Centre of Twilight

‘One day to go.’ Harry groaned silently, trudging from the last lesson on Thursday back towards the Slytherin dungeons. Beside him, Draco twitched his bag higher onto his shoulder and nodded wearily.



‘Saturday, I’m going to sleep all day.’ He replied. ‘This will be the first year that I get to choose what I do for Christmas and I choose to stay in bed and do nothing!’



‘Nothing?’ Harry gave him an amused sideways look. ‘What a waste! All that time in bed and you’re not going to do anything but sleep?’



Before Draco could respond however, Snape’s voice reached them and Harry got an impression of the man sitting in his office, surrounded by scrolls of homework. ‘Actually, boys, I have a job for you on Saturday so neither of you will be sleeping…or whatever.’



The little sneer in his voice made Draco roll his eyes and drew a smirk to Harry’s lips. They didn’t reply, though, until they’d both entered Snape’s office.



“What kind of a job?” Harry asked, dropping into the free chair opposite the Potion master’s desk. With the only other chair laden with yet more scrolls, Draco perched on Harry’s knees and peered at the homework that Snape was marking.



“It’s a surprise.” Snape grinned evilly and twitched the parchment aside before Draco could read anything. Draco sighed and picked up one of Harry’s hands, entwining their fingers, his eyes downcast.



‘What’s the matter with you?’ Snape asked then, switching back to silent communication.



Draco sighed again and shrugged. ‘Nothing. Just thinking about stuff.’



‘About home?’ Harry suggested, having caught a glimpse of festively decorated halls and ten-foot Christmas trees.



Draco, however, failed to respond and simply continued to fiddle with Harry’s hand. Only when Snape got up and moved around his desk, did the blond youth look up; his grey eyes vaguely suspicious.



‘What?’ He demanded, slightly sulkily.



“Draco, there is absolutely no shame in missing your home and wishing you weren’t staying at school for Christmas.” Snape informed him. Despite looming over the seated boys, he managed to appear relatively caring.



Draco, however, simply regarded him with expressionless eyes. Then, ducking his head a little, he replied, ‘Actually, I don’t miss going home at all. In fact, the Manor ceased to be home the day I moved in here.’ He gave Harry’s hand an affectionate squeeze and looked up at Snape from under his lashes. ‘You and Harry are my family now; you make this home and I wouldn’t swap it for anything.’



‘So why the bad mood?’



After a moments thought, Draco shrugged. ‘I guess I just haven’t got used to enjoying Christmas yet.’



‘But you will.’ Harry responded and with his thoughts still lingering slightly on the realisation that Snape witnessed their emotions without sharing in them, Harry lifted his and Draco’s entwined hands. And understanding the intention behind the gesture, Snape placed his own hand over theirs; his long, slender fingers curling around and under to lightly caress Harry’s wrist.



It was a poignant gesture and one not lost on any of the three men but it was, sadly, interrupted by an urgent knock at the door. Snape pulled his hand back and, before Harry had a chance to read the expression in his intense, dark gaze, he turned away and opened the door.



Hermione stood nervously in the corridor and as the Potions master pulled the door open, Harry saw that she had been about to knock again whilst looking anxiously down towards the Slytherin common room.



“Miss Granger?” Snape purred malevolently, even as Draco coldly demanded, ‘What’s she doing here?’



Realising that Draco was still sitting on his lap, Harry flushed as Hermione swallowed a startled exclamation and stepped forward.



“Harry! I – er -” Hermione faltered, realising as her foot crossed the threshold that Snape hadn’t yet invited her in. She lifted an apologetic, questioning gaze and, at a single nod, she continued in. “I’m sorry to barge in like this,”



‘But you will anyway.’ Draco snarled.



“But, Harry, I have to talk to you.” Hermione finished, oblivious of Draco’s glare or his silent vitriolic words.



“Me?” Harry looked at her and only then took in her state of attire. It appeared that Hermione had only just come indoors; her shoes and socks were soaking, as was the hem of her robes. Melting snow dampened her hair and face and she was visibly shivering before them.



“Hermione, you’re frozen!” Harry exclaimed and then stood, forcing Draco to either stand up too or be unceremoniously dumped on the floor. Draco immediately informed Harry of his opinion of this treatment but, for now, Harry ignored him and pulled Hermione through into Snape’s sitting room where a cheery fire had been warming the room all day.



