The Producers

This is the final chapter of The Producers. I do hope you enjoyed it, and please look out for a possible sequel.

Draco’s mood had lightened considerably since he’d left home. Not only had he finally managed to coerce his coveted Potions Master into bed, albeit a tryst he couldn’t remember, but the man was offering to be his guardian; which, Draco thought to himself as he unzipped his fly, was obviously a metaphor for wanting more of his arse. Oh yes, things certainly seemed to be looking up, hotting up, and hopefully very soon, getting up.

“Malfoy.”

“Potter.” Draco’s smug grin didn’t falter when Harry entered the bathroom. He kept his eyes fixed on a cracked tile in front of him and ignored the close proximity of his arch-enemy. No matter how tempting it was to catch a glimpse of Potter’s prick to compare with his own, he wasn’t going to do it. He was a Malfoy, after all, and Malfoy’s had certain standards.

“Terribly sorry to hear about your parents. I do hope the psychosis isn’t heredity.”

“Don’t bother concerning yourself with my welfare. Professor Snape has already offered himself as my guardian. Though quite what sort of duties that will entail...” Draco made a little thrusting motion with his hips.

“Well it won’t be fucking you, I know that much.” Harry’s cheeks flamed in irritation.

“Shows how much you know. Personally, I think he’s after a repeat performance.”

“What?” Harry swayed ever so slightly, steadying himself with one hand braced against the wall.

“Repeat performance, Potter. Keep up. Oh, didn’t you know? After the club that night... fucking brilliant he was.”

“You’re lying, he wouldn’t have.” Harry felt like someone had shoved a fist in his mouth and forced it through his windpipe. He shakily adjusted his trousers but didn’t move away.

“Lying?” Draco zipped himself up and turned to look Harry in the eye. “Ask him yourself if you don’t believe me.”

“Legilimens!” Harry drew his wand with such speed that Draco didn’t realise his memories were under attack until Harry was crawling through his mind, sifting his recollections, searching for evidence. Draco, unused to the penetrating invasion, tried unsuccessfully to push him out.

“You are safely home, Mr Malfoy........what a charming individual you are..........”
“Fuck me”

The fragmented memory made no sense to Harry; why wasn’t it complete? Where was the rest of it? He couldn’t even see anything, Draco’s eyes must have been closed or perhaps his face buried in a pillow. All there was of that memory was the fragment of speech.

Another, far more recent and significantly more vivid scene was thrust at him as Draco briefly stopped fighting the assault and willingly offered it to Harry.

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

“What? Oh Gods, of course I remember that! 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...”

Harry staggered backwards and fell against the far wall, drained by the exertion and revolted by his findings.

“You fucking bastard!” Draco screamed, catching him smartly in the nose with a solid punch as he gripped his throat with a slender pale hand that seemed absurdly too dainty for such violence.

Harry didn’t have the energy to struggle.

“You ever try anything like that again and I will kill you.” Draco stumbled to his feet and stepped away from the crumpled form, admiring the bright red flow of blood that trickled from his nose. “Lying eh, Potter?” he taunted before leaving the bathroom.

Harry touched his nose and brought away a bloody hand. His head hurt and his back was aching where he’d fallen against the wall at an awkward angle. Words spoken in a deeply dangerous, velvety tone echoed through his head.

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

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

Harry took a deep breath, levelled his glasses, and got to his feet. He wrenched open the door, smearing it with bloody handprints and lurched into the bar.

Flora’s eyes widened when she saw him.

“Let’s go,” he growled, necking the recently refilled glass in one swift move.

“Your nose! What the fuck?” She glared over his shoulder at Draco, who since emerging from the toilets had engaged Snape in conversation. Snape hadn’t seen Harry come out, nor observed the state he was in.

“Please, Flora, I just want to go.”

“No! Did that little prick do this to you?” Without waiting for an answer she jumped off the stool and crossed the bar.

Harry shouted, intent on stopping her, but only succeeded in drawing Snape and Draco’s attention to her imminent arrival at their table.

“Miss Farmer. To what do we owe the pleasure?” Snape twisted his lips into an ugly grimace intended solely for her benefit.

Flora ignored him and tore into Draco.

“What the fuck did you do to Harry?” she demanded angrily.

Snape’s brow furrowed as he spotted Harry hovering by the door. Rivulets of blood were pouring through his fingers and his shirt was speckled with dark red flecks. Alarmed, he rose immediately.

