Misericorde

by Fabula Rasa

  Note: The title is a fencing term, and means the mercy stroke, or death blow; also, by extension, the shortened dagger used to deliver it.

***

Prologue

"Mr. Potter."

Harry jumped.

"I might have been willing to overlook your inattention in class, but I will not tolerate it here. If there is somewhere else you wish to be, then by all means get up and get yourself there." The voice was menacing for all its deceptive quiet.

"Um - I - no, sir, I'm sorry, I didn't mean - that is, I wasn't being inattentive." Harry bit his lip and cursed himself. Concentrate, Potter. Idiot.

Snape regarded him skeptically. "Let us see whether you have been paying attention or not, shall we?" A nasty smile curved his lips. "Vertiginosa !"

A sizzle shot out the end of Snape's wand and collided with Harry's quick blocking spell. The block deflected it just slightly off course, however, and only Harry's seeker reflexes rescued him from being hurled to the ceiling, spun like a top, and landed on his head.

"Too slow, Potter!" roared Snape.

"Nubis pulverius !" shouted back Harry, and a cloud of thick, blinding mist swallowed his opponent.

"Lucidia!" Snape's wandtip emerged from the cloud. "Vincula saecula ," he cried, and though Harry dodged, he had not counted on Snape's compensation for the dodge, or that Snape would know the exact direction of his roll. The ropes snaked around his chest, binding his arms to him, and though he thrashed like a fish, the cords only tightened. His wand was a useless stick, rolling on the floor three feet away.

Snape smirked and walked slowly over to where Harry panted on the floor. He placed one booted foot on Harry's chest to still his struggles. His smile, if possible, was even nastier than before.

"So. Not paying attention, I think."

"That wasn't fair," Harry gritted out.

Snape cocked an eyebrow. "Mr. Potter. When we began these lessons, what is the one word I told you never to utter in my presence?"

Harry mumbled.

"What was that, Mr. Potter? I can't hear you." The booted foot pressed painfully hard on his ribcage.

"You said never to use the word fair."

"That's right. And what principle is more important than fairness, Mr. Potter?"

"Winning," he said through clenched teeth.

"Exactly. Now." Snape bent down so his eyes were locked on Harry's. "Would you like me to show you how to win?"

Harry's eyes did not waver. "Yes."

Snape glanced at the wand on the floor. "Then retrieve your wand."

"I can't!"

Snape stood and kicked the wand farther away. "Retrieve your wand, Mr. Potter."

"You bloody well know I can't! Untie me!"

"Retrieve your wand, Mr. Potter!" Snape was shouting now.

Fuck you, Harry thought. "Accio wand!" Nothing.

"'Accio' will be of no use to you here, Mr. Potter. RETRIEVE YOUR WAND!"

"How? Show me how, damnit!"

"No!" Snape picked up the wand and flung it across the room. It hit the wall with a smack.

"Show me how!"

"RETRIEVE YOUR WAND, MR. POTTER!" Snape kicked him hard in the ribs.

"FUCK YOU!"

"FUCK YOU! NOW RETRIEVE YOUR BLOODY WAND, YOU PAMPERED LITTLE GRYFFINDOR SHIT!"

A surge of blinding rage shot through Harry, and forgetting the cords he lunged for his wand, which flew into his hand with a thunk. "Vincula relicta !" The next minute he was standing, facing down Snape, breathing hard, his wand pointed between Snape's eyes, hate flooding him.

"Yes," hissed Snape.

Harry slowly lowered his wand. He could still feel the hate thudding through his veins, and along with it something else: power. He had just done wandless magic, and he knew those cords had snapped before he ever had his wand in his hand. His heart would not stop hammering. He had never felt as frightened of magic as he did at this moment, staring down Severus Snape, and knowing that nothing - nothing - had ever felt this good.

"You - you made me do that," he whispered.

The pleased expression that had lurked in Snape's eyes was wiped away. "You pathetic imbecile. You did that. Not me. How can you seek to control your emotions if you cannot even own them as yours?"

Harry stared at his feet and acknowledged the justice. "That...that was dark magic."

"The darkest."

Harry's eyes looked up. "Because I used hate and anger to fuel it. Not because of what it was in itself. That's what dark magic is." His voice was wondering.

"How old are you, Mr. Potter?"

"Seventeen, sir."

"Seventeen, and just now coming to that elementary revelation. But let us not question the curriculum the Board of Governors, in its wisdom, has laid down for us to follow." He turned and plunked his wand on the table nearby, sitting down heavily.

"Is that how we beat him, then? Playing his own game, using his own magic?"

Snape sighed. "This is a discussion for another night, Mr. Potter. Magical metaphysics is more than I feel equal to at the moment."

But Harry felt as though a door had been blown back in his mind. He had glimpsed knowledge, and power, he had not known existed, and he wanted more. He was hungry for more. He had to know more.

"Can everybody do that?"

Snape looked up as though that was not the question he was expecting to hear. "Liked it that much, did you?"

"You know I did. Sir."

Snape's lip quirked. "Then it should please you to know that no, not everyone could have done that. I took a chance, goading you like that. I did not know if you would have enough rage in you."

"Rage," Harry said quietly. He thought. "Am I powerful?"

"Not yet. But you will be."

Harry's eyes were as level as his voice. "More powerful than you?"

"Possibly. If you live that long."

Harry fingered his wand. He wanted tonight's lesson never to end.

"Go to bed, Harry."

I should mark that on my calendar, Harry thought. The first time he used my name. "I'd like to continue, sir. If you don't mind."

"Yes, I'm sure you would." Snape's glance was appraising. "Better than sex, isn't it?"

That sent a cold wash of something low in his belly. "I wouldn't know," he replied before he could stop himself.

Snape shrugged. "Then you ought to find out. That, as well, can be a source of power." He rose and picked up his robe from the back of the chair. "Good night, Mr. Potter."

Been demoted, have I. A minute ago I was Harry, he thought. Snape left the dueling room without a backward glance, his robes aswish.

No one in Gryffindor tower was awake when he slipped back through the portrait hole into his room. Soft snuffles and snores from the other beds. His body was still singing with magic, and he knew as he lay there staring at the canopy that he would never be able to sleep. Not tonight.

Better than sex, isn't it. Go to bed, Harry. You ought to find out. Better than sex. Images of Snape having sex flooded his brain, and it was a mark of how profoundly shaken he had been by the evening's events that he was not shocked at himself when he felt himself harden. He let the images come, and the voices. Yes, I'm sure you would. You ought to find out. He worked a hand into his pyjama bottoms and began quietly stroking himself. Yes. Liked it that much, did you. When he came, he pressed a pillow to his face to muffle the sound.

Chapter One

His days were much the same as ever - classes, Quidditch, meals in hall, chess with Ron, studying with Hermione. But every evening, when his fellow students began to drift off to bed, he would slip out the portrait hole and down to the dungeons. Not that there was anything clandestine about his tutorials. Everyone knew where he was headed, and assumed it was something he was being forced into. They could not have known that he had gone to Dumbledore and begged to be allowed to learn. Thinking that Dumbledore himself might teach him. If he could have backed down when the headmaster had insisted on Snape, he would have. He imagined that he had probably pitched less of a fit than Snape had, when Dumbledore had told him.

He felt as though his real life began every evening in that torchlit dueling hall. As though what went on during the day was insignificant shadowplay, meaningless chatter. Everything leading up to the moment when he would lift his wand and meet those black pits of eyes across the room from him, and lay hold of the rage and the power and the anger that coursed through him, and force it out the tip of his wand, making it do his bidding.

And then had come the night Snape had taken his wand away entirely, and made him block spell after spell that he hurled at him, using nothing at all but the magic in him. Afterwards he had collapsed, shaking, exhausted, and Snape had wrapped him in a blanket as they sat before the great fireplace. That night had been his first sip of Ogden's, and the burn had strengthened and excited him, like the burn of dark magic.

"Again."

Harry tried and failed for the seventh time to dodge the hex Snape cast at him.

"I can't!"

"Yes, you can. Again!"

"It would be easier if you would take this bloody blindfold off!"

"No. Again."

Again Harry swerved, and again the hex hit him exactly square in the chest. For the eighth time, the painful tingle of electrical shocks sizzled his body. "Ow! Damnit! Please, sir, I can't! I'm dead tired, and I can barely stand up, please let me just have a rest!"

Snape paused. The next minute Harry felt the blindfold being removed. "Why are you so tired you cannot attend to your lesson, Mr. Potter?"

Harry sank with a sigh to the floor, rubbing his arm. "Quidditch practice. We have a match coming up. Ravenclaw. And Slytherin after that, as you well know."

"Then you should quit Quidditch."

He laughed. "Quit Quidditch! I'm team captain, sir, and no disrespect to Slytherin, but the Quidditch cup is ours this year. I'm not missing out on that for anything."

"Just as you please. They can write `he was team captain' on your tombstone, then. I'm sure it looks well on your father's."

Harry sprang to his feet, his eyes hard. He opened his mouth and stopped. "All right," he said slowly. "I get it. But you don't get to light me like a powder keg anymore."

"And why is that, Mr. Potter?"

"Because you don't control my anger."

"And who does?"

"I do."

Snape allowed himself the barest quirk of a smile. He went to the little table by the fire and poured them two glasses of Ogden's.

"Come and have a drink, Mr. Potter."

Still rubbing his muscles, Harry took the glass of amber liquid and knocked half of it back with a practised gesture. He was becoming accustomed to the stuff now, since Snape had taken to ending every session with a glass. Instead of finishing his drink, though, he set it down.

"Something the matter with it?"

"No. Nothing's the matter with it." His heart was pounding in his ears. This was what he had been waiting for, what he had planned lying in his bed for weeks now. If only his throat weren't so dry.

"Mr. Potter? Are you quite all right?"

"No," he found the strength to say. "I'm not." And he leaned his head to the slightly taller man's, brushing his lips, then pressing them, pulling Snape to him, lost in the smell and touch of him, just as he had dreamed it for weeks and weeks, and he was hard already, it was so good, so. . .

Except Snape's mouth was not open, and his body was rigid in Harry's arms.

"Potter. Get your bloody hands off me." The voice cut though him like ice, and his arms fell to his side as though they had been sliced off. His chest was tight with horror.

"Professor. I. . ." His throat clamped shut and would allow no further words. If only I could run, he thought, but his legs had turned to jelly.

Snape sighed. "Oh, for the love of Merlin. Sit down, Mr. Potter."

Harry obeyed, his eyes wide. "I- I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean. . ."

"Didn't mean what?" Snape's voice was amused. "Didn't mean to kiss me?"

He said the word, dear God, he said the word. I tried to kiss him. Harry groaned and put his head in his hands.

"Here. Finish your drink."

Harry swallowed down the firewhiskey at a gulp, not daring to meet Snape's eyes. "Are you going to have me expelled?" he asked hollowly.

Snape snorted. "It wasn't that bad of a kiss, Potter. Workmanlike, but you show potential. Not unlike your magical ability."

"Really." He looked up at that.

"Yes. Now. There are two things you should know."

"You're not gay," Harry said dully.

"I'm not what?"

"Gay. It's a Muggle term."

"Oh. It doesn't sound like something I would be."

It was Harry's turn to snort. "No, not much. It just means, you like men."

"Oh." Snape frowned. "Is there an equally hideous word for someone who likes both?"

"Bisexual."

"Circe defend us. It sounds like a physical deformity." Snape sat and poured himself another glass of Ogden's. He offered to refill Harry's.

"No thanks. I'm going to go kill myself after this, and I need to be clearheaded when I write my note."

"Well, good grammar and elegance of expression are the chief things. And brevity. Otherwise it smacks of insincerity. Oh come, Potter, do rise out of your slough of melodramatic despond. I have two things to tell you."

"All right."

"One is, while you are a reasonably attractive, not unintelligent young man . . . ."

Harry looked up in shock.

"Yes, well, don't let it go to your head. Granted all those things, I say, I do not care for romantic liaisons with those significantly my junior in age."

"You think I'm a boy."

"Not at all, Mr. Potter. I know you are. You are less than half my age. And between you and I there is a great gulf fixed."

"But-"

"Let me finish. You might have some basis for argument, were it not for the second thing I am going to tell you. I tell you this to forestall any such arguments on your part, trusting in your discretion. The truth is, Mr. Potter, I am seeing someone else." He sipped his Ogden's and watched Harry.

"You. . . oh." Harry sat back and stared at the fire, absorbing this. The thought that Snape might already have an interest of that sort had never crossed his mind. At that moment he knew he had never hated anyone as much as he hated Someone Else.