“I – I had to go outside and there was no time to fetch a cloak,” Hermione explained, allowing Harry to push her into an armchair.



“Why did you ‘have’ to go outside?” Snape enquired, stepping in behind them. Draco followed with a face like thunder.



“I…” again Hermione faltered and bit her lip, giving Harry a wary look.



“What?” he demanded, sitting down on the hearthrug and allowing Snape to take the other chair. In the intervening moment when Hermione was still trying to find the words to explain herself, Harry looked over at his lover and said silently, ‘Draco, please. Come and sit down.’



‘Forgive me if I choose not to spend time with a Mudblood.’ Draco drawled, his lip curling. And with neither a further word nor pause to listen to Harry’s response, he stalked through the sitting room to the rooms he shared with Harry.



‘Draco, don’t be childish!’ Snape rebuked but Harry’s attention was pulled away once more as Hermione finally found the words she was looking for.



“Harry, I found out today who attacked you in October.”



Her words caught him entirely by surprise and for a moment, all Harry could do was gape stupidly at her. After a few moments, it dawned on him that both Snape and Draco were silent, as if they too doubted their own ears.



“How? I mean, who?” Harry finally managed and felt Snape move in the chair just behind him.



“Last night, I saw Seamus talking with Blaise Zabini.” Hermione began. It seemed that now she was finally able to tell someone, all her nerves and anxiety had gone. “I thought it was strange but didn’t have the chance to question Seamus about it. Then, this afternoon, between Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, I saw Seamus running out the front doors after Blaise. So,” she flicked her eyes once at Snape, “I followed him. Seamus didn’t once look back but just ran down the grounds towards the Quidditch changing rooms. I followed him under a Quietus spell and then hung about in case there was any trouble.”



“Did you suspect Mr Finnegan of some wrong-doing?” Snape asked, his tone smooth.



Hermione shook her head. “No, I wasn’t really suspecting anyone of anything! Well,” she amended, “it seemed odd that Seamus should be quite so anxiously running after Blaise and I was following him, thinking that maybe Blaise had some kind of hold over him. You know, blackmail or something?”



‘They might have been having an affair!’ Draco’s voice resounded within Harry and Snape’s minds.



‘Draco, if you’re going to take part in this conversation, I suggest you come out here where we can all understand you.’ Snape commanded and, a moment later, the door opened and Draco stepped haughtily towards them.



‘How’s Granger supposed to hear me, exactly?’ He demanded, sitting down on the hearth, beside Harry.



“You could write your words, the way you used to.” Harry suggested, reaching out and trying to entice his lover to come a bit closer.



‘Are you sure she wants to hear what I have to say?’ He responded, giving Harry and arch look and refusing to move.



“Miss Granger,” Snape turned his attention back to Hermione. “You were telling us about following Mr Finnegan and Mr Zabini down to the Quidditch changing rooms.”



Hermione shifted her gaze from the two young men currently arguing on the floor and nodded at Snape. “I was worried for Seamus,” she insisted. “I couldn’t imagine that he would want anything to do with Blaise but…”



“But?” Snape lifted one eyebrow.



She sighed, “It’s probably simpler if I play this for you,” and she drew out her wand. “Activatus!” she commanded, giving her wand a short, sharp flick.



Immediately, a thin, ghostly dark image appeared before her and just as Harry recognised the figures as Seamus and Blaise, he heard the Gryffindor’s distinctive Irish brogue:



“Didn’t you hear me calling you? Christ, Zabini, I thought we agreed that we’d meet - ”



“Yes!” Blaise’s voice snapped in response, “We agreed that we’d meet down here. We said nothing about you running down here, screaming my name for all and sundry to hear. If anyone saw us down here, they’d think we were as queer as Potter and Malfoy!”



Hearing this, Harry looked to where his lover’s head had suddenly snapped up. Draco’s eyes narrowed and he gazed coldly at the recording.



Blaise was now doing what he clearly imagined to be Harry’s voice; except it was ridiculously high-pitched and effeminate, ‘Oh, what was that, Draco? You want to be on top tonight? Well, I’m not sure I can manage it without a little Sanguinarius Control.”



And now it was Harry’s turn to stare hard at the recording. His eyes raked the image of Blaise and then lifted to Snape’s.



‘He knows. He only bloody knows what they did to me!’



Before Snape could respond, however, they heard Seamus asking, “What are you on about? What the hell’s Sanguin-whatsit Control?”



