The Producers

Harry fell out of the fireplace and stumbled as far as the sofa before his legs gave out beneath him. Whatever had been in that devilishly delicious concoction had earned the right to be classed as a general anaesthetic.

He sprawled the length of the settee on his back, a leg dangling off the edge. Closing his eyes, he immediately wished he hadn’t. The room began to spin at an alarming rate; it felt like a badly executed Apparition but without the splinching.

No, add the splinching back into the equation. Harry could tell he was definitely missing a few vital parts somewhere. He groaned loudly and forced his eyes open, determined to focus.

A wall mounted candelabra seemed to be the only sizeable thing in view. It became tantalizingly clear for a few seconds before Harry lost sight of it and it swam away, only to make a brief reappearance in triplicate.

He attempted to sit upright but gravity seemed to have a weightier pull than normal and he lurched first sideways and then diagonally, coming to rest in a mirror image position on the other side of the sofa.

Harry’s mind played a slide show of memories from the evening; fast and furious, leaving no time for him to ponder any particular one in any great detail.

Max had been a bloody let down. Fancy doing a runner when faced with the slightest bit of trouble! Even if the trouble in question was one cranky ex Potions Master. Harry snorted as disdainfully as he could. Bloody Snape interfering again. He would have stern words when he got home later.

He’s not coming home later. He’s fucking Malfoy. The helpful little voice trilled.

Harry nearly lost the contents of his stomach right there on the brand new suite as their parting exchange came back to him.

What a bloody rubbish day. First the Quidditch, and then the disastrous evening.

He repeatedly tried to sit up straight and eventually managed a lopsided slump. His legs didn’t appear to be connected to the rest of his body, and he feebly slapped them to tempt some life back into them, but the room started to spin again and he clutched at the arm rest as if it were a rock in the middle of a stormy sea.

Harry became aware of a sharp pain in his leg. Wrestling with his jeans long enough to slip a hand in the pocket, he retrieved the offending wand. A lazy smile spread across his face as he lifted it and slurred a spell. The distant scraping sound of a drawer being opened signalled his success, and he grinned widely when the magazine floated through the air and dropped in his lap.

The Adonis threw him a sultry wink, and Harry winked back just before his eyelids drooped and he lost consciousness.


Snape hadn’t bothered to try and put Draco’s clothes back on; partly because they would only have to come off again as soon as he got the exasperating boy home, and partly because they were sticky with something he didn’t even want to think about, much less try to analyse.

The queue for the Floo was immense; obviously people were either going on somewhere else or calling it a night, and Snape couldn’t decide whether it was worth the wait or if he should just Apparate them back. His dilemma was that he didn’t rate Draco’s chances of getting through it unscathed. Equally, he wasn’t convinced the boy was capable of throwing Floo powder and saying ‘Malfoy Manor’. In the end he opted for Apparating and to hell with the consequences; Draco would have no one to blame but himself if he lost any vital appendages.

Once inside the sprawling mansion, and with Draco miraculously still intact, Snape had half dragged, half carried the dead weight through endless hallways and rooms, only hesitating briefly when he heard Narcissa calling out to her son.

He ignored her mad shouts until they became a distant hum, finally arriving at Draco’s room. The last thing he needed to be confronted with tonight was a female Malfoy, foaming-at-the-mouth. Particularly that one.

It had been unbearable when Lucius had calmly sat him down one day towards the end of his seventh year and explained that he was betrothed to marry Narcissa. He had said it as casually as he might let Snape know he was going for a ramble in the country.

Where Lucius had been the epitome of composure, Snape had been the antithesis. He had clutched at Lucius’ robes, begged him not to go through with it. He had cried and screamed and even when he was curled in a ball on the floor, spitting blood as Lucius’ boot connected over and over with his ribs; punishment, he had shouted thunderously, for being a pathetic fool; Snape had still pleaded with him to stay.

He hadn’t been invited to the wedding; wouldn’t have been able to bring himself to attend regardless, but still their paths continued to cross at the cloak hem of the Dark Lord and each instance left him as exhausted and broken as the night Lucius had left for good, favouring the arranged pure blood union over his hopelessly devoted, faithful young lover.

Snape never knew whether Narcissa had been aware of her husband’s pre marriage inclinations, nor did he ask. He highly doubted Lucius himself had told her but she had been a sharp minded woman once, and the tense, highly charged occasions between them couldn’t have failed to rouse her suspicions. She certainly seemed to loathe Snape with a passion.

