Dark Beginnings

‘11 December 1996

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

Following my session this afternoon with Harry, I feel I should bring you up to date with Harry’s progress or lack thereof.

One month ago, on 18 November, Harry revealed to me an aspect of his past that had distinct connotations with the incident involving Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. It transpired that Mr Weasley was so shocked at Harry’s relationship with Draco Malfoy that he insulted Draco and called Harry a particularly distasteful name. Whilst disclosing this information, Harry accidentally showed me a memory of his childhood and it seems that Mr Weasley unwittingly triggered some deep-seated anxiety.

Apparently, Harry was bullied through most of his childhood prior to starting at Hogwarts and I believe that this and his treatment at home contributed a great deal to the trauma and subsequent behaviour that we see in Harry now. I still don’t know what Harry went through whilst being held captive – but I can make a few educated guesses and none of them are good. So when you add his previous experiences to his more recent ones, I think we can get a fairly clear idea of what’s been going on in his head.

However, since the session in question, Harry has been withdrawn and reticent. When he talks to me at all, it is to discuss such things as the weather, Quidditch and how I came to become a Psychologist. It has seemed to me on more than one occasion, that Harry is psychoanalysing me!

Professor, Harry is intelligent and very sharp witted. Couple that with his immense magical power and you have quite a force to be reckoned with. If he doesn’t wish to talk about anything the slightest bit personal, nothing on this earth is going to make him. And so it is my with great regret that I suggest that you find another Psychologist or leave Harry to sort himself out.

I would value your opinion on this matter, as well as your thoughts on Harry himself. Have you or your staff noticed any change in him? Is it possible that he is being counselled, in any form, by someone else? It is difficult to believe that Harry could repress such dark memories, even with his power, and yet with that one exception, he has never revealed anything to me.

I have told Harry that I won’t be available for his next session, this Friday. After that, I will leave up to you. Please advise how you would wish for this to continue. If you would prefer to approach another Psychologist, I will of course understand and can, in fact, suggest one or two excellent professionals.

Yours sincerely,

Dr Jenna Litworth’

*~*~*

Albus Dumbledore finished reading the letter just as Professor McGonagall knocked once upon his door before opening it and stepping in. Looking up at her, he gave a small smile as he saw the way in which her stance altered between the hallway and his office: outside, she was stiffly formal, her back ramrod straight and her head held high; inside, she relaxed somewhat and even allowed her shoulders to droop a little. It was as if she felt that on the outside of this office, she had to put up a strictly professional façade (even when there was no one at this hour to see), but once they were alone, here in his office, she could let that façade slip a little.

“I thought I’d find you still awake,” she smiled and moved quietly towards the chair opposite his desk.

“Hmm…lots to think about.” Dumbledore replied and then returned her smile, “Cocoa?”

“Please. And you should delegate more – let me worry about the everyday things.” Professor McGonagall reproved mildly. She arranged her rich green robes just so and then looked at him over her square-rimmed glasses.

“Minerva, I do delegate,” Dumbledore responded, sliding a mug of steaming, frothy hot chocolate to her, “and you worry about enough things already – including myself, I might add.”

“Well,” she looked momentarily uncomfortable, “someone has to.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes as they sipped their drinks and then, with a little cough, Dumbledore lifted Dr Litworth’s letter again. He glanced once more at the doctor’s neat handwriting and then passed the letter to his Deputy Headmistress.

After reading it, Professor McGonagall looked up at him with a questioning look in her eyes. “What will you do?”

“About…?” Dumbledore asked, looking evasive.

“Albus, you know what about. Dr Litworth suggests it herself in this letter; Harry has been counselled by someone else within this school and we both know who.”

“Minerva -”

“Albus, don’t tell me to drop it. I suggested to you long ago that you talk to Severus about how he deals with Harry – and Draco, for that matter. Legal guardian, he might be, but only to Draco – and that won’t stop the school governors having a field day the minute they hear about two students living in a professor’s quarters.”

“Minerva, I did speak with Severus.” Dumbledore replied firmly, raising his voice a little to be heard over hers. “In the strongest possible terms, I strictly forbid him from counselling Harry.”

“Well, then -” Professor McGonagall began hotly and then stopped abruptly and stared at the Headmaster. She went a little pale and then said quietly, “You strictly forbid him? You put it exactly like that?”

The beginnings of a mischievous smile tweaked the old man’s mouth and his blue eyes sparkled.

“Albus, you knew that Severus would disobey you, didn’t you?”

