ago. Draco had a single piece of parchment in front of him; they reviewed the items they'd need to take with them that night, less than a week away.

"We'll stash it all in the cauldron. Let's see…the wand, the phials, the text with the incantation, even though I have that memorized…"

"And 'Bat'," Harry added, then said a little mournfully, "I really don't like what we're going to do to it. It's…starting to grow on me."

Draco nudged him under the desk. "Yeah, but look what we're getting in return."

"Right, the bat-master," Harry snorted. "God, I hope Severus isn't upset about it."

"Harry, if he's upset because we had to kill his bat to bring him back, I'll Stun him myself."

Stretching, Harry yawned. "Be my guest. So…tomorrow we'll do a walk-through, pick the place, last minute details." Pushing back his chair, he leant down to touch his toes, then stood again and twisted his waist from side to side, groaning at the soreness of his muscles.

Draco watched him, sliding his chair back to lean against the wall. "Hard week, huh?"

"Yeah, it was. You remember how it started…Ron and Hermione, then all the loose-ends to tie up here—Minerva'll have my head on a spit if I'm not ready, and I'm sore as hell. Even with magic, there are just some things you have to do yourself," he complained, then was startled when Draco reached over and pulled him onto his lap. Harry laughed out loud, then rearranged himself so that he was straddling the chair, Draco beneath him.

"I might be able to help you with that," Draco said as he untucked Harry's shirt, then slid his hands along Harry's sides, causing an involuntary shiver.

"I was hoping you would," Harry said, grinning. Draco smiled and cinched him closer, making Harry slump forward and lay his head on his shoulder as the two of them ground their hips together.

"You still have the cock-ring?" Draco asked, his breath hot on Harry's neck.

"Yeah," Harry mumbled, just the thought of it making him flush.

Draco angled his head so that his mouth was at Harry's ear. "Good…so, want to hear what I have in mind? Hmmm?"

Harry's hand found Draco's hair and twisted a lock of it. "Tell me," he said huskily.

There was a slight shifting of them in the seat, as Draco pulled him closer. "First things first. You still have the ties? " When Harry only groaned in reply, he went on. "This time, you'll stand still while I undress you…and tie your hands behind your back. You liked that…being tied…remember?"

Harry nodded; it was a vivid picture in his memory…how the ties had felt on his wrists. "I do…like that…so what else?" He twirled the strands of hair faster.

Draco moved his hand in between them, and cupped Harry's cock through his trousers, provoking a moan. "So helpless, standing there with your hands tied, while I slip on the ring—this time a little tighter. And who knows…maybe it'll stay on a little longer."

"Hmmm, sounds like torture," Harry mumbled, arching into the hand between them.

"Then, something new…something I think you'll like." There was a pause as Draco moved his hand up and twisted Harry's nipple. "Are you game?"

Harry was hot, he was hard, he thought he'd come just from the sound of Draco's voice. "You know I am," he managed to mumble. Another twist and pinch to his nipple. "I'm game," he croaked.

Draco laughed softly, still rubbing Harry's cock between them. "Oh, I know you'll be. Once the ring's on, I'm gonna bend you over my knees and…spank you. Hard. Ten to start…maybe more…it all depends on you."

"Maybe more," Harry echoed, the thought of it bringing him nearly to the edge.

"We'll have to see. Such a fine line between pleasure and pain, hmmm?" For a moment neither of them spoke as the frottage shifted into high gear, Harry barely able to stay on Draco's lap. He had to reach around the chair to hold onto the back of it.

Draco still managed to keep his mouth at Harry's ear, biting at the lobe of it. "Your arse'll be such a pretty shade of pink. All clenched and hot and ready for me. But…no." Harry almost moaned in disappointment. "No, first…you'll blow me. Hands still tied, of course."

"Of course," Harry said in ragged little breaths.

"On your knees, in between my legs. I want you to suck me off. Slow…no hands for you, only mine…mine on your head, making sure you don't slack off…."