Other customers fell silent, captivated by the drama unfolding before their eyes. Some clutched their hands to their wands in trepidation, in case they needed to protect themselves against a crossfire of hexes.

As soon as he saw Snape moving towards him, Harry turned to scrabble at the door.

Flora faced Draco and hissed at him. “If he’s badly hurt, I swear...”

“Who are you, his wife?” Draco said haughtily, although he felt suddenly uneasy at the confrontation. In a bushy-haired way, she reminded him of Granger and he could remember only too well how it felt to be on the receiving end of her quick temper. His nose had never quite been the same.

Harry finally managed to twist the latch free. He fled just as Snape caught his arm, both of them staggering outside as the door shut behind them.

“Why are you running away from me you foolish child? What happened to your nose?”

Harry continued to struggle, too angry to speak.

“For Merlin’s sake, Harry! What happened!” Snape pinned him to the wall of the pub, drawing disapproving looks from passers-by.

Harry stared at the ground and forced himself to go limp, waiting until Snape released the grip on his arms. Slowly, he raised his head, nose still streaming wet red.

“I hope you’re happy together, you really deserve each other.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about, but I suggest you calm yourself and think rationally.” Snape tried to take his hand but Harry snatched it out of reach.

“Don’t touch me. I can’t bear the thought of your hands on me. You were right about one thing, you really are a sick, fucked up bastard.”

The pub door swung open and Flora emerged looking rather flustered. She looked at Harry and then at Snape, undecided as to what, if anything, she should do. A bit of light banter was one thing but full blown pub brawls really weren’t all that amusing.

“Harry?” she asked uncertainly. “Is everything okay?”

“No it’s bloody not. Take me back to yours, Flora, please.”


Snape paced furiously. Every so often he sat on the sofa, only to jump up again moments later and resume his frantic step.

Harry and Flora had Disapparated on the spot and he had no idea where they might have gone. There was a chance he could find out through the school records; in fact, he was sure he could get the information that way but it posed numerous ethical questions relating to the procurement and usage of student personal details. It really wasn’t worth the trouble it could cause; the girl would have no qualms about reporting him for abusing his position as a teacher to deal with a private situation.

Snape was still no clearer to understanding what had actually occurred between Harry and Draco in the toilets. On re-entering the pub, Draco had offhandedly explained his side of things.

“Potter cast Legilimens on me so I punched him.”

That was as much as he would say and although it explained the bloody nose, it didn’t explain Harry’s violent reaction to Snape himself, for which Draco apparently had no explanation.

He went to his desk and sat down, pouring himself a large scotch. If he could only find out what he was supposed to have done then he would at least be able to defend himself. But not knowing like this was unbearable. He slugged back the drink and poured another.

Fuck Potter. Fuck Charles. Fuck Lucius.

He remembered, as his whisky haze thickened, exactly why he’d sworn off relationships. It caused too much pain. Pain he hadn’t been willing to submit himself to again. Pain that Harry had promised with sincere eyes and sweet lips, he would not cause.

They all wanted something; too much, too little, more, less, not enough.

Snape toasted the air, his hand swaying unsteadily. “Fuck you all.”


“God, Harry, I don’t know what to say.” Flora laid down on the bed next to him and stared at the ceiling, trying to think of something reassuring and insightful to say, but her mind was churning with the sheer volume of information.

“What can you say? He’s a lying, cheating, fucked up bastard. And I love him. Loved him,” Harry corrected, overly emphasizing the ‘d’.

“But you didn’t actually see them doing it... in Draco’s memories?”

“Didn’t need to. I heard Snape say it.” A fresh pool of tears formed and Harry furiously blinked them away.

“What are you going to do? I mean you’re welcome to stay here; it’s hardly sumptuous accommodation but if you don’t mind sharing the bed...”

“Thanks but I think I’ll go to Ron and Hermione’s for a bit until I figure it out. There’s only a week to go until Easter break, if you don’t mind putting up with me until then...” Harry rolled on his side and Flora petted his hair.

“Of course I don’t, it’ll be fun. Hey, perhaps we can go to that club you were telling me about!” she said in a bad attempt at being jovial.

“Maybe.” Harry knew that was the last place he wanted to go right now.

“What about your stuff?” Flora sighed.

“Guess I’ll have to go and get it sometime, might as well be sooner rather than later.”

“Want me to come with you?”

