The Producers

Snape was in high spirits. He had eaten his breakfast heartily and had even endured a rather tedious staff meeting with relatively good grace before descending to his classroom.

Chattering children, no doubt still full of the joys of their recent holiday, fell silent as he entered. He smiled inwardly at the reaction his appearance provoked and even allowed a whisper of it to grace his lips as he reached his desk and turned to face them.

The class of second year Gryffindors and Slytherins were petrified. Their Potions Master had almost...smiled... it was too disturbing and one small girl began to cry.

Snape’s goodwill instantly vanished and he sneered down at the unravelling child in the second row.

“Miss Hawkins, would you care to tell me the ingredients and quantities thereof that are required in the making of one vial of Draught of Living Death?” He rather enjoyed putting emphasis on the last word.

The girl sniffed louder and began to gibber unintelligibly. So much for Gryffindor courage, he remarked to himself.

“Never mind. Ten points from Gryffindor.” The Slytherins snickered and the sound clashed with the disquiet of the other house.

“Silence!” Honestly, less than an hour back into the daily grind and Snape could already feel an ulcer threatening.

“Take your workbooks out and turn to page three hundred and ninety eight. Read it and then gather your supplies. I am in no mood to be escorting anyone to the hospital wing today so I would advise you to read carefully.”

A mad scrabble of bags and books ensued and Snape sank gratefully into his chair. He wondered if Harry was still blissfully ensconced in his bed; whether the boy had fallen asleep after his departure or shown some small measure of discipline and gone to the library as was expected of him.

Snape retrieved some parchment from his desk and set about preparing some notes for his next lesson. His mind drifted away from the task at hand, finding himself thinking back over the past two weeks. Such unrivalled happiness he had never experienced before. It was an uneasy feeling to have to contend with, being happy. His love for Lucius had been warped; sick and twisted and very, very wrong. He had been manipulated and used and degraded. He could see that clearly now when he compared it to the unerring attention that Harry lavished on him, all of it without consequence or demand. Snape still refused to let himself truly believe that he might be entitled to a happy-ever-after, but even if it ended tomorrow, he couldn’t have regretted it for a second.

Better to have loved and lost....

Indeed. Better still to not lose anything at all, especially when the person in question was Harry. Why had he gone so many years without letting himself go emotionally? He knew why; at the back of his mind, even now, was that gnawing fear that he might fall victim to the fanciful whims of another mind fuck merchant. But Harry wasn’t like that. Harry was good and kind and openly devoted. Snape snorted; despite Lucius best efforts to destroy him and keep him weak, he had triumphed. He wasn’t the one rotting away in Azkaban with only a Dementor’s kiss to warm his lips. Dear, beautiful Lucius. How the mighty had fallen.

Snape was still thinking about his recent good fortune when an alarmed cry perforated the air. The snivelling Gryffindor was desperately trying to put out her flaming cauldron, though how she could see what she was doing with her eyes so full of tears Snape didn’t know. He flew across the room and withdrew his wand to douse the fire, eyeing her suspiciously as though she might be Longbottom under the guise of Polyjuice.

“Miss Hawkins!! Your incompetence is truly astounding. Fifty points from Gryffindor and you will serve detention with Mr Filch.” The girl sat down, stunned, as the rest of her housemates groaned, though whether directed at her or himself, Snape couldn’t tell.

Thankfully, the rest of the lesson passed peacefully and he found that two of the Slytherins in particular were developing quite a knack for Potions. These were the kinds of students that kept him at the school day after day, year after year.

Snape dismissed the class and set off for the staff room, oddly selecting a longer route via the library, under the pretence of needing to stretch his legs a little further than normal.

As Snape drew near, a painstakingly familiar voice just around the corner caught his attention.

“I know, I couldn’t stop laughing all the way down to the dungeons. His face was just priceless. I did feel a bit bad about it afterwards though.”

“Doesn’t he know then?! You haven’t told him? Don’t you think you ought to have done?”

“No! Can you imagine? He’d go mental! I told him McGonagall approached us. That way he won’t find out. It doesn’t matter now anyway, everything worked out just fine and that’s justification enough for doing it.”

“Right, so it had nothing to do with you wanting to humiliate him for pissing you off!”

“Well, yeah, I admit that was part of it too, to begin with, he had no right to treat you the way he did.”

“He was jealous, Harry!”

