Redemption of a Snake

The Redemption of a Snake


Chapter 6: You, me, the three of us.


Sunday, September the 27th

When his alarm clock rang, Remus groaned in his pillow and resisted the urge to throw the awful thing through his window. After such a tiring week, he wasn’t even allowed to lie in. At the beginning of the school year, he had offered his services to watch the children during their monthly visits to Hogsmeade. He regretted it now. It was one of those weekends… So he had to get up… And Snape was probably still enjoying his sleep… There was no justice…

Making the best of it, he remembered the evening of the past day, when Snape had been afraid his colleague would denounce him. Of course he wouldn’t have, but it was appreciating to know that the Potions Master didn’t put it past him. It reminded him of the Marauders’ time. Remus showered and dressed, hoping he could convince Albus that he needed Severus to keep all the students in line. Taking the Slytherin children into account, that wasn’t far from the truth…

But he wouldn’t need such an excuse…

He entered the Great Hall and had to cover his ears because of the noise. What was that now? The upper years were all awake due to the Hogsmeade’s outing. They represented barely half the school but made more racket than all the students combined during the Halloween feast. Spotting Dumbledore, he joined the old man at the teacher’s table. The headmaster was scanning through the morning’s paper and, when he was finished, agitated his hand to calm the children. That had no effect.

Sighing, the old man looked skywards and snapped his fingers. All noise stopped, and Remus chuckled at the students trying to discern where their mouths had disappeared. He grasped a newspaper and read the front page. ‘Ok, that’s it,’ he thought, ‘No wonder they’re all so panic-stricken…’

“Are you calmed?” Dumbledore inquired of the children. There was no reaction, but some eyes showed suspicion or even hatred. The headmaster had gone mad. First, he protected a dark wizard, then he allowed the return of Slytherin’s heir, and finally, he defended a demonist. He had lost his mind. Did he realise this was dark magic? “Good.” He clicked his fingers again and the mouths went back to their places. “What is your problem?” the headmaster asked, as if it were the most natural question in the world.

Immediately, Remus’ hands went to his ears. Merlin he hated that! It was two days away from the full moon, and his senses were slowly gaining in acuteness, rendering many sounds unbearable, such as the shouts of children.

Dumbledore hushed the students. “One at a time, please. Miss Granger.” Better begin with someone with a modicum of common sense and calm.

Hermione cleared her throat, to affirm her voice, and presented the problem. “I think they don’t agree with the presence of a demonist in the school, professor.”

“Yeah, expel him!” “He’s a dark wizard!” “Can’t you see he performed a lobotomy on you?!” “He’s dangerous!” etc… They let out a torrent of abuse against the Slytherin.

“Shut up!” stormed a voice from the Great Hall’s doors. “Some people want their rest!”

The Draco’s entrance calmed the spirits. It could get dangerous to try expelling a demonist to his face. Still, some wands discreetly got out to point at the young Malfoy, rapidly accioed by Remus. The werewolf suddenly felt tired and sad. Draco had gone to their side, but he was more rejected now than when he was to become a death-eater…

“Half of the Slytherins have practised dark magic since they were five years old and you never tried to expel them!” remarked Draco with mockery in his voice.

“But they didn’t liberate the spirit of an assassin!” blamed Ron.

“His last murder was fifty years ago. There’s prescription,” Draco spoke back.

“Not when he attempted murder five years ago!” yelled another student, whom Draco remembered having been attacked by the basilisk.

“And what happened? You got morphed into stone for a few weeks, oh what an horror… I almost got sent into the Shadow World because of Weasley’s little talkative type!” he accused. That wasn’t entirely true since the aurors had wanted to arrest him for being a demonist and the weasel had only revealed Tom was back, but no one noticed the change.

Silence followed the declaration, and Draco smirked. “What? They didn’t narrate that into your newspaper?”

Observing the scene, Harry sighed. He supposed he’d never understand the crowds… He turned to the headmaster and got confirmation of Draco’s last words. “Professor,” he said more to himself than to the old man, “If they want to send Malfoy into the Shadow World for fighting Voldemort, what will they do to me after the Last Battle?” he sadly asked.

Dumbledore inwardly smiled at Harry’s intervention, despite the anxiousness he felt from the question. He had often wondered that too....

Even the Gryffindor’s red-haired friend, previously so hot-tempered, had calmed down at the revelation. No one deserved such a fate, except for Lestrange who had sent Sirius to it.

“But I don’t care about you and your problems,” concluded Draco, “We’re already late for Hogsmeade, and I want to see the new Comet 3000. So when are we going?”

“It’s out next week, cretin,” commented a Ravenclaw.

“If you weren’t so engrossed in non-existent subjects such as my private life, you’d have read page three of the Daily Prophet and discovered that the broom is on general release one week sooner than they announced,” retorted Draco.

“What?! Where is it written?!” someone screamed, flipping the Newsweek’s pages with excitement. Everyone present soon forgot the demonist problem as they rushed to prepare for Hogsmeade. Peered at by Professor McGonagall, Dumbledore smiled.

“How is the director of Comet Racers?” she asked with a disinterested air.

“He’s well. Slightly tired from his sleepless night…” It had been by chance only that Mr Wilst, current director of this broom company, had been a good friend of Dumbledore and monetarily indebted to Lucius Malfoy. He had been much too happy to trick the aurors, especially when the high lord had proposed to pay the price.

Caring no more than before about his peers, Draco caught the Weasley girl. “Your brother told you?” he inquired.

“Harry did,” she replied carefully. Malfoy was there; Tom could be near… “What do you want?”

“To propose to you a deal.” He bent to her ear and murmured some words, soon inveighed by Ron.

“You don’t touch my sister…” the Gryffindor bickered with an angry scowl.

“Ron!” she reproached, “This is my life; stay out of it. I accept,” she announced to Draco.

“Perfect.” That was all he needed to hear, and he went away. He didn’t care about the redhead getting lectured by his little sister for trying to control too much of her affairs. Particularly, he didn’t want to be in the way, in case a bad hex flew at the poor, poor, poor little weasel. Draco smirked. If only that could happen…

He hadn’t stomached Weasley’s revelation to the whole school that Tom was still here. But what angered him most was the presence of a traitor very near. Or maybe the old fool’s office was spied on… Draco wasn’t afraid of the Shadow World’s nature for he had already come into contact with it when he had gotten Karnar, but if he could send someone in it, or take someone out, he wasn’t certain he could do the same to himself. He wasn’t eager to try. That was why he needed a back up plan in case the aurors came back. He needed something nobody would know of, that nobody would be able to counter. He needed a demon… Noting Lupin, he repressed his bad thoughts, suppressed a giggle, and headed for the teacher.

“Professor,” he called in a gentle voice. “I had an idea this morning.”

Remus, although amused, frowned. The ideas of this child were often dangerous. But the change of subject was welcome. Just as Harry, and probably Snape and the Malfoys, he wondered what would happen to him after the war, if something happened to Albus: the old man had been the only one to protect him when it had been revealed he was a werewolf…

“I propose a game,” Draco explained, “This is just like the House Points. Each time you need or want something from me, such as the Wolfsbane potion, you propose a point price. If I accept and do what you ask, I gain the number of points you promised. And each time I need or want something from you, I propose a price I have to pay with my collected points. At that moment, you’re allowed to raise the price or simply refuse the deal. Same for me when you want something, of course. The game stops at the Yule Holidays. So, want to play?” He put on the ‘sweet angel’ face.

