FOR SERVICES RENDERED

Thanks for betaing. Kim and TQA



Farid was high above the Quidditch Pitch. Ron was the team captain for Gryffindor and had told Farid to stay out of the game for as long as he could. They were playing Slytherin and the other team always played dirty. Ron did not want Farid hurt if he could possibly help it, for as he put it, “I don’t fancy the Professor wearing the skin off my back as a hat and that’s what’ll he’ll do to me if anything happens to you, mate!”

So, he was doing as he was told and keeping out of the way until he saw the snitch. Farid loved flying but, being out here today, he felt unsettled. His Master wanted him to fly, encouraged it, but Farid could tell through the bond that his Master was not really happy about his developing friendship with Sirius Black.

Farid liked Sirius Black. He made him laugh and he was kind to Farid. He fingered the map in his pocket that Sirius Black had given him earlier. Old and worn, it showed the school and everyone in it; where they were, what they were doing. He couldn’t wait to show it to Master. Sirius Black and Professor Lupin and Farid’s father had made it and now Farid knew how it worked. He hoped Master would be pleased because right now Farid was really confused. Master told him to make friends, to play Quidditch, to see Sirius Black often. But his feelings, his emotions? Why, they said something very different indeed.

More and more often these days Farid felt his Master’s emotions through the bond and Master’s emotions showed Farid that he was, in truth, far from happy with some of his new friendships. He wanted Farid to be free, he said so often, and he tried really hard to allow him to seek new friends, new relationships and most of the time Master overcame his feelings of possessiveness, of jealousy.

But whenever Farid spent time with Sirius Black, Master was becoming more and more fraught with anger and anxiety. The bond said, ‘Mine. Not share. Back off.’ And so Farid was worried because Master was becoming ever more confused and so, no matter what he did, Farid was disobeying Master and that was scary. Farid hoped that he continued to get it right as he had so far, guessing all the time whether Master most meant: what he said or what he felt. But he knew that in all probability, one day soon, Master would lose control of the feelings that were overwhelming him and then Farid really did not know what would happen.

So Farid was trying to detach himself from any relationship with Sirius Black. He had always called the man by his full name as a way of distancing himself from the man and, initially, Master had approved. But Sirius Black kept trying to spend time with Farid and in the last two days he had succeeded. Because of the upcoming Quidditch match, they had been training exhaustively. So Farid had spent even more time with the shape-shifter and his team mates than usual and Farid could feel Master’s mounting fury, like a thunderstorm on the horizon.

Yesterday morning Master had closed down the bond and that was what was scaring him most right now, because Master had it wrong. He thought that by closing off the bond, he would shut down his feelings and stop them overwhelming Farid. But Master could not stop Farid feeling what Master was feeling, not if the emotions were as strong as this. All he had succeeded in doing was shutting down the reciprocal bond that enabled Master to know how Farid was feeling and that meant that he would not know if Farid were upset, or frightened, or dead, come to that.

But up here, he did not have to worry because he could feel that Master was okay with what he was doing right now, proud of him even. Master trusted him on a broom. It was so nice to have Master’s wholehearted approval, as he had felt that little enough recently. He was scanning the field, looking for the golden snitch that was his task and, for the first time in several days, Farid felt content.

He knew that the game had been going well, despite the cheating of Nott and his cronies. If Gryffindor won this match, then it would be the first time Slytherin had lost a game since Draco had become seeker. The boy was excellent, a really good flyer. But Farid was better. He felt no pride in this, he did not wish to gloat, this just was how things happened to be and Farid accepted it.

Presently Gryffindor had scored 190 points whilst Slytherin were at 110. The crowd of children and teachers watching the game were very excited. Farid could hear them cheering even from this vantage point. Then he saw the snitch.

Draco was about a hundred feet below him and the object in question was hovering about thirty feet above Draco’s head; if the boy were to look up he would surely see it. Farid manoeuvred his broom so that he seemed to be ambling in Draco’s direction, but, just as he approached the other boy, it was almost if the snitch reacted to his approach and it soared off ahead of them both, madly flapping its golden wings like a manic puffin. Draco saw it then and with Farid still some twenty-five feet away, he was off after their shared goal, flying as fast as he could. The race was on.