“Thanks, but no. I need to do this on my own.”

“Are you sure about this? I mean, I don’t like the man but is there really no way this could be some mistake?”

“I heard him Flo, Draco couldn’t have imagined that; it was a memory.”

Flora sighed again and enveloped him in a hug.

“Oh well. Quidditch practice here we come then.” Yes, thought Harry miserably, he would have to move on whether he wanted to or not.


A loud pop from the fireplace did nothing to rouse Snape from his awkward position slumped over the desk. The four hundred year old whisky, despite its superior vintage quality, had been consumed with as much reverence as a jug of water. The superior intoxication quality it provided, however, had not been diluted.

Harry stepped out of the fireplace. He had been worrying about Flooing here in case he was faced with Draco; the scenarios had been endless; them on the sofa, on the floor, in Snape’s bed, their bed. In fact, he hadn’t expected to find Snape alone at all. And certainly not paralytic over his desk. Merlin! He looked frightful. Harry walked over to him and gingerly poked his shoulder. Nothing. Then, he lifted one of the pale hands and let it drop back to the desk; nothing. He picked up the empty bottle lying next to the prone form and was rather indignant when it revealed itself as his hideously expensive Christmas present.

“Oi. Wake up.” He shook Snape gently, and then again, more firmly. Still no movement. Despite wanting to get his stuff and get out as quickly as he could, the man would have a broken back if he stayed like that all night. However much the realisation annoyed him, Harry knew he still cared. He couldn’t just stop feeling, despite what Snape had done.

Harry was preparing to lift him up when he noticed a tiny potion vial on the floor by the desk leg. He released Snape from his grip, the dead weight slumping back onto the desk. He retrieved the unmarked bottle, fear clawing at his throat.

“Fuck!” he hissed, seizing the pallid wrist. Snape’s pulse was faint, and Harry forced his legs towards the fireplace.

“Madam Pomfrey! Professor McGonagall! Oh shit, somebody!”


Snape’s first thought, as he surfaced from the depths of unconsciousness, was that his left arm must have been amputated, because he could no longer feel it.

“Madame Pomfrey! I think he’s waking up!”

Harry’s voice. Strained and urgent. Harry was here. Wherever here was.

Snape tried to open his eyes and was gently chided for it.

“Be still now, Severus. You must take your time, you’ve been very ill. Don’t over exert yourself.”

Snape tried to snort derisively; opening his eyes could hardly be considered an exertion; but the noise got stuck and died in his throat.

“Harry, dear,” Poppy’s voice again, “I’ll just need to get him a potion. Don’t worry, he’ll be feeling much more like his old self again soon. Mores the pity. I quite prefer him silent and docile.”

This time the snort did escape, and Poppy clucked in disapproval as her footsteps moved away.

A hand. A small, warm hand was clutching his. Snape blinked and found the deathly pale face of Harry looming rather close to his own.

“Shh, don’t speak, not yet. You’re a miserable fucking bastard and I hate you.” Green eyes spilt hot tears in front of him.

Well, that was a pleasant greeting. And did the boy ever stop crying?

“Harry...”

“Shut up. I told you not to speak. What the fuck did you think you were doing? Didn’t you know that potion would react badly with the alcohol? You must have done. You died, twice, you fucking bastard.”

Snape tried to push himself up against the pillows and wondered what potion Harry was talking about. And why he was being asked questions if he wasn’t allowed to answer them.

“Harry, Draco...”

“You want me to get Malfoy?” the face moved a good few inches back and creased in disgust.

“No, I want you. Draco... shouldn’t have hit you.” Now that Harry had moved further away, Snape could focus properly and he saw that the nose had been healed.

“It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t matter. I don’t care what you did with him as long as you promise never to do it again. Or try to kill yourself again. You fucking bastard.”

The slurs on his legitimacy were beginning to wear a little thin; as was the constant use of the word fucking.

“Water.”

Harry poured a glass and held it to his lips. Merlin, how wonderful it tasted as it slipped down his throat and eased some of the stiffness there.

“I did no such thing.”

“What? Fuck Malfoy or try to kill yourself?” Snape winced at the harsh tone.

“Both. Either.”

“Look, I know what happened and you don’t have to lie about it. Malfoy punched me because I cast Legilimens on him. I saw you together.” How interesting, Snape thought, that Harry had chosen to challenge him about that over the alleged suicide attempt.

“You could not have done.”