Dumbledore chuckled and then assumed a saintly expression, “I knew that Harry, for whatever reason, trusted Severus but I also knew that if I asked, our acerbic Potions master would never agree to counsel the boy. So I used reverse psychology to ensure that Severus would be there for Harry…and for Draco.” He added after just a second.

“And what of their sharing his quarters?” Professor McGonagall demanded, “You knew that Draco was in Severus’ room for a week before anyone thought to mention it, didn’t you? I fail to understand how you could imagine that such a thing would be good.”

Dumbledore drew a deep breath and rested his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers in front of his face. “Draco wasn’t the only one not sleeping, you know.” He said softly. “Severus hadn’t slept an entire night through in fifteen years; then, of his own accord, he moved Draco in and both of them were suddenly sleeping like babies. And before you say it,” he interrupted as Professor McGonagall opened her mouth to object, “there is nothing wrong with allowing a student to live in quarters adjoining your own. As you yourself know, it was once common practice for the first year students to sleep in rooms with their Head of House right next door.”

“Well, yes, but that was in the day of Grindelwald, when young witches and wizards were at particular risk, owing to his penchant for innocent life-force.” Professor McGonagall stated, looking unhappy, “As I say, if the school governors -”

“If the school governors were to ask me, I would emphatically deny that anything untoward was going on. Which it isn’t. Harry and Draco share a set of rooms and Severus simply lives alongside where he can keep an eye on them.”

Professor McGonagall sniffed, clearly not convinced but there was nothing further she could say and Dumbledore knew it.

“And what of Dr Litworth?” she asked a few minutes later, “Is there any point in carrying on with the pretence, do you think?”

“Probably not.” Dumbledore replied thoughtfully. “When it became clear that Harry wasn’t going to confide in her, I had to make a decision: whether to give up and hope that he would sort himself out or keep Jenna on and use her to push Harry towards Severus.”

The Deputy Headmistress shook her head in disbelief, “Albus, you are an interfering, manipulative old man, you know that?”

He shrugged and smiled slightly, “Flattery will get you nowhere, Minerva.”

“So, you’re intending to leave them as they are then?” Professor McGonagall asked with a resigned sigh.

Dumbledore nodded and suddenly his expression turned grave, “It’s the safest place for Harry now: in his own room with Snape and Draco – both of whom would fight anyone posing a threat. Considering the information that reached me today…”

“Albus?” Professor McGonagall queried, looking with alarm at the sudden sadness in the Headmaster’s eyes.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow.” He said then, “In fact, could you call a meeting of the Order, Minerva? I think this is something everyone should know. It’s late notice, I know, but…”

“I’ll arrange it.” She promised and stood to leave. As she was about to step out into the hallway once more, Professor McGonagall paused and looked over her shoulder at the Headmaster, “Get some sleep, Albus. Soon.”

With a smile, he nodded and watched as she unconsciously straightened her shoulders and stepped out into the world with her rigidity once more firmly in place.

*~*~*

“Right,” Snape began, padding silently across the end of their training room, “considering the temperature in here today, I suggest that we work on some physical exercises as well as magical.”

“Physical like how?” Harry frowned.

It had been two months now, since their training in the Dark Arts had begun and finally – finally – Harry was becoming adept at not only utilizing his abilities but also controlling them to a certain extent. However, Snape considered, the young man still struggled to hold on to his power in moments of stress and Dumbledore still hadn’t provided a solution to the problem, despite his knowledge and subsequent research into the matter. So, as December had arrived, bringing sleet, snow and arctic temperatures, Snape had continued with his training and had helped Harry as much as he could.

Draco, however, had no such problems. In this room, where he could communicate easily with either Snape or Harry, he had developed his skills and could now use so-called Dark Arts in replacement of other, more commonplace spells that required spoken words.

“Physical,” Snape began with the beginnings of a smile, “as in unarmed combat. As in no magic.” He clarified as Harry opened his mouth to point out that he could use wandless magic.

“What’s the point?” Harry asked, looking perplexed, “If I can use wandless magic, why would I worry about being unarmed?”

Snape sighed and muttered a word under his breath. “Because, Harry,” he said then, “there are situations where you cannot use magic – either because it isn’t safe to do so or because your opponent has placed a heavy dampening field around you – as I have just done.”

There was a muffled sort of murmur and looking at Draco, Harry realised that the dampening field had rendered the blond youth incapable of telepathic communication. Draco tried again to ‘speak’ to them but again his words were unintelligible and he stopped, looking cross and frustrated.