“If you have a hint of intelligence, you’ll refuse,” grunted Snape from behind. His eyes were underlined by dark shadows, causing the others to wonder what he had done during his night.

Moony turned to him, surprised to see the man awake. He voiced his astonishment, and the Potions Master glared at Draco. “He awoke me, saying someone wanted to stone him.”

“And you said you didn’t care,” pouted the boy. “Well professor?” he went back to Lupin.

Remus hesitated. What could Draco gain out of this? Was it only a game, or had he planned something more? There was no danger, since he could refuse everything the boy asked… “Fine, I’ll play.”

Severus sighed. “You’ll regret it…” And contrary to Remus, he knew what he was talking about and what to expect from the devilish child…

“Well, it’s a good thing done. May I go home, headmaster?” Draco yelled to Dumbledore, “I have to talk to my parents before they read the papers.”

“They’re in my office.”

‘Drat it! I have to find something else…’ moaned Draco. He effectively needed to explain the problem to them, so that they wouldn’t over-worry, but he also wanted to pass by the crypt. “May I go home anyway; I have to take some books to work,” he insisted.

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled, as if he knew what the boy wanted to perform there, and he accepted. ‘If it goes on this way, he will be more spoiled at the end of this year than he was when he entered Hogwarts…’ thought Severus.

o-

The Malfoy child had disappeared in the headmaster’s office and spent some time relating the last night’s events to his parents, never suspecting the part his father had played in it, before heading for Dumbledore only knew where. Remus watched over the students in Hogsmeade, accompanied by Severus. The man had somehow forgotten in wasn’t his turn, then, when confounded, had declared he was in need of some ingredients. Remus hadn’t contradicted him and only hid a smile.

To their surprise, a boy had deserted his friends to spend his morning with the two professors. They were rare, the children that could bare both of their company…

“Professor,” said Harry with a hushed voice, “Do you know what Malfoy is going to do with Riddle?” he asked Moony. He had deserted Ron and Hermione to allow them ‘couple peace’ as he liked to call it. Maybe he ought to find a girlfriend too: he had to severely miss his friends if he could relish in Snape’s conversation.

Remus sighed. “If only I did…”

For his part, Snape smirked. “Don’t you have eyes to look and a brain to think? He’s imitating the examples we all gave him.”

The DADA teacher and his student glanced at each other, wondering if the other had understood the meaning. They hadn’t. But Severus didn’t care; he was happy: his work of twenty years was beginning to be of some use. Since the coming to power of the dark lord, Slytherins had come to life in families of fanatics. They were taught to obey. They never learnt to think. And for each student that came to Hogwarts, it was seven years that Severus spent attempting to teach the child what they lacked: a will of their own. For a part, it had worked; and some of these had avoided joining the death-eaters, mostly by leaving the country. But Snape should have known: only the influence of a Gryffindor could bring it to turn out well. Draco had been his unqualified success.

Slytherins were chosen for their ambition, be it good or bad. Voldemort had brought decadence over this house; he had clenched it in servitude, and he would pay. He would disappear, and Slytherin would rise anew.

They spent the entire morning watching over animated students. The incident during breakfast had been completely pushed backwards. Since the full day had been declared school free, they had lunch in Hogsmeade. At two o’clock, the broom shop opened, and a herd of students rushed inside to admire the new creation of Comet Racers. It was up to their expectation. Economies of many years tinted out of the pockets and those who didn’t buy it encircled those who did.

Remus laughed at the children’s eagerness and Harry’s disappearance from his side, but the laughter died in his throat when a hand touched his arm. “Draco!” he exclaimed warmly, “I thought you weren’t coming.”

The child beamed with self-satisfaction. “I made it quick at...” but before he could continue, his face writhed in pain.

“What did you do?” asked Snape, releasing the obviously hurting arm of the boy. Staring at it, Remus discovered it had been bandaged to the wrist. He observed Draco with care and anxiety as he also waited for an answer.

The child carefully rubbed his left forearm. “I became more powerful.”

But it wasn’t all that bothered Remus. Something had changed… something physical… something… “Your hair…” he whispered.

Draco smiled at him and passed his hand on his head. “I cut it! At home, I looked into a mirror. It was disturbing; I had the impression of being my father. I prefer it this way.” The short and rustled cut felt out of place on the usually aristocratically combed head, but Draco certainly gained from it. Long hair had made him look older than he truly was. If he went on with such transformations, he’d have no problem finding a date for the Halloween Ball. But what had changed hadn’t been the hair either.

At length, they returned to the castle. It was about time; Remus had no legs left. Smirking, Draco went back to the headmaster’s office as soon as they arrived. The werewolf didn’t want to know what had passed in that head of his. He didn’t want to know. And Dumbledore’s mischievous smile during dinner only added to his resolution. Minerva questioned him though, and Remus couldn’t help but prick up his sensitive ears.

“I was proposed a very interesting idea, one that I shall use,” the witty old man answered vaguely. It was bad when Gryffindors began associating with Slytherins… Because Moony was certain that Dumbledore was referring to the conversation he had had with Draco a couple of hours earlier. A sudden doubt invaded his brain: they never had confirmation that Albus had been a Gryffindor… They had all assumed since he seemed to favour the red house, but now… he wasn’t so certain anymore.

Besides, he hadn’t deepened the question about Draco’s wounded arm. What had the boy been doing at Malfoy Manor? And what was this story about power? His eyes followed the Slytherin’s movement as the boy attempted to eat with only his right arm, since the left seemed not of much use in its current state. It had taken him a moment to remember that Draco was left-handed. Remus sighed… Slytherins and pride…

He had wanted to go after Draco for some answers, but his project was disturbed two times in a row, and when he was finally free of actions, the child had vanished.

“I slightly modified the organisation for the Ball,” Dumbledore had announced to the teachers. “It will be masked.” If Remus had paid close attention, he’d have noticed the gleam in the old pupils and deducted Draco had something to do with this sudden change. But he didn’t.

The second distraction came from Miss Granger, who had noticed a very unusual fact: in the Teacher’s Room, at the place where the points were counted for each house, another point flask had been added, bearing Mr Malfoy’s name. Why had Dumbledore done that? And how had he heard of their game? More, why did he so solemnly agree with it?

Getting none of the answers he requested, Remus sneaked into the Slytherin dungeon. His arriving was still noticed. Blasted Snakes! Trying to ignore the angry stares at his back, he rapped on the secret lab’s door. In front of so many students, he couldn’t decently use and reveal the password. But there was no answer.

“He’s in the dorm,” said a voice from behind him.

Remus swirled to the unexpected help and faced Blaise Zabini. Surprised and genuinely gladdened there was still someone in this house that didn’t reject Draco, he went up the stairs, led by the student.

“No?! She did that?! Great! I wish I had witnessed it!” Draco was alone in the room, doubled up with laugher on his bed. Remus approached the bed and waited till the end of the boy’s crisis. Suddenly, the boy rolled on his belly and eyed Moony expectedly. “Professor?” he invited with that silvering voice.