Blaise sniggered and reached out to clap a hand on Seamus’ shoulder, “Never mind. Now, what was it you wanted to talk about? We can’t stay down here too long because a, I’ll freeze to death and b, we don’t want to be missed.”



“I think someone might have overheard us last night.” Seamus began, sounding edgy.



There was a startled hiss of alarm from Blaise and his image shifted suddenly and it took Harry a moment to realise that he’d moved to grasp Seamus by the front of his robes. “What? Are you insane? You think someone overheard us and so you decide to meet me down here? Just one night later? What if they decided to follow you?”



But Seamus was shaking his head. “She wouldn’t!”



“She? Who, she?”



“Never mind! But listen to me; people have been talking about the attack on Harry in October. They keep trying to guess who it was.”



“Well, let them talk!” Blaise sneered derisively, “Provided you don’t continue to behave like a perfect prat, they’ll never guess.”



“All right.” Seamus responded, sounding surly, “But I’m still not happy. And if you’ll remember, I wasn’t happy about laying that hex-trap for Harry – you never said it could kill him!”



Blaise growled and took another menacing step towards his associate again. “Not this again! Finnegan, if you’ll remember, you were howling for Potter’s blood that evening; shouting on and on about how the Pride of Gryffindor was shagging the ferret! Right then, you didn’t care whether Potter lived or died; just so long as he paid for his crimes against the house and against his friends. And there was I, thinking that only Slytherins had house pride.”



Seamus shifted and, sitting on the floor still, Harry dragged his eyes from the recording to look at Hermione.



“Is that what you all thought?” he asked very quietly. “That I’d betrayed Gryffindor?”



Before Hermione could reply however, Seamus answered Blaise:



“I admit I was angry with him. I mean, sure he’d been through hell and back but he didn’t give a stuff that we’d been going through hell too. We’d had no idea where he was or whether he was still alive and then, all of a sudden, he’s back but he’s behaving as if it was all our fault in the first place! Stamping around and showing off like that…and since when had he been into Draco-Bloody-Malfoy?”



“Well, we wondered the same thing,” Blaise replied, his tone smooth. “Especially when you consider that it was Malfoy who told Dumbledore where to find Potter.”



“What?” Seamus’ exclaimed in surprise.



“Surely you knew that?” Blaise shook his head in disbelief, “That’s why we punished him. Theodore, Dex, Millicent and myself were charged with the task of getting Malfoy outside the school gates so that he could be suitably chastised.”



Seamus looked as if he was about to reply but was interrupted by the unmistakable bark of Fang. With soft curses, the two students then hurried away and the recording continued to play, showing nothing but churned snow and heavy, grey landscape. Then, just before the recording ended, they heard Hermione’s own shaken voice stating:



“This recording was made on Thursday the nineteenth of December, nineteen-ninety six.”



*~*~*



“Thomas, I’m sorry,” Sirius began. “Tell me again; you left your son with your sister in…where?”



“Southampton. From my house, it’s about half an hour away by car.” Thomas replied.



Following the younger man’s revelations, they’d moved through into the lounge and had tried unsuccessfully to move on to a different subject while Sirius and Remus struggled to come to terms with what they’d learned. However, it seemed that this was proving difficult for both of them.



“So you left your son in Southampton and came to Cumbria?” Remus shook his head, “I don’t understand, how could you leave him?”



“Well, I couldn’t take him with me!” Thomas exclaimed, shifting in his armchair. “Oscar’s still a toddler – he’s only just two years old. I had no option.” He finished quietly.



“Does your sister know where you are?” Sirius asked gently, giving Remus a look.



Thomas shook his head. “After Liselle…and – and the Death Eaters…I just ran.”



With nothing but the clothes on your back and only a handful of cash in your pocket, Remus thought with a sigh.



“So who’s after you now?” he asked very quietly.



Thomas frowned and shrugged, “Police, I guess and maybe more Death Eaters…”



And now he’s here, Remus considered, with trouble on his heels and grief around his neck.



“I should send you away,” he said then, looking intently at the younger man. Beside him, Sirius was staring hard at his profile. “But I don’t think you’d survive very long out there – not at this time of year. And there’s the full moon tomorrow night. You can stay here – I’ll get some Wolfsbane potion for you tonight.”



“Wolfsbane?” Thomas looked wary, “What’s that?”



