Centre of Twilight

The following morning, Harry woke with extreme reluctance. The sleeping draught had left him with a dry mouth and a sore head.

“That, I believe, would be the brandy and nothing to do with the sleeping draught.” Snape’s voice observed clinically and, lifting his aching head, Harry saw that he was sitting on the edge of Draco’s bed.

“Mm…forgot about the brandy – although Draco’s absence isn’t helping any.” Harry mumbled and then blinked slowly as recent events caught up with him. “Have you seen him, by the way?”

“No.” Snape shook his head. “Nor have I heard anything from him. It would seem that he is displeased with both of us.”

“Why? You’ve done nothing wrong.” Harry remarked. When the Potions master made no response, he got up slightly unsteadily and shuffled bare foot into the bathroom. Upon re-emerging, a few minutes later with his face washed and hair at least detangled, he found Snape in the same place.

“It seems that Draco feels I’ve taken sides.” Snape said softly, his eyes downcast.

Harry sighed and sat down heavily on his bed once more. He still wore his green pyjamas and whilst they were plenty warm enough when he was tucked up in bed, they were little protection against the chill air of the dungeons. He shivered and wondered if he dared get dressed with Snape in the room with him. However, the thought that the man might withdraw to give him some privacy halted Harry’s progress and instead he opted for plan B.

Without making eye contact or any sound at all, he moved towards Snape and sat at his booted feet - just as he’d wanted to do the previous evening.

Snape made a small sound of disapproval but fell silent when Harry leaned back against his legs, taking comfort from their warmth.

“You should get dressed.” He said eventually, although there was no real conviction to his voice.

Harry groaned and closed his eyes. “I can’t face lessons today.” He looked up at Snape then, looking at him upside-down. “Don’t make me?”

“Harry…” Snape sighed, his tone reluctant. Grudgingly, he met the younger man’s eyes and then, as if moving of its own volition, his hand gently stroked Harry’s hair. “I suppose,” he said then, “that on the last day of term, you really wouldn’t miss very much by staying here. But wouldn’t you rather have the chance of seeing Draco?”

“Perhaps.” Harry replied, looking down again, “But I don’t want to see Draco with Goyle.” He murmured.

The hand on his head moved again; the thumb making a slow, circular motion against his scalp as the fingers entwined in his hair. It was surprisingly comfortable here: sitting on the rug, warmed by the Potion master’s legs on either side of his body and the man’s fingers gently soothing and caressing. Even his headache was lessening. With the lingering effects of the sleeping draught still in his system, Harry closed his eyes and began to drift on the sensations.

They remained like that for an interminable amount of time and it was only when Harry fell asleep, his head falling sideways against Snape’s right knee that the Potions master remembered that he couldn’t play truant today, even if Harry could. He shifted, dislodging and waking Harry at once.

“I have to be in my first lesson in ten minutes,” Snape said quietly. “There’s food in the kitchen, help yourself as always. And try to put the time to good use: do some revision or practise Dark Arts. Just don’t break anything.”

The mention of Dark Arts however brought to mind the memory of Draco telling Hermione that Harry could provide the DA group with a demonstration of Dark Arts to fight. A little flare of anger ignited within him and Snape paused as he was getting to his feet.

“Yes,” he said in the same quiet voice, “Draco isn’t without blame, is he? Whilst you could have reacted with a little less heat, there is no doubt that he provoked you.”

Harry nodded, recalling again the stab of pain and feeling the subsequent sorrow once more. He stood up then and placed a pale hand on Snape’s arm in a gesture of gratitude and solidarity. For just the briefest second, Snape covered his hand with his own and then he was gone in a swirl of ebony robes.

*~*~*

It was, all told, not a good day really, Snape thought that evening as he closed and locked his classroom door.

Whenever he’d seen him, Draco had been pale and aloof beside Goyle’s protective bulk. At lunch, realising that Harry wasn’t going to make an appearance, the reinstated Prince of Slytherin had given his guardian a searching, inquiring look but had communicated nothing.

There had apparently been shock and astonishment in the Great Hall that morning when Dumbledore had announced the expulsion of five students. Of course, Snape hadn’t been present for breakfast; instead, he’d been with Harry, he thought with a shiver of guilt. The staff room had buzzed with the news, however and only Professor McGonagall hadn’t been taken by surprise at the swift punishment that was dealt out the night before.