“That’s unfair!” Harry protested heatedly, “Let him talk; remove the dampener!”

“Draco will manage just fine in silence for a while,” Snape shook his head. “You don’t need to talk to fight.” He fished in a pocket and pulled out a pad and quill. “Take these in case you have any questions.” He said and handed them to Draco.

“Look, this is stupid!” Harry snapped, stepping towards Snape, “We’re here to learn Dark Arts, not bloody karate -”

“Mr Potter, you are here to learn whatever I choose to teach you.” Snape retorted crisply, his eyes black and fiery. He was taking a chance here; hoping that his supposition was right and that Harry had taken more than just magical knowledge from Voldemort. Considering the information that had been passed to him on Thursday evening, during the Order meeting, he desperately wanted Harry to be prepared for anything.

Harry froze for a second and then glowered in sullen silence, even as Draco stepped casually towards him, offering silent support.

“Right then,” Snape sniffed disdainfully, “as I was saying, we’ll work on physical exercises and see how you do.” When Harry said nothing, he took it as acquiescence and unbuttoned his robes to reveal a white collared shirt and black formal trousers. This, he noted, brought a startled glance from Harry who had never seen his Potions master in anything but his customary work robes.

“The idea of this first exercise is to disarm me.” Snape explained, drawing his wand.

“You said we wouldn’t be armed today.” Harry’s tone was accusing.

“I said you wouldn’t be armed. I said nothing about myself; the dampening field is tuned to your magical signatures – not mine. Please bear this in mind. So, on to it! Harry, I’m commanding you to do whatever you will to disarm me.”

“Within reason?” Harry asked with a wicked smile, his eyes coldly calculating.

For one very brief moment, Snape questioned whether this had been such a good idea. Harry was without magic and so couldn’t use Soto Mordis or anything equally nasty but there were still several different ways that he could hurt Snape. He trusted Harry, though; trusted in the fact that, underneath it all, he was good…he simply wished that the young man hadn’t just grinned at him…

“Within reason.” He affirmed, giving Harry a curt nod and hoping that he was as trustworthy as he thought.

Raising his wand then, he cast a simple Stunning spell and, no doubt guessing his intent, Harry moved to stop him before he’d even uttered the first syllable. Unfortunately, despite all that Snape had said, Harry’s first instinct was to use magic. Wandless, he put up his right hand as if to halt the spell mid-air and cried out, “Stae erat!”

The Stunning spell hit him squarely in the chest and he toppled backwards to hit the floor with a resounding thud.

“Again!” Snape commanded, reversing the spell and waiting for Harry to get to his feet, “Without magic this time! Stupefy!”

This time, Harry ducked, dodging to the right and the spell struck the floor with a crackle of earthed magic.

“Good! Again! Stupefy!”

Again, Harry ducked – and again – and again. Eventually, Snape was firing the same spell with rapid succession and Harry was practically charging about the room.

With an irritated sigh, Snape ceased firing spells and regarded his student with quiet annoyance. “The object of this exercise, Harry, is not for you to run yourself ragged. It is for you to disarm me.”

“Can’t.” Harry panted, shaking his head and leaning against the wall. He glared at Draco who was sitting in a corner and laughing silently.

“You can.” Snape contradicted, still hoping that he hadn’t underestimated him. He levelled his wand once more – but before he could utter another spell, he suddenly found himself being pushed hard against the wall behind him. At the same time, the wand was ripped from his fingers and Harry was looking both surprised and happy.

“I did it!” he cried in amazement.

“Quite.” Snape rubbed the back of his head with a rueful expression, “Can you tell me what it was you did? And don’t,” he cautioned, raising a hand, “tell me you just disarmed me – I know that. Just tell me how you did it.”

“Er…” Harry’s stunned and happy expression slid off his face. “I don’t know. I kind of felt what you were about to do and I was just too knackered to run anymore.”

“Yes?”

“So I just took the wand.” He shrugged and then looked over to where Draco was holding up his pad and no longer laughing.

‘You moved too fast for me to see you!’

Harry blinked at him. “What? That can’t be right; no one can move that fast!”

‘You did.’ Draco wrote and looked to Snape who nodded, his expression somewhat wary.

“How’s that possible?” Harry demanded, looking at Snape too.

“Are we here to talk about what’s possible and what’s not?” the Potions master snapped, pushing himself to his feet once more. “Or are we here to practice unarmed combat?”

“Well,” Harry tapped Snape’s wand against his other hand, “I think you should be unarmed too.”