“A real treat.” Remus replied with as much sarcasm and distaste as he could manage.



*~*~*



Once again, they were in Dumbledore’s office. Draco looked about him, trying very hard not to think or feel, although this was practically impossible with Harry in such a state beside him.



‘They tried to kill you! Theodore Nott, Dex Flint, Millicent Bullstrode and Blaise Zabini. Draco, how can you be so calm? We’ve shared lessons with these people!’



‘I know.’ Draco responded. ‘Believe me, I know.’ And Greg hadn’t been on the list, had he? A very quiet little voice remarked.



“Severus, these are astonishing accusations that you’re making,” Dumbledore said as Snape finished explaining what they’d learned. “Do you have any evidence to support them?”



“I do, sir.” Hermione leaned forward and cast, “Activatus.”



Not really wanting to hear it all again, Draco looked across at his guardian and then at his lover. ‘Sev’s angry.’



‘He looks pretty calm.’ Harry responded and then gave Draco a strange look; ‘Can you feel what he’s feeling?’



‘Sometimes.’ Draco gave a tiny nod and then frowned very slightly, ‘Can’t you?’



The recording of Blaise and Seamus continued beside Dumbledore’s desk but Harry ignored it completely as he shook his head and replied, ‘No, never. But Severus shares our emotions…all our emotions.’



‘I know,’ Draco responded, looking sad, ‘and I know it’s driving him crazy but if he’d just let himself go a bit…’



‘Boys,’ Snape’s telepathic voice cut in, ‘would you mind not discussing me as if I can’t hear your every word?’



‘You can join in any time you like.’ Draco retorted, referring to the conversation – or so Harry hoped.



‘Don’t be a prude.’ Draco reproved but fell silent at a sharp glance from the Potions master.



After a short while, the recording finished and the Headmaster sat in contemplative silence for a few minutes. At length, he raised troubled eyes to consider the four people sat before him.



“This is grave news.” He stated then, “I think I should discuss this with Professors Snape and McGonagall before -”



“Headmaster,” Snape cut in, “if you’ll pardon my interruption, I believe it might be prudent to bring in Zabini and Finnegan. After all, they have already confessed to two attempts of attempted murder. Were they to discover that Miss Granger -”



“Yes, Severus, I understand.” Dumbledore countered, “However, we don’t have a confession so much as a recording of a conversation which severely implicates the two boys. On those grounds alone, we cannot mete out punishment, just like that.”



“Perhaps not,” Snape countered, “but nonetheless, if they were to get even an idea that we suspected them, who knows what they might do.” The Potion master’s voice was smooth and very even, Harry thought, and yet there was a tense, coiled control to his tone and to his entire demeanour that spoke loudly of how he felt. Draco was right; Snape was seething but quite what he was angry with, Harry couldn’t tell just then.



Dumbledore too perhaps felt the angry vibrations coming off Snape for he leaned back in his chair slightly and considered the man with calm blue eyes. “Very well,” he said finally. “Would you care to bring them to me, Severus? The rest of you,” he looked at Draco, Harry and Hermione, “should probably return to your rooms.”



*~*~*



Moving with long strides and easy grace, Snape accompanied the three students as far as the door to his office and then turned to look at each of them.



“You two,” he said to Harry and Draco, “stay inside our rooms, don’t answer the door to anyone. I’ll be back soon but until then, I can’t guarantee your safety unless you’re shut up safe and sound. Miss Granger,” he said then, looking at Hermione, “thank you for all that you’ve done. I suggest that you stay here with the boys…for the time being.”



Draco’s jaw practically hit the floor at this suggestion but ignoring him, Hermione nodded and moved to follow Harry inside.



‘Why does she have to hide with us?’ Draco demanded, rounding on his guardian, ‘What’s wrong with her own common room?’



‘Draco, don’t be difficult.’ Snape sighed. ‘Seamus Finnegan is a Gryffindor too – where would you expect him to be right now?’



Draco however didn’t answer. Instead, he heaved a long-suffering sort of sigh and turned as if to follow Harry and Hermione. Just before he closed the door, though, he changed his mind and turned back to look into Snape’s eyes.



‘Why’re you so angry, anyway?’ He asked, his grey eyes wondering.



For a second, Snape simply returned his look and then he shook his head a little. “They tried to kill you...you and Harry. I was angry before but now…now I have someone at whom I can vent my anger. That is,” he dropped his gaze, “if I wasn’t a teacher within this school and didn’t have duties, responsibilities and ethics to adhere to.”