“Still, it’s no excuse. It was just plain rude. Anyway, I didn’t hear you complaining! You were pissing yourself laughing!”

“It was bloody funny when he stormed off wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. Look, I’ve got to go but do you fancy getting some lunch? I’ve got so much to tell you!”

“Sure. Hogsmead?”

“Fine with me. Catch you later.”

Snape staggered backwards and turned on his heel. Stalking away, his brain tried to process the deplorable knowledge it had unwittingly been made privy to.


Harry spent a most enjoyable lunchtime, recounting to Flora just about every minor as well as major detail of his life since he had last seen her. She had laughed loudly when he told her about Draco’s pole dancing, and enthusiastically accused him of over-exaggerating when he got to the bit about the boy stripping down to his silk boxers.

Warm and cosy and succoured by a never ending supply of butterbeer, Harry lost track of time as they talked the afternoon away, exchanging gossip and every so often, Flora would ask Harry to tell her about the Spitting Serpent again. He thought it was pretty unfair that she wouldn’t get to go with him to the club and experience one for herself, until, as so usually happens when alcohol is involved, Harry had a bright idea.

“Hey! If you take Polyjuice you can come with us one evening! I mean, it’s not the most upmarket bar I’ve ever been to,” Harry snorted into his butterbeer at the understatement, “But it’s alright. Well, an experience, anyway. What do you reckon?”

Flora clapped her hands over her mouth in mock horror at the very idea and let out a whoop. “God, yeah! That would be hilarious!” Harry smiled smugly; after all, if men could go dressed as women...

Eventually they finished the drinks mutually agreed as their last and went their separate ways; Flora deeper into the heart of Hogsmead to return to her student accommodation, and Harry via the Floo back to the dungeons.

He was surprised to find Snape still absent and although he didn’t consciously worry about it, he still had a creeping sense of unease in the pit of his stomach. It didn’t last long though, as familiar heavy footsteps approached the door, filling his stomach with butterflies.

Harry grinned over the top of his Quidditch Weekly.

“How many?” he asked as soon as Snape had set one foot across the threshold.

Snape glared at him but answered anyway, “How many what?”

“Points. How many points did you steal from Gryffindor today?” The trepidation returned with frightening swiftness as Harry studied Snape’s thunderous face. Something wasn’t right.

“Obviously not enough,” he growled, moving past Harry without any physical acknowledgment to get to his bedroom, quietly but firmly closing the door in termination of the brief exchange.

Harry put the magazine down a little shakily and racked his brains to think of what he might have done wrong since the morning. Perhaps Snape somehow knew he had spent the afternoon in the pub instead of the library. The man was a stickler for education but surely not enough to hold him accountable for one small misdemeanour on the first day of term.

He stood hovering outside the door, not sure if he should knock or just walk straight in. His manners prevailed and he quietly rapped the wood.

Nothing. No sound, no movement. Harry tried knocking again and when it remained unanswered, he tried the handle. Locked. Starting to feel a bit pissed off, Harry pounded harder, and then began to shout.

“What’s happened? Why won’t you let me in?” No response.

“For fuck’s sake, just open the bloody door will you?” Harry hammered with all his strength, unwavering in his concerted determination to procure a response from the man.

Harry wondered if this had something to do with what Snape had talked about before. His brain helpfully supplied some additional information.

I would hurt you Harry, I would do it and I wouldn’t be able to control it. Everything would be lost to us.

The fear continued to tread an icy path up his spine, Harry desperately hoped he was wrong.

“I know what you’re doing, you’re pushing me away again and I won’t let you! You come out here right now and deal with this. Whatever the problem is, we’ll sort it out together.”

Harry stepped away from the door and went back to the sofa. He’d said his piece and he would rather be damned than break the door down. Just as enough time elapsed for Harry to start losing hope, the catch was released and a terrifying whirlwind of robes swept through the room. Snape looked wretched and for a heart stopping moment Harry thought he might be close to death. He certainly looked pale enough.

“What’s up?” Harry made to move closer but Snape held his hands up to warn him off.

“It appears that once again my choosing of a bed mate leaves a lot to be desired.”

“What are you talking about? What have I done?”

“I promise you everything, I’ll never hurt you,” Snape mimicked Harry’s own words back at him nastily.

“I meant it!”

“Really. Did you mean it when you deliberately set out to humiliate me in front of the whole school? Did you mean it when you were laughing at your practiced little play of deception? No wonder you and Miss Farmer have so much in common.”