"Is it a man or a woman?"

The black brows rushed together. "That's really none of your business."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to pry. It was. . . kind of you to tell me, anyway."

Snape was looking at him quizzically.

"Is it a thing?" he blurted out in a rush before he could stop himself. Snape looked puzzled.

"A thing?"

"Yeah, you know, a thing. Something you don't want to fuck up if you can help it."

Snape gave a thin smile at that. "Ah. Then yes, I suppose it is. A thing."

"Do you-- sorry, sorry. None of my business." He lurched to his feet. The exhaustion of Quidditch and dueling practice and. . . this, combined to make him woozy. Of a sudden he longed for bed.

"I think. . . I think I'd better go to bed, if you don't mind, sir."

"Of course. Show yourself out. Tomorrow night then, Potter."

Snape was staring at the fire, his mind elsewhere already. Harry glanced back at him from the door, long legs stretched to the fire, Ogden's resting on the chair arm, eyes abstracted. He wondered where Snape's thoughts were, and on whom. Harry felt utterly dismissed. Gryffindor tower had never seemed like a lonelier place to be.

The lessons continued as before. Snape made no further reference to what had passed between them that night, clearly considering the incident over and done. It was anything but forgot from Harry's point of view, however. The more he tried not to think of what Snape's body had felt like pressed against his, the more he could not stop imagining what it might have been like if Snape's full, sensual lips had opened to his, if he had found an answering hardness in Snape's groin.

The images would assault him in the middle of History of Magic, especially, as Binns' voice droned endlessly on and on. Or worse, images of Snape and Someone Else. In his head he saw a lean blond beauty of indeterminate sex, wrapped around Snape's dark form like a succubus. Snape's mouth kissing Someone Else. Snape's face twisted in orgasm. Snape losing control.

He groaned as his head hit the desk. Hermione kicked him.

"Harry. Pay attention," she hissed.

"Harry!"

Sirius's arms were around him before he could get a word out. "Come and sit down. Have a butterbeer with me."

"It's great to see you, Sirius. How long are you here for?"

"Hard to say. That depends on where Dumbledore needs to send me, and when. But I imagine I'll be here for a few more days, anyway. Rosmerta's got me set up in the best guest room available, the one with the smallest bedbugs. So how are things with you?"

"Oh." Harry shrugged. "The usual."

"How are your classes?"

"Fine."

"Quidditch?"

"The same."

"Ron and Hermione?"

"Good."

"You really are turning into a teenager, aren't you? Monosyllabic answers and all. How have the dueling lessons been going?"

He caught the note of disapproval in his godfather's voice. Sirius, he knew, had been opposed to the idea of Harry taking lessons from Snape, of all people. He knew that Sirius had suspected that what was really being taught was dark magic, and Harry knew his godfather wanted him to keep clear of it.

"Fine," he said, keeping his voice casual. Sirius's eyebrow shot up.

"Fine?"

"Um. Sure. I'm . . . making progress."

"Harry. What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Sirius's gaze deepened on him. "Harry. Is Snape pushing you into things you don't want to do? I warned Dumbledore-"

"No!" Harry protested hotly. "I really am learning an incredible amount - sometimes I feel like it's more than I've managed to learn in six and a half years of classes, honestly. And he's not pushing me. I want to learn it. All of it."

"But?"

"Nothing. No but. That's all of it, really. Next subject, please?"

Sirius nodded and sat back, but Harry could see he was not satisfied. He took a deep breath and launched out before he could lose his resolve.

"Sirius. Can I ask you some things?"

"Sure, Harry. You can ask me anything."

"Um. They're sort of. . . things about. . . " Harry's face, to his consternation, started to go pink at the edges. Great, he thought. Seventeen and blushing like a twelve year old. Very smooth. He took another breath. "Thingsaboutsex," he said in a rush.

"All right." Sirius sipped his butterbeer, apparently unruffled.

"Um. Okay. Here it is. I think I may be. . . there's a possibility I'm. . . abnormal."

"Abnormal? As in, sexually interested in non-human species?"

"No! Good God, no! I mean, I don't fancy the giant squid, or anything like that."

Sirius grinned. "Just checking. Harry, this conversation wouldn't be going where I think it's going, is it?"

"Um. Maybe. I have. . . thoughts."

"About?"

Harry sighed. "Sex."

Sirius laughed. "You're seventeen. I'd be surprised if you thought about anything but sex. At your age, I think I carried my books permanently in front of me."

"Yeah," Harry said faintly. "Well, my thoughts are unusual."

Sirius's voice went grave. "I seriously doubt that, Harry. If your interests are confined to the human race, I can guarantee you someone's thought of it before you. Probably quite a few people have."

Harry studied his butterbeer, and summoned all his Gryffindor courage. "I think about men," he said so softly it was barely heard.

Sirius said nothing for a minute, but shook out a cigarette and took his time lighting it. He ignored Rosmerta's disapproving glances at their corner table, taking a long drag and blowing smoke in the air, weighing his answer. "Harry," he said at last. "Welcome to the sexuality of a fully mature wizard."

He looked up quickly. "What do you mean?"

"Let me ask you a question. Have you ceased to fantasize about girls?"

Harry groaned. "No. That's the awful part."

Sirius grinned. "Harry. What you are describing is the sexually normal state of a fully grown wizard. This is what it's like for all of us. Weren't you paying attention in class when this was discussed?"

"Sirius. My mind may wander a bit in class from time to time, but I can promise you, if that had ever been a topic of discussion, I would have noticed."

Sirius's grin died. "No one's ever talked to you about this?"

Harry shook his head. Sirius took another long drag, and frowned. Harry could tell he was angry about something, but controlling it. Lessons with Snape had taught him a sensitivity to the currents of anger around him, and though Sirius's control was expert, Harry caught it nonetheless.

"So. . . you're telling me all wizards have these feelings?"

"Yes."

"Even. . . even you?"

"Yes."

Harry absorbed this in silence for a minute. Then a thought occurred to him. "What about witches? Is it the same for them?"

"Oh, yes. In fact, young witches probably think about sex more than young wizards. Sex of all sorts, believe me."

Harry thought of Hermione. Was this the sort of thing she thought about, sitting primly in Arithmancy, scribbling notes? Did she think about sex with other girls, and what it might be like? He felt a surge of arousal at the image.

"Wow. That's. . . really hot."

"Isn't it though?" Sirius was smiling behind his cigarette again.

I'm not abnormal, Harry thought. I'm not abnormal. Everyone else is having the same thoughts. It's the same for everyone. He broke into a grin, feeling the tight bands on his chest ease and drop away. He wanted to run down the streets of Hogsmeade, grabbing passersby and shouting "I'm not abnormal!"

"Thanks, Sirius. I feel loads better."

"Good. Now. Can you tell me what's wrong?"

Harry's smile faded. "Well. I guess I can now. Promise not to have a fatal seizure?"

"I'll do my best."

"I kissed Snape."

Sirius's face went very still. "You did. . . what?"

"I said, I kissed Snape. Well, tried to. It didn't. . . go very well."

"How so?" Sirius's voice was strained.

"He. . . um. He wasn't exactly interested."

"I see."

Harry dared a look at him. "Sirius. I can see you're trying very hard here not to let the top of your head fly off. It's all right. He didn't take advantage of me, or anything like that. I just tried to kiss him, is all."

"And what did he do?" Sirius's voice was still tight.

"Well, unless `get your bloody hands off me' is the way fully mature wizards signal sexual interest in each other, I'd say he practically booted me across the room."

Sirius sighed. "Goddamnit. I'm sorry, Harry. He's a right bastard, and-"

"No, no." Harry shook his head. "Actually, he was quite nice about it. He gave me a drink and sat me down and explained."

"Explained?" Sirius sounded skeptical.

"Yeah. I mean, first he did he whole `you're half my age' song and dance. But before that he actually said some nice things about me."

"Really."

"Yeah. He said I was attractive and intelligent."

"Really." Sirius's eyebrows shot to the ceiling.

"Oh, don't look that way. You don't know, he can be nice when he tries, if he thinks no one's going to catch him out."

Sirius gave a snort at that, but did not reply.

"Anyway," Harry went on, "he did tell me that the age thing wasn't really the relevant issue. That he was seeing someone else, and it was a Thing."

"Really."

"Are you ever going to say anything else?"

Sirius sighed. "I'm working on it." He ran a hand over his face. "Harry. You know it's perfectly normal to have a crush on a teacher, don't you?"

"I did, but thank you for the utterly condescending reminder."

"Sorry. What I mean is, you're not the first to develop an. . . apparently inappropriate feeling for a teacher. Why, when I was your age-"

"No. Oh no. Please don't tell me you had the hots for McGonagall."

Sirius grinned. "How exactly is that worse than Snape, I'd like to know?"

"She's old!"

"Not when I was seventeen, she wasn't. And she used to wear those robes a lot tighter."

"Argh!" Harry gripped his head. "Stop, stop!"

Sirius gave him a playful cuff on the side of the head. "Hypocrite. So tell me about your strategy for the match on Saturday."

"Well." He took a swallow of butterbeer. "I figure that Davis is bound to take the Quaffle low, because she'll be trying to offset my game, so I think that if we. . ."

He was off and running on Quidditch, and Sirius leaned back, listening and smoking.

That night Harry lay in his bed, lost in thought. Sirius's words had made him feel enormously better. All the shame was gone. Just looking around in the common room and knowing that everyone else there was struggling with the same thing made all the difference. He wondered why it was that no one had ever told them this was going to happen to them. When he had been at the Dursleys' two summers ago, he had caught sight of a pamphlet sticking out of Dudley's suitcase. Your Changing Body and You. He had carefully slipped it out of the suitcase and up his sleeve, and that night he had pored over it in his bed, when everyone else was asleep.

Most of it he had already known about - pubic hair, wet dreams, unwanted erections, acne, etc. Certainly there had been nothing in it that had said, and in a few years you will begin to develop powerful sexual feelings for your own gender alongside the twenty-four hour a day sweating panting heaving horniness you're already dealing with in regard to the other fifty percent of the planet. Sometimes, Harry thought, being a Muggle must have its advantages. A terrible thought struck him, and he gasped. What if he developed sexual feelings for Dudley?

He groaned and rolled over. Suicide really would be the only solution then. He pounded his pillow and turned over again. Sleep was eluding him. On the one hand, Sirius's words had eased his mind. But on the other hand, by reassuring him that what he felt when he was around Snape was normal, it had made him. . . well, it had made him want Snape even more. A crush, Sirius had called it. He didn't know. He couldn't know.

Harry kicked back the covers and stealthily opened his trunk, telling himself he wasn't planning on doing what he knew he had secretly yearned to do for weeks. It was wrong, it was immoral, it was dishonest, and it was all he wanted to do. Carefully he slipped the invisibility cloak around his shoulders. He had known, when Snape had ended their lesson early tonight, that this was his opportunity. He had seen Snape glance discreetly at the mantel clock, and he had known. Tonight was his night to find out. Just to see.

Squashing the last stirrings of conscience in him, he headed out the portrait hole and down to the dungeons.

Chapter Two

He lurked in the corridor outside Snape's rooms, pacing. I'm a sick stalker, he thought. I should be locked up. But he had to know. He had to. Odds were, Someone Else was closeted with Snape in there right now. And in a few short hours, Someone Else would be walking out that door, the only possible escape route. And then Harry would at least know who it was. That was all he wanted. Just to see.

His heart skipped a beat when he heard steady footfalls approaching. Someone was coming down the hallway, and at a fair clip. He retreated as far as possible against the wall, breathing as quietly as he could. Who could be coming down here at this hour?

And then his heart stopped altogether when he saw Sirius's face round the corner, frowning and intent. Oh dear God, no. The look on Sirius's face was unreadable, but he knew it couldn't be good. He had been an idiot ever to trust Sirius, ever to think Sirius would treat him as anything other than a little boy. Sirius was coming to yell at Snape and humiliate his godson further, if possible. Oh God, no.

Briefly he considered throwing off the cloak and grabbing Sirius before he could bang on that door, but just as he stepped forward, Sirius flung the door to the office back. It ricocheted off the wall with a thud. What the hell? What about the wards? The next second Harry followed his instinct and hurtled through the open door right behind Sirius, dashing for the wall and skittering out of the way of as the door slammed shut behind him, almost snagging the cloak.

Snape glanced up from his worktable, startled.

"Severus Snape!" Sirius roared.

Oh no, please God no, Harry thought.

"Black, what is the meaning of-"

"You lecherous, perverted old bastard! I knew you were hard up, but even I never thought you would stoop to making your sick advances on my godson!"