“Potter -”

“Uh-uh! Harry.” Harry smirked at him, mimicking the man’s own expression just to annoy him.

“Harry,” Snape corrected, “give me my wand and stop this nonsense.”

‘It isn’t nonsense.’ Draco responded, writing on his pad before getting to his feet and coming to stand by Harry’s side. ‘You were expecting Harry to react the way he did; this whole exercise wasn’t to teach but to provoke him.’

Harry might have expected Snape to deny this; he might have expected him to snarl at them and demand that they get back to work. He certainly wasn’t expecting the incensed Potions master to blush!

“Severus, what’s this all about?” he asked very quietly.

Snape sighed and averted his gaze, the pale pink tinge still visible on his sallow cheeks. Eventually, with great reluctance, he straightened his shoulders and looked at the two young men before him.

“I was…hoping…that you would respond the way you did.” He said, watching Harry with something bordering on caution. “I was hoping, if you like, that you would have acquired some of the Dark Lord’s other skills and not just his abilities in Dark Arts.”

“And why would you hope that?” Harry asked slowly, narrowing his eyes.

For a long moment, Snape said nothing and then, looking from Harry to Draco and then back, he said, “There was a meeting of the Order on Thursday,”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. He and Draco had been none too pleased at being excluded.

“Well, the Headmaster had some grave news for us.” Snape explained heavily, “It seems that the Dark Lord is planning to take you captive once again. Some of his Death Eaters – those of the inner circle – have been enquiring about limitless dampening fields.”

Harry frowned, confused, “You mean, the sort that you use in here? So…what? He’d make everywhere resistant to magic?”

“No,” Snape shook his head, “just a small area. But where I use the walls of this room to limit the dampener, the Dark Lord would have no limit other than his own will.”

Harry blinked twice, slowly and stared calmly at Snape. Draco, meanwhile, had brought one hand up to rest on Harry’s shoulder; his thumb caressed the other man’s neck in an almost absent caress.

“Well,” Harry said, seeming to reach a conclusion, “this is all academic because Voldemort isn’t going to take me again. I’m powerful enough to stop him.”

“You think?” Snape raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

“I know.” Harry retorted firmly. “I can stop a man in his tracks; I can stop a man’s heart mid-beat; hell, I can even hear a man’s thoughts from right across the castle! Want to know what Dumbledore’s doing right now?” As he’d spoken, so his voice had grown tighter and more desperate. By the time he finished, he was shaking and looking distinctly wild-eyed.

Feeling guilty for causing this reaction, Snape moved to reassure Harry in some way. Harry, however, took an involuntary step backwards and shook his head.

“Harry,” Snape sighed, “we know you’re powerful; that you can do all those things. But there are limitations – even to your sort of power. How else could we have a meeting of the Order and keep our thoughts secret from you? We used a dampening field, much like I’ve used today.” He gave the young man before him a long look and then said, “We – I – am going to do everything I can to ensure that nothing happens to you. And if that means endless lessons in Dark Arts and physical combat then so be it. But you’ve proved already that you have an innate ability to move with speed and agility; all we have to do is build on that. Trust me,” he said then and Harry lifted surprised eyes to his face, “I’ll do everything I can to protect you. But -”

“I know.” Harry interjected, nodding, “I need to work at it – to be prepared and be careful. It’s all right. I’m ready this time.”

“I won’t let him take you.” Snape vowed, his dark eyes intense upon Harry’s face. Silently, Draco tightened his arm around Harry’s shoulders and wordlessly added his own promise.

*~*~*

“Excellent, Harry!” Snape praised, hours later.

Under normal conditions, such words would never be heard coming from the Potion master’s lips. Today, however, Harry had worked harder and longer than ever before and the sudden development in his skills had motivated Snape into being more lavish with his praise.

The three of them had worked ceaselessly all day, with just a very short break for food and only now was Harry managing to repeatedly avoid being cursed. After his initial success, he had grown cocky and had taken it very hard when Snape had managed to hit him with a Tarantallegra hex. He had wobbled his way around the room, scowling at Snape’s scornful jibes and Draco’s silent giggles.

After that, he had been forced to concentrate his will and, gradually, had succeeded in not only avoiding Snape’s spells, but had also disarmed the man. This last, with the Potions master pressed hard against the wall, his wand held triumphantly in Harry’s fist, had drawn the exuberant praise.

And to test Harry further, Draco then ran at him, hands outstretched to wrestle the wand from his fingers.