“He was practically unconscious! He couldn’t even remember it. You told him about it, I saw that much, so stop lying.”

“It was a joke.”

“A joke!”

“See inside my head too, if you cannot believe me.” For a moment, Harry looked like he might be seriously considering the idea.

“You’re not well enough for that.”

“When I have sufficiently recovered I will show you. Nothing happened. I have absolutely no desire to lay a single finger on Draco Malfoy, in the past, present or future. I have enough anxiety dealing with one grossly immature, Quidditch brat lover. If I still have a lover, that is.”

Harry dropped his gaze to the hand he was holding.

“I don’t know, do you?”

“You are the one who insists on creating melodramas. You tell me.”

“I thought I’d lost you.”

“That does not answer the question, Potter.”

“I don’t know.” Harry repeated, shifting his weight on the bed.

“I see.”

“No you don’t, I’m still here aren’t I?” As if I could be anywhere else.

“Please, do not put yourself out on my account.”

“Shut up. I’m not going anywhere. I just need time to think. I mean, first I find out you slept with Malfoy...”

“Untrue.”

“...And then you try to kill yourself...”

“Also untrue.”

“And I sit by your bloody bedside for four days and watch you nearly die, twice!”

“Which may be true but is hardly my fault.”

“God, it’s just too much to deal with.”

They sat in silence for a while, just looking at each other.
“Who discovered me?”

“I did, of course.” Harry snorted in grim recollection.

“I thought you had left?”

“I came back to get my stuff.”

“Oh. Did you successfully manage to retrieve it?” Snape attempted to quirk an eyebrow but it hurt like hell so he gave up.

“Oh yeah, sure. You’re slumped over your desk and I just carry on moving my stuff out.”

“Your delivery of sarcasm is really improving, how proud I am. So you haven’t vacated our quarters yet then?”

Harry shook his head wearily. “No.“

Snape thought about that for a moment.

“I warned you, did I not? I made it perfectly clear that us moving past the boundary of platonic friendship was a very bad idea.” .

“Yesss.” Harry drew the word out in a long puff of breath.

“Well I am not in the habit of begging people to stay with me, not anymore. So I suggest you go away and think about what it is you want. And give me the benefit of the doubt concerning the alleged incident with Draco until such time as I am able to prove otherwise; although I must say it does somewhat infer on the need for trust in a relationship.”

“Are you asking me to leave?” Harry looked incredulous.

“I am merely asking you to give yourself time to ponder what it is you truly want.”

“I love you,” Harry said quietly.

“As I do you. But it seems that perhaps it is not enough.”

Harry reluctantly released Snape’s hand, the gently spoken words threatening fresh tears.

“Okay. I’ll go, but I’m not moving out. Not yet anyway. I want to at least make sure you’re fully recovered before I...if I...leave.”

“As you wish.”

“For Gods’ sakes, is that all you can say?”

“It is all I am willing to say, for the time being.”

Harry stood up and hesitated before pressing his lips to the slightly cool, clammy forehead.

“Guess I’ll see you soon, then.”

Snape made a non committal noise and watched him leave. No, if the boy truly wanted to stay with him then he would. There was nothing he could do to bring it about other than wait until Harry had made a decision. But by Merlin, the wait would be unbearable.


“Will you stop that?” Snape swiped a hand at Harry as he tried to plump pillows.

“Pomfrey said if you insisted on leaving the hospital wing, then you were to have someone look after you.” Harry batted the protesting hand away and continued his efforts.

“I do not need a nursemaid. I am feeling much better, no doubt thanks to a few of my own brilliant potions.” Snape sneered at the over-zealous pillow plumper in his midst.

“It was one of your ‘brilliant potions’ that put you into a coma and nearly killed you.” He said, finally satisfied with the pillows and moving to the bedside table to pour a glass of water.

“I would rather have a scotch.”

Harry shot him a look that said if he had his way, Snape would never see another scotch in his life.

“You still haven’t told me what was in that potion.” Harry finally gave up the thankless task of making Snape comfortable and sat on the bed.

“It was a liquid form of Obliviate, only far stronger.”

“But why did you take it?” he pressed.

“Why do you think?” Snape’s lips drew into a thin line of mild irritation. “I wanted to forget everything.”

“Oh.” Harry said quietly, knowing that ‘everything’ referred in some part to his own behaviour.