‘Maybe you set too much by ethics.’ Draco suggested softly.



It seemed, all of a sudden, that Draco was standing much too close and Snape took half a step backwards.



‘Hmm…and you worry about that too much too.’ Draco said with a little smile and before Snape could respond, he closed the door.



*~*~*



“Are you all right?” Harry asked as soon as Draco came in from the office. His lover had a far away look and wore a bit of a smirk as he pushed his platinum blond hair out of his eyes.



‘I’m fine,’ Draco began and then narrowed his eyes at Hermione, ‘or at least I would be if the room didn’t reek of Mudblood.’ He growled.



‘Draco, for god’s sake, will you give it a rest?’ Harry retorted irritably, choosing to speak silently in order to keep Hermione out of this particular conversation. ‘I know you don’t like her and I know you didn’t want her to come down here any more but the fact of the matter is that she’s helped us and might even have saved our lives.’



‘How do you work that out exactly?’ Draco demanded, sauntering across the room and perching on the arm of Harry’s chair.



‘Well, Seamus and Blaise tried to kill each of us on separate occasions; who’s to say they wouldn’t try again? Maybe they were meeting to discuss another attack?’



‘Saint Granger strikes again, then!’ Draco sneered, giving Hermione a sidelong look. She sat, looking from him to Harry; clearly recognising that they were communicating but not understanding what they were saying. ‘And to think you used to be just like her!’



‘Was that why you hated me?’ Harry asked but Draco ignored him, getting up instead and fetching a bottle of brandy from Snape’s cabinet.



‘Want one?’ He asked, pulling out his wand to write the question in the air for Hermione to read. She shot Harry a swift, rather nervous glance and then nodded; perhaps not wishing to offend the Slytherin.



‘Sev’ll skin you alive if he finds out.’ Harry noted and felt the distant brush of Snape’s consciousness against his mind. With a smile, he heard the Potion master’s words, ‘Just don’t drink the whole bottle and leave the Oban alone!’



“Go on then,” Harry said aloud and watched as his lover poured three measures into fine, crystal snifters.



When Draco had given a glass to Hermione, he came and sat down, taking the other arm of Harry’s chair this time, and draped one long leg over Harry’s lap. He took a sip of brandy, gave a silent moan of pleasure and then leaned back to drape an arm around Harry’s shoulders.



Across the room, Hermione flushed at this rather open display of affection, took a slightly too large a gulp of brandy and choked.



“So,” she began when she’d regained her composure, “how long do you think it’ll take?”



‘What’s the matter?’ Draco wrote, ‘Don’t you want to stay with us?’



“I might,” Hermione retorted, “if I thought you wanted me here. But I’ve never wanted to linger where I’m not wanted, Draco.”



Draco sneered again but made no response.



“I don’t think it’ll be that long.” Harry stated, “I mean, what’s going to take time? Sev…um…Snape only has to round up Blaise and Seamus and take them to the Headmaster. As soon as Dumbledore decides what to do with them, Snape can come back and we’ll be free to do as we please.”



‘I know what would please me.’ Draco purred silently and turned his head to nuzzle into Harry’s hair. He was prevented from saying anything further however, when Hermione frowned and leaned forward in her chair.



“That’s the second time you’ve slipped up on the professor’s name,” she said to Harry. “Are you really so close now?”



‘What did Sev say about rumours concerning the three of us?’ Draco purred again, his voice within Harry’s head sounding faintly amused.



‘Be more careful, Harry, please.’ Snape’s voice echoed more seriously from somewhere far away; the Gryffindor common room, as far as Harry could tell.



“Well,” he began, turning what he hoped were innocent eyes to Hermione and willing away the blush that threatened to stain his cheeks, “we all live within the same quarters and have done for some time now. It would be silly to call him ‘Professor’ the entire time, wouldn’t it?”



“I suppose.” Hermione replied doubtfully, “It just seems awfully personal to call him ‘Severus’.”



‘What would you suggest?’ Draco wrote, ‘To call him ‘Snape’ would be somewhat rude and besides,’ he added, sliding off the armchair to top up Hermione’s glass, ‘I’ve called him ‘Severus’ all my life.’



“You’ve known him that long?” Hermione responded, taking another sip from her refreshed glass. She didn’t appear to notice that Harry and Draco had drunk only a little of theirs.