Snape's face was white. "Black, I assure you, I never-"

Sirius broke into a wide grin and collapsed, laughing, into the nearby armchair. "I know, I know. Calm down and smooth your ruffled feathers. Harry told me all about it. Oh dear God, you should have seen your face. . ." Sirius was off in a gale of laughter.

Snape wiped his hands and tossed the cloth on the counter. "That was not funny," he said through clenched teeth.

"Oh, it was bleeding hilarious. You really thought I was going to hex you into next week, didn't you."

"I'd like to see you try."

Harry's eyes were wide with shock. What the hell was going on?

Sirius laughed again, and stretched his legs out on the hassock. "Oh, relax. Harry told me the whole thing."

"Well. That is the last time I trust to the discretion of a Gryffindor."

"Dry up, Snape. The boy needed to talk to someone. It's clear no one's told him a thing." His face went grave. "When did they stop teaching them those things?"

Snape made a face as he poured out two glasses of firewhiskey. "About ten years ago. It wouldn't do to emphasise our differences from Muggles, would it? It might associate us too closely with Riddle. If we teach the little darlings every aspect of what it means to be a wizard, they'll run off to become Death Eaters, won't they?" His voice was bitter.

"Did you even try to fight it?"

"Me? Everyone's favourite ex-Death Eater?" He took a swallow of whiskey and handed Sirius a glass, seating himself in the other chair. "I think you know how far they listen to me."

"Troglodytes."

Harry's head was spinning as he tried to make sense of the scene in front of him. Sirius and Snape were friends? At least, they didn't seem to be trying to kill each other at the moment. He watched as they sipped their drinks in silence for a bit.

"How long do you have?" Snape asked at last.

Sirius shrugged. "Until Albus sends me off again. My guess is, two days at most."

"Two days," Snape said dully.

"I know."

Snape got up and began putting away his ingredients, turning down the fire on the cauldron, setting his worktable to rights. Sirius finished off his drink, then began helping Snape - capping bottles, sweeping leftover ingredients into their bags.

"Wolfsbane?" he asked.

Snape nodded. He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again.

"If you have something to say, say it."

"Do you know the danger of what it is you do?"

"Of course I do," Sirius said quietly. "You think I don't?"

"I think--" Snape lowered his voice. "I think you take unnecessary risks."

Sirius watched him slosh bottles around, slamming cabinets. "Severus. Don't be angry with me because you're stuck here."

That got a thundering slam of a cabinet door. "I am not angry. I simply-" He took a breath. "Yes, I am. I am angry as hell that you run off trying to get yourself killed at every available opportunity, and I sit here brewing Pepper-Up Potion and teaching a boy half my age, with twice my power, how to do the job I wasn't strong enough to do. Goddamnit!" He hurled a half-open bag of dragonfly wings onto the counter. A few wings fluttered out and drifted lazily to the floor. He leaned on the counter, breathing hard.

"Two days," he said again.

"I know."

Harry held his breath as he watched Sirius reach out and brush a lock of hair out of Snape's face. "I know," he said softly. And then the devilish grin was back. "So. I'm a thing, am I?"

"Oh, bloody hell. Has the boy no ability to keep his mouth shut?" But there was lurking amusement in Snape's voice.

Harry could barely suppress a gasp as he watched Sirius lean in to brush a kiss on Snape's lips. Holy fucking hell. Snape grabbed his head, and pulled him closer. The kiss soon became hungry, their mouths wider. He saw Sirius's eyelids flutter in pleasure as Snape licked a trail down his neck and up again to his mouth.

"Severus," he moaned. Snape pressed their hips together, and he saw Sirius buck against him at the contact. Harry's own breath was coming in pants now, and he knew that neither of the two men could be half as hard as he already was. Holy shit, was all he could think. Holy fucking shit. So this is what it looked like.

"Why were you late?" Snape was murmuring.

"Ran into Harry just as I was leaving. He was coming in for a pint and ran smack into me. Hadn't thought to see him till tomorrow. Poor lad was probably coming to drown his sorrows over you, you sexy beast."

"Oh, shut up," growled Snape.

"Make me," Sirius chuckled as Snape claimed his mouth again. Harry could no longer breathe at all. The few times he had done this, after a dance - snogging, Ron had called it - he was pretty sure it hadn't looked anything like this. It had been sweaty and messy and desperate, not anything like the slow, expert teasing of lips and necks and tongues he was watching now. Carefully he adjusted his stance to accommodate the throbbing erection in his trousers. How could they stand it?

"Bed. Now." Snape's voice was a husk in Sirius's ear, and Harry's knees went weak at the sound of it. Get out of here, get out of here, get out of here, he thought. Wait till they've gone out of the room, then quietly turn the knob and get out of here. That's the thing to do. But even as he thought it he knew it wasn't what he was going to do.

Sirius had started on Snape's shirt, and Harry had to remind himself not to gasp audibly. He pushed back the shirt to reveal an expanse of impossibly pale skin, lean and dusted with coal black hair. Sirius fastened his mouth on a nipple. Snape groaned and let his head roll back, carding his fingers through Sirius's mane. The next minute he had dug his fingers into the scalp and was yanking Sirius up in what looked to Harry to be a painful manner.

"Get in my bed. Now."

They stumbled back to the bedroom, shedding clothes as they went, mouths and hands never far from the other. Sirius kicked the door back. Harry stood rooted to the spot. If they closed the door. . . but no, neither of them bothered to. Snape must have complete trust in his office wards. Of course, thought Harry. The wards were spelled to Sirius. That's why he just threw the office door open. Shivering, he edged forward, telling himself he wasn't actually going to go in the bedroom, not really. Maybe he would just loiter at the door.

And what, Potter? Wait and see if they need some help? Some assistance with buttons? A rubdown in between rounds? I'm pathetic, he thought. I'm pathetic and evil and a score of Death Eaters could not drive me away from this spot.

They were completely naked now, and Harry felt his groin throb at the sight of the two gorgeous men, rubbing their cocks on each other, kneading each other's arses, groaning with pleasure. Snape began to move his mouth down Sirius's neck again, and then he saw Snape drop to his knees. Oh fuck yes, Harry thought, but the next instant Sirius was yanking him up.

"No. I won't be able to stop."

"Tell me what you want." Snape's voice was a caress, the velvet bedroom voice that lurked behind every insult.

"I want you in me."

Snape turned and threw him on the bed, straddling him. Oh my God, thought Harry. I'm actually going to see this. I'm going to see Snape ram his cock up Sirius's arse until they both come. He fumbled quietly at his own jeans, freeing his cock, which was so hard the pleasure of it was almost eclipsed by the pain.

And now Snape was doing something with a little jar of oil and his fingers. Sirius flipped onto his stomach, and Snape began to knead and spread his arsecheeks, dribbling some of the warmed oil onto his back and thighs. Sirius flinched.

"Come on, Snape, just do it," he growled. Slowly Snape inserted a finger in him, then two, and now Sirius was writhing, pushing back to meet him. Harry could see he was rubbing himself on the bedcovers as Snape fingerfucked him. Harry's hand closed on his cock, leaking precome onto the floor, and he slowly moved his hand up and down the shaft in time to the motion of Snape's fingers.

"Fuck, yes! Get in me, now!"

Snape moved quickly up, positioning his cock at Sirius's upraised entrance, and pushed inside in one long, hard thrust. Both men groaned at it, and Harry sped up his motions.

"Severus. . . it's been too long, just fuck me, goddamnit. . ." Snape bent himself across the long muscled back and pistoned his hips. He turned his head, and Harry had a clear view of his face, drawn in ecstasy, mouth open as he thrust. He was getting rough, too rough, but Sirius appeared to love it, in fact he was begging for more, and harder, and faster, and finally Snape let loose his last rein on himself and dug his fingers in, grunting on each thrust, his hair wild and sweat-slicked.

"There?" Snape was panting.

"Jesus, just there. . . Fuck! Oh, God. . ."

Sirius's humping motions became desperate. Just then Snape reached a hand underneath him and hoisted Sirius's hips higher, off the mattress, and Harry frowned. What was he. . . Harry gasped as Snape's hand closed on Sirius's balls and yanked them to the side, hard.

"Come when I say, and not before," he growled.

"Ah. . . ah please. . . please, I have to. . . "

"No."

"Ah, fuck, Severus, just. . . God, please. . ."

Snape sped up his thrusts, biting hard on Sirius's shoulder, and now Sirius was hanging on for dear life to the iron bedstead, and Snape was riding him, driving into him, balls slapping Sirius's arse as he pumped into him.

"Come for me. Now!" Snape was shouting in a voice Harry had never heard before as his hand released Sirius's sac, and come shot in an arc out of Sirius's cock, spraying the wall, as he yelled his release, and the room echoed with Snape's groan, and Harry was coming and coming and coming over his own hand, stars exploding in front of his eyes, no longer knowing if he was quiet or not, no longer caring. I hope my come is invisible, too, was his last thought as the fierce waves of pleasure washed through him, sucking him under.

He had his punishment, however. He had not stopped to think, naturally, that the time to make his escape unheard was while the two men were taken up in. . . other activities. Then he could have sneaked out the office door and made his way out into the corridor undetected. Hell, he probably could have slammed the door and turned over a few cauldrons on his way out, and neither of them would have been the wiser. But naturally, his thoughts had been elsewhere.

So now here he was, imprisoned in the tiny bedroom that had a clear view, through the sitting room, of the office door, and there was no way he was going to be able to escape. He racked his brain trying to remember if wards prevented exit as well as entry. Through the classroom, maybe? But that door led through the potions storeroom, and the wards on it would be twice as strong. Maybe Sirius would be getting up soon and making his excuses, but there didn't seem to be any sign of it.

In fact, Sirius was wrapped up in Snape's arms right now, or vice versa, it was hard to tell. He was stroking Snape's back with one hand. They were not talking, or doing much of anything, and the quiet in the rooms was such that Harry began to worry about his breathing again. He wondered if he dare sneak over to a chair and sit. What if it creaked? Or worse, what if he fell asleep in it? If he were discovered, he knew Sirius would never forgive him. That, of course, would be beside the point, because Snape would disembowel him long before he ever became a candidate for Sirius's forgiveness.

But part of him admitted to not wanting to leave. Witnessing their quiet intimacy now was somehow more a violation than anything that had gone before, and while he felt guilty about it, he was fascinated. He leaned carefully against the wall.

"Severus." Sirius's voice was low and still.

"Mm."

"I need you to look after Harry for me."

Harry's head came up with a jerk.

"I thought that's what I was doing."

"I know. Just. . . " Sirius sighed. "You know what I mean."

"Right now I am refusing to acknowledge your meaning."

"All right then."

They continued to stare off into space. Looking at them, Harry had a hard time telling where one ended and the other began. It was hard to look at, and he turned away again.

"He hardly needs either of us to trouble over him. You know that, don't you?"

"To me he's still a skinny thirteen year old boy. No, that's not right," Sirius said, frowning. "To me he's still the tiny red-faced bundle I held the day after he was born."

"Hm. The mewling, puking brat has become a fearsomely powerful wizard."

Sirius made a soft sound. "Show him what to do with it, will you?"

Snape was quiet for a minute. "You mean, what not to do."

"Some of that as well."

Snape began twining his fingers in Sirius's hair. "Get some rest now."

"I don't want to sleep."

"I know. But you have to."

"Do you teach in the morning?"

"First thing."

Harry could hear Sirius's grin in the dark. "Go easy on the poor sods."

"The day that they go easy on me." He heard Snape shift, and murmur something indistinct. "Black," he said, his voice odd and not itself.

"Snape," Sirius said softly, and their limbs re-arranged and settled back, tighter than before.

After another forty-five minutes or so, when both men appeared to be sleeping, Harry slid quietly to the floor and closed his eyes. He knew better than to chance the door. He would wait until morning, and follow Sirius out as he had followed him in.

"You've got to be joking."

"I assure you, Mr. Potter, I am not. Climb on that broomstick."

"But-"

"Climb on it now, Mr. Potter."

Harry sighed and settled himself on the broomstick. In the past week, dueling lessons had become stranger every day. Perhaps Snape's mind was coming unhinged. He reached his hand up to his face.

"Mr. Potter. If you tamper with that blindfold, I will personally affix an oculis captus spell to you. Which will not wear off for another twenty-four hours, I should point out."

Harry groaned. "All right, all right. But what if I'm about to crash into a tower or something? Will you at least - I don't know, send me some sort of signal?"

"The signal, Mr. Potter, will be that your broom stops flying."

"Because you will have halted it?"

"Because you will have crashed."