Remus sighed silently and sat on the mattress. ‘I am getting much too familiar with this child,’ he thought sadly.

“Don’t bother with that,” Draco said, as if reading his thoughts, “I will be out of school in less than a year.”

Remus peered inquiringly at him as his breath itched in his throat. He was an Occlumens? When would he have learnt that? But Draco laughed at him. “Tom just read your mind,” the child explained. Ha… Riddle… It was him that Draco had been talking with when Remus had entered. “And… Tom,” Draco called gently, “Will you leave us a moment, please?” he inquired in a kind tone. It sounded odd to hear someone talking this way to Voldemort. But Moony guessed Tom wasn’t totally You-Know-Who anymore… Draco eyed the spirit, then went back to his visitor.

“I wanted to verify you were well,” Remus exposed.

Draco smiled softly, “You worry too much, professor. It isn’t good to dwell on matters you can’t control.”

And Lupin sent the smile back. “It is my nature, I suppose. But… You seem… Different, since you came back.” He stopped, hesitating. It wasn’t his place to question the boy; he was nothing but a professor… And it only was an impression…

Fingers brushed his robes, frightening his bad thoughts. “Today, I got a new demon,” Draco explained, “The full moon is getting near, and the wolf in you is feeling his influence on my personality. It’s only a matter of days before my body is adapted to his presence; then you will stop noticing him.”

Remus nodded in thanks of the explanation and grinned to lighten the atmosphere. “You seem more sensible too.”

“Because he is. I gave him energy, and he offered me some of his wisdom. I am honoured that he accepted to become my demon.” And in fact, the child’s voice wasn’t that of an adolescent anymore, and Remus first observed the full extent of Draco’s maturing.

“Do I win some points for easing your worries?”

Not so matured; finally... “Two points to Malfoy,” he declared. Cunning child.

o-

Severus turned back and forth in his bed, cursing his pillow for not giving him the rightful sleep he deserved. The invading student had disturbed his previous night. Draco child had gone to the cot, never asking for more, and had been sleeping some moments later. Snape had talked with his colleague then read for a time and finally gone to his own bed. There, his nightmare had begun. Tranquilly, he had accommodated his head on the fluffy pillow and serenely closed his eyes, reassured that Lupin would divulge nothing that could get him into trouble. And he had heard it. The small voice calling for his professor. The werewolf had vaguely mentioned Draco’s nightmares and, a fatherly feeling filling his heart, Severus had gotten up. Only two seconds, he had thought, just the time to verify Draco was fine…

And fine, the boy had been. Stretched out on his back on the cot, young hands clutching the sheets, muscles tensed, lips slightly parted, letting hot and quick breathes escape. Severus froze at the sight. It couldn’t be happening… “Professor…” Draco moaned again, arching his back.

Horrified, Severus cast a soundproof spell around the boy and went back to his bed. But he soon realised he wouldn’t find sleep this night. Questions were overcoming his mind. Had it been a simple dream? No… Draco’s reactions couldn’t be mistaken… He had been having sexual intercourse with one of his teachers. Which one? Which professor had Draco had the madness to desire?

Frenzied, he recalled the scene in Malfoy Manor the past day, when Draco had called for and caught Lupin’s hand. That was it: it had to be Lupin. This was the werewolf’s problem. If the imbecile Gryffindor couldn’t take care of the way children saw him, too bad for him!

And there, twenty-four hours later, alone in his room, he still pondered on what he had seen. Even after convincing himself that it was Lupin whom Draco called, the soft moans had gone on replaying in his head all day long. He enjoyed the contact of women’s bodies on his and had never felt the need to lie with a man, but it was long since he last experienced the pleasures of flesh and the idea that someone so young could desire him, the old and greasy Potions Master of Hogwarts, was unwillingly enticing. And Draco’s new cut… At first sight, it made him look rebellious but if you gave him a second glance, you then noted his resolute pose, his wise eyes, and the developing power that escaped his fingers. He was a weak child growing into a formidable adult. Soon, Draco would be an incredible adversary.

And this fantasy of forcing the Demon Master into yielding aroused Severus. He caressed his blanket, just above his swelling member and breathed out his pleasure. The child, kneeling in obedience, his aristocratic features flushing with shame and scorched lust, his sweet lips opening to taste… Suddenly he remembered how Draco had only called for a ‘professor’ and he softened back in a mere second. Merlin, he was going mad. He was wanking over a child, a student whom he wasn’t even sure had the weakest desire for him. But it felt so good, and it had been so long… All these years, his responsibilities in the school, his position as a spy, the knowledge of Voldemort’s probable return had inexorably denied him the possibility of any relation; and for the first time, the sheets of his bed appeared empty and cold. He HAD to take some vacations… and visit a brothel… He couldn’t afford the luxury of having thoughts about Lucius Malfoy’s son.

Determined to absorb his mind in less lustful, lewd and deadly concerns, he lighted his wand’s tip, propped it on his night-table and grabbed a thin book he had found in a pile of old volumes that he’d brought from the Snape House by chance long ago, the only one he had found left in the school that concerned demonology. One passage had particularly called forth his attention.

‘The major weakness of the demonists comes from their incapacity at using tools to canalise magic,’ the book read, ‘Thus, numerous spells that common wizards consider child’s play are rendered very difficult to practice for them. On the opposite, the demonists’ destructive power is certainly much more important than this of the dark magic. Demonists can’t use their magic in everyday life; they are specialised in battle. They could be described as warrior wizards.’

So that explained the slow extinction of the demonists. Wizards preferred the possibility of relying on magic on a daily basis rather than achieving small tasks by hand. Did Draco know that he would have to abandon his wand?

‘Their main assets are the control of fire and shadow, the great effectiveness of their maledictions and, of course, their mastering of the demons (refer to chapter three for more information on demons).’

Flipping the pages, Severus found the mentioned chapter. ‘Demons come from the Demonic World, which is situated behind the Shadow World. Physically, this assertion was never verified, but this is how the demonists describe the place’s location. It is very probable that when a demon is invoked by its master, it has to go through the Shadow World, which would be no more than a barrier.

This capacity of the demonists to pass from one world to another gave form to the ancient expression ‘curse to shadows’. It meant being punished by a demonist into being his servant for a time he was to choose. Generally, the offender was sent into the Shadow World till he surrendered to his new master. Most sane persons preferred to submit before the sentence was even executed. As strange as it may seem considering this extraordinary ability, there exists no report of a demonist’s abuse of this power. It was only used as a revenge for failed attempted murder or psychic manipulation, which demonists hate to no limit.

Indeed, if I had to name one thing that angers demonists, it would be meddling with their mind. Occlumens breaking into demonists’ minds isn’t unheard of but trust and permission are essential elements throughout the exchange. If one of them was missing, the Occlumens would be cursed and dead within minutes.’

“Ok, no messing with Draco’s mind…” Severus said out loud, impressed.