“Alaenia evo stratum – sterat ia vor orstra!” Harry yelled, turning only just in time and jumping backwards out of Draco’s reach. The air about them shimmered for a second and then suddenly Draco was flying through the air to hit the far wall with a smack.

‘OW! Damn it, Potter!’

“Draco, hell, I’m sorry!” Harry immediately rushed to his lover’s side, concern written all over his face as he tentatively reached to touch the young man’s bruised head and back.

“Harry?” Snape’s voice cut in and drew their attention. He sat on the floor, looking stunned and more than a little wild-eyed. “What did you do?”

“Oh hell!” Harry swore again and moved back towards his professor, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to react with quite so much force.”

‘Yeah, right.’ Draco muttered within his head.

“No,” Snape shook his head, “you don’t understand. What did you do?” He asked again, speaking slowly and clearly.

Harry frowned and tilted his head to one side, “I…don’t know. Draco caught me by surprise and I guess…” His eyes widened in alarm behind his glasses.

“Quite,” Snape retorted dryly. “You broke the dampening field and responded with magic.”

Harry stared at him. Draco, still rubbing his head, grumbled softly that this should be enough for one day, surely.

“Agreed.” Snape sighed, “I’m going to have to look into making a stronger dampener. Right now, however, I need a long bath, a large whisky and a little peace and quiet.”

“Sounds good.” Harry noted, following the man out of the training room, with Draco at his side.

“Hm…no whisky for you, though.” Snape retorted with a wry smirk.

‘Spoilsport.’ Draco muttered.

Harry smiled and leaned against the wall as Snape opened the door to his office and led the way through.

“Right,” the Potions master began, already peeling off his robe and undoing his shirt buttons, “I’ll be in the bath for the foreseeable future. If anyone calls for me -”

“We’ll tell ‘em to bugger off.” Harry finished with a nod.

Snape smiled a true smile and backed into his rooms. As soon as his door was closed, Harry turned and embraced Draco, running his hands up the other man’s back and pushing his fingers into his hair.

‘You want a bath too?’ He asked seductively.

Draco nodded but winced as Harry’s fingers touched the sore patch on his skull. ‘Yes, please – I need a long soak. And would it be asking too much for a back-scrub?’

‘For you? Anything!’ Harry grinned.

*~*~*

In fact, they ended up sharing the bath as Draco declared that it was easier for Harry to wash his back from inside the bath than from outside. Over time, Harry had gradually become more at ease with his lover and no longer felt uncomfortable being naked around him.

After a slow and thorough back-scrub, Draco opted, with much splashing, to switch places and finally reclined against the back of the bath, his hair damp on the ends where the water reached. Then, with slow and steady hands, he eased Harry down until he was lying against him, his back to Draco’s chest, and in a suitable position for Draco to massage his upper body with soft, soapy fingers.

Harry gave a soft groan of pleasure as the very warm water and his lover’s gentle hands moved over his skin. With a smile, he rested his head against Draco’s collarbone and looked up, accepting the kiss as it was delivered down onto his waiting mouth.

‘All right?’ Draco asked, caressing his chest with one hand and the side of his face with the other.

‘More than all right.’ Harry responded, bringing his hands up to lace his fingers behind Draco’s neck. As Draco’s hand quested lower, he arched his back with a soft hiss of desire and closed his eyes as Draco’s fist closed around him.

*~*~*

They lingered for a very long time in the bath and had to top up the warm water twice because neither of them thought to use a warming charm. Finally, when they were severely shrivelled and prune-like, the two men wrapped themselves in warm towels and padded silently into their bedroom.

“Are you tired?” Harry asked, having dressed in soft drawstring trousers and a sweatshirt. He held Draco in his arms and rested a series of soft kisses across his jaw.

‘A bit.’ Draco replied, ‘But I’m hungry.’ He’d chosen to wear just his black silk pyjama trousers, foregoing the shirt because he claimed to be too hot.

“Hm…we’ve missed dinner.” Harry noted, “Maybe Severus has something to eat?”

‘Like chocolate trifle?’

“Somehow I doubt that, but we could ask the house elves.” Harry smiled affectionately and led his lover by the hand into Snape’s living room.

The Potions master was in his favourite chair with his customary glass of whisky and a large book resting in his lap. He looked up and raised a questioning eyebrow as the two men emerged from their room.

“I was beginning to wonder if you’d fallen asleep in the bath,” he smirked, dark eyes glittering.

Harry flushed while Draco simply returned his guardian’s smirk and continued on into Snape’s little kitchenette.