He was tempted to make a remark about this not being what Sirius meant by taking care of him. He sighed and pushed off carefully from the ground, getting his bearings. He wobbled, hovering a few feet off the ground, and clutched his broomstick.

"Mr. Potter. When you are chasing the snitch, what are you looking at?"

"The snitch, of course."

"Not your surroundings? How do you know where to fly?"

"I just. . know."

"Because you have not been using your physical sight to fly for a good many years, Mr. Potter. Perhaps not ever. It is time you realised that, and learned to turn it to your advantage."

"In case of night games, you mean?"

Snape made no reply. Silent Snape always made Harry nervous, and with good reason.

"Sir? What are you doing?"

"I am releasing this Bludger."

"You're what? Excuse me, sir, did you say- aaah!" He shrieked as the Bludger whizzed past his face, missing his nose by an inch. The breeze from it fluttered his bangs.

"I would advise you to move, Mr. Potter," Snape called. "That Bludger is spelled to your body heat signature."

"It's what?!" Harry felt another breeze waft his back side as the Bludger whizzed past him, clipping his shoulder this time. "Oh, bloody hell!" He laid hold of his broom and flew for dear life.

Fucking psychotic sadistic madman, Harry muttered to himself. I'm going to get blasted to a million pieces. Fuck fuck fuck. Pull up, pull up, pull up! Some instinct told him to jerk the handle of his broom hard, and he felt something kick against his foot as he took off. Fucking hell. The north tower. If I survive this, I'm going to kill Snape, he thought.

He tried to concentrate and forget about the blindfold. He focused on seeing the Quidditch pitch, on hearing the whiz of the Bludger behind him. He discovered that if he listened carefully, there was a quality to the air that changed as he neared solid objects. And then he heard the unmistakable whirr and buzz of the Snitch, just ahead of him and to his right. Had Snape? Impossible. How could he be expected to--? Oh, hell, he thought, and took off after it. He felt the air change, and knew he was nearing the astronomy tower. And he knew, like he knew where his heart was, hammering inside him, that the snitch was hovering to his left, and the Bludger was closing on him from the right, and with one desperate lunge his hand closed on the snitch as he kicked up hard, scraping the face of the tower, and he heard a gigantic crash and thud as the Bludger crashed into Minerva McGonagall's office window and into her glass-front bookcase.

"Professor Snape!" McGonagall's livid face appeared out the window, hat askew, as she yelled down at Snape on the ground. "What in the name of all that's holy-" She ducked as the Bludger flew back out the window, narrowly missing the back of her head. Snape lifted his wand lazily and the Bludger burst, shattering into golden sparks. McGonagall's head popped back up, her eyes if anything more wild.

"Severus Snape, I demand an explanation for this! My office has been absolutely destroyed! What do you think you-"

"My apologies, Minerva. Mr. Potter will replace everything, I assure you."

Harry ripped the blindfold off his face. "Professor McGonagall, I-"

"See that you do, Mr. Potter. I want my office put back together before dinner tonight!" She slammed the empty window frame shut behind her. The last pane tinkled to the ground.

"Really, Potter," Snape drawled as he landed, still clutching the snitch. "Must you be so clumsy?" But his voice had the same quirk in it he had used when teasing Sirius, and Harry grinned. He tossed the snitch to Snape, who caught it without looking.

Chapter Three

Dear Snuffles,

All right, I'm going to prove I can at least write in something other than monosyllables, even if I can't talk in them.

Everything is going as well as can be expected around here. I guess you know that Dumbledore has opened the castle and grounds to all the refugees of the war. The centaur population in the Forbidden Forest has tripled, not to mention the population of toddlers in the Great Hall now. It's really funny to see Snape wading through them on his way to the high table.

Classes continue, more or less, though no one thinks we'll be sitting N.E.W.T.s any time soon. Hermione's the only one really upset by that (figures.) Speaking of Hermione, I've spent some time talking to her about the stuff we talked about in the pub when you were here last. You know. Anyway, it turns out, you were right. It's nice to have someone else to talk to. Ron goes all pink if we talk about that sort of thing in front of him, though.

My dueling lessons carry on as before. In case you didn't know, Snape may be an homicidal maniac. I swear, half the things he spends time teaching me don't seem to have anything to do with dueling at all. Most of them seem to involve ingenious ways to kill me without anyone being able to blame him. I thought I'd be learning loads of wicked spells and such, but we haven't done spells for the longest.

Anyway, I miss you. I don't know if you can reply to this (or even if it will get to you.) But I don't want you to worry about me, even though I know you do. I may act it sometimes, but I'm really not a little boy any more. I'll be fine, really I will. No matter what.

The other thing is, look out for yourself. And no unnecessary risks, all right? Just be careful.

Yours,
Prongs' boy

"May I ask your advice, sir?"

"What is it, Mr. Potter?"

"I want to quit Quidditch."

"Then quit, and stop rattling on about it."

"Yes, sir. The only thing is, I don't know if I should. I know enough now to know my classes are a joke. Here with you is the only place I'm learning anything. And Quidditch is just a distraction. The only thing is, Quidditch matches are kind of important to everybody now, with all the refugees here and everything. It's what keeps everybody going, you know, having something to cheer about, when there isn't much else. And I'm wondering if it might not be selfish of me to quit, just because I have better things to do now."

Snape stopped crushing the dragonfly wings. He was dissatisfied with them, anyway. The bag had somehow been left open, and they were a bit desiccated. It would do for Dreamless Sleep, but not for much else. He sighed and wiped the pestle.

"Do as you see fit, Mr. Potter. I do not dispense advice."

"Yes, sir. I know that, sir. But I was wondering if maybe you would share your opinion."

Snape gave him a sharp look, but Harry's face was innocent of sarcasm. "My opinion," he said, sweeping the dragonfly wings into the rubbish bin, "is that you are quite old enough to form your own opinions. `Cheseth youreself which may be most plesaunce.'"

"I-what?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "I forget how few books you have opened in your short life. Do whatever you think best, Potter. You've earned that much." He pulled out a bag of mantis legs and set to chopping. Harry absorbed the compliment in stunned silence, then pulled a pile of mantis legs to him and began dicing. Snape flicked a glance at his pile.

"Diced, not mangled," he muttered.

Dear Harry,

Thanks for your letter. And you can dispense with the code names - this is a secure channel owl.

I'm glad to know things continue well for you. And the warning about being careful goes right back to you. Yes, I do know you are no longer a little boy. You might have to remind me occasionally, though.

I'll be back at Hogwarts soon - maybe even in the next week. This time, you can buy the drinks. Give my best to Ron and Hermione, and do what you can to console her about the loss of N.E.W.T.s.

Yours ever,
Sirius

P.S. And yes, I did know Snape is a maniac.

"Mr. Potter, are you even trying?"

"Yes! Yes, I am sir, but we've spent the last four weeks doing other things, and I'm just a little rusty on the actual spells and things."

Snape lowered his wand. "I beg your pardon?"

Harry mumbled. "Well, I do have other classes, you know, sir, I can't spend all my time researching dueling spells, and when we spend so much time on other things. . ." He trailed off, afraid to kindle the look on Snape's face any further.

"Mr. Potter." The voice was a malevolent hiss. "Are you under the impression that preparation for our evening lessons is MY responsibility?"

"Um. No?"

"'Um no' is correct, Mr. Potter. I expect you to come to our lessons prepared, and I expect you to be the judge of what you need to be prepared. I am not going to assign you homework like your bloody schoolteacher, boy. In this room, I am not your schoolteacher. I am your ONLY teacher. And what is your one duty?'

"To learn. Sir." He said dully.

"Correct again. Now. Wands at the ready."

Great, thought Harry. I've got homework, but he's not going to go to the trouble of assigning it. I get to be a mind reader. Worse than Trelawney he is, the daft old loon.

"Fraxineum facio !" Harry shouted.

"Bracchionara obstringo!"

"Salsamentum devora !"

Balls of light flew across the room, easily dodged by both. Snape lowered his wand, and Harry stood down.

"Mr. Potter. Since when is `eat pickled fish' a recognised curse?"

"Have you ever had any?" He grinned at Snape.

Snape's face became devoid of expression, his voice deadly quiet. "Having a good time, Mr. Potter?"

"No, sir." He wiped all traces of amusement from his face. Snape narrowed his eyes at him.

"Put up your wand, Potter."

Harry obeyed. I'd feel a lot better if you'd put up yours, too, he wanted to say, but knew he had already exceeded the evening's quotient of allowable humour. Snape took several steps towards him, closing the distance between them to about twenty feet. Slowly, he slipped his own wand in his sleeve, never taking his eyes off Harry.

"Ready to play with the big boys, Mr. Potter?" He had only heard that tone of voice once before out of Snape's lips, and it hadn't been in a classroom. His throat tightened, but Harry forced himself not to blink.

"Yes."

"We'll see about that."

"Rota volatus !" Snape roared at him, and reddish light shot out of his fingertips. Harry's mind had only a moment to register shock before he was flying through the air, spinning around and around in endless revolution, hovering ten feet off the ground.

Bastard, he thought, and on instinct shot out his hand at Snape. "Cultellius ventrata!" He had the satisfaction of seeing Snape drop to his knees, clutching his abdomen. "Descendere volo !" Taking advantage of Snape's momentary lapse, he got himself on the ground. Attack first, defend later, Snape had taught him.

No sooner had his feet hit the ground than he felt the ground slide out from underneath him. "Terra liquida !" he heard Snape call, and he was scrambling for footing on a world gone watery, heaving and pitching him about like an open sea.

"Flagella constringere !" he shouted, and tentacles shot out to fasten on Snape's feet, knocking him down and dragging him across the floor.

"Crucius incendius !" Snape hissed at him as he was knocked into a table leg. Harry tried to roll out of its way, but the white hot bolt washed over him. His face, his arms, his hair, every part of him felt as if it was on fire. Even his eyelids were burning. Squinting at the room, all he could see were sheets of flame, and he knew that part of the curse at least had caught the wall hangings. He was coughing from the smoke as he tried to spit out his answering curse.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON HERE!"

Through the flames licking the doorframe and the stinging pain in his eyes, he could just make out a dark haired wizard standing in the doorway, grey eyes wild.

"Finite omnes incantates !" Snape called, and the flames sputtered and died, the tentacles evaporated, and the ground became solid beneath Harry again. He was panting for breath, still rubbing his eyes.

"Sirius! What are you. . . " His joyous greeting died on his lips when he saw his godfather's face.

"Harry. Please wait for me in the corridor."

Harry scowled. "I'm not a child, Sirius. I'm not going to go wait outside while you yell at Snape for treating me like I deserve to be treated."

Sirius's face was absolutely white. "Harry. We will discuss this later. For now, I am asking you, please wait outside." His jaw was clenched so tight he could barely get the words out. Harry could feel the anger coming off him in waves. It stung his eyes worse than the smoke had, and he knew that if he did not get out of there, and quickly, it would only get worse.

"Fine," Harry said. "Whatever." He grabbed up his robe and stomped out, slamming the door behind him, fully intending to flee back to Gryffindor tower and lock his bedroom door. Wait in the hall like a good boy, Sirius had said. The hell you say, he thought.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Black?"

"What the bloody fucking hell do you think YOU'RE doing, Snape!"

Oh no, thought Harry, dismayed. Everyone within five miles can hear them. Aren't solid oak doors supposed to be thicker than this?

"I was teaching your godson to defend himself! What did it look like?" Even through the door, he could hear the crackle of rage in Snape's voice. If it had been him in there, he would have been diving under the table.

"Oh, really! Is that what you were doing! Because it looked to me like you were teaching him dark magic! Wandless magic, Snape! Wandless fucking magic! What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that perhaps when he faces Voldemort the next time, he will actually be prepared! Perhaps he won't go like a lamb to the slaughter to do the job we all know he is going to have to do! But heaven forfend anyone actually acknowledge it, or tell him anything about it - or worse, prepare him for it!"

"Prepare him! Prepare-" Sirius was sputtering. "You call turning him into a junior Death Eater preparation for facing down the Dark Lord?"

"How dare you-"

"How dare I? How dare you subject my godson to-"

"Your godson! You're awfully quick to piss on him, aren't you? He's not a bloody fencepost for you to mark, and he's not your property! And, I should like to point out, I am the one who has been teaching him for six and a half years, years in which you have not been here and I have, years in which I-"

"Oh yes, you've been quite the model of paternalistic affection there, Snape! I'm overwhelmed. Generations of Hogwarts students fondly remember their days under the tutelage of everybody's favourite uncle, Hugs and Kisses Snape."