‘He’s the equivalent of a godfather to me.’ Draco smiled. It was a sweet, endearing sort of smile but it slipped easily off his face before he sat down…before Harry could see it for the disingenuous thing that it was.



“So perhaps,” Hermione began a few moments later. “Perhaps it wasn’t quite so awful for you when you were forced out of the Slytherin dormitory.” Her brown eyes held a fair amount of sympathy and more warmth than they had earlier. Thanks, no doubt, to the brandy, there was a slight flush to her cheeks too.



‘I don’t think I would ever refer to it as a picnic.’ Draco responded. His tone, as he thought the words was cold but of course, Harry realised, Hermione couldn’t hear that. All she had to go on was the glitter in Draco’s grey eyes and, he saw, she was completely misreading the signals. Instead of reading the danger, she saw only humour and an attempt at being friends. Was Hermione getting tipsy already, he wondered?



As he thought it, so Hermione picked up the bottle off the hearth and refilled her glass.



‘Don’t interfere.’ Draco cautioned silently, his eyes flicking briefly to Harry’s face.



‘Then stop messing about with my -’



‘Friend?’ Draco coldly demanded, interrupting. He was no longer looking at Harry, but rather was watching Hermione taking a gulp of her drink. ‘You’d choose her dignity over me? Because that’s all that’s at stake, you know. Believe me, I have no desire to see dear Hermione in mortal peril.’



Harry frowned. ‘What?’



And now Draco turned his head to look solemnly into his lover’s eyes. ‘I’m merely playing, Harry. I’ll stop before she runs the risk of landing in the hospital wing. Just let me have some fun; she’s up for that, surely?’



And feeling distressingly out of his depth, Harry looked once more at Hermione as she began to talk about when Harry had been rescued.



“We couldn’t believe it! Professor Dumbledore made the announcement at breakfast; told us all that you’d been retrieved and were currently recovering in the hospital wing. Of course, Ron and I went straight there,” she looked earnestly at Harry, “we so wanted to see you – to see for ourselves that you really were all right – but Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t even let us through the door.” She looked now at Draco and her eyes became large and sad, “We didn’t find out about you until much later at a Prefect meeting. That was why no one was allowed in – they couldn’t risk anyone making another attempt on your life.”



Draco said nothing and Harry simply sat, staring at nothing; recalling the moment when he’d realised, firstly who was in the bed beside him and, secondly what Draco had done for him. The fact that Draco’s so-called betrayal had saved Harry’s life but had also cost him his voice was still a hugely awkward point for Harry.



‘I told you before,’ Draco looked at him with soft eyes, ‘don’t worry about it. The loss isn’t so bad when you consider that I can still communicate with you and Sev.’ He smiled then – a true smile – and Harry returned it, only slightly reluctantly.



“Harry, I meant to tell you,” Hermione said then as she stepped unsteadily towards them to top up their glasses as well as her own. “I saw Cho the other day.”



Caught by surprise, Harry accidentally took a larger gulp of brandy than he’d intended. He gasped, determined not to cough or splutter, and looked back at Hermione with polite interest.



“She was asking after you – wanted to know if you’re all right.” Hermione went on, sitting down in something of a rush because her balance wavered for a moment.



“What did you tell her?” Harry asked carefully. Beside him, Draco was perfectly still and for several moments, made no comment.



‘Does she mean Cho Chang?’ He asked then, looking at Harry, ‘That girl you went out with last year?’



‘Yeah.’ Harry replied shortly, feeling slightly wrong-footed. It seemed strange to think about himself and the way things had been a year ago; after all, this time, last year, he’d kissed Cho. And at that point, he’d never even considered that he might like boys…

But then, he’d been innocent then and hadn’t had to face any of the ordeals that had been visited upon him during the summer.



‘Don’t think about that.’ Draco rebuked gently, shaking his head.



Easier said than done, Harry thought to himself. Considering that the events of the summer had altered him so dramatically…and all right, so sharing his power had reduced the darkness shadowing his soul, but even so…



“I told her that you were fine but we hardly get to spend any time together.” Hermione interrupted his thoughts. The alcohol, it seemed, had reduced her usual levels of diplomacy for she was now giving Draco quite a challenging stare, as if she knew that he was the reason Harry had cancelled her visit on Monday.