“Do you mind?” Harry asked, gesturing as they passed, “Only we missed dinner, I think and…”

“Help yourselves.” Snape nodded and then called after Draco, “Yes, the chocolate trifle’s for you, as is the peach sorbet under the freezing charm. And, no, you can’t have both!”

The barely heard stamp of a bare foot on wooden flooring told both Snape and Harry that Draco had been just about to help himself to both desserts and was now having a very mild temper tantrum.

With a chuckle and a shake of his dark head, Snape pulled himself to his feet and followed Harry into the kitchenette. There, Draco was poised with a spoon; unable to decide which dessert to have.

“Maybe you should have dinner first?” Harry remarked and was answered by a shrug and then a rather contemplative look.

‘Yes…probably.’ Draco replied offhandedly. ‘There’s some cold chicken in some weird goop -’

“That would be Coronation Chicken,” Snape supplied, following Harry’s translation and own exploration of the fridge. “I would recommend it with salad in one of those pitta breads.”

Harry complied, making one each for himself and Draco and then, at a nod from Snape, one for the Potions master too.

“And what for dessert then?” Snape queried, folding his arms and regarding Draco with great amusement. Still, his ward was dithering between the trifle and the sorbet.

“Well,” Harry began, taking pity on Draco, “I could have the sorbet and Draco the trifle. Then, if I shared half of my sorbet with Draco -”

“You’d only have half a dessert!” Snape countered, “Draco would never give up even a tiny amount of chocolate trifle – or sorbet, for that matter.”

Draco, however, was looking thoughtful once more and eyed Harry with a calculating gaze.

‘If you shared yours, I’d share mine.’ He offered. ‘We could put the dishes between us and have a spoon each?’

It was agreed and very soon, the two young men were sitting on Snape’s hearthrug with a small feast spread out before them. Snape looked down his hooked nose at what Draco insisted on calling a Carpet-Picnic and ate his chicken filled pitta with as much decorum as possible.

It was clearly evident that Draco wasn’t really interested in his sandwich but only ate it because he knew, even at sixteen, that he’d never get away with only eating dessert for dinner. In no time at all, he sat up with his spoon poised over the two desserts. Which to have first?

Harry sniggered and shook his head before solving the problem and feeding a spoonful of peach sorbet to his lover. It was sweet and cooling after the spicy chicken and Draco would have groaned aloud if only he could.

Instead, he reciprocated by feeding Harry a mouthful of the sorbet too and then they started on the trifle.

For Snape, sitting once more in his chair and trying to read his book, it was extremely distracting to have semi-clad (in Draco’s case – did that boy never wear proper clothes?) teenage young men feeding each other with very messy puddings. The sorbet was melting and it slipped off the spoon that Draco held over Harry’s mouth. It landed on his out-stretched tongue and disappeared with a flash of those bright green eyes.

Snape shook his head and stared hard at his book. After a moment, he realised that he’d read the same line four times. Risking another glance, he saw Draco sucking chocolate sauce from two of Harry’s fingers and decided that enough was enough.

“I’m going to bed.” He announced and got up, careful to hold his book just so.

Draco paused and lifted glinting, mischievous eyes to his, even as he held Harry’s fingers between his lips. Snape drew a shuddering breath and made a hasty retreat to his bedroom.

‘You,’ Harry reproved, ‘are very bad!’

Draco sniggered and offered his own chocolate-coated fingers for Harry.

*~*~*

It was very late; the room was cool as it always was in the dungeons, but Harry was warm beneath the blankets with Draco curled at his side. Lately, they had started each night in separate beds and then, at some point sooner or later, one would make his way to the other. This night, Harry had come to Draco. Almost without waking, he had padded barefoot across the room and slid in beside the other man and Draco had simply rolled towards him in his sleep.

Now, however, Harry’s sleep was disturbed. Nightmares stalked the darkened room and prowled in shadows…

“Take care, Harry. Keep in touch.” Remus told him quietly, his eyes intent upon Harry’s face. He stood side-by-side with Tonks, Mr Weasley and Mad-Eye Moody on King’s Cross Station.

Harry nodded and offered a smile, hoping that his friends would understand just what this meant to him. Then, when Uncle Vernon made to walk away, Harry moved; stepping out into the sunlight and heading towards his uncle’s car.

“In.” Uncle Vernon growled, sounding angry and impatient to be away from weird folk that accosted him on train platforms.

