Redemption of a Snake

Author’s Note: During this chapter, there’s a discreet allusion to a fic that I read recently and that I highly recommend: In want of a wife, by Isis. Nothing much, really, but I congratulate any that would recognise the name and be able to pinpoint it. ^_^

Also, many thanks to Mariann for betaing the chapter (just as ever).

Question : Did some of you feel like it was odd that a man named Remus Lupin was, what a coincidence, bitten by a werewolf ?

o-

Redemption of a Snake


Chapter 7: To tame a devil


Saturday, October the 31st

One month later, Draco’s declaration was still carved in Remus’ mind like silver on rock. He had been down, he had been lost, but these words now illuminated his days. He woke up thinking of them, remembering Draco’s eyes on his, Draco’s body on his and Draco’s breath mixing with his own. He fell asleep imagining Draco next to him, Draco in his bed, his being Draco’s.

Aware of the dangers, the boy had never acted but once and then had only conserved his nice attitude toward his professor. Only little change in their life: Remus and Severus each trained Draco once a week. Just as Lupin needed an outlet for the werewolf, the Slytherin had to release his aggressive tension if he wanted to avoid fights and disasters. When they had thought of the idea and talked about it with Dumbledore, the old man had proposed himself for the task. Strangely, Draco had refused. Remus had thought that the boy would jump at the opportunity to test his powers. But, after the first lesson, the child had explained:

“My main power doesn’t come from fire or shadow,” Draco had said to Remus who was already stunned at how powerful the boy had become, “but from maledictions. As you may have noticed, I didn’t use any. And this, for the simple reason that I don’t know how to clear you from them. If I were to fight Dumbledore, even as training, I would lose control and try to win by using them. I’d probably lose anyway, but I can assure you that he wouldn’t come out of it unscathed. Since he still has to defeat Voldemort, I’ll defy him later.”

Remus had smiled at the child’s thoughts. But now, Remus was beginning to worry. These last few days, Draco had been unusually tired and grumpy, and he didn’t understand why. They hadn’t heard of You-Know-Who again, and the attacks on muggles had stopped; the Ministry had left them in peace… Maybe it was that: it was too calm.

Some days after the full moon, the parents came to Hogwarts. Remus didn’t recall having ever seen so many adults in the school before. All wanted to see the demonist; some reporters had even tried to enter, passing for parents. But inside Salazar’s lab, the story had been different…

“I don’t want to go,” murmured Draco while observing the crowd, hidden behind the lab’s tainted window.

“Draco…” Remus tried to reassure, gently putting his hand on the boy’s shoulder, “It will be alright. We’re all here with you.”

“You say nothing will happen… How can you know? Maybe there are aurors in the wood, waiting for me to make an error, that one attack me and that I retaliate…”

Lupin hushed him softly and caressed his face. “You’re overreacting. There’s no aurors in the forest and you won’t have to retaliate because no one will attack you.”

But Draco couldn’t calm down. “There’ll be a problem, I know it… I’m no Gryffindor, professor, I don’t want to die and I don’t want to be locked and gagged for the rest of my life… I’d prefer tempting the Shadows than these parents…”

“No!” Remus cried out in despair, suddenly very afraid at the idea, “I forbid you! Draco!” He regarded the child with fright. “Promise me never to go there!” The image of Sirius falling through the drapery still haunted him. If Draco was to run into the Shadow World… he wouldn’t resist losing the two people he cared the most for…

Draco hesitated before answering. “That, I can’t. Professor, you have to understand. You wizards can apparate to flee. I have nothing. And… if I’m strong one against one… I can’t fight two people at the same time. Less one hundred of them.”

Remus sighed. “Again the parents… Draco, you have to stop worrying.” And the teacher was reminded of a harsh comment from a Gryffindor, how Draco would certainly use the reunion to show off. What a bunch of imbeciles they could be sometimes. He hoped he hadn’t been like that in class…

He observed the boy striding to a cupboard and serving himself a drink… What was it? Draco was minor; he wasn’t allowed to drink alcohol… But who cared anyway? Draco was clutching his glass so tightly the professor feared it would break in his hand. And… “Draco…” he frowned, “What happened to your finger?” Through the crystal, he had noticed a very red spot on the boy’s index finger.

“What? That?” The boy showed his finger. Remus grasped it, careful not to hurt the child, and observed it more attentively. The last phalanx had been scratched almost near blood. “It itched. I tried a potion but it didn’t work. It’s better now though. Doesn’t hurt anymore.”

It was peculiar. “Do you know what caused it?”

“No, I thought a splinter but it wasn’t that. Maybe a bad reaction at a ingredient.”