Harry could not suppress a grin at that, but it faded when he heard the bitter fury in Snape's voice. Their voices were lower now, and Harry had to press himself against the door to hear them.

"You want to play surrogate father, Black, you do it on somebody else's time, and with somebody else's life. You put him at risk every time you infantilise him, every time you treat him like anything less than the powerful wizard he is destined to become - that he already is."

"He just may be, Snape, I don't know. And I don't care. I care about him, not what he can do for the rest of us. And I see you using him, to turn him into some sort of weapon. He's a seventeen year old boy, Snape, not your personal chance at redemption!"

"That is patently ridiculous! I have no such-"

"Bullshit, Snape! Have you even stopped to consider the effect the dark magic is having on him? Or do you even know about that?"

A silence fell, and Harry shifted closer against the door.

"You are referring to what he imagines to be his feelings for me."

"Christ, listen to yourself! It's not what he imagines, it's real for him. Does he know anything about the kind of emotional vulnerability-hell, Snape, have you told him anything about what it can do?"

Snape's voice, quieter now. "Harry is wiser than you think him, Black. And mature beyond his years. And he has a responsibility to the power within him-"

"Responsibility to you, you mean."

"Jealous, are we?"

Their voices were furious hisses and murmurs now, and Harry could only catch stray words. He pressed his ear more firmly against the door, but he coud make nothing out distinctly. Even through the door, though, he could feel the anger coming off of both of them. And then he heard steps, loud, coming towards the door, and he sprang away in belated terror as the door slammed back against the wall.

Sirius didn't even glance at him, but strode off in the other direction, his cloak snapping behind him. Harry remained flattened against the wall, not daring to move or even breathe.

"Mr. Potter."

Harry gulped. Of course, Snape would know he had been eavesdropping.

"Mr. Potter, I assure you that remaining motionless will not lull me into believing that you have evaporated. Get in this room now. We have a lesson to finish."

Harry shuffled into the room, his eyes on his feet. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to overhear-"

"Don't lie to me, boy." The residual anger from his argument with Sirius was leaking out around the edges of his whipcrack voice, the one Harry had come to associate with his own imminent death. "Of course you meant to overhear, every word of it."

Snape had shrugged off his waistcoat now, and was loosening his collar. "Now. Where were we?" There was a fanatically determined glint in his eyes.

"Um. If you'd rather wait till tomorrow, sir-"

"Trying to get out of it, Potter? Afraid there might be some truth in what your godfather said - that you're too young, too immature, too frightened?" Snape's voice was a sneer. "Want me to hold your hand, Potter? Perhaps a bedtime story? I've got just the one. Once upon a time there was a handsome if doltish young wizard and his lovely if emptyheaded young bride, and they produced a pampered, spoiled, irritating little baby boy whom they adored beyond all reason, and when the big bad wolf came knocking at the door, they ran about like chickens with their heads cut off, because no one had ever taught them the most basic principles of self-defence and they were too stupid to have-"

"You shut your mouth!"

"You shut yours, you insolent cub! Now duel me, goddamnit!"

"Arsilia maxima !"

"Lentula faringulatum !"

Balls of light were shooting out of their fingers now, as they dodged and rolled. Of a sudden a thought came to Harry, and he seized on it.

"Opprimordia!" he shouted, and at once Snape was wrapped in a thin whitish mist - not nearly as impenetrable as the Nubis Pulverius , but much more powerful and dangerous. Snape halted and looked about, confusion in his eyes. Harry scrambled to his feet, watching him, judging his next move. Snape's wand was down, and he was staring off somewhere to the left of Harry's head.

"Sir?"

The mist was dissipating, but Snape was still in a stupor. He looked like he was listening to something only he could hear. Oh God, thought Harry. Oh God. His brain played back the last few seconds. Opprimordia. Opprimordia . Causes temporary mental confusion. Snape should have been mildly dazed, nothing more, not standing there staring off into space like a patient at St. Mungo's. Except. . . except. . . oh no, Harry thought. A spell that acts on the brain. I cast a spell that acts on the brain at a time when he was emotionally distraught to begin with. What the hell have I done?

"Um-Professor Snape, can you hear me?"

Slowly, Snape moved his head, as though searching for the voice. He met Harry's eyes and smiled beatifically. It was an unnerving sight. "When did you get here?" he asked.

"Ah. . . Professor Snape, sir, I've been here all evening, I just-"

"Mother said you weren't coming down at all."

Oh hell's bells, thought Harry. Okay, okay, what to do. Get him to the infirmary? Quickly he rejected that idea. His spell may have gone a little awry, but there was no reason to think Snape was permanently injured, or in some grave danger. If there was any possible way he could avoid having everyone know he had temporarily hexed a teacher's brain to pieces, it would be nice. Surely if he just got him back to his office and locked the door on him. . .

"Professor Snape, I need you to come with me, sir." That's it, thought Harry. Calm, authoritative voice. Stay in control. His office is right down the hall. Not that far to go. We can make it. He put his hand on Snape's arm. Snape slipped his hand into Harry's and began swinging their clasped hands.

"D'you bring me any treats?"

Please, please let him have no memory of this tomorrow. "Ah, no, I didn't-wait, yes I did, they're just over here. If you come with me you can have some."

"Oh, that'd be lovely." Obediently he let himself be led out the door, Harry doing a quick check of the corridor first. He put up no fuss, even when Harry jogged him along down the hall, terrified lest they run into a stray student or worse, a teacher.

At Snape's office door Harry hesitated. "Uh. . . Severus?"

"Yes?"

"I need you to push open this door."

"Oh, I don't think I could. It looks much too big."

"No, no, it isn't heavy at all, I promise."

"You sure?" Snape regarded it skeptically.

"Absolutely. You're getting to be such a big boy now, I know you can do it." If Snape had any memory of this, he was definitely going to be dead by this time tomorrow.

"All right then." Snape pushed against the door with all his strength, and laughed when it fell open easily, stumbling in. Harry quickly closed and locked the door behind them. So far, so good.

What was Snape doing? He was picking up jars and shaking them to see them slosh, sticking his hand in the adder tongue vat. "Eeeewwww!" he grinned.

"Put that down at once! Severus! I mean it!" He rescued the adder tongues and capped the fenugreek extract he was trying to drink. "God, you're a menace."

Snape sat with a thunk in the armchair, letting his head loll back and his eyes shut. Harry edged closer. If he would just fall asleep. . .

Snape's eyes flew open. "Wh- where am I?" he asked groggily.

Harry sighed in relief. "You're in your office, sir. Something went a little wrong with my hex, I'm afraid. . ."

"My office? What the bloody hell are you on about? Merlin's balls, did I sleep through Transfiguration again? Lucius, you idiot, I told you to kick me!" Snape leaped out of the chair, only to clutch the table woozily, knocking over a few bottles as he did so. One of them rolled to the floor and shattered, spattering viscous goo on Harry's shoe.

Good God, thought Harry. He's going to kill himself in here. "No, no," he said, thinking fast. "You've got it wrong. It's not morning. It's bedtime. See? It's dark out. It's time to get to bed now. You've got all night to sleep, and then you'll be fresh as a daisy for class in the morning." He rolled his eyes at himself. Fresh as a daisy. Very Malfoy-esque. Snape, however, didn't seem to notice.

"All right," he mumbled. "What on earth am I wearing, anyway?" Harry propelled him through to the bedroom. Snape stumbled willingly along, tugging at his clothes as he went. "What the-who the hell put all these buttons on my clothes?"

Harry stifled a laugh as he plopped him on the bed. In his dazed state, Snape really was having a time with his buttons, and it didn't look like he was going to just forget about it and give up. He had the curious single-minded fixation of the drunken. Yes, that was it, Harry thought. It was more like he was drunk than anything. Or in some alternate reality, and only partially in this one. He swung Snape's legs up onto the bed and pulled off his boots and socks. Snape was continuing the battle with his trousers.

Harry sighed and bent over to help him. Snape accepted his help as he had accepted all of it - without question or protest. He sat up and tugged off his shirt. Harry kept his eyes firmly on the floor as he folded Snape's clothes and laid them on the back of the chair. He came back over to the bed. I am not looking at Snape in his underwear, I am not looking at Snape in his underwear, I am absolutely looking at Snape in his underwear.

"Is there. . . anything else you need?"

"I think so." A hand shot out and pulled him down onto the bed, all the way down so he sprawled on top of the taller man, whose arms held him firmly in place.

"You're not just going to leave me here, are you?" Snape's voice was low and gravelly in his ear. Oh God oh God oh God. Harry's cock sprang to life as he realised he was resting right atop. . .well, right atop him. And the thin fabric of his underwear left nothing to the imagination. And now Snape was wrapping his arms even tighter about him, burying his head in the crook of Harry's neck. "Mmm. You smell so nice. I always knew you would."

All right, what reality are we in now? Harry wondered. Snape was smiling dreamily, and he rocked his groin up into Harry's. Harry groaned aloud.

"Like that, do you?"

"Um. . . oh, God. . ." Harry could feel Snape's cock hardening, and he felt so delicious, stirring to life beneath him. He could not resist rocking back into him, letting himself set up a tiny little rhythm. Stop stop stop, his brain screamed, and he tried, but nothing had ever felt this good in his life, and he was shaking with his arousal before he even knew it was out of hand.

"Do you want me, you lovely boy?" Snape's voice was back at his ear, exploding tremors all down him, all the way to his balls. For answer, Harry groaned, and Snape gave a low little laugh in return, and drew his legs up around Harry. Oh fuck yes. Harry settled deeper into the sweet hollow of those legs, grinding himself harder. His hand fumbled at his jeans, and he was tearing them off in desperation, anything to feel what he knew he had to feel or die: Snape's naked cock pressed to his, just once, just once and he would stop.

"So beautiful," Snape murmured in his ear, and Harry closed his eyes and thought it's me, it's me he's saying these things to, it has to be me, but he knew he didn't care anymore if it was him or not, he had to get closer, he had to get there now. He kicked his jeans off, not even bothering with his shirt, and ripped at Snape's underwear. Snape smiled at him.

And then they were cock to cock, and Harry was trembling all over, rubbing himself, grinding, humping shamelessly, it just felt so fucking good, and somehow he had pushed Snape's legs up even more, because he found himself pressing against. . .against that, there, down below, and the images of what Snape had done to Sirius flooded his mind. Snape appeared to be lapsing deeper and deeper into a dreamlike state, eyes flicking open and closed, mouth in a languid smile. He brought his legs to rest on Harry's shoulders.

"Do you want to fuck me, lovely thing?" Snape's drowsy voice shivered him, and he was pushing against that impossibly tight place. . . oh God, Snape's arsehole, his tight sweet arsehole, and Snape was boneless and limp and dreamy, smiling up at him. Harry was pushing against that place, that hot forbidden place that he couldn't quite get himself into, what was it Snape had done, oh yes something to grease him up, but he couldn't wait, there wasn't time, he had to be in him now or die. He worked himself halfway in before something like lucidity crossed Snape's eyes, and a flash of something else.

"No, no, ti prego, basta - basta, ti prego,¹ " he was murmuring in some language Harry didn't know, and he raised an arm to push Harry away, but his gestures were vague and weak, and Harry knocked his arm back and pinned it against the mattress with no trouble. Snape's struggles were inflaming his cock, and he slid all the way in with a rough shove, and Snape cried out then, his back arching up, and Harry knew this was hurting him, how could it not, but it felt too fucking good to stop, he was never going to stop, he was going to die right here, fucking Snape, ramming his cock into Snape, closing tight around him, oh yes yes yes.

He thrust at a frenzied pace, eyes tight shut, fingers digging into the wrists that fluttered vainly against him, and Snape was murmuring something else, oh God, he was saying Sirius Sirius Sirius over and over in a half-sob, and Harry came in a flood, a white-hot spate of orgasm that felt like he was emptying his spinal column into that clutching hole, those warm enveloping legs. He collapsed, shivering, gasping, and only dimly knew he was being pushed over on his side before he wrapped himself more firmly around that warm wonderful body and drifted away.

¹ No, No, please stop - stop, please.

Chapter Four

Warm light spilled onto his back, and he burrowed deeper into the sheets. Sheets that smelled better than anything he had ever had on his bed. He inhaled deeply. Why would his sheets be smelling like this, like cloves and frankincense and some indefinable thing that he couldn't place but which was utterly delicious?

A slamming sound jerked him fully awake. What the--? His eyes flew open. Oh, holy fucking shit. His eyes met two dark ones, wide and intent on him, and his mouth opened and then shut again. He had fallen asleep. Asleep, naked, in Snape's bed. Oh God, what had he done?