Harry shook his head on the shoulder. "No…never…."

Draco pulled his hands from in between them, sitting up abruptly and wrapping his arms around Harry, pinning him to his chest as he growled, "I'm gonna fuck your mouth till I come, and you're gonna swallow all of it…clean up every last drop," he warned throatily, "or I might just have to teach you another lesson."

Just the words, just the tone of Draco's voice, just the way he was being held…made Harry come, his face pressed into the skin of Draco's neck, his hands clutching at the back of the chair. He felt Draco hold him tighter as he flailed in his lap, making the chair rock slightly. As the warm dampness spread in his trousers, Harry relaxed, but moved his hands to Draco's shoulders to hold on.

"God…that was…mmmm," he practically purred.

When they finally stood, Harry tucked in his shirt, wincing at Draco's more than adequate, "Scourgify."

Harry pulled his tormentor into an embrace for a kiss. A long, sensuous groping of tongues, mouths slipping to cheeks and throats, and back again.

When they finally pulled apart, Harry looked into the gray eyes. "I liked that game…talking me into coming."

Draco's eyes grew wide, then he smiled slowly. "You think that was the game?" he laughed softly. "No, the game is…we're going to do all of that." He nodded at the mixture of apprehension and lust on Harry's face. "Oh, and the last part I didn't get to…the part where I fuck you until you beg me to let you come." Grabbing Harry by the hand, he pulled him toward the door.

oooOOOooo

The next afternoon, they set off for the Forbidden Forest, taking the main path, until Harry signaled with a hand for them to turn off into the brush. It was a sultry day of oppressive heat, made worse by the cover of the trees that pressed the humid air down around them as they walked.

They stopped in the clearing where Harry had surrendered himself that night; Draco seemed to understand that there was nothing to be said, as the two of them stood for a moment, before setting off to the east again.

When they'd walked for several minutes, they came upon another, smaller clearing. The sky was visible through the break in the trees, the ground flat and strangely devoid of undergrowth.

"I think this is what Hagrid meant," Harry said after they'd stood for a few moments, eyeing the clearing. "Listen…no sound, no animal droppings," he pointed to the trees at the edge, "no nests…no birds…no nothing." He pulled out his wand, Draco following suit, and they moved away from each other, stepping sideways on a circular path, checking for charms and enchantments, until they met again at the center.

"So…it looks good to me," Harry said, glancing at Draco.

"Creepy. But you're right. There's nothing," Draco answered. "Might as well set up the circle, then."

They fanned out, looking for sizable rocks to construct the boundary of the ritual circle, levitating them into position in the center of the clearing. It took them nearly an hour to find enough to make the ten-foot diameter ring of stones that lay end-to-end, touching each other.

They sat just outside of the ring of stones, reviewing the plan for the following Friday: where the cauldron was to be placed, how high the water level in it, who would set it to boil, how they would add the contents of the phials, when they would need to step out of the circle, at precisely what moment the Stunned bat would be added to the mix.

"It seems so simple," Harry said as he chewed on a weed.

"Well, our part is," Draco agreed. "Severus did the hardest parts. If we'd had to track down what's in those phials," he shuddered, "we wouldn't be where we are now. Maybe never."

"Yeah, I guess so." Harry stood and reached down a hand. As Draco grasped it, Harry asked him as he pulled him up, "Do you think we should tell him?"

Draco didn't hesitate. "Oh, I imagine he suspects. How couldn't he? He knows what we've been up to, and I think…" he paused, squinting at Harry.

"What?"

Draco smiled. "You're not very good at hiding things."

Harry frowned, thinking carefully. "I haven't said a word. We've not talked about it since he told me not to 'disturb his afterlife'."

"Maybe he doesn't, then. But he has a way figuring things out, even when you don't tell him. Know what I mean?" Draco asked as they headed back toward the path.