“Well,” Harry forced a shrug, “you’re here now and we’re talking.” He paused a moment and then added, “I never said thank you…you know, for telling us about Blaise and Seamus.”



She smiled at him, the colour in her cheeks now quite bright, and took another mouthful of brandy. “You’re welcome.” She said, slurring just a tiny bit, and then added slyly, “Both of you.”



Draco made a face and then wrote in the air: ‘All right. Yes. Thank you.’



Hermione grinned and then swayed very slightly. “Er…”



“Are you all right?” Harry asked with a frown.



“Um…I’ve been better.” Hermione replied, bringing a hand to her head. “When did the room start spinning?”



“Perhaps you should lie down,” Harry suggested and was about to get up when Draco placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.



‘Don’t fuss. She’s fine.’



“I’m fine…honestly.” Hermione said, unconsciously echoing Draco. “Do you have anything else to drink?”



‘I’ll fetch some orange juice.’ Draco said to Harry and got up to go into Snape’s little kitchenette.



While he was gone, Harry shifted awkwardly in his chair and eyed Hermione’s empty glass. It really was impossible to say how much she’d drunk, he thought, as she’d been refuelling her glass before it got empty. He then looked at the brandy bottle and stared in horror; there was only an inch and a half left.



“Hermione, how much have you had to drink?” he asked warily, looking to where she was curled in the armchair with her feet tucked up underneath her. Her shoes were placed neatly in front of the hearth and yet Harry couldn’t recall seeing her take them off. He did, however, know for a fact that were she sober, Hermione would never be quite so relaxed in the Potion master’s private sitting room.



“Dunno.” She replied sleepily, resting her head on one hand. She eyed him owlishly and then asked, “When did you know you were gay? I mean,” she said, before he could answer, “you really liked Cho and it bothered you when she flounced out of the tea shop, last Valentine’s day. So when did that change?”



“Hermione,” Harry began, hoping his severe tone would suggest to her that this wasn’t a suitable subject for discussion.



“Oh, Harry, come on!” she cried, not moving, “I know you’re crazy about Draco – and he’s so sexy, who could blame you – but you used to like girls.”



“Maybe I still like girls,” Harry countered. Unfortunately, this was just as Draco returned, carrying three tall glasses of orange juice. He gave Harry a curious look as he placed the glasses on the floor and handed one to Hermione.



“So you’re bi, then?” Hermione asked, taking a slug of juice.



Harry sighed, “I don’t know. I don’t know that you can put me into any one category. I am what I am and I like what I like…who I like.” He added softly, smiling at Draco.



‘Hmm…let’s leave Hermione to sleep by the fire and go to bed.’ Draco murmured sexily.



‘Whilst that’s an incredibly tempting thought,’ Harry returned, ‘it’s probably not the best idea you’ve ever had. What if Severus came back and found her here? And,’ he added, ‘Severus needs his wits about him. With us shagging in the back of his head, he can hardly concentrate, can he?’



‘Well, no.’ Draco smirked, ‘Brilliant turn of phrase, though!’



Ignoring that last, Harry wanted to ask him then about what he’d revealed earlier – that he could sometimes share Snape’s emotions, just as he in turn could share theirs. However, Hermione roused herself from a drowsy reverie to ask another question.



“What do you think about starting the DA again?”



Once again caught by surprise, Harry stalled for time by taking a mouthful of orange juice while he thought of a suitable answer.



“Well…”



“Oh, Harry, go on! It’d be brilliant! Professor Fraser’s tons better than Dolores Umbridge but he’s a bit wet, don’t you think? We need you back.” Hermione enthused and then, perhaps thinking that she shouldn’t exclude Draco, added, “And Draco could come too. He could demonstrate some of the Dark Arts that we can fight.”



Harry wanted to intercede; wanted to explain to Draco that she was drunk and didn’t realise what she’d said. However, there really wasn’t the time.



‘Maybe,’ Draco wrote, his face pinched and malevolent, ‘you should ask that of your darling Harry?’



That, of course, wasn’t quite what Harry had expected his lover to respond with.



“What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded aloud.



“You know Dark Arts?” Hermione asked, not allowing Draco the time to reply. “I mean, apart from that Stasis spell you cast in the Great Hall? You know combat magic?”



“What? Yeah…well, kind of. It’s a long story.” He turned then and looked very directly at his lover, demanding silently, ‘What’s got into you? What did you have to go and say that for?’