Oh God. He knows.

“I only did that to make you jealous! You weren’t going to make a move on me without a little help and I wanted you to admit how you felt! It worked didn’t it?”

“Ah, but therein lies the sting in the tail, does it not? Because you were not merely doing it to assure my interest in you, it was payback too, wasn’t it Potter?” Snape leaned forward menacingly and Harry swallowed thickly.

“Sort of but not like you’re making out! It was just a joke. I was pissed off that you had been rude to Flora, I didn’t stop to think about it. It wasn’t malicious or anything!” Harry found himself unwittingly leaning back against the sofa to reclaim some of his personal space.

“Why I thought you would be any different to Luc...” Snape froze mid sentence, snapping his mouth shut.

“What? What’s Lucius got to do with anything?” Confusion rained on Harry’s face until piece by piece, it all began to fit together.

“Oh no, tell me you weren’t with him!”

“That is none of your goddamn business!”

“Then don’t you dare try and compare me to that sadistic bastard!!” Harry couldn’t decide if he was more angry at Snape or Malfoy. Dirty fucking death eater. The thought of them together was almost worse than his creative imaginings of Snape fucking Draco.

“There is no comparison! He never claimed to be anything other than the cheating, mind fucking player that he was. I chose to put up with it! But you, I had hoped you would be different.”

“I am different! You know I’m nothing like him! I love you!”

“Yes, well,” Snape sneered, “I never asked you to.” Harry faltered at that, but only for a second as he dramatically altered course.

“I hate you!” he spat.

“My, how the amateur dramatics are coming along! Oh wait, they haven’t started yet, have they? What natural ability you possess!” Harry changed direction yet again.

“You said you loved me too,” he tried. Surely there was a way to get through this without everything blowing up in his face.

“Did I?” Snape remarked coolly, “Oh yes, so I did. And when did I say it, Potter? Would that have been when we were fucking, perhaps? When I was spilling my seed inside you?”

The multiple allusions of the statement were too much to bear. Snape was implying that not only had he not meant what he said, but he had resorted to calling it fucking again; a term he knew full well Harry hated with a vengeance.

“You bastard!” Harry launched himself off the couch and straight at Snape. He quickly grasped Harry’s wrists to defend himself.

Snape kept very still as he held onto the struggling boy, watching in twisted fascination as Harry’s eyes shed hot tears that seemed to make the green of his irises glow brighter.

“I’m not the only liar am I?” he said in disgust as he finally stopped fighting. Snape kept a firm hold in case he was tempted to take another swing.

“What are you talking about?”

“I found your extra-curricular marking today, in your desk.” Harry motioned to it with his head.

“It’s funny,” he said, in a tone that clearly indicated it was not funny at all, “because I distinctly remember you getting all indignant before, about taking advantage of an underage student. And here you were, all this time, getting yourself off on really sick fucking shit!”

Snape knew immediately which story Harry was referring to; the skill and precision with which it had been written, the initial dark undertones of it, had shocked him too. Not that it wasn’t entirely unlike the usual Detention in the Dungeons stuff, but the undercurrent of it had made if far more disturbing. Snape also knew without doubt that Harry couldn’t have finished it.

“You did not finish reading it, did you?”

“What? No of course not, I don’t get turned on reading about child abuse.”

“Neither do I.” Snape said flatly. “Had you read to the end, you would have realised that the whole thing was a fantasy being acted out by two mature participants who were in a relationship together.”

Harry could only stare for a long moment, words failing him. His noisy breaths matched Snape’s, as they glared at each other, Harry the first to look away.

Eventually Snape let go of his wrists and crossed to the desk, yanking open the drawer and retrieving the offending piece of literature. He threw it at Harry with a disbelieving grunt before sitting in the chair and cradling his head in his hands.

“I trusted you,” he muttered quietly, slowly shaking his head. Harry stepped over the sheets of paper scattered around his feet and went to stand behind him.

“I am so sorry,” Harry cautiously stroked Snape’s hair, brushing locks of it back from his eyes, “I should have told you sooner. But I’m not sorry that I did it, because right or wrong, it brought us together, eventually.” When his hand wasn’t immediately rejected, Harry laid his head against Snape’s back and slipped his other hand around the man’s waist.

“And I do love you, so much, please don’t think I did anything out of spite, because I didn’t. I was stupid and I didn’t think, but I would never intentionally hurt you.”