Harry complied, already wondering at the implications of his friends’ threats to sort out his relatives if he, Harry, should be unhappy. Well, he was unhappy now. He was being driven towards a home that had never been his own, was missing Sirius more than ever and –

A noise – so loud that it shook the car – echoed over and around them. Uncle Vernon swore sulphurously and yanked the steering wheel hard to the left whilst standing hard on the brakes.

A sharp pain exploded across Harry’s chest as the seatbelt cut in. Dudley, who had once again refused to put his on, was thrown forward; his weight striking Uncle Vernon’s seat with a cracking thud. There was only a second for Harry to realise that they had come to a very abrupt halt when rough hands seized him by the shoulders and hauled him bodily out of the car.

Harry rolled over in bed, away from Draco’s sleeping form. His forehead creased and his throat worked against the remembered hand that threatened to squeeze away his breath.

“Steady,” a voice commanded then, “Our master wants him alive.”

“And what of them?” asked the man holding Harry. The fist around his throat relaxed somewhat and Harry could suddenly turn his head to look at the car.

It appeared that Uncle Vernon had driven into something, though what Harry couldn’t see. The front section of the car was nothing but a mass of torn and twisted metal, however, and fluid of some sort was leaking –

“Kill them.” The first voice instructed coldly and Harry gasped, looking up at the man before him. Lucius Malfoy’s flat grey eyes regarded him with cruel amusement.

He thrashed then, desperately tearing at his captor’s hands; if he could only catch someone’s attention. Surely, in the middle of London, nowhere could remain deserted for long, not even a disused service road like this? (Uncle Vernon had always insisted that it was faster to use this route than to wait for the traffic lights.)

“Hey!”

The new voice, coming from a man some way down the street, drew the Death Eaters’ attention and caused a tiny spring of hope to erupt within Harry’s chest. The man took one look at Harry and began to run towards them.

“Quickly! Go!” Lucius commanded and in the next moment, Harry felt himself being Apparated away.

“No,” Harry murmured, pressing his face into his pillow. He started to wake, his eyes fluttering open slightly, but then sleep overcame him once more and he fell hard into the darkness behind his eyelids.

“At last, the elusive Harry Potter has graced us with his presence.” Voldemort announced, prowling around the inner circle of Death Eaters.

Harry knelt, bound and gagged, on the dirt floor and wished – wished – for his wand. Just to have it for two minutes, that’s all, he thought. In two minutes he could break free, he could –

“You want this?” Voldemort enquired, holding Harry’s wand between thumb and forefinger. With a sneer, he made as if to snap it and Harry closed his eyes, waiting for the sound, expecting it to resound within his own heart.

“My lord, if it please you,” Lucius’ voice cut in. Harry opened his eyes once more and looked to see the tall, blond man moving towards Voldemort with effortless grace. “Draco asks if he might have it?”

There was a long, drawn out silence and Harry lifted his head as high as possible to see where Draco hovered just behind his father. The younger man looked paler than usual, his eyes shifting from the wand in Voldemort’s grasp to his father’s face and back again. Not once, did he look over at Harry.

But that meant nothing of course. Then, Harry had loathed Draco with a passion and the feeling had been entirely mutual…hadn’t it?

As if bestowing a great favour on a treasured child, Voldemort handed the wand to Draco and smiled as he gave a short bow. So Harry was to remain unarmed.

But wait…

Struggling against these dream-memories, came the assertion that this was wrong; old news…
He didn’t need a wand. He had more power than Dumbledore now; he’d developed it himself whilst recovering from the fall, the attack…whatever. He’d lain there for four days and had pushed and stretched at the magic until it began to grow and develop. It loomed beside him; a massive behemoth named Caramon.

“But the power isn’t yours,” purred a voice from behind him. “It was merely on loan and I have every intention of taking it back, Mr Potter.”

“No,” Harry shook his head, suddenly able to talk, and fumbled for Caramon’s chain; he could do this, he could direct the power at Voldemort and finish him once and for all.

The high pitched snigger that he’d heard so much over the summer, rolled around him and served only to make his fingers slip on the chain.

“You can’t control it,” Voldemort sneered. “This power, this magic; it isn’t yours, it doesn’t belong to you.”

“It’s mine.”

Again the laugh and try though he might, Harry could never manage to turn and look at the Dark Lord face on.

“No, Harry, this power is mine. You might think it belongs to you but it doesn’t. Just as you might think that Draco and Severus are yours, I assure you that I have first claim on them. And you, my pet, you are simply mine to do with as I please. I gave you this power and I shall take it back…or perhaps I should simply have you work for me?”