She had been dealt her karma in the end, though. Her beloved husband was detained indefinitely in Azkaban and her son was a brazen, pole dancing replica of his father. She herself was believed to be suffering a dark curse that wreaked a madness so violent and disturbing, she was imprisoned in her own house.

Snape sighed loudly at the incredulity of it all, and heaved Draco onto the bed.

“You are safely home, Mr Malfoy. No need to thank me, it is all part of the service as a Hogwarts member of staff.” Snape rolled his eyes for his own benefit and added, “Even if the recipient is no longer a student.”

Draco, semi-unconscious, responded by rolling over and farting.

“What a charming individual you are.” Snape stepped back in disgust and covered his nose.

“Fuck me, ” Draco moaned from the depths of his self induced coma.

“I would rather not, if it’s all the same to you.” Snape said, eliciting an indignant whine from the boy.

Somewhere in the house the screaming had resumed and gathered pace. Snape regarded Draco with a small measure of pity and Disapparated back to Hogwarts.

The walk from outside the grounds to the dungeons began pleasantly, despite the wintry darkness. The stinging wind chased away his lethargy and he felt his mind sharpening again as some of the alcohol was driven from his system.

Unbidden images fell in shadows across his mind like photographs caught in a hurricane. He quickened his pace to drive them out but they scattered and regrouped, each more vivid and terrifying than the last. They increased in intensity until panic gripped him and he lost his footing on the path. As his body hit the ground, he heard a faint crack. He thought how ironic it was that even now, after so many years, Lucius could still bring him to his knees and break not just bone but spirit too.

The comprehension was intolerable.

He fought furiously then; fought the taunting images and battled the demon of Lucius himself. Hatred enveloped him, coiling and twisting, spilling into his gut, a release he was powerless to stop as it thrashed his body, splitting open every damaged nerve ending, exquisite pain and pleasure as each memory ripped him apart and his fury repeatedly expelled it, his brain rationalising as best it could against the onslaught until finally, finally there was mercifully nothing but silence.

Hours, minutes, maybe only seconds had passed; he couldn’t be sure. His head felt light and there was pain in one of his legs; he wasn’t even certain which one; but all he could think about was how different he felt. Drained, beautifully drained, cleansed and purified, as though someone had reached into his soul and ripped the blackness from it, siphoned the contaminated blood from his veins.

Prolonged contact with the icy path had numbed one side of his face. Snape gritted his teeth against the multitude of injuries and pushed himself up to a sitting position. The castle lights flickered in the distance, calling to him, calling him home. He thought of Harry then, the words associating naturally with each other. Harry was home. Harry is home. The realisation buoyed him and forced him to his feet. Pure determination kept him walking through the devastating pain; a far different pain to that which he had been harbouring his entire life.


“Harry.”

Snape was perched on the edge of the sofa. Really, he had no choice since the slumbering brat had managed to cover every inch of fabric with one body part or another. Snape noticed the Swish and Flick tucked under Harry’s arm and frowned.

“Harry.”

“Hmm?”

“Wake up.”

“Nuh. Tired.”

“Wake up Potter.”

“Leave-me-lone...Oww!!”

Harry sat bolt upright and rubbed his arm, looking around wildly as he tried to focus on his assailant.

“Wassat for!? Fucking hell!”

“I apologise for pinching you but truth be told, you gave me no choice.”

“Err, yeah, you had the choice not to pinch me!” he argued, continuing to rub his arm dramatically despite the fact that it didn’t really hurt anymore.

Scowling, Harry pushed his glasses up his nose and Snape came back into sharp view.

“Oh my god! What happened to your face?”

Instinctively, Harry reached out to cradle the bruised features in his hands. Snape smiled weakly at the small warmth it supplied to his chilled skin and battled the urge to pull away from the contact.

“Did Draco do this to you?” Harry’s temper exploded with terrifying speed. Snape winced when his fingers tightened reflexively around his tender jawbone.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Potter, Malfoy was in no state to be capable of intentional violence.” An ironic little voice in his head reminded him that his state had indeed been inflicted by a Malfoy, just not the one Potter was referring to.

Harry withdrew his hands and slumped backwards, his body language becoming defensive.

“Oh right, I get it. Rough sex injury?” he said, shaking his head in disgust.