Snape didn’t try to move away from the comfort being offered, but somewhere inside, he knew a seed of doubt had been sown. He had worked so hard to eliminate the daily battle that had raged internally over the past few weeks, reminding himself constantly that Harry was not Lucius, he was not like him at all. And Harry had only made it easier for him, never giving him any cause to doubt it. Until today. It made the following words especially painful to deliver.

“I love you too.”

“Really?” Harry couldn’t help it; his eyes began to leak warmly again.

“Yes, really.” Snape pushed his chair back and pulled Harry into his lap. It had been vicious to suggest he hadn’t meant it, particularly since he knew how important it was for the boy to hear it and believe it.

Harry pressed his face into Snape’s neck and wept; huge wracking sobs that he couldn’t control shook his body. Comforting arms circled his waist and pulled him into a fierce embrace as Snape felt his anger dissipate. Their argument had clearly distressed Harry, and the knowledge made Snape feel a little better; he could not remember Lucius ever showing his remorse in such an obvious way.

“You won’t leave me will you?” Harry ground out between sobs.

“No of course not, why would I?”

“Because you think I’m like him?” Harry couldn’t bear to speak the name of the man he hated only a fraction less than the deceased Dark Lord. To think he had shared a bed with Snape and put him through Merlin knew what was unconscionable.

“You are nothing like him. Shh now.” Snape repositioned his hand so that he could stroke soft locks of hair. Harry ignored the request to remain quiet.

“What did he do to you?”

Snape closed his eyes and rested his chin on Harry’s head. He supposed it was his own fault they were about to have this conversation. If only the boy didn’t infuriate him so much he might be able to keep his tongue in his skull.

“He was nice to begin with,” he said, remembering the first time Lucius had stared too long at him over dinner one day; how a coil of anxiety had threaded through his belly long before he recognised it as lust.

“He took care of me, protected me, made me his. I adored him. He soon became cruel; nothing you could have put your finger on at first, just little things. He controlled me and I did not even really mind so much but he would make things up and pretend it was all my fault.” Suddenly the room felt ten degrees cooler.

“Like what?” Harry sat up and looked at Snape intently.

Snape wanted to laugh, it was such a ridiculous question. Where in Merlin’s name was he expected to begin?

“There was one occasion, he became angry, said I had been looking at another boy. I swore I hadn’t and I was telling the truth but the more I protested the angrier he got. He stormed out and I was so relieved to be left alone, but he returned not long after and dragged me along endless corridors until I didn’t even know where we were anymore.

“He took me into a room, and there in the middle of it, was this boy I had been accused of looking at. I begged him to let me leave but he just laughed. He said ‘You want to fuck him don’t you?” and I told him, no, of course not, but he carried on laughing like it was all a joke, and then he changed, just like that. ‘Shall I fuck him for you?’ he said. His voice was so cold and I remember how dead his eyes were. This boy was naked and suspended inches above the floor and Lucius walked towards him and I wanted to run as far away as I...” Snape choked off the last words and snapped his mouth shut.

“You don’t have to tell me anymore.” If Harry was being truthful, he didn’t want to hear anymore. It was sickening.

“I am not sure I could even if I wanted to,” Snape said quietly, letting his mind become distracted by the hypnotic feeling of fingers massaging his scalp.

Harry bent his head and kissed him. Snape responded earnestly, tipping his head back to gain better purchase and Harry deepened the kiss, trying to convey just how much he still wanted him, how it didn’t matter that he was damaged because Harry would care for him and fix him. That all the hideous things Lucius had done were his and his alone to bear the guilt of, and the gentle crush of lips became an assuage of that guilt, abstaining him from it.

“Will you come to bed with me?”

“God, I thought you’d never ask!” Harry leapt off his lap like he’d been poked with a cattle prod and dragged him by the hand into the bedroom. He shucked off his clothes and was assaulted once again by the frostiness of the air, diving under the covers for respite. Snape only took a moment longer and as Harry watched him undress, he couldn’t resist asking.

“You mark the fanfic?”

“Be quiet, brat.”

“Seriously, you mark the fanfic?”

“I have already taken sixty points from your house tally today. Would you care to make it an even one hundred?” Snape shed the last of his clothes and climbed into bed, silencing Harry’s protest with a long, languorous kiss.



“For Merlin’s....Potter!”