"Yeah, unfortunately I do," Harry agreed grimly.

oooOOOooo

Harry awakened, gradually aware that he'd fallen asleep in the chair by the window, his journal still open on his lap. He rolled his head toward the bed, and was surprised to find Draco, lying on his side, his eyes open.

"Hey," Harry said softly. "It's early. Go back to sleep." When Draco waved lazily with a hand, Harry shut the journal, then deposited it on the chair and moved to the bed. Sliding in beside Draco, he sighed at the pleasurable sensation of winding arms and legs together.

"I know you get up at night," Draco said softly. "I've seen you…writing."

"You didn't say anything…."

Draco smoothed Harry's hair away from his face, and although Harry couldn't see his face clearly, he could read concern in the gesture.

"If you'd wanted to talk about it, you would've."

Harry kissed him suddenly, fiercely. When he pulled away, he came up on an elbow to face him. "Thanks for that."

"What?" Draco asked, sounding confused.

"It's poetry. Sort of personal."

"Ah. Glad I didn't ask, then."

Running his hand through the silky hair, Harry lay down to face Draco again. "I wish you could stay another day. I've got used to having Sundays with you."

Draco shifted in the bed, throwing an arm around Harry's shoulder. "It's Sunday. And I'm still here. Plenty of time to make up for me leaving early."

Harry smiled. "Let's get to it, then."

oooOOOooo

As the days before the ritual wore on, Harry felt like he was caught in the eclipse of several events threatening on his horizon: the preparations in the castle, along with Minerva's impending arrival; the necessary steps he'd have to take soon, considering his decision to leave; the translation of a harmless painting into a rather formidable person; the inevitable change in his and Draco's relationship, at least so far as the amount of time they spent together.

It seemed like he'd drifted along for the past two years, allowing the demands of his position to form his circumstances and acquaintances. In stark contrast, he felt as if he were out of time, out of space, hurtling headlong into a future that had no solid ground or assurances. Change, he thought to himself, he'd never liked it much, and here it was again, knocking insistently on the door of his life.

Amidst all the turmoil within and without, he wrote furiously, often and at great length. It seemed that the more confused and bewildered and torn he was, the more the words spilled out of him, words into verses into stanzas into poems.

It was Wednesday evening, and having already read a mind-numbing chapter of the Treatise to Snape, the two of them were now occupying themselves, Snape with a book, Harry sitting moodily on the settee, his journal open on his knee. He was so distracted that Snape had to repeat himself.

"Harry?"

Startled, Harry looked up. "What?"

Snape drummed his fingers on the desk top. "I said, question number eight." His expression was quizzical, as he watched Harry sit up straight.

"It figures," Harry muttered.

"Pardon?" Snape asked, a gleam in his eye.

"Never mind. Go on, I'm ready," he lied, thinking to himself that he should've known. It'd been over two weeks since the last one.

He was further alarmed when Snape stood and dragged his chair to the front, to set it flush against the outer surface of the painting…never a good sign, that. He watched warily as the man took his time to sit and rearrange himself comfortably before looking up.

His face neutral, but his eyes betraying…was it cunning or interest, Harry thought it might be both, Snape asked him, "Of the poems that you've written in that journal of yours, what are the words to the one that you'd least like to read to me?"

Harry took a moment to admire Snape's adeptness at forming a question that left him pinned like a specimen to the cutting board—no wiggle room at all. Admiration that lasted only a moment…as he realized with distress what was being asked of him. Again…oh god, when would he ever be able to control this…again he felt the heat in his face. His hand moved over the open page of the journal as he considered. There was no way out; he knew exactly which poem it would be, and he knew as well that Snape would somehow know if he made even the slightest attempt to choose another in its place.

His eyes slid up to find Snape's, as they sat there, Harry not making a move to comply. He knew he was only making matters worse, it was his own fault, he should've known that the man would…

"I see there's a difficulty," Snape observed, watching him shrewdly. "Would you like to renege?" This hope of a reprieve was quashed before it even had a chance to take a breath. "Of course, if you renege, then that will add five additional questions to the tally."