“No of course not.” Snape replied tersely, immediately missing the loss of skin contact between them.

“Well I just assumed... I mean you said you were...” Harry shifted uncomfortably, confused. It was then that he noticed the state of Snape’s robes, his eyes stopping on the fabric that had ripped across the knees, dark blood crusting the visible skin. Harry opened his mouth to cry out in alarm but Snape cut him off.

“I fell. On the path. I took Draco home and Apparated back. It was dark and I lost my footing. My injuries are superficial, nothing to concern yourself with.” He knew that wasn’t entirely true; was in fact convinced a bone in his knee had broken but it seemed minor in comparison to what he needed to say to Harry.

“You should get it seen to, looks nasty.” Harry spoke quietly, still waiting for the explanation he didn’t want to hear of what had happened between ‘taking Draco home’ and ‘Apparating back’.

“It is not of consequence. But what I am about to tell you is.” Snape happened to glance at the clock as he carefully constructed his next sentence and was shocked to see it was 5am. Just how long had he been lying out in the dark, battling his demons? Harry followed his line of sight and drew a sharp intake of breath.

“It’s five in the morning! You come home in the early hours looking like you’ve been under Cruciatus and wake me up to what? Gloat! I don’t want to know what you’ve been doing. Tell someone who gives a shit.” Harry spat, scrabbling to get to his feet, the magazine sent cart wheeling to the floor.

Snape’s arms shot out and pushed him roughly back against the sofa. Harry fought the restrictive stronghold, cursing and yelling.

“Get off me you bastard!”

“Not until you promise to sit there and listen to what I have to say,” Harry couldn’t believe how calm Snape was. It only served to infuriate him further.

“You must have hit your head when you fell! Why the hell would I want to listen to anything you have to say? You ruined my evening! And now you want to give me the sordid details of how you fucked Draco!”

Harry very nearly succeeded in twisting out of the vice like grip and Snape had to shift his weight forward to thwart him, throwing his leg over Harry’s to pin his body in place.

“Stop struggling you insufferable brat! I did no such thing with Malfoy. I had no intention of fucking him.” A body bind couldn’t have stopped Harry moving much quicker than he did.

Very cautiously, Snape extricated himself from the stilled tangle of limbs and sat back, eyeing him with profound distaste; the boy was deceptively strong.

“Then, why did you say it?” Harry panted, trying to catch his breath.

Snape hadn’t meant for that to slip out. Evidently the pains in his face and leg were making rational thought difficult. “I do not recall precisely what compelled me to say such a thing.”

“You were jealous!” Harry snorted, wanting to strangle as well as crush him in an embrace. “You couldn’t bear the fact that someone else liked me! You don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to have me either!” Harry restrained himself from either asphyxiating or hugging the older man.

“As usual, Potter, you are only half correct in your assumptions.”

“No I’m not! I know you didn’t like seeing me and Max together.”

“It is Max and I.” Snape corrected. “And that was not the inaccurate part of the statement I was referring to.”

Harry’s eyebrows creased in bewilderment. His sleep addled brain tried to decode the information.

“For Gods sakes, Snape, it’s five in the morning. What are you going on about? Can’t you ever just talk in plain English?” Harry glared at him, though he knew it was only a half hearted attempt.

“Very well. Being forced to observe you at the bar, with so many people paying attention to you and attention that I can assure you had nothing to do with being The Boy Who Lived, was not an enjoyable experience, I’ll agree.”

“Okay, but you still don’t want me.” Harry scratched his head.

“No.”

“No?”

“No, that is not true.”

“So you do want me?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?” Harry’s heart leapt in unashamed optimism.

“Yes, I want you.” Snape closed his eyes briefly as the words left his mouth.

“Like...” Harry felt his hands tremble, probably due to the alcohol, he reasoned to himself.

“Like, a partner?” The tone was woefully hopeful , “Or, just as one of your catamites?” Gods, where had he learnt that word? Harry dismissed the thought and pressed on.

“Because you were right, you know, I don’t think I can be your friend and...”

“As a partner.” Snape interrupted, searching Harry’s face and immediately convincing himself he had said the wrong thing.

“But before... you said...”

“I know what I said.”

“But then...”

“For Merlin’s sake! I am trying my best here!”

“But why have you changed your mind? I don’t understand.”