Harry snickered and redoubled his efforts.

Snape growled in warning. “If you cannot control yourself I will insist that you stay firmly put in your own bed, now kindly release me and let me use the damn bathroom!”

This was ridiculous, he mused to himself. He was a fully grown man of forty-two being scissor held about the hips by a wretched teenager, even if the adolescent in question did have the thighs to crack a walnut, thanks to his Quidditch prowess.

“Just the bathroom? You’re not going anywhere else?” Harry tentatively loosened his grip.

“Just the bathroom. Which I shall not need much longer if you continue to dig your heel into my bladder.” Snape threw the covers off and practically ran to the toilet.

Harry retrieved his glasses from the bedside table. He knew he would have to brave the icy dungeon air sometime soon; he had a Quidditch match at eleven and had arranged to meet Flora in Hogsmead afterwards.

Naturally, Snape had said nothing when Harry mentioned it the previous evening, but the thinning of his lip confirmed the contempt he still held for the girl. It shouldn’t have surprised him, he knew. After all, they hadn’t gotten off to the best of starts, and since finding out about Flora’s role as Robin to Harry’s Batman, Snape had not bothered to hold a civil tongue in his head when encountering her in the corridors.

Harry glanced at the clock; half an hour and he would have to throw on his clothes and sprint to the pitch. What was taking so long in the bathroom?

“Hurry up! I’ve got to leave soon!” he yelled.

Inaudible grumbling became louder and more distinct. Snape eventually emerged.

“Enlighten me, Potter, what do my bathroom ministrations have to do with your imminent departure?”

“I was thinking we might have time to... if we were quick enough...” Harry’s hand disappeared beneath the covers and he scooted closer.

“I believe you are due to Captain your team in less than thirty minutes’ time are you not?” Snape sent his own hand to capture Harry’s before it had a chance to seize his cock. He wouldn’t need much to persuasion but he really didn’t want the boy to miss his match.

Harry grumbled but settled for a cuddle instead.

“What will you do today?” he asked, idly plucking at a particularly coarse hair on Snape’s chest.

Snape slapped his hand away, none too gently. “Enjoy the peace and quiet of course.”

“Funny. No, but really, are you coming to watch me play Quidditch?”

“Should I?”

“Don’t you want to?”

“I can think of far more enjoyable things to do if I wanted to waste precious time.”

“Such as?”

The insistently roving hands over his chest were distracting and Snape found it difficult to think of a witty retort.

Harry took full advantage of his faltering.“You’re going to spend the day reading fanfic aren’t you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Potter. “ Snape grunted. “If you must know, I have plans to meet with Mr Malfoy this afternoon.”

Harry sat up and frowned. “Which Malfoy?” he demanded.

“Draco, of course.”

“Why the hell would you want to do that?”

“Because he asked to see me. The boy is practically an orphan and he looks to me for guidance.”

“Since when did you become Saint Snape? And I’m a bloody orphan!” Harry retorted churlishly, well aware that this was a ridiculously juvenile way of conducting a conversation.

“Indeed you are. Perhaps you could find it in yourself to a be a little more magnanimous, considering.” Snape smirked.

“You arranged this because I’m meeting up with Flora and you can’t stand her.”

Snape had to agree that Draco had impeccably timed his owl to arrive not long after Harry’s revelation that he was busy Saturday afternoon, and with that Farmer girl, of all people. He had written a quick acceptance and sent the owl on its way; hooting as it left to demonstrate its annoyance at not having been tipped.

“I did no such thing. We both of us have acquaintances the other does not approve of. That does not mean we should stop fraternising with those people, merely that we are to work on developing a tolerance of them. Besides which, I have not seen Draco since the night at the bar.”

“Bollocks.”

Harry huffed and rolled onto his side, his back to Snape. He really hated feeling jealous but it was not something he could control, especially where Draco was concerned.

“I love you, brat,” Snape murmured.

Dammit. The man knew exactly how to get to him. “But Draco...” Harry whined into the pillow.

“...Does not interest me in the slightest.” Snape shifted his weight closer to the sulky body.

“Doesn’t he remind you of Lucius?” As soon as the words had left his mouth, Harry’s little voice was shouting Fuck, fuck! at full volume.

Snape stopped moving and stiffened.

Harry tried to push backwards to find the body he had felt approaching but his effort was expertly blocked and Snape left the bed. “I’m sorry!” he shouted, watching the pale expanse of Snape’s back retreat to the bathroom, cringing when the door slammed so violently it made the bed shake.