"Five? That's…that's not fair. Who made that rule? I don't remember…."

Snape shrugged. "You didn't ask. Unfortunately for you."

For a moment Harry was outraged, his mouth hanging open as he stared at the man. But then it occurred to him…what did it really matter? He and Draco were about to subject the man's soul to the unknowable, contrary to his express wishes, although Harry still harbored a suspicion that Snape, deep down inside, wanted a chance to live again.

As he considered, it was oddly the notion that something could happen to the two of them, never to be undone, that they'd lose each other, in a sense, that made it suddenly important to Harry that Snape hear the poem. Not that he'd let him know that, of course. Oh hell, it was bloody infuriating, though, to have no choice in the matter.

"Harry? Read or renege," the voice directed him.

"I'll read," Harry said quietly. He flipped through the pages to find the poem, although he had it memorized, the words bled from his heart, ripped as they were from the depths of him. He kept his eyes on the page, though, needing to anchor them somewhere besides the eyes of his listener. He began softly, stroking the verse with his tongue and his memory.

"I think about you there
Asleep, innocent, benign, but briefly so.
I picture how you lay,
Your form in random disarray, your breath
The rise and fall of life, your sacred rhythm.
I imagine what your dream may be,
You, who mine have lately stolen.
What cruel contemplations rip
And tear the fabric of your being?
What colors float and drip
To fill some empty part of you?
Or what of sound enhancing
Dreamer's ears with no power to awaken?
O wretched reverie that shuts me out!
Would that I could lie there too.
N'er to disturb but pressing into you,
A thief. I'd take your innocence,
The essence of your dream I'd bear away.
The treasure, You distilled, I'd hoard
To gaze at will, to touch, to drink,
To taste you to the full, complete
My longing to be known by you
And say of you, "Him I have and know."
It is secure, not even awakening can steal away
What now I know and hold of you, and love.
But truth persistent whispers what my soul well cries,
All reverie inflames and fills but never satisfies."

When he finished, he closed the journal, but didn't look up, suddenly feeling afraid and vulnerable. The ticking of the mantel clock seemed to sync with the pounding of his heart, as he waited for what Snape would say.

"That was…."

Harry was awash with dread, not wanting to hear the man pick apart his poem, belittle his choice of words, find fault with what he'd struggled for days to put—

"…extraordinary."

Lifting his head slowly, Harry was afraid he'd misheard him.

"Extraordinary," Snape repeated softly.

Relief coursed through him, as once again he felt himself flush. "You think so?" Harry asked tentatively, biting his lower lip, studying the look of wonder on the man's face.

"I do," Snape confirmed, his dark eyes flashing. "Does…Draco know? Of your sentiments?"

Harry was bewildered as he stared at Snape. "No, he doesn't know. He knows I'm writing poetry, but…." Oh god, he thought, as he suddenly got it. Smiling wryly, Harry shook his head. "It's not about Draco. Is that what you thought?"

Snape sat very still as his eyes dilated to completely black. "Yes."

Shaking his head, Harry said, "You asked me why I'd write poetry, remember? And I told you it was so someone else could understand…something complicated. So…now I hope you understand." He leant forward, setting the journal aside. "Would you've asked that question, if you'd known what you'd hear?"

Snape cocked his head to the side. "You chose to read it."

Harry stood, then stayed a moment longer, his hands deep in his pockets. "Yeah, I did." With a nod, Harry turned as he said, "Good night, Severus."

He was at the door to his room, when Snape's voice made him turn. Harry couldn't see him, given the low light in the sitting room.

"The poem. Does it have a title?"

Of course, Snape would think of that. "Hollow to a Kindred Spirit," Harry said softly, then stepped into his room, leaving the door open.

CHAPTER NINE