‘This hatred comes from their total symbiosis with their demons. When a master, a demonist no longer solely possesses his own mind but also his demon’s. As explained in chapter five, demonists are very protective of their demons, and the idea that a stranger could try to enter their pets’ spirits because of a weakness on their part frightens them to no end. To strike is like a conditioned reflex and not a spell they actually have to learn.

The malediction they use in such a case is amusingly named ‘Mermaid’s Call’ because it generates into the Occlumens’ mind an intense desire to commit suicide for the demonist’s cause before the curse actually kills them. Demonists only use this malediction to punish trespassers of their mind.

Such a deadly curse is the reason why multiple walls’ recognition is taught to Occlumens during their training. Possessing several minds, demonists also have several protective walls. Their united strength is no more than the common human one and poses no problem for a confirmed Occlumens to break; albeit, it is the only signal one will receive that the person he is mind-scanning is a demonist. Shall the Occlumens not see the sign and break into the mind, the consequences he will endure are numerous and have already been described.’

“Darn it… Didn’t Potter attempt scanning Draco’s mind yesterday? Thank Merlin he’s such an inattentive rascal. I’ll have to warn Albus too, in case the old fool feels curious.”

‘On the contrary, demonists have no resistance at all concerning interrogatory potions, such as Veritaserum. Very small doses are enough to destroy any of their resistance. Still, since they needn’t wands to cast maledictions or curses, it is common that their assent be required before the beginning of the session. Another way is to gag them, and they have to write their answers. Captured demonists have their tongue cut to prevent any problem occurring.’

‘But what about Imperio? Do they react to it too? If only that could kill Voldemort…’ Curious, Severus searched for the author’s of the book and its publication date. He was disappointed: the book was two hundred years old… No wonder they didn’t talk about Imperio. It didn’t even exist at that time.

‘Going back to the demon matter, there are two sorts of them: common demons and demon gods, also called daemons. Demons have no religion, and these creatures were so named because of their incredible powers. Many demonists found death attempting to master daemons.

The stronger the demon is, the more difficult it is for the demonist to master, but also the more powerful he will become from this alliance. Depending on the demons he masters, a demonist may acquire other powers than the usual ones, such as spirit control over animals or humans, air or thunder mastery, and skills with weapons.

Due to the small number of existing demonists, it is difficult to describe the full extent of their capacities. Demonists learn and work alone; they require no particular teaching, since they specialise individually.

Chapter 4: Reader, if you were to come across an angered demonist, knowing not of its powers, I strongly suggest to instantly apparate away. This is an ability they don’t possess, and if you don’t attack them, they will forget they met you. If you can’t disappear, then avert their way or, as a last resort, show submission. Demonists do not attack submissive subjects, as long as said subject hasn’t wronged them.’

‘Show submission… They’re funny; what do they mean by that?’ Severus didn’t plan to kneel to Draco each time the spoilt child had been refused something…

‘On a scale of power, to defeat a demonist, a dark wizard has to be classed one rung higher at least. To begin a fight with a demonist then attempt to flee would be the biggest error in a duel: their maledictions would pursue you everywhere. Only other demonists and the strongest wizards can clear away maledictions from a body. Fortunately, very few of those can actually kill a wizard: they are generally energy stealing or exhausting curses.

Contrary to popular belief, demonists have no particular problem against enlightening spells and do not fear them. In some situations, they even like them: light engenders shadows which they can take energy from. What is strong against them, however, are wind and cold: they destabilise most of their shadow and fire spells. There is no known way of avoiding a malediction other than keeping the demonist from casting it by gagging spells. And for the demons… they are the reason why demonist very rarely lose a duel against someone possessing the same amount of power than them.’

Well… That said a lot… He’d better take care of increasing his skills in elemental charms… And far, far away in his mind, a little voice that he desired to forget told him to work harder, to train longer, to defy the demonist child and to win his favours.

o-

Flashback: The morning of the same day

“You should place a soundproof charm on yourself when you sleep,” Tom commented, his mouth twisted in a slightly disgusted rictus.

“Why that?” inquired Draco. They were on their way to the crypt, where Tom had decided to accompany him since he was getting bored at the school.

“Snape heard you tonight, when you were dreaming of Lupin.”

Draco reddened. “Oh… He knew it was Lupin? And how do you know, anyway?” he asked with a suspicious scowl.

“No, he didn’t know it was Lupin. All you said was ‘professor’. And I know because when you dream of Snape, you make much more noise.” Tom explained with a sneer, contemplating with satisfaction his master blushing to the top of his ears. Draco had cast a spell on his dorm’s bed, to avoid awakening his dorm-mates, but often forgot when he was sleeping elsewhere. It was in Salazar’s lab that Tom had first discovered Draco’s attraction for his two professors. He didn’t understand it… Men were made to lie with women. Besides, they were both so old… And Snape was so ugly… Yuck…

“Anyway, if my father learns of it from Snape, I won’t have to think of it much more. He’ll have me married within the month.”

“Send him to Hell,” Tom angrily reacted.

Draco looked at him, showing an unabashed puzzlement at the outburst, “I thought the idea of two men fucking disgusted you?”

“It does, but I hate even more the idea of the one that holds my debt taking orders from anyone.” He could bear Draco murmuring the werewolf’s name as he dreamed of the man caressing him, he could bear Draco yelling obscenities at Snape as he urged the Potions Master to fuck him into his desk. But never would he agree with his current master getting ordered around! To be forced to obey someone that couldn’t decide his own life… It was unthinkable.

Draco smirked. Tom was unique. He had noticed his carnal attraction for Snape two years ago, during a potions’ class. From then on, the grand desk had been the source of many fantasies. He hadn’t been particularly horrified to discover himself bisexual. After all, why not? To get pounded into a table by a charismatic man seemed a good way to spend an afternoon. Especially when said man had been favouring him since they had first met. Lupin had come later, when Draco had been locked in the crypt with his father. The desire he had for the werewolf was different. The memory of the kind voice and gentle arms had helped him overcome his nightmares for a time. He wished to be cradled, but he also wanted to protect the innocent man. The problem was: he had no idea how or from what.

o-

Monday, September the 28th

When Draco strode in the Great Hall that morning, everybody noticed he was pissed. And when he slumped on a bench at the Slytherin table, students cautiously withdrew from the hazardous place that was around Draco Malfoy.

After hearing of the boy being a demonist, many had considered it careful and wise to make some inquiries of their powers. Most hadn’t found much. As no demonist had been referenced since three hundred years ago, the books had disappeared, thrown into the trash or just not maintained in a state that allowed them to be read. Globally, what had been retained of demonists over the time was their destructive powers, and such information couldn’t put the children’s mind at ease.

Peculiar, it seemed, that Draco would be so angry at the beginning of the day. Indeed, after his little fugue, he had vaguely talked to his mother about his nightmares. The clever woman needed no more say to promise him a Pensieve and had brought it to her son while making inquiries about the aurors’ visit the past day. She was wonderful. Soothed, the child had immediately subsided the remnants of this haunting night in the grave from his spirit. When he had gone to his bed, his fears of reviving the terror had been frankly shaken and for the first time in months, he had settled his head on his pillow, unafraid of what dream he would face.