Snape rubbed the bridge of his nose harshly, trying to find words enough to express himself but everything he came up with sounded pathetic in his head.

“Wait there.” Snape got off the sofa and Harry watched in puzzlement as he went in the direction of Harry’s own bedroom. He noticed how painful the steps seemed to be, how Snape was dragging his damaged leg behind him; it hardly seemed to be a minor injury.

Thumping, cursing and a high pitched wail ensued, and Harry was about to investigate when music started to fill the bedroom, filtering through to the lounge.

It stopped as suddenly as it had begun, instigating another hissed curse, before starting again from the beginning only louder this time.

Snape appeared in the doorway and made the gruelling journey across the sitting room, heaving himself with considerable effort into the sofa just as the instrumental finished and the words began.

Just have a little patience,
Still hiding from a love I lost
I’m feeling your frustration
But any minute all the pain will stop

He watched Harry closely, not even sure that this would be enough to explain what he wanted to say, but the boy was a sucker for sappy music and Snape knew that if there was anything in this world close enough to what he was feeling without him having to explain...

Just hold me close, inside your arms tonight
Don’t be too hard on my emotions

Cos I, need time
My heart is numb, has no feeling
So while I’m still healing,
Just try
And have a little patience.

Harry knew it word for word, but this time he listened with renewed interest, applying each line to the man sitting across from him. He kept his eyes firmly on the floor, not wanting to look at Snape just yet.

I really want to start over again
I know you want to be my salvation
The one that I can always depend
I try to be strong, believe me, I’m trying to move on
It’s complicated but understand me

Snape desperately hoped Harry would understand him. He wasn’t ready to share the depth and gravity of emotion he had carried for so long, but he knew something had changed him tonight and he was no longer going to deny himself the faintest possibility of being happy.

Cos I, need time
My heart is numb, has no feeling
So while I’m still healing
Just try and have a little patience, yeah
Have a little patience, yeah

He wondered when he had turned into a Muggle lover. Perhaps it was the endless hours the boy listened to these music discs that had done it. Who would have thought a grumpy, greasy Potions Master would resort to using sickeningly romantic Muggle songs as a way of conveying his innermost heartfelt emotions?

Still, he couldn’t deny that Harry responded well to this type of rubbish and since he couldn’t find the words he needed right now...well, Take This or whatever they were called would have to suffice. He would never admit to actually liking the song.

Cos the scars run so deep
It’s been hard but I have to believe
Have a little patience
Have a little patience

The last verse repeated itself and the volume gradually died.

Finally, Harry turned and looked at him, and Snape wondered if there had ever been a more nerve wracking moment in his life. If there had been, he couldn’t remember it now.

“Did you..”
“I didn’t..”

Both mouths snapped shut as the words jumbled together. Harry waited a moment before trying again.

“I didn’t know. I mean, why didn’t you tell me before? I would have understood, I could have helped you or something. Who was it? You don’t have to tell me, unless you want to...” Harry moved closer and took Snape’s hand in his own.

“I do not wish to discuss it. Not yet. Suffice to say I have spent many years choosing to forego relationships since my single experience of one was less about love and more about dominance and pain and not in the pleasurable sense. There will likely be numerous occasions I am not emotionally equipped to deal with, but if you are with me, truly with me, then I will do my best to overcome them. Should you still wish to commit yourself to me, of course.” Snape clasped the smaller hand tightly and brought it to his lips.

“God, of course I do! Can’t you see how I feel about you? Haven’t I made it obvious enough?” Harry scooted closer and snaked an arm round the black clothed waist.

“Words, Harry. To you, they carry so much weight, so much promise. To me, they are empty and meaningless. I have heard them all before.”

“Not from me you haven’t. When I say I want to be with you, and only you, I mean it. Is it so hard to accept that?”

Snape smiled sadly in answer. For so long now, yes, it had been. He let go of Harry’s hand and for a terrible moment, Harry thought he was trying to get away, but he merely shifted against the sofa before pulling him closer in embrace.

“Is this okay? I mean, yesterday you kind of freaked out on me after we’d been...” Harry didn’t want to say ‘fucking’ or ‘making love’ because neither were really accurate, but he couldn’t find a reasonable way of saying ‘when we were cuddling after we’d you know, done it.’

Snape sensed the dichotomy and kissed his forehead, still warm from sleep and bathed in unruly hair.