‘She’s assuming that you’re the same goody-two-shoes Potter of old!’ Draco retorted, utterly unrepentant. ‘And you’re happily playing along. Since when did you turn into Mr Caring And Sharing?’ And with that, he got up and stalked back out to the kitchenette.



“Draco,” Harry called after him, feeling both angry and unhappy. His lover ignored him however and Harry was prevented from following him by Hermione suddenly groaning and pushing herself upright in her chair.



“I don’t feel very well,” she whimpered, looking suddenly pale and vaguely green.



As alarm took the place of irritation, Harry hurried to take Hermione through to the bathroom. For some unknown reason, as she got up so Hermione picked up her orange juice too. However, just as she crossed the threshold to the white-tiled bathroom, her stomach gave a heave and she thrust the half-full glass into Harry’s hands and bolted for the toilet.



Feeling nauseated by the sound of his friend being so violently ill, Harry turned away and took a sip of her orange juice. Swallowing, he then frowned and sniffed at the drink.



‘Draco?’ He sent the thought out, ‘What did you give Hermione?’



But there was only a cold, closed silence from his lover and, in any case, he recognised the taste of alcohol when he tasted it.



With a glance over his shoulder at Hermione, he saw that she was still busily engaged with the toilet and so headed back out into the main room.



“Draco?” he called, moving through into the kitchenette, “Draco, stop ignoring me -”



He paused in the doorway and stared at where Draco was standing by the sink with an empty bottle of vodka in his hand. He swayed very slightly and blinked steadily at Harry.



“How much was in that bottle?” Harry asked, exasperated and wary all at once. He wished he hadn’t had any of the brandy (even if he’d only had a tiny fraction of what Draco and Hermione had consumed) and wished fervently that Snape were there.



‘What?’ The Potion master’s voice demanded silently, ‘Harry, what’s wrong?’



‘Oh, nothing, Severus!’ Draco responded sarcastically, ‘Harry’s just fine and dandy. He’s turned back into the good little Gryffindor that we neither knew nor loved.’



“Draco, that’s enough.” Harry snarled, “Now tell me, how much have you just drunk?”



‘Shouldn’t you be more worried about darling Hermione?’ The blond youth sneered.



“She’ll be fine. She’s at least bringing everything back up.” Harry replied flatly, “What I’m worried about is that you might have poisoned yourself with half a bottle of vodka.”



‘There wasn’t that much in there.’ Snape’s voice informed him. ‘Hang on; I’ll be there in ten minutes.’



Harry sighed and shook his head before fixing his lover with a steady gaze. “Why don’t you tell me what this is all about? Tell me what you’ve really got against Hermione. And, while you’re at it,” he added with a cold little sneer of his own, “you can explain what you meant by telling Hermione about my experiences with Dark Arts.”



Before Draco could respond though, he was interrupted by the sound of a crash from the bathroom and Harry was forced to hurry back, leaving his lover standing.



Upon arriving at the bathroom again, he found Hermione out cold on the floor, surrounded by spilled and broken bottles – including, judging by the scent, Draco’s bottle of cologne. It seemed that Hermione had been trying to pull herself to her feet and had pulled down the little shelf of toiletries.



‘She smashed my cologne?’ Draco demanded angrily, appearing at Harry’s side in seconds. ‘Oh, just brilliant, Potter! What does your friend do for an encore?’



And that, Harry thought later, was probably the last straw. After all of Draco’s possessiveness and ill feeling towards Hermione, his spiteful venting about Harry’s less than favourable past and after deliberately setting out to get Hermione so drunk that she threw up and passed out, he was now bitching about his smashed cologne.



“You know what, Malfoy?” Harry snapped, pushing past to make his way to Hermione’s side, “I give up. I don’t know what you expect of me; I don’t know what your problem is. And, quite frankly, I don’t care anymore! Just get out of my sight. Leave me alone; leave my friends alone and maybe – just maybe – I won’t hex your arse from here to next week!”



‘You want me to go?’ Draco repeated, lifting his chin and regarding Harry with a pale face and just a glimmer of pain before a brittle, haughty façade dropped neatly into place.



‘I want you to go.’ Harry affirmed, gingerly touching Hermione’s face and not looking back at Draco.



‘Then it’s over.’



Harry sighed and shot one last irritable glance over his shoulder. ‘Yes. Whatever. Just stop all this…whatever it is…and leave me to help Hermione.’