“Your eloquence, as always Mr Potter, fails to impress.” Snape intoned in a bizarre convoluted mimic of his own voice. Harry smiled then; the first genuine one in a week, and laid his hand over Snape’s.

“Did it work?”

“Did what work?” Snape glanced at his newly coveted hand and felt his heart skip a beat. Just a tiny, insignificant beat. Absolutely nothing to get excited over.

“The potion. Have you forgotten everything?”

“The fates are not that kind. The potion was neutralised by a certain ingredient found only in expensive four hundred year old bottles of whisky and therefore lost the ability to be effective. Instead, the adverse reaction, as you know, gave me four days of blissful unconsciousness.”

Harry did know; he’d barely slept the past week for worrying. “So you weren’t trying to...” Harry couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

“Merlin, boy, no! I can assure you no matter what miserable fate befalls me in life, I would never consider suicide an attractive alternative.”

Harry sighed and got off the bed to retrieve the assorted vials that Snape needed to take a dose of every four hours.

“The Pensieve.” Snape said to Harry’s turned back.

“What about it?”

“My memories are in it.” Harry shivered, but for once it had nothing to do with the cool dungeon air.

“Which ones?”

“All of them. Of course, you do not have to view any that you feel may be too disturbing to witness. But if nothing else, you should see the ones pertaining to the accusations regarding Draco.”

Harry wasn’t sure he did anymore. If he took the chance to view them it would reinforce the notion that he didn’t trust the man. And surely a relationship was built on trust? Snape had been right; love wasn’t enough.

“I don’t need to see them. I believe you.” Harry returned to the bed with the vials in his hands and set them down on the bedside table.

“Harry...”

“No, I mean it. I trust you. And I’m not moving out either, in case you were getting excited at the prospect of having the dungeons to yourself again.” Snape was overwhelmed by a flood of relief.

“If you want me to stay, that is.” Harry added cautiously, sitting back down.

“Like I said, Potter, the fates are not that kind. I suspect you are the burden I have to bear.”

“And I love you too.”

“I did not say...”

“Shut up.”

Warm lips pressed together as Snape was willingly silenced. He slipped his arms around Harry’s waist and pulled him closer, hungry for the taste, smell and feel of the exasperating boy in his arms. A week without it had seemed like an eternity, and there was no denying it now; the brat had managed to entrench himself firmly inside his granite heart.

Harry felt the sentiment through the kiss and returned it with unbridled enthusiasm. He still believed in an enduring, solid love that could last a lifetime, believed that one person could light up your mornings and inflame your nights, day after day, year after year, no matter what obstacles there were to overcome in the process.

Snape broke their lips apart and took Harry’s face in his hand.

“I have something for you. I had booked a restaurant last week to celebrate your spectacular match win and had planned to give it to you then; however, events rather got away from us that day.”

Harry swallowed a lump. “I didn’t think you watched my matches.”

“Don’t be absurd, brat. Of course I do. What else would I be doing on a Saturday morning?”

Harry smirked. “Reading porn?”

Ignoring him, Snape opened the bedside draw and drew out a slim black box. He placed it in Harry’s hand and tightened both their fingers around it. “This is very special to me, as are you.”

Harry leant forward for another kiss, a familiar warmth spreading through his stomach before he flipped up the lid.

“Oh! It’s...”

“Yes.” Snape smiled softly at the wondrous green eyes.

“I thought you said...”

“I know. I had no reason before now to retrieve it.”

Harry let the slim gold chain slither through his fingers, watching as an identical locket to his Christmas present spun round, catching the light on each rotation.

“But if you knew where it was...” Harry slipped the catch open and gazed at the ridiculously young looking Snape inside, all of eleven years old. Not exactly smiling, but not yet jaded by abusive lovers or schoolboy bullies.

The truth was, after James had thrown it into the pond, Snape could not bring himself to Summon it out. It had been thrown away like he had, and the symbolism meant that until he felt rescued, so the locket would remain at the bottom of the lake.

“The past is the past and what is done, is done. We must move on and look to the future now.”

Oh, there were still demons to be fought, most certainly, but with Harry by his side, Snape had the feeling he would soon conquer them. Either that or the brat would finish him off with a heart attack.

“It’s perfect,” Harry whispered.

“Not perfect, no. It is weather beaten, stained, and damaged. Rather like me. But if you are prepared to cherish it then I am honoured to give it to you.”

Harry answered with a long, gentle press of lips that promised to do just that, and more.

The End