“Draco!” called Snape from the door that he had just passed. “You have to come down.”

“I know…” the child sighed.

Severus fully entered the room and pressed his hand on Draco’s shoulders just as Remus had done a few minutes earlier. “I kill the first that tries to harm you.” Ok… That was straighter that Remus’ speech. ‘A Slytherin to reassure another Slytherin. It’s perfectly normal…’ Remus thought. But he hurt nonetheless. He had wanted to be Draco’s stick this day.

“Professor…” Draco spoke to Severus as gently as he spoke to Remus, “I have something to do first. I’ll join you in the Great Hall, when the parents are in there.” The air in the room was suddenly hot and constrained as Draco’s voice was resolute. Snape eyed Draco with wonder, glanced at his colleague, and went away.

Draco remained some seconds staring at the closed secret door. Air was getting more thicker, and Remus felt sweat on his back. The boy marched slowly to him, barely letting space between them. Their eyes were gazing at each other’s and Remus was tempted to bend down to the sweet lips.

And suddenly a joyous laugh erupted in the room. Draco shook with obvious happiness and his cheeks reddened at the feeling. Stopping as abruptly that he had begun, the boy leaned his hands on Remus’ chest and kissed him.

It was no more than a touching of the lips but to Remus, their immobility and near communion was the most erogenous sensation he had ever felt. He knew that he was a professor, an adult, that it was forbidden by law, that Draco’s parents would disapprove but at this moment, he didn’t care. He held the boy’s waist and let his tongue travel the rosy lips. Not uttering a sound but raising his hands to Remus’ hair, Draco allowed him entrance. They didn’t battle and only exchanged soft caresses until a noise reminded them there were people waiting for them.

Draco gave the man a last peck, and arm in arm, they went to the door and only let go when they remembered the paintings. It would do no good for them to whisper about a teacher-student relation.

When Draco had seen the mass of parents, he had been afraid. Frightened that one would attack him in a fit of anger and that he would be forced to back the spell because, as a demonist, he knew no other way to defend himself than striking back; but also scared that Lupin, whom he had asked the company of, would act like a Gryffindor and launch before the boy and take the blow that was aimed at Draco. And the more Lupin had tried to reassure him, the more he had gotten anxious. He preferred professor Snape’s protection for, being a Slytherin, the man was more prone to stay alive and unharmed. Still, he hadn’t wanted to disappoint the werewolf, and thus the kiss.

But for the trust he had in the Potions Master, at the sight of these hundreds of eyes scrutinising him avidly, some by curiosity, some by hatred, Draco wanted no more than to turn tail and run.

The parents observed the demonist entering the Great Hall, followed by what seemed to be a teacher. They had imagined a sort of half-undead, dressed in black, eyes shinning with malice and love for hurt and terror. They saw a boy with the silver and green uniform of the Slytherin, the very alive and aristocratic appearance of a Malfoy and the obvious want to be elsewhere. The surprise caused the Hall to fall silent.

Using it to their advantage, Dumbledore introduced Draco.

“What are your intentions?” asked a parent.

Draco turned toward the voice, not locating the person. “My intentions?” he repeated, aghast, “Do I need to have some? Much as I dislike the idea, I’m here to study, just as every student.”

Some mouths turned into snickers. Just as his house’s colour, the boy had a silver tongue. The Hall became silent again. “Mr Malfoy is here to answer every question you could have concerning the security in this school. Such an opportunity won’t happen twice,” commented Dumbledore playfully, amused at the uncertainty of the adults in front of Draco. They were less virulent than in their letters now that they were faced with the core of the problem.

Murmurs travelled the crowd. Could they believe a word of what a demonist said? For all they knew, it could be lies, orchestrated by the Malfoys. Still, Dumbledore seemed quite sure when he affirmed the boy would harm no one…

But suddenly, Draco smirked. “You’re right. I lied.” He waited for his speech to produce the desired effect. “My true plans are to destroy the school, kill Dumbledore and Potter and take Voldemort’s place as ruler of the world.”

Mouths gaped and eyes came out of their sockets. They had been right! He was dangerous! He had to be stopped! Aurors… “Seriously…” Draco went on with a condescending tone and an arched eyebrow, “Doesn’t that seem a little too whopping for a single person?”

Such comments had saved the day. The calling of the little devil at Dumbledore’s demand had made the rest. Karnar was too sweet not to please. And thanks to that, the month had been calm. That was, till a week ago. Remus didn’t like Draco’s recent nervousness, especially since the boy refused to explain it and persisted in claiming he was perfectly fine. The reason couldn’t be from class either because Draco’s notes had never been higher. What was it then?