Harry shook, his hands slipping on the chain. Well, he’d let Caramon go then – let him devour Voldemort where he stood…

But then…it was all going wrong! Caramon’s chain fell but the beast didn’t leap for Voldemort; instead, with a deafening roar, it turned and leapt for Harry…

*~*~*

Snape lay on his side, his head on his pillow and his eyes open and fathomless in the soft lamplight. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t stop thinking, wanting…

After fifteen years, after nameless, faceless lovers had come and gone, he wanted – more than anything – to feel Col’s hands on his body again. To hear the man’s infectious laugh that could draw a smile from anyone – even the grim and stern-faced Severus Snape, with his meticulously tidy potions case and quiet determination to do well in his studies.

He sneered at himself – the Snape of now and of then – and sighed. Whilst he’d had those nameless, faceless lovers, he’d not wanted anyone in a very long while and certainly hadn’t brooded on the loss of his beloved Col…

But suddenly his rooms were filled with two teenage boys who were driven by raging hormones and little else. Their flirtatious display in the sitting room with the desserts had proved to Snape that their relationship was turning distinctly physical. And that was a problem because…?

Snape rolled over in exasperation; would he never get to sleep? Surely he was above lusting after teenagers? After all, what kind of monster was he? A former Death Eater, yes, but not a lover of boys, of children. He shuddered at the thought and rolled out of bed; away from thoughts of Harry and Draco; away from thoughts of long-gone lovers; and away from sleep problems. Sleep was only a problem when you were trying to get it and couldn’t. If he got up and did some work, he wouldn’t even think about sleeping!

Pulling on a warm robe over his pyjama trousers, Snape stepped out into his sitting room and lit the lamps with a murmured, “Lumos.”

Fistandantilus shifted about on his perch and gazed at him with luminous yellow eyes.

“Shouldn’t you be hunting or something? You know, mice, voles…?” Snape enquired sourly and moved towards the door to his workroom.

If he hadn’t been in this room; if he hadn’t been passing their door; Snape would never have heard the sound of breaking glass. And then, considering that Draco was out cold and unable to call out anyway, the situation would have been far, far worse.

On hearing the sound, he paused and walked instead towards the boys’ door. He knocked once, softly, and then turned the handle.

“Lumos.” He murmured again, lighting his way across their personal sitting room. As he reached out a hand towards the bedroom door handle, a wave of magical energy washed over him; causing the hair on the back of his neck to rise.

“Harry? Draco?” he called, louder than he intended; alarm urging him forward with all due haste.

Again, he cast the light spell and then rocked on his heels, unprepared for the scene before him.

Harry, naked, aroused and bathed in sweat, was sat astride Draco’s unconscious form on the bed. He gave no indication that he’d heard the Potion master’s entrance and continued to work with the broken glass in his right hand; drawing it down his own torso with the care and attention of a master craftsman.

The rest of the glass – what had formerly been a jug of water – lay on the floor and glittered like diamonds – like the pair of bright green eyes that were now regarding him with cool detachment.

“Harry,” Snape said softly, moving cautiously forward; desperately aware of the broken shards near his bare feet. The boy’s chest was sliced and bleeding; it seemed he’d been busy with that glass for a while. Draco, as yet, was unmarked however.

“Ssseveruss,” Harry whispered, his mouth curving into a haunting smile that seemed strangely familiar.

“Harry, what’s going on?”

But the man was no longer listening to him. The piece of glass that was cutting into his palm and dripping crimson all over the sheets was now agonisingly close to Draco’s stomach.

With no other alternative, Snape began to cast, “Y vien toros, crai gen achillearous!”

The spell, fuelled by Dark magic, left his fingertips and lanced towards Harry in a golden arc. He simply smiled however and swatted it aside as if it was nothing.

“On ouros, zy tarenn. Mi aaska.” He retorted and Snape would have recoiled at the viciousness of a disembowelling curse, if he hadn’t been forced to counter it with a hasty, “Stae erat!” just in time.

“Potter, I don’t know what this is all about!” Snape began then, angrily stepping forward; suddenly caring nothing for the broken glass, “Maybe this psychosis is some bizarre delayed reaction -”

“Help me!”

That voice was more like Harry’s, he realised with a shock; which meant that…

His thoughts were interrupted as the young man brought one hand up and levelled it at Snape. The words, “Soto Mordis,” were only half formed before Snape responded with a Stunning spell that knocked Harry backwards, off Draco’s prone body and onto the broken glass that littered the floor.