Apparently, the Slytherin table had been noticeably quiet following the Headmaster’s announcement. Despite the fact that the house as a whole knew that Blaise, Millicent, Theodore and Dex were all guilty, the Slytherin students had nonetheless withdrawn into themselves and had drawn Draco into the fold.

The Gryffindor table, by comparison, had erupted into noisy clamour and speculation over Seamus Finnegan’s crime. Snape wondered at Dumbledore’s decision to expel a boy who, it seemed, had simply been following the wrong crowd. But then, to expel the Slytherins and spare the Gryffindor would smack of favouritism, wouldn’t it?

Still pondering this, Snape found himself in front of his office door and, giving the password, he stepped inside and walked swiftly past the assorted scrolls and documents awaiting his assessment. It was Friday: since Harry and Draco’s arrival, he didn’t do marking on Fridays.

“Harry?” he called, striding into the sitting room and undoing the buttons of his robe. Having spilt lavender oil on it earlier and with no time to come and change, he now smelled like an old lady’s handbag and wanted nothing but a clean change of clothes.

The sitting room, however, was empty and with a slight frown, he went on through to his bedroom to change.

‘How was your day?’ Harry’s telepathic voice enquired, sounding a little subdued.

‘Put it this way,’ Snape replied, ‘I’m glad it’s over. Where are you?’

‘In the bath,’ Harry responded. ‘Soaking and…wrinkling.’

A ghost of a smile stole across the Potion master’s lips as he peeled off his shirt and undid his black trousers. ‘That,’ he said with a little growl, ‘sounds like an exceptionally good idea!’

‘Why don’t y -’ Harry started to say and then he fell silent.

‘Why don’t I what?’ Snape asked then, pulling a dressing gown around his shoulders and moving to fill his own bath with hot, foaming water that definitely didn’t smell of lavender.

‘Nothing. Never mind. Bad Idea.’ Harry mental voice muttered and Snape’s smile broadened into a smirk.

There was silence then between them as Snape concentrated on filling the bath and dropping his scented clothes into the laundry bin for the house elves to collect. Only when he was sinking down into the water, voicing an involuntary groan of pleasure, did Snape speak again.

‘You’re right.’ He said carefully, sending the thought out and wondering if Draco was listening. ‘It would be a bad idea.’

‘What? What would?’ Harry demanded, sounding startled.

Snape smirked, ‘Whatever it was you were going to suggest.’

‘I…Perhaps I was about to suggest that you have a whisky with your bath?’ Harry responded, sounding as if he didn’t believe it any more than Snape would.

‘Well, that would have been a good idea.’ The Potions master conceded. ‘However, sharing your bath with you would not. Isn’t that what you were really going to suggest?’

There was a long, silent pause from Harry’s bathroom and Snape tried to picture what it was the younger man was doing. A moment later and his thoughts were answered as Harry, wearing just a pair of jeans, sauntered into Snape’s bathroom.

“Harry,” he started to protest and then saw that Harry was carrying the Oban and two glasses. He changed tack immediately and said; “I would have thought you’d had more than enough alcohol lately.”

“Actually,” Harry replied, uncorking the bottle and pouring a finger into each of the glasses, “Draco and Hermione drank more than me. I only had a little of the brandy.”

“Hm.” Snape responded shortly and then raised an eyebrow as Harry sat on the edge of the bath and handed him his drink. “So what – precisely – are you doing here?”

“Fetching you a drink?”

“Mr Potter,” Snape said sternly, “do you realise that when you answer with a question, you broadcast the fact that you’re not speaking the truth?”

“Aren’t I telling the truth?” Harry smirked and then sniggered. “Okay. So I’m fetching you a drink and choosing to have a conversation with you face to face. Is that so terrible?”

“Given that I’m naked and lying in the bath -”

“I can’t see anything; the bubbles are too thick!”

“Don’t interrupt. Given that I’m naked – even beneath these mercifully thick bubbles – and you’re wearing nothing but sinfully tight jeans, yes I think that some would judge this to be terrible.” Snape retorted.

“You think my jeans are sinfully tight?” Harry asked, standing and turning to peer at himself in the mirror on the wall.

“Definitely. Where on earth did you find them? All your clothes in the past have been ridiculously over-sized.”

So Snape noticed what he wore, Harry thought absently and then smiled. “Hermione showed me how to adjust my clothes to make them fit better. Possibly I overdid it on these, though.”