“Yes, this is more than okay. It is perfect in fact.” Harry couldn’t help beaming at that. He still didn’t know what might have happened to prompt such a change in circumstance or whether it was something he should be concerned about, but for now, right here this moment, he was wrapped up in strong, comforting arms and that was all that mattered.

Snape stroked Harry’s hair, cradling his head to his chest, determined to let go only when the boy demanded it and not because the ghost of Lucius did.

Harry sighed contentedly and tipped his face upwards, placing a gentle kiss against the prominent larynx.

“Come to bed with me, Harry.” Snape kissed his temple and Harry’s heart skipped a beat.

“You’re injured, shouldn’t you see Madam Pomfrey? Not that I don’t want to go to bed with you, of course I do, I’m just saying...” Harry forgot what he was trying to say as the knots in his stomach tightened.

“Relax. I intend to do nothing more strenuous tonight than hold you until we fall asleep, if you will allow it. With regards to my leg, I am just as capable of fixing it as Poppy is, and with a good deal less bed rest attached to it as a condition of treatment.”

“Bed rest sounds good to me.” Harry said, looking forward immensely to snuggling up with Snape as if they could continue where they had left off the day before.

“Shall we adjourn then?” Snape tried to shift his legs but Harry had him firmly pinned.

“How do I know you won’t change your mind before we get to the bedroom?” he challenged playfully.

“Because you are an insufferable brat and I am well aware that you would behave intolerably, were I to change my mind.” Snape pressed another kiss to the soft thatch of hair.

“Hmm.. okay then, come on.” Harry reluctantly got up, allowing Snape to regain some feeling in his legs.

“Go along, I will follow you in a moment. First I need to take care of my injuries.”

Harry nodded. He would have preferred to wait but felt perhaps a few minutes alone might help both of them make sense of the bizarre turn of events.

Crossing the threshold, he felt oddly out of place, as though Snape might come in any minute and ask him what the hell he was doing there. Shrugging off the silly notion he undressed quickly and slipped beneath the covers.

While he waited, Harry had time to properly take in his surroundings. A tall, beautifully carved wardrobe stood next to the door and he had the ridiculous urge to sneak a look inside it but the chill air kept him firmly in the grand four poster.

Another doorway was situated on the far side of the room adjacent to the bed, which Harry supposed must lead to a bathroom. It was flanked either side by matching chests of drawers. Apart from expensive looking furniture, it seemed there was nothing much else in the room. Harry rather liked the sparseness, it was a far cry from his own messy clothes strewn room.

“Making yourself comfortable I see, Potter.” Snape appeared in the doorway bearing no lingering signs of damage. Even the torn robes had been repaired.

“I can just as easily return to my own bed,” Harry retorted, hoping he wouldn’t have to because it was bloody cold outside of the covers.

He watched Snape move to the wardrobe and craned his neck to see better. A sweeping line of black robes were revealed and Harry tried unsuccessfully to stifle a laugh.

Without turning around, Snape said, “Don’t tell me, you’ve read somewhere that I have a wardrobe full of garish multi spectral clothing that I wear when I am not teaching. I am sorry to disappoint you.” He expertly unbuttoned his robe and hung it up.

“No, I like your black robes, they’re sexy. It’s just, I didn’t realise you had quite so many of them.” Harry snuggled further, pleased that his body had warmed the bed adequately.

“Yes, well in my experience, one can never have enough robes.” Snape finished hanging up his trousers and hesitated. Clad only in his underpants he debated finding his pyjamas.

“Come to bed.” Harry drew back the covers and gasped as an icy blast of air assailed him. “Gods, and hurry up, it’s freezing!”

Smirking at that, Snape finally turned around. His eyes settled on Harry, his unblemished skin almost translucent in the moonlight. The boy was naked in his bed and patting it invitingly.

Snape crossed the room in three long strides and immersed himself in the warmth, revelling in the luxurious feeling of being heated by a body beside him.

Harry immediately threw his arm across Snape’s chest and held him tightly, one warm leg languorously draped over the two cold ones, his body pressed firmly against the older man’s. Snape rested his chin atop the messy head and wrapped his arms around the lithe frame.

“Potter..”

“Hmm.”

“You do not appear to be wearing any pants.”

“Nuh.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm?”

“Hmm.”

“Snape..”

“Hmm?”

“You’re wearing pants.”

“Go to sleep, Potter.”

“Okay.”

***