"Severus, I came to-" Sirius stopped, frozen.

When he was little, Harry remembered reading about what would actually happen if the earth ceased to rotate on its axis, even for one second: how the magma beneath the crust would collapse in on itself in a fusion reaction, how the crust above would crumble, the seas drain, the mountains topple, and the earth implode, turning inward on itself to one-quarter its size before it flew to bits, hurling rock and water and trees and people into the outer reaches of the galaxy, where they would never stop, just keep going on forever and ever.

It was strange how none of that happened.

Sirius's face was completely without expression. Harry saw Snape frown, and blink, and he saw the excruciating moment when it came together for him, and he knew beyond doubt he was going to be sick right there on the bed in front of both men, and he saw Snape turn his head to Sirius to say something, but Sirius was walking quickly out.

Snape was hurtling out of the bed, grabbing his pants and stumbling, sticking one leg in and heading out the bedroom before he even had the other leg in.

"Sirius!" he was calling, but Sirius did not stop.

"Sirius, stop, please, listen to me!" They were in the office now, and Sirius whirled on him.

"Don't." His voice was deadly, and Snape halted in his tracks. "Don't you even utter one fucking word to me. Don't you-" He stopped as he struggled to get control. "Don't you even try to pretend to me that I didn't just see what I saw. Just-" He held up his hand. "Just don't."

The silence stretched in the little room.

"Sirius-"

"Fine, then." Sirius's voice was deceptively calm now. "On second thought, I think I would like to hear this. What explanation do you have for the fact that you're in bed with my seventeen year old godson, naked and reeking of sex? Go on, give it your best shot."

Snape was silent.

"That's what I thought."

Sirius turned and yanked the office door open, slamming it shut behind him, and Snape reached for the door, leaning his head against it. Harry ran for the toilet, and barely made it before he hurled the contents of his stomach out with a groan. He retched until there was nothing left in him but bile and spit, and he heaved those endlessly, and in between retches the only thought that came to him was rapist, rapist, rapist.

At last he collapsed back against the cool tiles of the wall, limp and spent. A warm flannel wiped his face, and a glass of water was being tilted to his lips. It had a tang to it, as though a potion had been dissolved in it. Anti-nausea, most likely. He opened his eyes and had the courage to meet Snape's.

"I'm sorry," was all he could think to say.

Snape said nothing, but refilled the water glass with plain water this time. His hands were steady, and his eyes were blank. "Drink this down now."

Harry obeyed. For the first time it occurred to him he was still naked, and as soon as he had the thought he felt a dressing gown being tossed gently on his knees. He clutched it to him.

"I - I'm really sorry," he began again, and quit when he heard how pathetically inadequate it sounded.

"What happened?" Snape's voice was even.

"Y-you don't remember?"

"Bits. I remember your casting Opprimordia at me, and I remember thinking what an appalling idea that was. After that, all I remember are snatches of things, and I'm not sure what is hallucination and what is memory."

"Right," Harry said faintly. "I brought you back here, and then I. . .um, you were. . . I . . ." He dug the heel of his hand into his eye.

"Mr. Potter. What happened was not your fault."

Harry looked up in amazement. "Not my fault! I raped you. I climbed on top of you and fucking raped you. Do you remember that at all?"

"Yes." Snape dropped his eyes.

"And this is somehow not my fault?" He heard how shrill his voice was and hated it, hated that Snape was, obscenely, trying to comfort him.

"I did not say it wasn't your responsibility. Just not your fault. The fault was mine, entirely. Your godfather was right, Harry."

He hung his head. "About me being a child, you mean.'

"No. About my being blind to the effect the dark magic was having on you. I should have predicted this, but I was arrogant and overly sure that I could guide you when the time came. I did not know the dark would seize you so quickly, but I should have guessed. Come now, get your clothes on." He extended a hand and pulled Harry to his feet.

He found his jeans and T shirt by the bed and pulled them on with shaking fingers. He froze when he saw the bed, and the bright bloodstain on the center of it. He clutched the bedpost, fighting back another wave of nausea. Fuck, no. Memory slammed him in the gut - Snape arching up, face contorted in pain, gasping, and him not stopping, pushing in hard, pumping fiercely. . . he glanced down and knew before he looked that he would see flecks of dried blood on his cock. He pulled his jeans on quickly so he wouldn't have to see any more.

He turned at the door to the sitting room. "Is there. . . are you. . .all right, sir?"

"I'm fine, Mr. Potter. Get on with you now."

Harry nodded, his throat tight. "Yeah. You're fine, I know. I just destroyed your fucking life, but you're fine." He ducked his head and went out through the small sitting room, through the office, and out into the corridor. He did not stop until he was back in Gryffindor tower, his bedroom door locked behind him. He stood, shaking, staring at his neat bedcovers. Then he fell to his knees and cried, dry sucking sobs that hurt worse than the retching.

"Harry? You all right in there?"

He lifted his head from the floor when he heard Hermione's voice. He must have fallen asleep. He rubbed his cheek where it had rested on the hard stone of the floor. Somehow, being on a bed did not seem possible.

"Harry? Can I come in?"

"Yeah. Sure. Relicta claustra ." He flicked his wand at the door. Funny, he hadn't even remembered his wand was stuck in the back pocket of his jeans. He sat up, letting his head fall back against the bed frame.

Hermione's concerned face peered at him. "Harry, I worried when you didn't-" She stopped. She quickly locked the door behind her and sat down beside him on the floor. "Harry, what's wrong?"

He shook his head. He wouldn't even know where to begin. How would Hermione ever understand? How could she stand to look at him if she knew? He shut his eyes. And then Hermione's arms were around him, pulling him close, and he let his head fall onto her lap as she gently stroked his hair.

"Oh, Harry."

Classes that day were a blur, meals a misery. He stumbled through them, not hearing or seeing anything. The minute he could get away in the afternoon, he pulled on his cloak, knowing what he had to do. He didn't stop to think, suspecting he would lose his courage if he did. But he had to do it. He owed it to Snape. He set out down the path to Hogsmeade, cloak pulled tight against the afternoon chill.

He ducked in the door of the Three Broomsticks and nodded to Rosmerta, who gave him a beaming smile from across the room. Harry headed up the stairs, pausing at the second door on the left, Sirius's usual room. He took a breath and knocked. No answer. He knocked again, and the door swung open.

Harry took a step inside. The room was empty. He flung back the wardrobe door, pulled open the top drawer of the rickety dresser. Nothing. Sirius was gone. He sat down heavily on the bed. Too late. He had been too late. He had thought that if he could just get to Sirius today and tell him the truth, the truth about everything - spying on them in the invisibility cloak, the duel last night, what had happened afterward in every humiliating, painful detail - if he could just tell him that, then surely everything would be all right. Sirius would understand, and things would be put right between him and Snape, and Harry wouldn't have this dead sensation in the pit of his stomach.

He leaned back on the bed and closed his eyes. The coverlet was as neatly arranged as his own. Probably Sirius had not laid himself down on it at all last night. He pictured him pacing the floor all night after his fight with Snape, and taking the path to Hogwarts at first light. Flinging back the door, ready to say. . . what? Nothing anyone would ever know now.

It isn't your fault, Mr. Potter. Harry rolled over and clutched the pillow to him. He felt like he had aged ten years in twelve hours. Last night at dinner had been another lifetime. There's blood on Snape's sheets, he thought, but it's not my fault. Nothing's ever my fault.

"Harry."

Harry was nodding over his porridge the next morning, fighting off sleep. He hadn't slept a wink during the night, having spent the first part of the night talking to Hermione, and the second part composing letters to Sirius that he scrapped and threw away the minute he was done. By the time dawn came, his desk was an island in a sea of crumpled parchment, and his head was throbbing fiercely.

"Harry." Hermione elbowed him, and he jumped. "Harry, wake up. Dumbledore's coming over here."

"Good morning, Harry." He jumped again as the quiet rumbling voice sounded in his ear, and spun around on the bench to see Dumbledore standing behind him, peering down at him with a severe expression under those bushy eyebrows. "I wonder if I might I have a word with you?"

Oh fuck no, thought Harry as he trailed the headmaster out of the hall, followed by the sympathetic glances of Ron and Hermione and the curious stares of the other breakfasters. Up the myriad stairways to his office they went, and Dumbledore said not a word, his robes gliding silently on the stone flags in front of Harry. What Harry had glimpsed of his face in the hall was not encouraging. He knows, was all Harry could think. He knows, just like he knows everything that goes on in this place and every single fucking thing I have ever done.

He sat on the edge of the chair that still, at seventeen, managed to swallow him. Dumbledore did not offer to fix him tea, did not exchange pleasantries. He stood in front of his desk, eyes fixed on Harry. I don't know what to say, I don't know what to say, he thought. Had Snape gone to him? Told him the truth? He hadn't seen Snape other than in Potions class yesterday, and he had not gone to the dungeons for his dueling lesson last night. Surely all that would be over now. The last person he wanted to see was Snape, and from the way Snape's eyes had glanced off him in class, he had a feeling it was mutual.

"Harry."

"Yes, sir."

"I have something very hard to say to you."

Harry shut his eyes, just once, quickly. "I know, sir," he mumbled.

Dumbledore's eyebrows shot up. "You do?"

He nodded, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the swirl of carpet by his left toe.

"I'm not sure you do, Harry. Harry, I need you to look at me now."

Harry raised his eyes and dug his fingers into the arm of the chair.

"Sirius Black was captured by Death Eaters last night." He paused, waiting for an interruption that did not come. "He missed his meeting with his contact, which he has never done before. By four o'clock this morning, we knew why."

Harry sat very still, waiting for the room to put itself to rights again and the oxygen to seep back into his lungs. He mumbled something.

"What was that, my boy?"

"H-how? I mean, how did you know?"

"Ah. We received a note. They are kind enough to inform us of all captures and executions. They send notices to the Daily Prophet as well." Dumbledore's voice had a bitter edge to it Harry had never heard before.

"Executions," he mumbled. "Is that. . . is that what they do, then?"

"Yes." Dumbledore did not flinch from Harry's eyes.

"I see." He stood, only wobbling a little "Thank you for being so honest with me, sir. And for letting me know at once. May I. . . may I tell the others?"

"As you see fit, Harry." Dumbledore's gaze was intent on him. "I expect it will be in the Prophet tomorrow morning, at the latest. I did not want you to read it there."

"No. Of course not. Thank you, sir." He made for the door. He had to get out, get out of there before the walls fell in and crushed him. He gave a little nod to Dumbledore, who just watched him, and was down the stairs at a clip, not stopping until the second floor southwest corridor, when he collapsed against the wall and sucked air in gulps.

The Gryffindor common room was a grim place that night. Harry stayed huddled in a chair by the fire, not saying much. Ron and Hermione were silent, too, for the most part content just to keep him company. Hermione got up to poke at the fire unnecessarily every so often, and Harry saw her wipe at tears when she thought he wasn't looking. Ron erupted from time to time in long unhelpful rambles about what he would do to the first Death Eater he caught, the minute he was graduated from Auror training. A couple of their friends drifted by, offering awkward condolences, and he nodded expressionlessly at them and wished devoutly they would all go to hell.

When it was at last just the three of them in the common room, Harry stopped even turning his head to look at either of them. Hermione caught his hint, and reached for Ron's hand.

"Come on, Ron. Let's give Harry some time alone. Besides, we've still got Transfiguration in the morning. And you look awful. You really ought to get some rest."

"Thanks, Hermione. You look lovely, too. Sure you don't need anything else, mate?"

"You go on," Harry mumbled.

"All right then." Ron headed up the staircase. Hermione rested her hand briefly on his shoulder. He said nothing, and by the time he thought maybe he should respond or something, take her hand maybe, it had been withdrawn, and she too was going up the staircase. He watched the logs crackle and collapse until the fire went cold and dead, and the room's chill began to eat at him.

Then he sat up and slipped on his shoes, knowing for the first time all day exactly where he was going.

He banged on the door of Snape's office with his fist. He hadn't even bothered with the invisibility cloak. What use was it, anyway, when he already felt hollow? Come on, Snape, he thought, I know you're in there. It's one o'clock in the bloody morning. Where else would you be?

"Professor Snape!" he yelled, not caring if every prefect in the school came running. "Professor Snape, please open up!"

Nothing. God damn the man. He jiggled the knob, just to be obnoxious, and to his surprise it gave. The door swung open. He froze, confused. Snape had left his office door unwarded? Why would he do such a thing?