Snape made no comment but sank a little further into the bath water and sipped his whisky. He looked then at the younger man as he came to sit down on the edge of the bath again.

“As it seems that you’re not going to pay attention to anything I have to say, concerning the correct teacher-student practices, what did you wish to discuss, Mr Potter?”

Harry smiled warmly, “You know, I hated it when you used to call me ‘Potter’. Remember? I told you that it seemed to me that you were always thinking of my father, whenever you called me that. And from then on, you called me Harry.”

“And your point?”

“Well, you’ve just suddenly started calling me Mr Potter and I sort of like it. It’s sexy.” Harry smirked again.

“Indeed.” Snape didn’t look very happy. “For your information, Harry, I was endeavouring to insert a little professional etiquette into this otherwise far-too-intimate setting. Trust you to find it sexy!”

Harry laughed out loud at that. “Draco always says I’ve got no sense of the appropriate -” and then he stopped, his face falling. And in the place of the cheeky smile or irreverent smirk, was now an expression of remembered sadness.

Snape sighed and touched Harry’s arm with one warm, wet hand. But Harry recoiled away from his touch and shook his head, standing up and backing to the door.

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking confused for a second. “I have no right to be…to be…” His face twisted with self-hatred, “What am I doing? One minute I’m desperate to get Draco back and the next I’m flirting with you! God!”

And with that, he turned and fled, hurrying back to the isolation of his own rooms.

*~*~*

When Harry refused to come out of his room for dinner, Snape stalked down to the Great Hall in a silent fury. Quite what or whom he was so angry with, he probably couldn’t have said; except that he wanted more than anything for time to go backwards so that he could prevent Harry and Draco from fighting and breaking up.

With barely a curt nod to the Headmaster, he took his place at the table and sent out a thought to Draco.

‘Mr Malfoy, I know you can hear me. If you choose not to respond, then that is your prerogative. However, I feel I must say this: Harry is sorry. He understands why you were so upset and why you behaved the way you did. Right now, I can’t get him to eat and I suspect the only sleep he’s going to get for the next few nights is going to be with the help of a sleeping draught. So I’m asking: come back. Sort it out, do whatever is necessary and I’ll see that Harry does the same.’

Throughout this speech, Snape kept his gaze fixed firmly on his plate of vegetable lasagne. Now, though, he lifted his eyes to look over at the Slytherin table and saw his ward looking back at him with haunted grey eyes.

‘Why hasn’t Harry been to say all that himself?’ Draco asked, his face belying nothing of the emotion behind his words. ‘Why are you doing all his talking for him?’

‘He’s barely ventured out of his room since last night.’ Snape informed him. ‘And it’s possible that he is ashamed and afraid of your rejection.’

‘My rejection?’ Draco exclaimed, staring at him. ‘What about Harry rejecting me?’ Without waiting for an answer, though, he gave a tiny shake of his head and looked down at his own plate. ‘I can’t just come back, Severus.’

‘Malfoy pride again, Draco?’ Snape asked, unable to keep the sneer out of his voice.

‘Perhaps. Or maybe I just need time to lick my wounds and take a long hard look at…everything.’

‘And Goyle?’ Snape asked very quietly.

Draco’s eyes shifted to the large man beside him. ‘He wasn’t involved in any of the attacks. He did nothing wrong. I shouldn’t have doubted him.’

And yet Goyle had turned his back on Draco, along with all the others, Snape thought privately but said nothing. He toyed restlessly with the lasagne and only looked back at the blond young man when Draco spoke again.

‘I…overheard your conversation, earlier this evening, with Harry.’ He said delicately, eyes trained solely on the Potion master’s face. ‘Harry is a complex character and he feels guilty for a lot of things…things that aren’t actually his fault.’

Snape said nothing but gave an infinitesimal nod for Draco to continue.

‘We’re not together any more.’ Draco stated and his gaze turned imploring. ‘Take care of him for me. In…whatever way seems best to you and Harry.’

Snape blinked, astounded. With all the bold presumptuousness of his upbringing, Draco Malfoy was granting him carte blanche to do as he pleased with Harry. Never mind the fact that the school governors would have his job, Minerva would have his balls and Lupin would probably rip his head off his shoulders.

‘Don’t be melodramatic!’ Draco reprimanded. ‘And, in any case, I’m not suggesting that you come out and tell everyone. Just take care of him for me. Don’t let him be lonely.’