Why was he not capable of controlling his mouth? It had been an unspoken agreement between them not to mention his name; Snape still occasionally had horrific nightmares but would never discuss them in the morning, and although over the last few weeks they were beginning to decrease in regularity, he still hadn’t told Harry another thing about his relationship with Lucius.

That was no hardship; he didn’t want to know the appalling details anyway, and so he deliberately avoided mentioning the subject at all costs. Until this morning. Harry slapped his forehead at his own stupidity. Things had been going so well between them for nearly two months now; not one serious argument had developed since the night Snape had gripped his wrists in fury and then forgiven him his misdemeanour.

Harry braced himself and got out of bed, pulling his clothes on as quickly as he could to protect himself from the chill. He stood outside the bathroom door, trying to figure out what he could say to make things better but nothing seemed contrite enough.

“I’m sorry, okay?” he said, leaning against the frame. “It’s fine, really, enjoy your lunch with Draco and I’ll see you tonight. I love you.” He waited for a response, and when none was forthcoming, sighed loudly and left.


“Professor!” Draco waved gaily from a small round table in the pub, beckoning him over.

Snape weaved his way through the remnants of the bustling lunchtime trade and took a seat next to his former student. “Mister Malfoy.”

“Hello sir, I took the liberty of getting you a scotch; I hope that’s okay,” Draco said, lifting his own glass to face height and taking a sip.

“Perfectly acceptable, thank you.” Merlin knew how much he needed a stiff drink after the trials and tribulations of the morning. The infuriating brat’s thoughtless outburst had invoked another assault of bad memories, and Snape had laid on the bathroom floor, willing himself to just breathe, as Harry stood outside, offering his pathetic repentance before hot footing it to Quidditch.

It was rather disappointing that the mere mention of Lucius’ name still brought about fierce panic attacks. He had thought he was pretty much over it, and even though the occasional nightmare still haunted his dreams, his waking moments had been thankfully devoid of such stressful occurrences.

“I, uh, just wanted to thank you, sir, for that night, you know, after the club.” Draco stretched his legs and relaxed.

“Ah. Would you be referring to the night I scraped you off the floor and carried you home?” He couldn’t hide his smirk; the boy at least had some humility whereas his father would no doubt have found a reason to hex Snape, probably for having taken him home too early.

“Err... yes. I don’t really remember much to be honest. Sir...” Draco dropped his voice an octave and whispered conspiratorially, “Did we...sleep together?”

Really, this was too much. The boy was in dire need of a lesson in the consequences of excessive drinking.

“Mr Malfoy, are you telling me you cannot remember screaming my name repeatedly at the height of your numerous orgasms that night?” Snape asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“What? Oh Gods, of course I remember that!” Draco giggled nervously, but his face betrayed him. “I meant that you weren’t there when I woke in the morning and wondered why you didn’t stay.”

“I am fond of my own bed.”

“Oh. Right. Well I just wanted to say how fantastic it was, sir, and...” Draco racked his brains to remember even a second of what had apparently occurred between them. and cursed silently when he failed; how long had he wanted the Professor in his bed and now he couldn’t even recall the momentous event. Should he even be calling him ‘sir’ if they’d been intimate? Surely Severus would be more appropriate now?

“Perhaps, Severus,” he ploughed on bravely, “we might do it again sometime.” Preferably when I’m conscious.

Out of pure habit, Snape was about to remonstrate Draco’s use of his given name when both their attentions turned to the tavern door creaking open.

A wind whipped Potter and a mass of blonde curls barrelled through, laughing and brushing wild hair out of their faces.

“Is he following us or what?” Draco sneered in obvious disgust. “Honestly! Every time I see you, Potter’s hanging around like a bad smell! Anyone would think he was your boyfriend or something.”

Given Draco’s animosity towards his lover, Snape felt it best not to mention his and Harry’s relationship; it was no one else’s business after all.

“He is not joining us. I believe he has his own company this afternoon.” Snape was rather put out by the appearance of his young lover and female companion. There were plenty of places they could have chosen to go to; the law of sod would dictate that they would all end up in the same establishment. Harry apparently hadn’t yet noticed him. He headed straight for the bar and pulled out two stools, offering the first to Flora before seating himself.