Cautiously Harry pushed back the door. No lights were on, but a dusty bit of moonlight swam in through the high-set window. He could see that nothing was out of order in the office. He glanced through the sitting room. He did not dare cross the threshold of the bedroom.

"Professor Snape," he whispered. Nothing.

"Professor Snape!" he called, getting bolder. Still no answer. His eyes were adjusting to the gloom now, and he could glimpse the corner of an immaculately made and perfectly empty bed. He turned and looked around the office, puzzled.

The worktable had been cleared and organised, in itself an unusual thing. Most of the time Snape's office worktable looked as though a goblin rebellion had been staged atop it. Harry fingered the neatly wiped cauldron. It even looked, in the dim light, as though it might have been polished.

And then he saw the envelope.

Albus Dumbledore, was written across it in Snape's careful copperplate hand. Harry reached for it, hesitated, then reached again. Sealed, naturally. Well, thought Harry, if I'm going to violate someone, might as well do a thorough job of it. He broke the seal and sat down to read.

He was done quickly, but he read it slowly again, and then once more, to make sure he had it right. He paused and glanced around, then carefully refolded the letter and placed it back in the envelope. He left the office quickly and silently, a determined slant to his brows. There were things he had to get. It looked like he was going to need that cloak after all, for one thing.

Chapter Five

He had puzzled over Snape's letter initially. It wasn't until the second reading that he had felt the pieces fall into place in his brain with a little snick, and then he had been too pleased at himself for figuring it out to be much concerned with how exactly he was going to do what he knew he needed to. Snape's letter to Dumbledore had been mainly about the disposition of his classes - instructions for the next few weeks, until an appropriate replacement could be found; general notes on the progress of each class; which projects had been completed, which were yet to do; and some notes for Madam Pomfrey about where to find stores of particular potions, when the Skele-Gro would need replacing, and other things of that sort. It had been all business. The only clue was the terse note that Snape had enclosed along with the letter, a note addressed to him.

Dear Severus, (it had read)

You know what I want. I am waiting.

Regards,

L. M.

Harry had frowned at it, read it again, and frowned some more. L.M.? That couldn't be anyone other than Lucius Malfoy. But what did Snape have that Malfoy wanted? A potion? Perhaps a recipe for a poisonous brew Malfoy wanted Voldemort to have? A book? He had glanced around the office, just to see if maybe there was a shelf he had overlooked, labeled Things Death Eaters Might Like To Have. But he had realised the same instant that of course, it must be information of some sort that Malfoy was demanding he hand over. Information about the Order of the Phoenix, perhaps, or Dumbledore's war strategy.

But why would Snape agree to it? Why would he rush off to give Malfoy what he wanted, and leave Dumbledore a nice note about what to do with his things? A bastard Snape might be, but he was no traitor. What on earth could Malfoy. . . and then he had known. It had knocked the wind out of his gut, like the time last summer he had fallen from the apple tree at Sirius's cottage. He had been helping to prune the branches, and had been showing off, and had climbed farther out than he had meant, and the next thing he knew the bough had given way, and he was staring up at blue sky in a terrifyingly still world for the few seconds before the air rushed back into his lungs. And Sirius, laughing, had bent down a hand to help him up. It's not the fall that'll kill you, lad, he had said with a smile. It's the sudden stop.

Harry aimed his broomstick more to the west, and headed closer to the ground. In the dark like this, he would need to be careful of his bearings. He had known for two years the exact location of Malfoy Manor, but he had never approached it from the air like this. If only he could have apparated from Hogsmeade, as Snape must have done. He ground his teeth as he thought about how much time he might have lost, and tried to calculate the extent of Snape's head start.

Thoughts of last summer drifted through his exhausted brain. When was the last time he had slept? Night before last. Lying in. . . no, think more about last summer. Anything but where he had last slept. It had been an enchanted summer, the first one he had ever been allowed to spend with Sirius since his name was cleared. Days had been spent lazing in the sun, or swimming in the little bay. At nights, Sirius had tried to elevate his chess game, teaching him in his quiet way, and even let Harry win a few games. And in return, Harry had told him stories of his first two years at Hogwarts, filling in the richly glorious detail of the stories Sirius had only heard in outline. Sirius had been in stitches every evening, listening to him talk about his first meeting with Hermione, and Neville's lost toad, and Moaning Myrtle and Fluffy and the troll and Dobby's pudding and all the things he had missed. And Sirius had reciprocated with stories of his early years, of pranks the Marauders had pulled, odd little things his father had said that Harry had been hungry to hear.

He shivered against the chilled night wind whipping him, and increased his speed. He did not want to think about what would happen if he were too late. He turned over the puzzle of Sirius and Snape in his head. That night in Snape's rooms, watching the two of them together, he had been too aroused to reflect much on the meaning of what he was seeing. When had Sirius. . . when had they started. . . it was hard to know the right phrase. The truth is, Mr. Potter, I am seeing someone else. Had it started last summer? Sirius had left him alone at the cottage for a day or so every now and again, saying he had errands to run for Dumbledore, but never offering any more explanation. Was he sneaking off to see Snape? Or had things started after he had left? Had they been seeing each other before then? Never, as far back as he remembered, had Sirius betrayed anything but irritation or distrust in Snape's presence. What had begun it? Sheer mutual need? Convenience? Whatever it was at its beginning, it was clear, that night in Snape's rooms, that it had become very much more than that.

That night, Harry had watched amazed as Sirius's face had relaxed and softened, and his sharp glittering eyes had warmed as he looked at Snape. And his body had. . . Harry tried to shut down that line of thought, but he was assaulted by the image of Sirius coming, of Sirius pushing his body back onto Snape's cock, Sirius hot and begging for it, of his hoarse cry as his cock pulsed come. Harry saw and acknowledged, as another aspect of the darkness within him, that he was aroused by his godfather, that he wanted him too, that he would be happy to spread his legs wide and let Sirius push that thick glorious cock into him until he came screaming his name.

Screaming his name. Calling for him, the way Snape had as Harry had pumped his seed into him, tearing him, hurting him. Had he been calling for help? Or had he thought, in some part of his confused brain, that it was Sirius hurting him like that? Had he known, for even a momentary flash, that it was Harry on top of him? He did not let himself flinch away from the memory of Snape beneath him, of Snape's clouded eyes as he struggled weakly, of Snape saying no, no, and then some other words he didn't understand, but whose meaning was plain enough.

I'm done flinching, he thought. I'm done looking away. No more. He swept closer to the ground, and went into a glide as he brought his broom in for a landing on the thick lawn.

There were no wards to speak of surrounding the manor itself. What the meaning of this could be, Harry did not stop to ponder. He slipped in one of the side entrances, alert for any sign of movement, but the house was as silent as a tomb, and about as cheery. He had first come here with Draco two years ago, when Lucius had still been pretending, still playing off both sides as best he could, and Lucius had managed a semblance of chilly courtesy when Draco had brought him for a brief visit. Why don't we stay longer? Harry had asked. It's lovely here. And Draco had pressed his lips together and shaken his head in that way he had, and Harry had known better than to press it. He wondered how long it was now since Draco had even spoken to his father. Hermione would know.

He moved silently up the back staircase, listening. There was a soft spill of light from one of the side corridors, and he glided down the hall in that direction, mindful of the center floorboards. Merlin's bollocks, Potter, Draco had smirked. That's the last time I sneak you down to the cellars. Almost got us caught, you did.

He stopped outside the half-open door of the second floor study. He could hear a voice now, and if he stilled his breathing, he could even make out words. There was another voice, answering Malfoy, low and deliberate. Harry's heart thudded against his ribcage when he heard it, and he eased as close to the doorway as he dared before he remembered he was wearing his invisibility cloak and carefully slipped inside.

". . . and at any rate," Malfoy was saying, "I fear neither of you shares my appreciation for all the many ironies of our present position." His long, elegant feet were stretched to the fire, and he was swirling the wine in his glass. Snape was standing by the mantel, impassive, arms crossed, but Harry only had eyes for the man who sat, bound, in the Regency armchair in the corner, eyes baleful, face bruised and bloodied. Sirius. He fought the fierce giddy surge of joy, beating back the impulse to cast off his cloak and hurl himself into his godfather's arms. He edged farther into the corner, watching.

"It's too bad, really," Malfoy continued. "Life is composed of nothing but a delicate interplay of such ironies, woven together, overlying each other, all locked in a gossamer pattern that turns out to be our winding shroud."

"That's. . . incredibly beautiful, Malfoy. Really. I'm so moved I think I might just be sick all over your carpet." Sirius's voice was hoarse and tired.

"Please don't. It happens to have been in the family for some time, and is quite valuable. I don't think it would sustain another cleaning, even a magical one. Actually, Draco was rather hard on it when he was a little thing, you might be interested to know. You've met him, I believe? He's in the same year as your godson."

"I know him. He might be slightly less of a prick than you."

"Such language, Black. Speaking of the ties of kinship, did Severus ever tell you that he is Draco's godfather? It is Severus, incidentally, who robbed me of my son. My son, who should be here at my side tonight, witnessing my triumph. But you had other plans for him, didn't you, Severus?"

Snape looked bored. "Lucius," he said. "May we get on with this? Or are we to be treated to more of your profound observations on life's little ironies?" Snape was ignoring Sirius altogether. Harry noticed that Snape had not so much as glanced in Sirius's direction, or spared him any notice.

Malfoy was decanting more of the wine into his glass. "Are you sure I can't interest either of you in a glass? No? Your loss, then. One of my cellar's finest, and as you know, that's really saying something. It seems a pity to have two guests at once, and yet no one with whom to share such a splendid wine. But perhaps Medoc is too heavy for your tastes. At any rate, it was good of you to come, Severus."

"You knew that I would, Lucius."

"Ah." Malfoy gestured with his glass as if a point had just been made that he agreed with. "Yes. Yes, indeed, I did. And that is the fact not to be overlooked in any of this, really. I knew you would come. I did. No one else, just me. Who else could know - I put it to you, who could suspect - that the one weakness, the one chink in Severus Snape's armour was Sirius Black? You know," he said reflectively. "We Malfoys are accused quite unjustly of being prodigal spendthrifts. The truth is, we do know the value of saving. I, for example, have been saving this little bit of knowledge since we were sixteen, just waiting for the day when it would be of use to me." He settled back into his chair, looking very pleased with himself. Snape's eyes narrowed in disgust.

Harry shifted his position as close to the men as he dared. The thing to do, obviously, was to get as close to Malfoy as he could without being detected. Then he could jump Malfoy, free Sirius, and get everyone back to Hogwarts. Sure, Potter, he thought. What could possibly go wrong with that plan?

Sirius was glaring at Malfoy. "What the hell is your game here, Malfoy?" he said through gritted teeth.

"My dear fellow. My game?" Malfoy set his glass down. "You want everything reduced to very short words, Black, to make it easier for you? As you wish. What I am proposing is a trade."

"No." The colour drained from Sirius's face, and he tried to rise from his chair, but the cords just tightened on his arms and legs, pinning him to his chair.

"Now, now Black. We've been through this, in all the long tedious hours before Severus here deigned to grace us with his presence and enliven our little tete-a-tete. You are my prisoner, and struggling only worsens your lot. But cheer up, Black," he said through a swallow of wine. "Your plight is about to be relieved. Deliverance is upon you. Behold, your redeemer cometh." He smiled and lifted his glass to Snape, who scowled at him.

"No. No. Malfoy, listen to me, you don't want to do this-"

"Oh, but there you are wrong, Black. This is all I have wanted to do for years on end. Deliver Severus Snape to the Dark Lord. Alive. Very, very much alive. What a tribute to my cleverness it is. Everyone else has believed for years that nothing could lure you from the safety of Hogwarts. But I knew you could not hide behind Dumbledore's skirts forever. I knew that if anything could coax you out of your little den, it would be. . . this." He made a vague gesture at Sirius. "And think of it. What shall my Lord not offer his little Salome? Yea, even unto the half of his kingdom."

"Whoever gave you a Bible did the world an ill turn," Snape muttered. Harry almost chortled at the image of Lucius Malfoy sitting up of nights reading his Bible.

"What, have I got it wrong? Let me see. Here we have the redeemer, the despised one - a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief, yes? Such poetry, that. And here we have the unwillingly redeemed, kicking and screaming on his way to salvation. Unrepentant Jewry. But he shall be redeemed, nonetheless, shan't he, the filthy little cur. And the redeemer shall be delivered to be crucified. For a price, of course."

"Have you yet discovered in your reading, Lucius, what happened to Judas? Or haven't you heard of him?"