Before a lesson, Remus had heard rumours how Draco would have bought two costumes for the Ball. He had first thought the event to be the cause of the boy’s unusual behaviour, for Draco had refused each proposition he was made of a partner but what with the way the Slytherin smirked each time his professor tried to broach the subject, there was a chance that it wasn’t that either.

Moreover, Dumbledore wasn’t an imbecile or blind. The old man had noticed and probably understood that the link that joined Draco and his professor was tightening… He had talked about it to Remus. And, over the month and despite the love Remus felt for the boy, he was aware that such a relation would have difficulties to go on. Draco was not yet of age and a pureblood, heir of the greatest fortune of England. The Slytherin hadn’t sized up the reaction that his father would have. Lucius would do everything in order to stop what hadn’t already begun. Draco’s bond with his father would be destroyed in the process and that Remus wouldn’t let happen. Besides, Draco was so young; he had plenty to experiment, especially about love. Moony was hurt at the idea, but that was what had to be done. He wouldn’t permit his relationship with the boy to go past friendship. The kiss had been an error that he wouldn’t repeat. And maybe… maybe in some years, when the boy was grown, if he was still interested, which was pretty impossible, then…

o-

The same day

Arthur slouched in the chair of his study, looking absent-mindedly at the piles of papers that crushed his desk under their weight. It had been some months now since he had last felt true desire to work in here. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his work anymore; on the contrary, he still found every muggle invention fascinating; but he felt confined in this part of the Ministry, as far away from the real world.

Despite a lessening in the Death-eaters’ attacks, war was raging outside, and he wanted to help more than he currently did. The recent happenings in the school and the Order achieved to convince him there was much coming.

During the past year, the situation in the ministry had worsened more that he had ever thought possible. Before, every wizard had only been regarding Dumbledore with admiration, but You-Know-Who had changed that. After the battle in the Department of Mysteries, some aurors had considered that Azkaban was too low a sentence for convinced Death-eaters. They ought to be killed. But Hogwarts’ Headmaster had refused to hear their words of hatred. This was about justice, not revenge. Thus, guards around the prison had been reinforced.

Then all had gone downhill from there. Some reproached the old man for taking part in too many of the Minister’s decisions, some for not doing enough against You-Know-Who. Arthur suspected Fudge himself was creating rumours.

He had known Dumbledore for a long time, more than forty years in fact, and, as little as they were, the signs of time and tiredness were showing in the old face. These last months had been the worst. When Snape had been discovered as a spy, Arthur had thought that it wouldn’t change much for the Order. But he had understood how wrong he had been and how precious the professor had been to their side. The information that Snape had lent them over the years had helped save hundreds of innocents that were now dying outside.

He had no idea how, but the aurors had then heard of the man being a death-eater. Arthur had never liked Snape: he was a Slytherin, someone that had worked for You-Know-Who, tortured and killed; but he had paid and suffered for that and Arthur respected it. Still, he knew even less how the dark mark could have disappeared from the man’s arm. Maybe Dumbledore had found a way… Or…

There was a rumour that the young Malfoy had performed a very dark spell on his father to prevent him from being sent back to Azkaban. Ron had told his parents how the junior had been revealed as a champion in Potions and created a Duplicative Draught.

The defence of the Malfoys was the last blow to the wizard’s credibility. Everyone had been aware of Lucius Malfoy being a Death-eater. On him, too, the mark had disappeared. As much as Arthur hated the man, he agreed that none of the Order’s members was capable of predicting You-Know-Who’s actions as the high lord did. He had accused Malfoy of being a spy, but Dumbledore and Snape had searched the man’s mind. He was no menace.

Draco was though. A demonist, no less! For centuries, these people had remained a legend, and no one had ever suspected that they could one day reappear. But they had and in the form of the most dangerous child. Still… Malfoy was on their side, wasn’t he? Arthur doubted it. But there was this unexpected friendship of the boy with Remus. Where would that lead them? The child had changed with the contact of the man: he was now more respectful and obviously cared for his teacher. Arthur was still reticent about according his confidence to the Malfoy junior, but the child was on the right track. What bothered him, though, was that Draco showed no will to destroy You-Know-Who. He simply didn’t care.

And… There was… Ah, what was Dumbledore hatching now? When the old man had learnt of his twin sons having released their new ‘Tricks and Treats’ catalogue, he had immediately invited them to Hogwarts for Halloween. They had departed that morning and had sent a message some hours ago about how many assorted tricks they had already sold. And no doubt they would use them personally at the Ball…

o-

What was called Riddle Manor was in reality a large impressive house concealed in forest that hadn’t been taken care of for decades and looked more abandoned than alive. The previously lavish, gold-embroidered gate of the lands was pitted with rust, the road that used to lead to the front double door had been overgrown with nettles, and ivy hid every stone of the walls. The upkeep of the inside hadn’t been better seen to: shabby tapestry was hanging over the walls from which all paintings had been removed, leaving white marks on the paintwork. He couldn’t bear their sight; they reminded him of where he came from, of his dirty blood of a father. The best thing that had ever happened to this man was his death.