He had awoken with the sun, stretched out on the bedspread, his body still sore from his dreamt breathtaking night. Snape had been grandiose. He still had some minutes to enjoy the warmth of his sheets… and the stickiness of his pants… before he had to get up. The wet spot being slightly disturbing for his rest, he had reached for his wand under his pillow, and met naught. He had then remembered he had no wand. And the stain at the front of his pyjama pants was easily noticeable. He had peeked at the dorm, partially hidden from his mates’ view by the bed curtains. As ill luck would have it, Nott was awake and reading. To cap it all, the Slytherin’s bed was between Draco and the bathroom. Draco cursed. Merlin hated him today. He had been forced to wait half an hour till the imbecile had gotten up. And during these interminable minutes, his stomach had gone out growling and groaning for food.

Here he was now, hair in disarray since he hadn’t felt like smoothing it into a calm hairstyle, pupils dilated by exasperation, stomach lurching with hunger. He scoped the breakfast table in search for something that would satiate his hunger, only to meet porridge, eggs, jams and those disgusting things muggles called cereals. Such lack of luck was getting on his nerves.

Luckily, Karnar was there to illuminate his day. Sweet demon. Draco grinned at the chance he had to possess such an intelligent little devil. Under the stares of many, Karnar entered the Great Hall and went to his master, holding out the bag of cookies that Draco had left in his room and got hugged in return. Oblivious to the boys’ dark looks at the demon, and the girls’ wondering ones that would have liked to know how he could eat so much and not put on weight, he devoured the cookies.

When he was finished and ready to go to class, he caught sight of Dumbledore motioning him to the teacher’s table. The old man had a pass for him, paper that he had promised during a previous conversation. Finally, this day wasn’t so bad.

Transfiguration was first. He took a place at the last row and brought out a book. “To be an animagus,” the title said. It was fascinating, the way the author had of explaining the mechanism of the transformation. When he’d have completed his lecture, all he’d need was the counsel of someone that actually was an animagus. For that, he wouldn’t have the choice: the only person he knew of was McGonagall… and maybe Dumbledore. By the way, McGonagall… The woman tapped her fingers on Draco’s desk. She was already there?

Draco looked around him and discovered faces eyeing him with amusement at the number of points he was going to loose. They all had their quills and wands out, surely attempting to morph them into another uselessness. The professor cleared her throat to make sure she had been noticed. Draco looked up at her. She was scowling and he flinched. He had an excuse this time… He took out the paper that Dumbledore had given him during breakfast and presented it. Frowning, she read it before handing it back and leafing through the book.

“Fine,” she said. “But I expect you at my desk at the end of the class.”

He nodded. McGonagall could be nice, when she wanted. She had the right to refuse the request of the headmaster, since it wasn’t an order, but she had accepted it.

When the students rushed out of the classroom, true to his word, he went to see her. She finished taking notes on the students’ work then gave him her full attention.

“Well, Mr Malfoy, may I know what happened that you are allowed such liberty?” she inquired with a dubious tone.

He coughed slowly and avoided her eyes. He felt uncomfortable with too many people being aware of his weakness. “I haven’t a wand anymore.”

This confession had a good point: he was certain that no one had ever seen McGonagall with such enormous eyes. “Why?”

“Because I’m a demonist. I… somehow lost the capacity to use my wand.”

“Oh… So you are learning to become an animagus? It seems a good way to spend your time in this class,” she relented, “But I want you to inform me of your progress each passing week.”

He grinned. Yeah, she was a fine teacher. But now he was late and he had… oh, potions! He hadn’t remembered. It was true that he hadn’t paid much attention to his timetable when the year had begun. He crossed the corridors and arrived to a close door, on which he softly knocked.

“What it is?” yelled Snape while opening the door, angry at the interruption. He mellowed when he saw the standing student. “Why are you late?” he inquired in a voice he wanted to be critical but that sounded to his own ears lustful and bestial.

“I talked with professor McGonagall,” answered Draco, surprised by the question. The Potions Master had never reproached him with anything; why the sudden interrogation?

“Hum…” Snape was scanning Draco’s face, resisting the urge to enter his mind. “There’s a place left near Longbottom.”

What? Again? That was impossible! Why was it always him that had to neighbour the clumsy Gryffindor? Had Snape woken up on his bad side or what? Or maybe it concerned Draco’s previous conversation with Tom… If the man had heard what the spirit thought, who knows whatever scenario he could be playing in his mind right now? The boy smirked. Let’s allow Snape his little fantasies. And if this reaction of his professor was on the contrary caused by disgust at the whole situation, well… he’d make sure to erase such uneasiness.

o-

Once again lying back in his bed, Severus eyed his room’s roof with much hesitation. Many events had been concentrated in this last week, and he needed more time to organise and fully apprehend their utter implications, before he could make any move concerning Draco’s new interest. Indeed, the boy was no more than seventeen, completely engrossed in this bloody adolescent period, having for his only friend of an akin age a murdering spirit and for his only pets demons. His father was constantly on the verge of being sent back to Azkaban, his mother spoiled him so rotten it was a wonder he had any common sense, his school mates wanted him expelled or dead, and his professors… better forget the way he considered them.

But Draco’s sexual desire for one of his teachers wasn’t Snape’s current dilemma. What filled his thoughts was his recent discovery of the demonist’s power to open gates between worlds. One and a half years ago, Sirius Black had fallen into the Shadow World. What was he to do?

His first solution was to forget he had ever read the book, throw it into the fire and never tell anyone about it. But would Albus discover that… the old man wouldn’t be happy in the least. The second way was to inform Draco of the Gryffindor’s presence in the Shadow World, since the boy probably didn’t know it, then to let him deal with any action to take. Which came back to helping Black, whose idea repulsed Severus. He wanted and desired more than anything to let the man rot and die in his immense prison, but Dumbledore’s eyes…

Snape was twisting his sheets, broken by what he was going to do, but Albus’ esteem was too important to him that he would risk losing it in such a way. He got up and headed for a cupboard in which he conserved his antiquities. Opening a box, he found what he’d been searching for: it was a photo of himself and his friends, but at the back could be seen the Marauders. A thousand times he had put it in the trash, and a thousand times had he rummaged through the bin to recover it. The presence of the Gryffindors in the background was nothing. This photo was the last he possessed of Evan Rosier and Jonathan Wilkes. Both of them had been killed by aurors, twenty years ago, in a raid which Severus had informed Dumbledore of. And when, during the night, the thunder broke free, the scene replayed before his eyes and he saw his two best friends falling because of his betrayal. That day, he had stopped believing that the headmaster could make miracles. Later, Dumbledore had apologised for Severus’ loss, but that hadn’t made his friends come back…

Lupin too had looked at his few friends falling to ashes. Potter’s murder, Black’s apparent betrayal, Pettigrew’s false death… then Black’s fate.

With many yells from the occupants of the photo, he cut the part with the Gryffindors and sent it to Draco, praying to Merlin that no one would discover what he had just done: he didn’t want anyone aware that he’d made the slightest move to help his worse nemesis.

o-

Draco’s moans and groans were filling the bed, interrupted only by his screaming at his invisible lover to pound harder, when a hand shook him from his carnal dream.