Malfoy's thin smile died, and he met Snape with a level gaze. "I have heard of him," he said. "I know him well. Or I thought I did. Judas was my friend, and I trusted him." He took a sip of wine, and the mocking voice was back, more cheerful now. "However. Allegory only extends so far, Severus. After all, there shall be no resurrection for you. Only death. A miserable, sorry, excruciating end that you will be reduced to begging for before it is over."

"Malfoy." Sirius's voice was low and urgent. "There are things I can give you, things that will serve you better than his life."

"Ah. You see, Severus. Everyone has his price. And no Gryffindor can resist jumping on a nice, freshly-lit funeral pyre. Meaningless sacrifice defines the breed." He set his glass down and his smile faded. "Besides, Black, I already have everything I could want, right here in this room." He got up and gave the fire a poke. "I am, of course, sorry it has come to this. But like the gentleman we were discussing earlier, I really have no choice. None. Do you understand me, Severus?" His eyes met Snape's, and they were earnest, unclouded with malice. "I have no choice. `For I too am a man set under authority, and I say unto one, Go, and he goeth, and to my servant, Do this, and he doeth it,'" he recited softly.

Harry was getting lost in the conversation. Half the time he had no idea what Malfoy was talking about. It seemed clear the man was insane, or some such.

Snape sighed. "And if I go with you willingly, do you swear to release him? On your honour as a Malfoy?"

"On my honour as a Malfoy. The son of one, and the father of another."

"Very well."

"Snape, are you insane? You can't trust him! Don't listen to him, Snape, don't do anything he says! You have no idea-"

"Silence, dirty Jew."

"I'm Irish, you idiot!"

"Ah. `Frisch weht der Wind, Mein Irisch Kind-`"

"Snape, will you shut that loon up and listen to me? Get out of here while you can. He's not going to let me go, no matter how many Malfoy graves he swears on. I'm a dead man either way, and there's nothing you can do about it. Just get the hell out of here, do you hear me? Get out now, you stubborn shit-brained bastard !"

"Temper, temper, Black. I begin to see what you mean about that Irish. Govern your tongue, or I'll think you no better than the Paddy Muggle bitch who bore you."

"Fuck off, Malfoy," Sirius growled.

"Severus. Give me your wand. The sooner we can rid ourselves of the irritation of Black's presence, the better for our evening.Perhaps you will agree to join me in a glass, then?"

Wordlessly, Snape extracted his wand from his robe and handed it to Malfoy.

"Severus, no!" screamed Sirius, and caught his error the minute it was out of his mouth.

"Severus, is it?" Malfoy fingered the wand, smiling with amusement. "I am moved beyond expression. How touching to know that you two have at last made friends. I'm sure it can't be news to you, Black, that Severus," he drew the word out, emphasising it, "wants rather more than your friendship, however. Or. . . " he narrowed his eyes, watching Sirius's closed face. "Oh, you don't mean to say. . . Oh no, this is really too good," he murmured. "Surely it can't be that after all these years of fruitless longing on your part, Severus, you've got the wretched little Gryffindor in your bed at last?"

He threw back his head and laughed in genuine delight. "And to think, I thought I had plumbed the depths of all the irony possible here. It just goes to prove, irony is an inexhaustible, ever-renewing resource." He snapped Snape's wand in half with a loud crack and tossed it into the fire, where it flamed and sparkled as it burned.

Snape watched it burn, no expression apparent on his face. Sirius closed his eyes and turned away. Harry's eyes were wide with horror. It was like watching someone rip off a limb and toss it on the fire. He wondered what it felt like for Snape.

"Vincula saecula ." Malfoy aimed his wand at Snape, and cords lashed his wrists and ankles. "Now. I am a man of my word, and I have no real interest in Black anyway. Besides which, I wouldn't want posterity to be ignorant of what has been done here tonight. I would have Dumbledore know you went willingly, Severus. So. In a moment I shall release your bonds, Black, and apparate you directly to Hogsmeade. Unless there is someplace else you would prefer? Biarritz, Majorca? I was always partial to San Marino, myself, but I suspect your tastes run more to the lowborn than that."

Now, now, thought Harry. Before he apparates Sirius out of here, so I have some help if I need it, and after he unties him. He edged closer, until he was just behind Malfoy, who was standing poised between his two prisoners, his wand pointed at Sirius.

"Vincula relic -" Malfoy got out, and then Harry leaped, wand at the ready. Too soon, too soon, his brain screamed, but how could he have known Malfoy's reaction time would be so quick? Or that his foot would catch the hem of his cloak and send him sprawling into Malfoy like a drunken rugby player?

"Potter!" He heard Snape yelling. "What the hell are you-"

"Harry! Get out of-"

Somehow he was actually rolling around on the floor with Lucius Malfoy, choking on long white hair and flailing wildly. Malfoy had snatched his wand as he stumbled, and as they grappled for it Harry could hear voices, Sirius calling his name, Snape shrieking something at him. And then both their voices were drowned by a loud popping sound, and all of a sudden there were many more feet in the room than there had been a minute ago, and Malfoy was kneeing him in the groin, the bastard, and as he struggled to get his fingers on that pale throat something extremely heavy banged him on the head, and his last thought was damn, damn, damn.

Chapter Six

"Is he waking up?"

"I think so. Maybe."

"Good. Let me know the minute he rouses, so I can be the one to kick him in the head this time."

"That's very helpful, Snape. Shut up and hand me that glass of water. No, he's out again."

Harry held very still, fighting the moment when he would have to open his eyes, listening to the voices drift over top of him.

"What the bloody hell did he think he was doing?" he could hear Snape hissing.

"He thought he was coming to your rescue, you ungrateful sod."

"My rescue! My RESCUE!" Harry could practically hear the veins popping on Snape's forehead. "Of all the idiotic, half-brained schemes your godson has come up with, this is the Grand National. You were within an ace of being out of here, and I could have taken care of myself just fine, thank you very much, without the interference of this ridiculous, myopic Galahad with two left feet who managed to forget in six seconds everything I have spent the year teaching him about dueling! He-"

"Shut up, Snape. If you say one more insulting word about Harry, I swear to God I'll hit you."

"Yes, by all means, continue to insulate him from the consequences of his-" Snape stopped, and Harry wondered what he was doing. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. "Forget I said anything. Just. . . forget it." Harry could hear the sound of Snape getting up and walking away, and then Sirius's voice was at his ear, gentle and low.

"Harry? Harry, can you hear me?"

He fluttered his eyelids and was hit with blinding pain. I knew there was a reason I wasn't opening my eyes, he thought. "Ow," he said weakly.

"You took a nasty blow to your head," Sirius was saying. He was stroking Harry's brow with his hand, smoothing his hair. "Do you want to try to sit up?"

"Um. Not really." He licked his lips. "How long've I been out?"

"Almost an hour."

"What-what happened?"

He tried to glance at Snape, but any motion of his eyes sent sharp stabs of pain through his head. Snape had to be on the other side of the room or something. "Where are we?"

"The answer to your second question is, a dungeon in Malfoy Manor. And not bad, as dungeons go. I'm something of an expert." Sirius smiled at him. "As for your first question, well, the short answer is, Pettigrew and about nine other Death Eaters showed up about three seconds after you jumped Malfoy. I don't know how they knew Snape would be here, but somehow it seems Malfoy's master plan wasn't so masterful. And you can imagine their delight at finding that Malfoy had somehow corralled Harry Potter in the same room with the two of us. Now if he can just convince Voldemort he really did intend to turn us all over, he might just be able to salvage his plan. Otherwise, I expect we might have some company down here."

Harry pushed himself up, carefully and slowly. The room slid to the left, then back to the right. "Oh. I think. . . I think I might have a concussion or something."

"I'll say you do. Take it easy there, Harry. Just lie down for now."

"No, I-" He looked around the room. It was quite large and airy, not too terribly dungeon-like. Stone walls, but no manacles with rotting skeletons in them or anything like that. He leaned back against the wall. He was sitting on a cot pushed against the wall, and the blanket felt quite nice. If only he could sleep.

"Harry." Sirius was shaking his shoulder roughly. "You have to try to stay awake. At least for a little bit, all right?"

"All right." I've got no right to complain, he thought. Sirius had probably been without sleep for three nights, at least. Time had gone a bit funny on him. Had it just been three days ago that he had been dueling with Snape? That was the night. . . that was the night. And then the night after, he had stayed up trying to write to Sirius, trying not to look at his bed. He couldn't remember why just now. And last night at Malfoy Manor. Or was that still this night?

"Wha- what time is it? I mean, is it still night?"

"Just going on dawn, probably. There's a window up at the top there."

Harry tried to squint up, but the effort was too painful. The dim candlelight in the room didn't help much. Glasses, he thought. Where are my glasses?

"Not to worry, Mr. Potter. I'm sure you can buy yourself a new pair of glasses as soon as we are out of this wretched place."

He looked over to where Snape sat on the opposite cot. "Oh?" he asked hopefully. "Is there a plan for that, then?'

"Of course there is, you silly boy," Snape sneered. "I left a letter for the headmaster, decipherable only to him. To anyone else it would look like prattle about my classes. In actuality, it informs him of my precise whereabouts, and what to do should I not return within six hours. Dumbledore will know what to do."

"A letter?" Harry said faintly. "You mean. . . the one on your worktable?"

Snape sat up straighter, and his eyes narrowed dangerously. "Yes. How do you know that?"

"Oh. Well. Um, I sort of. . . well. I read it."

"You did what?" Snape's voice shot up an octave.

Harry reached sheepishly into his back pocket, extracting a folded parchment. "You wouldn't mean this letter, would you?"

Snape's face went positively murderous, and his eyelid twitched. Thank God Sirius is here, Harry thought. At least he can't kill me, not in front of a witness. "I'm really sorry, Professor," he managed. "I thought it might help me. I don't know what I was thinking. I didn't mean to take it, I don't think."

"Congratulations, Mr. Potter." Snape spat. "You have condemned us all to death by your carelessness."

"Snape! That's enough."

Snape lay himself down on the cot, staring at the ceiling, motionless as a tomb effigy. "I always knew," he said softly, "that a student would be the death of me in the end."

"Oh, quit your moaning, you self-centered bastard." Sirius got up and began slowly pacing the room. "We just have to think of another plan now."

"I suppose it's no use asking what they're going to do with us," Harry said at last.

Snape gave him a look.

"Well, we've got some time, anyway," Sirius said. "They're waiting for Voldemort, obviously, or instructions from him."

"So it could be five minutes or two weeks," Harry said dully.

"I'm going to get some sleep. I intend to go to my demise looking my best. If either of you disturbs me, I will strangle you."

Snape rolled over, facing the wall, and wrapped himself in his cloak.

"I'm sorry, Sirius," Harry said after a while, because it seemed like a good place to start.

"Harry, no." Sirius shook his head firmly. "You don't have anything to apologise for. I doubt anything could have saved either of us anyway, so don't take what Snape said too hard. You were doing what you thought was the right thing."

Harry looked at him, incredulous. "Jesus," he said softly. "Don't you get it at all, Sirius, how badly I've fucked up? You really do think I'm still a kid, don't you? Still the tiny, red-faced bundle you held the day after I was born, still just as innocent and na�ve as the boy. . ." He trailed off when he saw Sirius's face staring intently at him.

"What did you just say?" he asked, an odd note in his voice.

"I said. . ." he quickly replayed the conversation in his head. Tiny red-faced bunlde. "I said. . ." oh shit oh shit oh shit.

"Harry. How did you know I had ever said that?"

"I. . . um. . ." He shut his eyes. Now would be a good time to pass out, if he could manage it. No. No flinching, Potter. He remembered something Snape had said in one of their lessons. You've spent your life running from the dark, Mr. Potter. It's high time you stopped. Perhaps then you can discover what to do with it. Right. He breathed out.

"I know what you said, Sirius, because I was in Snape's rooms that night. The whole night. I was watching the two of you, from under my Dad's cloak." He opened his mouth to continue, to offer explanations, mitigations, but-I-didn't-mean-tos, and shut it again. No. No excuses.

Sirius was silent. Harry dared a look at him, but his face was unreadable.

"Why did you do that, Harry?" he asked quietly.

"I. . . I wanted to see who it was Snape was with. When I saw you come down the hall, I didn't think, I just followed you in, thinking maybe you were going to kill Snape or something. And then, when you didn't kill him. . . I should have left, I know, I just. . ." His cheeks were burning with shame.

"I see."

"I'm sorry, Sirius. I'm so sorry. It's just. . . It was just. . . It was beautiful," he said in a small voice, turning his head away.

Sirius said nothing.

"Sirius."

"I'm here, Harry.