Draco had a huge head start on Farid but he was not going to let that stop him, he leaned forward over his broom and flew as he had never flown before. Seconds later he was passing Draco, the other boy was red-faced with effort but Farid overtook him with ease.

The snitch was just ahead and it was doing its best to elude them both; flying straight up, dodging and weaving, finally plunging to the ground faster than gravity. It was plummeting ever faster on a collision course with the earth below and both boys followed it. After several seconds when their speed seemed to increase exponentially Draco baulked at the acceleration and pulled up. Farid, however, did not; he pointed his broom directly at the pitch and single-mindedly followed the object of his attention.

The feeling was incredible; the wind blowing his hair back, causing tears to rise in his eyes. Faster and faster until, a bare few feet from the ground, he finally snatched the elusive object and flew back into the air with one hand hauling the nose of the broom up and the other clutching his prize aloft.

While he was in pursuit of the snitch, Farid had heard nothing, felt nothing. But now he could hear screams, screams which for some reason still held a tinge of terror, and through the bond he could feel his Master’s wrath. He looked around; the scoreboard was showing the end of game score: Gryffindor 340, Slytherin 110. The crowd was now going wild and a seemingly never-ending stream of children was spilling onto the field below. But all Farid could think about was his Master’s anger. He saw Master heading for the pitch along with the crowds and aimed his broom in that direction. Farid could not understand why Master was angry with him. What had he done that was wrong?

Seconds later he alighted and began trying to make his way to Master, but there was no way that he could get through the crowd. People were patting him on the back, shaking his hand, squeezing his shoulder, but then Sirius Black was there and he was hugging Farid. Sirius Black was crying.

“Never in all my life have I seen anything like that. It was fucking brilliant, you are fucking brilliant and I think I love you!” Then he took Farid’s face in both hands and placed a kiss squarely on Farid’s lips. There was nothing sexual about it and Farid had plenty of experience with which to compare, but the wave of fury that hit Farid through the bond almost knocked him to the ground. Then Master was with him, right next to him. Farid could feel his angry gaze burning into the back of his neck.

He wrenched himself from Sirius Black’s arms and threw himself into those of his Master.

“Masteerr, I is sorry. Vhat did I jo? I sorry, I sorry. Pleas jon’t be cross.”

Farid had his arms around his Master’s waist and he was sobbing.

“Hush child,” Master said, but Farid could see the conflict the dark eyes, feel it in his own heart. Master wanted to beat Sirius Black to the ground. Tear at him, stomp on him.

“Oh come on, Sniv er Snape,” Sirius Black was saying, causing another peak of emotion to wash over Farid, but his Master’s face was calm. It betrayed nothing of the emotions warring under the surface.

“He could have died, Black. Don’t you realise that?” It was Master that had Farid’s face grasped in his hands now. “The way you flew was foolhardy, Farid. You could have been killed, you foolish boy.”

Farid lowered his eyes, tears were gathering in the corners of them. He had not meant to make Master cross. He knew that at no time was he actually in any danger, he was always in complete control of his broom. But he was not about to tell Master that. So instead he just muttered as penitently as he could, “I sorry, Masteerr.”

But Black interrupted. “Don’t apologise, Harry. You were phenomenal, amazing. Don’t you understand how talented he is, Snape? He could fly for England; even now he could with no more training than he has already had. I have seen Quidditch matches all over the world and I have never seen anything like Harry’s flying. I always thought Malfoy was good, but Harry here left him at a standstill.”

He reached forward for Farid’s hand, “Come on, boy. We are going to party.”

Farid pulled back against Master’s chest.

Master’s emotions peaked again, but his expression did not even change.

He placed a finger under Farid’s chin and turned his face up so that he could read Farid’s soul with those unfathomable eyes.

“Do you want to go?” he asked quietly.