“You have a message,” said a voice he identified as Tom’s. Grumping his displeasure, he grabbed the paper that had fled to his night table, resisting the urge to crush it and send the spirit through the window. Who did Riddle think he was, to awake him at the peak of his fucking with the Potions Master? Anger shot in his eyes for the spirit recoiled in prudence and quickly executed an excuse. “It’s important. Comes from Snape.”

Draco lit his lamp and eyed the minuscule bit of photo for an explanation. “How do you know?” he inquired, already vaguely aware of the answer.

“I was bored and passed by his rooms to see if you had a chance with him. He was awake but I don’t think you were in his mind… not in this manner, anyway. He deliberated long before actually sending you this.”

Satisfied with the explanation, Draco examined the photo with more attention. “It’s Potter,” he recognised instantly, “And here, I think it’s Lupin. There are two others I don’t know but they seem oddly familiar…”

“On Potter’s left, it’s Black, and the other should be Pettigrew,” Tom proposed, remembering some other of his spying at Potter’s expense.

Draco snorted. “Sirius Black? The black sheep of his fallen family? I remember dad talking about it, how the world had been tricked into believing he was the one who had betrayed the Potters.” It was right the four of them knew each other… That also explained Lupin’s kind attitude to the Golden Trio back in their third year. Or maybe Lupin had been nice to them as he was to everyone and only Draco’s hatred for his teacher had kept him from seeing that…

Looking at the young figure of professor Lupin with fondness and caring, he caressed the little character of the photo, earning astonished glances from the four Marauders. “Why did he send me this? I thought he hated Black,” Draco recalled.

“I have no idea. The man ought to be dead by now, he…” And light appeared in Riddle’s mind. “He fell into the Shadow World two years ago. That made much noise at the Order’s séances.”

And Draco pondered the idea. If Black was still alive and sane, he could try taking him back. It would be difficult, since he had never actually tried this power even once, but maybe it could be done. But he felt bothered by this closeness between Lupin and Black that emerged from the photo, and his heart clutched tightly at the idea that they could have been in a relationship. He’d rather let Black rot inside the Shadow World than liberate a possible rival.

Sighing, he put off the light and laid back on the mattress. ‘If Snape sent me that, it is likely that he wants Black back. Why? Does he want him? No, that’s impossible; they hate each other. And how does he know I’ll be able to do something? Or maybe he understood I want Lupin and send me that to show me I don’t have a chance. But it doesn’t make sense since Black is away with very few chances of return. And if Snape had chosen this photo to tell me to go slow on the werewolf? No, it truly isn’t like Snape.’

Still, what stood out from the picture was Lupin’s tenderness for the fallen man… But it had been long ago, maybe any feeling of desire had been drained from their relation by Azkaban…

o-

Tuesday, September the 29th

When Draco awoke the next day, he had come to terms with his own heart, and realised that in no way would he give up Lupin to someone else. The idea of his werewolf getting bedded, kissed or cuddled by another man… He wouldn’t be able to bear it. He’d kill Black.

And while having such thoughts, he was aware that it wasn’t a proper Slytherinish or Malfoyish behaviour: Lupin was a Gryffindor and what purebloods considered a monster. Still, he couldn’t change his feelings, and he had never held such affection for anyone before. His parents were his parents; Snape was his imaginary sensual lover and Lupin… Lupin was the delicate and fragile boyfriend.

Draco felt stupid. He knew that the DADA teacher was far from delicate. Wasn’t he part of the Order? But the werewolf held such purity in him that Draco couldn’t help wishing to cuddle in bed with the man and never let go. He wanted to see him smile, to hear him laugh, to feel his happiness… He was madly in love, and he’d bring back Black if it was what Lupin desired.

At the end of the day, he arrived at the Shrieking Shack, just before the transformation occurred. He was just out of the headmaster’s office. He had spent more time in there in the last week than in the past six years, Draco thought with horror. Dumbledore had informed him of the article’s repercussions. Parents had been owling him all day since its publication; they wanted to take their children out of school. The headmaster had soothed a majority of them into accepting a meeting in Hogwarts, where they would meet Draco and decide if there was a danger to fear. Draco had hated that: Dumbledore could have asked him before! But he had listened to the old man’s excuses all the same. He understood that Dumbledore was in a very tight political situation and couldn’t afford to loose more credit that he already had. He would meet the parents, for both of their sakes: should Dumbledore be too contested, and maybe fired, Draco would have difficulties fighting the Ministry and Voldemort at the same time. Let’s not forget about the Order that would probably try to exchange Draco’s life for their commander’s reputation… The boy just hoped he could convince someone into accompanying him in that task. He didn’t feel like facing handfuls of angry parents alone…

The DADA class in the afternoon had been difficult. No sooner had he entered, he had noticed Lupin’s uneasy steps and flicks of wand. Akin to the precedent day, Draco had presented his paper: it read ‘In every class he attends, Mr Malfoy shall work as he pleases, as long as it concerns the class in question.’ It was an easier way for the professors: they didn’t have to search for an occupation for his attention. Draco had taken the resolution to observe the students’ work, assimilate the time they needed to cast spells, search for what he might use to counter them or such.

But after half an hour of intensive training for the Slytherins and Gryffindors, and of research and discovery for him, Draco had been too moved by the shivering professor to remain aside and watch. He had gotten up from his corner and accosted Remus at a moment when his intervention wouldn’t be too noticed. It wouldn’t do well if Lupin got pointed at for being pitied by a student.

“You shouldn’t tire yourself, professor,” Draco had said, “It is the full moon tonight and the potion needs you fit to work.”

The werewolf had frowned at the child’s concern. “Draco, I am your professor, and I have a class to teach.” Much as he was deeply pleased by the boy’s care for him, he couldn’t allow it to come between him and his work too often. But he had to admit that he was beginning to weaken. The week had been exhausting, and he felt the usual wearing-out pain pervading his body to the core.

“I need to train defending against this spell, I could duel in your place,” Draco had proposed.

The professor had refused. Of course… Bloody hardheaded Gryffindors, they were worse than Slytherins… At length, against Lupin’s decision, he had insisted, shoved himself on the first scene of the class and duelled Zabini. Silence had filled the place. It was the first time ever they’d witnessed a fighting demonist.

Flashback

Looked at by every student in the room, Draco didn’t feel secure. He lacked the reassuring weight of his wand in his left hand. When, taking him to his word, Zabini took a duelling stance, Draco’s breath stopped. He felt like a sacrifice being fed to a god, so naked without his weapon. He wanted to run away from there, to disappear before their eyes and to escape this very situation he alone had pulled himself in. But then he recalled that, alone, he wasn’t anymore. The comforting presence of his new demon straightened up his back and asserted his sight. Hath’Gack was near, ready to fight for his master.

When, with a sigh of half-resolution, half-anger, Remus heard a student voice out the duel’s start and the first curse flew in Draco’s direction, hitting him headlong and sending him through the room, all breathes stopped. Was that the terrifying demonist they had heard of? It was ridiculous. Snickers appeared among the Slytherins and some Gryffindors laughed openly. Remus already regretted to having let the duel begin. He went to the lying boy in order to get him up and stop the butchery already. Not a month had passed since Draco had decided to follow this road and barely two days since he had been deprived of his wand. He wasn’t ready for a duel yet.