‘Why don’t you come back and take care of him yourself?’

Draco smiled, placed his knife and fork carefully in the centre of his plate and stood up. He touched Goyle gently on the shoulder to indicate that he should stay and finish his dinner and then looked sadly up at Snape.

‘Because it really isn’t that simple! So do you promise?’

Snape heaved a sigh that drew the attention of the Headmaster beside him. Then, before Dumbledore could enquire, he nodded at Draco.

*~*~*

It was a good thing, Sirius considered, that the full moon only occurred every twenty-eight days. Of course, it was no picnic for Remus or Thomas and he was glad that they only had to endure the agonies involved once a month. Having taken the Wolfsbane potion, both Thomas and Remus were quite safe and all Sirius had had to do was ensure that the two wolves didn’t meet. Piece of cake…or so he’d thought.

Because, although Thomas had offered to stay in his bedroom for the night, he seemed to forget this as soon as he made the change and Sirius doubted if the door would ever be the same again.

Remus, meanwhile, had curled perfectly quietly in front of the fire…until Thomas’ scratching had forced Sirius to go and check on him. Then, seized by some kind of possessive herding instinct, Moony had prevented him from going anywhere near the stairs.

In a flash of temper, Sirius had then stomped out to the kitchen to make some coffee and had then had to endure two sets of pitiful howling.

“Never again,” he muttered, pushing his fingers through Remus’ brown and silver hair. His lover lay face down, beside him on the living room floor, where they’d spent the night and sometime around dawn, Remus had changed back into his human self.

“What never again?” Remus mumbled into his arm, eyes still firmly closed against the encroaching light.

“Babysitting two wolves for the night.” Sirius replied and then softened his words with a kiss to Remus’ temple.

“Hmm…was I bad?”

“No more than Thomas.” Sirius smiled. “You both seemed to crave my company and you,” he nuzzled into Remus’ hair, “wouldn’t let me anywhere near Thomas’ room.”

“Very sensible.” Remus gave a decisive nod and then yawned, rolling onto his side and snuggling into Sirius’ side.

For several long minutes, Sirius just held him and then, pulling the old, crocheted blanket around Remus’ bare shoulders, he looked down at the other man. “Do you…worry about me spending time with Thomas when you’re not a wolf?” He asked slowly.

To stall for time, Remus drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I don’t worry that you’ll stray, so much that Thomas might put you in an awkward situation. He quite clearly fancies you, you know.”

Sirius stared at him, a smile tugging persistently at his mouth and then, when Remus opened his eyes and began to repeat that he trusted him, he started to laugh.

“Remus, that makes no sense.” He chuckled. “If you trust me then it makes no difference what Thomas does. He could strut through here wearing nothing but a charming smile and I wouldn’t budge.”

“You think he has a charming smile?” Remus struggled to sit up, fighting the bone-deep fatigue that assaulted him after a full moon.

“I think you’re still in possessive, guard-dog mode!” Sirius retorted with a grin.

“Padfoot, I’m serious!” Remus snapped and then, when his lover’s eyes crinkled with the effort of not laughing at what was a very old joke, he sighed and lay down again.

Sirius gave another little chuckle and rolled over to press his lips against Remus’. The kiss was gentle and he was careful not to press down on his lover’s sore body. Remus, however, opened his mouth under the kiss and gave a tentative lick across Sirius’ bottom lip, enticing him to open his mouth too.

Sirius really didn’t require much convincing. With a little moan of pleasure, he deepened the kiss and gently pushed his tongue between Remus’ lips and caressed his tongue. Remus sighed and pulled Sirius closer, running his hands down his back and then over his jean-clad backside.

“Remus,” Sirius murmured, struggling not to get carried away. “Remus, hold on. We really shouldn’t do it in the middle of the living room floor.”

For a second it seemed that Remus was going to ignore him, continuing to kiss and ravage him where Thomas could walk in at any point. Then, however, he appeared to come to his senses and he drew back with swift little panted breaths.

“Perhaps we should go upstairs?” Sirius suggested, moving to kneel up.

However, when Remus tried to stand, his legs trembled so much that Sirius just picked him up and carried him upstairs.

“Siri, I’m not a baby. I don’t need carrying.” He chided softly into his lover’s neck.

“Ssh! Today you do. Let me love you.”