Snape snorted; of course the boy would have manners where that little witch bitch was concerned. Shame he didn’t have the grace to remember them when in his own congenial company. Like remembering the protocol of not mentioning Lucius. Not that he wanted Potter to hold doors and offer seats for him. The very idea was abhorrent.

“Who’s he with?” Draco asked, inclining his head towards Flora.

The corners of Snape’s mouth curled downwards in open hostility. “Miss Flora Farmer.”

“So he’s decided he’s not queer after all then?”

“I believe their association is purely platonic.” It bloody well better be.

Drinks were placed on the bar and Flora sipped hers gratefully, eyes sweeping the room whilst Harry paid for them. Snape caught her gaze and she dropped her head closer to Harry.

“Bloody Snape’s here!” she whispered urgently. “And he looks like he’s going to AK me!”

Harry glanced around with a sudden mixture of elation and trepidation in his belly and caught sight of the older man. His hackles instantly rose when he saw Draco beside him, casually leaning towards Snape as though it was his given right to invade the man’s personal space.

“And bloody Malfoy.” Harry said dejectedly.

“Malfoy? The pole dancer?!” Flora looked back and scrutinised the chiselled, arrogant jaw, pompous expression and long tresses of fine hair. Her imagination did a reasonable job of providing her with an image of the man across the room half naked and writhing against a pole.

“What the bloody hell is she finding so funny?” Draco demanded. He was well aware he was being analysed and instantly disliked the girl for her comedic reaction to his appearance.

“I would not worry yourself. I am under the impression that she is a lionfish spine short of a Veritaserum potion.” Snape took another drink and pried his eyes away from the pair at the bar.

“She must be if she willingly hangs around with Potter,” he spat.

Snape felt a little put out by the comment but decided to steer the conversation away from his adolescent aficionado.

“How is your mother?”

“She’s gone. They took her to St Mungo’s last month, finally! Honestly, I’ve been asking them for months to at least examine her but they refused point blank. Then there was the incident...” Draco shuddered.

“Incident?” As much as it wasn’t charitable to take pleasure from the boy’s distress, Snape could smell an amusing anecdote at a hundred paces. Precisely what he needed to perk up his day.

“Yeah. She kept insisting I take her to Diagon Alley, wanted to go to Twilfit & Tatting’s for a new wardrobe. Anyway, I left her there and went for ice cream in Fortescue’s, and before I’d even got a spoonful in my mouth, there was shouting from the street. So of course, everyone’s trying to see what the commotion is and I push through the crowds, and my mother is marching down the street...” Draco leant forward and whispered, “naked...I mean, can you imagine?”

Snape winced; apparently he could.

“She was shouting and screaming about my father and the injustice of it all. No one dared to approach her and quite frankly I wasn’t going to go anywhere near her after the last time so she just carried on until she reached the Daily Prophet office. In she went, demanding that she be allowed to give her side of the story on nothing less than the front page,” Draco paused for a drink, “Well, she got the front page alright, but I think the message she had intended to make got lost somewhat...anyway, that was the end of her.”

Snape didn’t really feel like laughing anymore. It wasn’t particularly funny.

“I am truly sorry, Draco.” he said genuinely, knowing how it felt to be cursed with bad parentage.

“She was mad. Both my parents are mad. I know I’m old enough to take care of myself, but the Manor is huge and it’s just me and the house elves rattling around it. Gets lonely sometimes.”

“Why did you not contact me?”

“You’re busy with Hogwarts, I didn’t want to be a bother.” Draco hung his head.

Snape was reminded of a puppy begging for a bone.

“You would not be ‘bothering’ me. I take the welfare of my students, both past and present, very seriously. You are welcome to my company any occasion you desire it. Now, time for another drink, I believe.” Snape stood up and Draco beamed up at him.

“Love one, thanks. Better use the facilities first though.”

“Indeed. My care and concern does not stretch as far as cleaning up puddles of urine.”

Draco snickered and Snape made his way to the bar, studiously avoiding the end that seated Harry and Flora.

Harry, engrossed in conversation, didn’t notice, but Flora did.

“He’s at the bar!” she hissed, obviously delighted by the little drama unfolding itself in her midst.

“So? I’m not going to crash his and Draco’s little party. I need the loo anyway.” Harry told her, slipping off his stool.

The movement caught Snape’s eye but he kept his gaze firmly ahead, apparently fascinated by the endless rows of liquor lining the back of the bar.

***