But the Malfoy child refused the hand he was offered. He went back to the stage and smirked. “You should have finished me off when you had the time.”

Blaise mimicked him. “But then, where would be the fun in beating you up?”

The children eyed each other and during this little time of peace, Draco thought that maybe this was the friend he had searched for in his own house. Then, Hell broke loose in the room.

“Expellus!” shouted Blaise.

“Irch Hath’Gack,” Draco invoked.

And the spell met with black smoke. Half a second later, Malfoy reappeared, casting a bolt of darkness at Zabini, who stumbled off of the stage. Draco waited till Blaise was back on and they went back to fighting. Their blood was heating up, their minds reaching the pleasure of destruction. Curses succeeded to hexes and dark spells to demon magic.

Soon, the room was filled with fire, and both boys were laughing, surrounded by flames. They had lost all sanity and battled with their bare hands between two curses. Students climbed up on chairs and tables to avoid the sparks, girls crying out their fear. Remus opened the doors to let them out, attempting to extinguish the fires.

Draco panted, tired by the energy he was using. “Already finished, Malfoy?” sneered Blaise.

“You wish.” A rumbling cloud covered the room and flashes of fire shot from it to the ground, making it tremble on its foundations. They were alone in the class, and students continued observing them from the outside, mesmerised by the scene. The two fighters were surrounded by flames but none seemed to mind and none dared to flee, and they were laughing, laughing…

One particularly powerful fire shot got at Zabini’s feet, exploding the wood of the stage and sending him right into the wall, knocking him unconscious. Draco stopped the fight.

After class and three hours of detention with Dumbledore, Draco went out to the pitch, hoping for some calm time with himself. The old man had said nothing about the duel and the Slytherin suspected he had somehow foreseen it. After all, demonists were famous for the destruction they caused. Maybe that was the reason for the lightness of his punishment: three hours of detention and ten points for a class almost burned to ashes was totally disproportionate. Or simply Dumbledore needed him for the death-eaters and preferred not to tempt the devil.

Demonology had brought many changes in his life. He had no wand and no common magic left. He couldn’t practice first year spells anymore. And he would never fly again… It had been no true surprise; still, the aching in his chest threatened to go out. The past year, he had been forced to abandon quidditch for safety. This year, he had also accepted the sacrifice, but to apprehend a full life without the game was hard on him.

He didn’t see the Gryffindors training for the match against Slytherin that was to take place in a month or so. Weasley, however, didn’t miss him. Draco’s little fight in DADA in the afternoon had increased the redhead’s animosity toward the blond.

“Spying on us, Malfoy?” barked the Gryffindor, “Can’t get your team to gather some points without that?”

“If your memory didn’t fail you, you’d remember I’m not on the team anymore.” Draco went on his way to the forest, followed by the flying redhead.

“Yeah, right. Poor daddy was too afraid his little son would get hurt.”

Draco’s eyes flashed with scorn. “Beware of what you say, weasel, or you could meet your Fate sooner than expected.”

Ron sneered with sarcasm. “I’m so afraid. You’ll do what? Attempt to kill me? You never were very good at that in your famil…”

He couldn’t finish his sentence as he fell of his broom and went running and screaming like a madman around the pitch. Peeking at his friend with care, Harry went to Draco. “What did you do to him?” he asked with reproach. Ron had been wrong treating the Slytherin as he had, but it didn’t give Malfoy the right to attack him. The Gryffindor hadn’t appreciated the little show in DADA; students could have gotten hurt and it was by pure chance that there had been none wounded.

“Simple frightening spell. He’ll stop running quick enough.” On that, Draco went away.

What Gryffindors didn’t suspect thought, since Potter thought of him to be hated by his mates, was that after their little fight, Draco had pretty much found a good friend in Blaise Zabini, and that the Slytherin was the snake team’s guardian. Malfoy wouldn’t miss such an opportunity to help what remained of his house.

End of Flashback.

“Professor,” Draco called before entering the Shack. He didn’t mind walking in on Lupin undressing, quite the opposite in fact, but he was certain the man wouldn’t appreciate. Effectively…

“Enter,” growled a voice inside. Draco made his way to the professor, knowing what awaited him. “What were you trying to do, Draco? Have you lost your mind?” Moony was angry. The boy had duelled and taken the class’s lead despite his having refused it; he had put his students into danger. “You haven’t mastered your powers yet. Did you even realise you didn’t control the destruction you caused?”

Draco bowed his head. He wasn’t proud of that. And Lupin didn’t know the worse: at the moment the duel had stopped, Draco had been on the verge of sending a deflagration spell. He wasn’t sure anyone would have survived in the corridor, unless Dumbledore had intervened.

“You could have killed someone! I don’t want any of this in my class again! And if you…” Moony faltered on his feet, tiredness and the imminent full moon getting to him.

“Professor!” Draco ran to him and made him sit down.

Lupin’s breath was thick and short. The werewolf desperately tried to loosen his robe’s collar and inhaled freely when Draco finally unbuttoned his robes. “The potion,” he called. When Draco took out the flask and didn’t let Remus grab it, he was suddenly afraid. He was in the Shack, on the point of morphing and the person that had the potion was the Malfoy heir, whom he had been yelling at seconds before. What if the boy wanted revenge? To refuse Remus his potion would be little come back for the yelling and reproaches. It wouldn’t cause much harm to anyone: the Whomping Willow was closed and Draco still could get out in time. Only Moony would suffer from his morphing. But the dolour was something he had yearned to forget. He didn’t want his body to ache again from a morphing; he’d do anything to avoid it.

“Draco,” he called again, his voice already a rasp, “I need the potion.” He felt the hair increasing on his back, the teeth getting longer. He’d hurt the boy if he morphed. Horrified, he saw Draco open the phial and drink it. “Please! I didn’t mean to yell at you. Draco, I need the potion…”

His moaning was stopped by lips gluing to his. Draco’s tongue forced them open and Remus felt a liquid being poured down his throat. With relief, his senses recognised the scent of the Wolfsbane. At length, Draco let go of him. “Salivate,” the boy ordered.

“What?” What was happening? What did Draco just do? Why feed him the potion?

“Salivate, quick” the boy repeated. He took another gulp of the potion, apparently did just what he had ordered Remus to do, and kissed the man again, undressing him completely at the same time.

Relieved, Remus felt his body deforming with little pain, and his mind resisting the morphing. He howled slightly to reassure the boy that had been taking steps back. Draco sighed and leaned against a wall. “It was close, you know.”

Remus woofed again, showing his agreement, and settled his head on the boy’s lap, silently thanking Draco. He regretted his bad thoughts. The child had only wanted to help him all along. Draco scratched the wolf’s head. “I think you want a little more explanation? Just like the ancient Wolfsbane, this new version is prepared with extreme care and is specialised for you. The wolf part in you is so strong that the potion has to be concentrated to fight it. But you didn’t listen to me and exhausted yourself today. Your magical energy level was too low and you’d have hurt if not killed yourself if you had drunk it that pure. I just hope my saliva won’t interfere with your system…” And if Draco was lucky, Lupin wouldn’t think that the boy could simply have taken water before coming.