Farid was conflicted. He did want to go. Never in all his life had Farid been to a party. As a guest at least, he had often been as part of the entertainment. He had heard about parties from his new friends and remembered them from when he was a child at the Dursleys; he really did want to go. But, at the same time, he did not want to hurt his Master.

But Master must have seen enough to satisfy him, because he removed his hand from Farid’s chin and smiled at him gently.

“Of course you must go,” Master was saying, “Just don’t stay all night, I have a special dinner planned.”

Master’s mouth was saying go to the party, but his heart seemed to be saying, ‘No, please don’t, stay with me tonight.’ So Farid turned to Sirius Black and said, “I zink I go viz my Masteerr, zank dyou Sirioos Black.”

“Farid,” Master said more firmly this time, “you will go. You will have fun, and I will see you later.” Then he placed a tender kiss on Farid’s lips, this one so different from the one that Farid had just received from Sirius Black. Farid wanted to melt in his Master’s arms, but Master did not seem to be giving him the choice. He held Farid close for just a moment and whispered softly in his ear, words meant for Farid and Farid alone. “I am so proud of you My Own.” Then he turned on his heel and swept away into the crowd.

Farid couldn’t help feeling that something was lost, broken to smithereens. Master was feeling sad, lonely, left behind. Farid tried to pull away but his friends held him tightly dragging him towards the changing rooms, shouting to each other in their excitement. But Farid promised himself that he would get away as soon as he could, because Master was crying inside.

Walking away from Farid was the hardest thing that Severus had had to do for a long time. He wanted to grab the boy and snatch him away from the world. Farid was his. He had found him, rescued him, protected him. But, in recent weeks, Farid had become a commodity, ever more popular as the days went along.

And Black, the bastard! Severus felt a surge of anger when he thought of the man. He hated him sometimes. How dare he kiss Farid? How dare he praise him for such foolhardy, dangerous stunts? How dare he keep calling him Harry?

Severus felt like a child again. Not invited to the party, not wanted, not even by Farid. He knew he was being ridiculous. The desperate look in Farid’s eyes when he had been looking back at Severus over his shoulder as his friends hauled him away, told him more than anything that the boy cared for him. Black would probably have asked him along if he had stayed around. But Severus hated parties, he really did. He just would have liked to have been able to turn them all down, refuse their invitation, and Black had denied him the chance.

At least, Severus thought to himself, Farid did not have to put up with the ever more conflicting emotions that Severus seemed to be feeling these days. The bond seemed to leach on to his least likeable personality traits: his jealousy, his nurtured hatreds, his insecurities.

At least, Severus thought to himself, Farid did not have to suffer Severus’ unbridled feelings anymore. Quite unexpectedly, just yesterday morning, Severus had felt a surge of joy come through the bond to him from Farid, who was flying outside on the Quidditch pitch. Somehow he had managed to shut it off and had felt nothing from the boy ever since. He felt a little pride that he had managed to do something that Remus had thought impossible and Severus determined to tell the werewolf of his success in the morning.

He headed for the dungeons and a stiff whisky, a Laphroaig, he thought. That would do nicely. He would only have one, but it would calm his nerves. Severus never drank more than two glasses of alcohol if he could help it. Being the child of a violent drunk had cured him of excess for life, he thought. But after today he as sure as hell needed something.

For a moment, he had thought Farid lost. The whole crowd had been screaming in terror as the boy hurtled to the ground, speed increasing. Malfoy had struggled out of the dive apparently just in time, but Farid had appeared to be facing certain death. Severus had been truly awed for a few seconds when Farid did the impossible and pulled out of that seemingly fatal dive. Deep down he knew that Black was right, the child’s flying was simply phenomenal. He too had never seen anything like the control, the sheer natural ability that Farid had demonstrated today. He deserved his party, Severus’ boy did. Now, if only Severus could overcome his feelings, then he could truly welcome his little hero home later.

Still cross, still slightly disgruntled but nevertheless full of thoughts of what he and Farid might do that evening to help Severus overcome his shock, he made his way to the dungeons and a nice wee dram.