Remus lifted his head and looked at Draco. In opposition to his fearing speech, the boy was smiling smugly. He didn’t know, though, what was passing through Draco’s head. He wasn’t aware that the boy had carefully memorised the taste of his professor’s lips, the texture of his skin and the smell of his hair. Draco fought the increasing pleasure that menaced to give him away and got up so that the wolf wouldn’t feel his burning flesh.

Soon enough, the sun was back and the Slytherin could relish in the weight of his professor’s naked body on him. Some morphing cuts drew pearls of blood on the slightly tanned skin, and Draco covered Lupin with his robes then carried his precious bundle to the infirmary. And the boy was so happy that the body seemed to him as light as a feather.

o-

Wednesday, September the 30th

Remus opened his eyes and blinked at the soft light coming from the raising sun. Looking around him, he recognised the Infirmary. It was a tickling that had awoken him: Draco was sitting on the bed next to his lying professor and carefully washing some cuts. The boy, noticing the arm he was taking care of had moved, turned to the man.

“How do you feel?” he asked with concern and slight relief at the werewolf’s coming back to reality.

Remus tried to get up but immediately laid back, palms clutching his head and he moaned. Physically, he was fine, only his mind had difficulties adapting again to his human form. Draco gently hushed him, deposited his hands on the man’s forehead and sent energy, soothing his pain.

Lupin felt the waves of warmth passing through him. It felt good, this immaterial snake slithering in his body and he moaned again, this time with pleasure. Draco inhaled deeply and passed his fingers in Remus’ hair, savouring the sensations the contact generated in his nerves.

“Thank you,” Remus murmured. Surely the child had gotten no sleep at all this night. The man would assure Draco would be allowed to stay in bed and could catch up his work. About work, he remembered the tensions of the past day, when the demonist had battled his first duel. “What were you trying to achieve, Draco?”

The child coughed slightly and averted the inquisitive brown eyes. How could he explain it? “Well… First I wanted you to rest. Then I got caught up in the fight.”

Remus observed Draco for a long time, his still keen senses revealing to him that there was more to it that the child wanted to admit. “Caught up in the fight is an euphemism… And you know it.”

The remembrance of his battle invaded Draco’s brain. It had felt so good, to reign on the stage, to fight with so much power the entire class had fled. Energy had been flowing in his veins and he had been, at length, who he had always dreamt to be: someone important and feared. Why did they all want to contest him that? When it was Potter, they all applauded! “And what do you want me to say?” he inquired, containing the magnetic flux in his members that told him to destroy the contradiction. Why had the man asked this very question? Why couldn’t he have left the matter in peace?

But Remus was more sensitive than Draco thought. The wolf in him sensed the raising anger and the danger it generated. “Nothing, if that is what you wish. But I would prefer to know the truth.” Darkness was gaining in the boy and, from his own experiences, he knew it had to be mastered before it degenerated.

Draco clenched his fists, fighting to control himself. His pupils dilated and Remus tried hard not to flinch at the atmosphere of power that emanated from the child. The boy was angry, it was understandable: his strength’s legitimacy was contested. The wolf always acted the same when released. Shadows from the room grouped at their feet and Draco grasped the sheets, twisting them in his fingers. “We all have darker parts, Draco. It’s alright to let them out some times, only not in the presence of so many people,” Remus reassured gently, ordering his mind to forget the increasing menace. The boy had to calm down and learn how to control himself.

A dark laugh echoed in the room as Draco was shaking with spasms. He loomed over Remus till their noses touched, his hand pressing on the man’s chest. The demonist inhaled the wolf’s smell. Despite the fear that Lupin wanted to ignore, Draco could feel the heart beating roughly under his fingers. “Beware of what you say, professor,” he whispered, “or I shall take you at your word.”

Remus’ breath itched in his throat and he wondered where he had made an error. What was Draco meaning? Around them, the Infirmary was silent and empty. Draco had affirmed to Mrs Pomfrey that he could take care of his professor. No one would come. And suddenly, the man pinned under him answered. Draco’s scent was of lust and the wolf had sensed it. Remus was naked under the sheets and he knew that the boy could feel his pleasure engorging.

And in a mere second, everything disappeared. Shadows were back in their place, Draco was back at his side and his eyes were back to normal. The boy rustled the man’s hair slowly as Remus’ excitation calmed down. “You shouldn’t let me treat you so, professor. One day, I will hurt you…” ‘And that, I don’t want, at any price,’ he thought.

But Remus caught Draco’s hand gently in his and squeezed it. “You won’t. And I trust you with it.”

Draco smiled softly. “But you’re a Gryffindor fool…” The subject was conveniently put aside for the moment even if they both knew that it would have to be dug out eventually. “Professor… I need you to talk to me… about Black.”

Remus blanched distinctively at the question. Why? What did the boy want to know? The memory flooded back in his mind of the fateful day when he saw his best friend and secret love of many years passing to the World of Shadows. When Sirius had been in Azkaban, he had tried his best to forget the man but had never fully succeeded. And when he had come back… the dolour had been even worse. During his schooling, he had discovered his unusual attraction to the Marauder but Sirius only had eyes for pretty girls. Foolish of Moony to imagine that the prison would have changed him…

Remus had friends now and the Order was his family. But his body yearned for a touch that friends couldn’t give, and his heart hankered after sensations that family couldn’t create. There was only one person that was neither friend nor family… Draco had always denied these titles. And Draco’s hands were hot and his eyes were warm. Just as Lupin dreaded the boy’s dark side, he relished his light one. To be immersed in the silver sight, to feel the waves of shadow energy running his body under Draco’s fingers which were softly caressing the man’s cheek. “What do you want to know?” he asked, scanning the lightening sky. Soon, children would be going to breakfast then to class. He would have to get up when all he wanted was to remain hidden here.

Realising the matter was more painful that he had thought, Draco hesitated and moistened his lips. “I have only one question. Back when you were in school and when he came back, what was your… relation with him?”

Remus’ breath shortened and tears welled in his eyes. Draco kept on his caresses with much gentleness. “We were friends.”

“Professor, I need a truthful and precise answer,” the boy insisted, knowing this wasn’t the full truth. “It’s important.”

Remus inhaled deeply. “There were four of us. James, Sirius, Peter and me. James and Sirius were the best of friends. Peter and I were seconds. We were all still friends and...”

Draco sighed. He was aware of where this was leading them. “He considered you his friend but you loved him… Didn’t you?” His fingers softly pressed against Remus’ chin till they were once again face-to-face.

The werewolf still averted the eyes. “It was a long time ago. Things have changed since then.”

“How? Tell me. I need to know what you feel for him.” Draco sounded almost pleading and Remus experienced both remorse and joy. His mind was tending to a thing he couldn’t comprehend.

“Why?” he inquired in a sigh. And Hope was rising in his painful heart.

Draco bent over him again, their faces bare millimetres apart but this time, Remus felt no fear. He never thought that he was a teacher and Draco a student, that he was an adult and Draco a child, that someone could enter and ruin everything they had. “Because if you tell me you love him, I will bring you great joy. And if you tell me he is only a dear friend to you… I shall see you smile and hear you laugh and feel your happiness till the end of my life.”

End of Chapter 6.