Dusty floors were printed by steps that led toward the inside of the house, where a huge door kept the living room closed. The wizard didn’t want to be disrupted. Voldemort was facing the cracking fireplace, holding an open book that he wasn’t reading from. His sight was on the script, but his mind was fixed elsewhere.

One month had passed since he had first heard about his other part, his adolescent self that he had locked in a book and that Lucius had attempted using against their enemies. At first, he had refused to believe it but time going by, he was forced to recognise the evidence: their spirits were linked together and, faintly but surely, he felt his other mind, so akin and yet so different, looming from the castle. Then how was it that only now did the bond reveal itself to him? Why not before? Had Draco done something that would somehow have awoken a sleeping part of young Tom? Ah, Draco… Such a promising child. A true Slytherin that possessed the essence of what made the glory of this house: its ambition! He would be the first of a series. Now that Voldemort knew that wizards could be trained as demonists, he’d create an army of them. The problem resided in the fact that every death-eater’s child had already been taught the dark arts. Lucius had been the only one… Why? Why had he refused to teach Draco dark magic? He had claimed wanting to wait till the boy was older but it could have been a lie… Well, he would only have to recruit younger death-eaters…

And if he could, he would have Draco training them. This boy and his skills couldn’t be left to Dumbledore. Voldemort would use anything to achieve his goal and get revenge on the old fool at the same time. Dumbledore wouldn’t be able to save Draco, and the boy would bring their downfall. Still, the dark lord knew the way the child worked… Draco would never harm either of his parents or the damned traitor or the blasted werewolf. What had gotten into him, to befriend a werewolf??!!!! But such an alliance could provide great help, for Voldemort had long wanted the support of that cursed race. If a death-eater were to take a werewolf under his protection, they’d soon show good will…

So that only left convincing the boy. The scope of his affections wasn’t vast and apart from the four people that filled his life; Draco cared about no one. But what did he think of muggles?

o-

Draco was tired of things the way they were. His felt the energy gathering inside of him more and more everyday with no outlet. His training with Snape and Lupin didn’t suffice anymore. He couldn’t let go of the rage that boiled in his heart with no reason, of the thrill for power that overwhelmed his spirit, for he would hurt them in the process.

His mind was shadowing and his desires blurring. His demons sensed his lust in their presence and it helped nothing. They didn’t understand why he couldn’t mate with the two men. Polygamy was common in the Demon World. Whether the dominant was male or female didn’t matter; only its power did. And Draco was powerful enough to tame both of them into submission. But he didn’t seem to wish to…

Love was a concept they couldn’t grasp. They knew about admiration, lust and possessiveness, even fidelity and protectiveness. But why was Draco showing protection to people that weren’t his own yet? Didn’t he fear that someone would come and steal them? Especially the one that humans called a werewolf. He was almost one of them, nearly a demon. Why wasn’t their master claiming him as his own? Draco had said he wanted to do so, when he had introduced Lupin and Karnar while in the room inside Malfoy Manor.

Was the old man the reason? This human showed kindness just as demonists did with their demons, but he wasn’t a demonist… Still, he radiated power and that only meant he wasn’t to be trusted. Maybe he would attempt to harm the master?! Hath’Gack had said he was a mind-scanner; would he try controlling Draco?

The young man was currently getting dressed in the lab. Blaise had been surprised at that action. Nobody would try attacking Draco in the dorms, especially with him there. The situation with the Slytherins had improved over the month. The presence of Tom had been decisive. Draco was often seen openly talking with the spirit, in corridors or during meals. They shared friendship. This situation had created a rip in the future death-eaters’ minds. If the dark lord was so perfect, how was it that his own past self enjoyed the company of a Malfoy, one that had refused a proposition that had been made to him by Voldemort himself? Or maybe it was a trick and Tom was spying for the dark lord. The last pro-death-eaters gripped hard at that thought, for all the little convincing it seemed…

Finally, the hour had come. Draco got out the lab and joined Blaise in the common room. They put on their masks and headed for the Great Hall. The place was already full of chatting people, creating a mass buzz. They waited at the entrance: Blaise’s date for the Ball should be arriving soon. During the time, they talked about the match of the day. Slytherin had lost, of course, but by ten points only. Draco and Tom’s sessions of spying on the Gryffindor team had bared fruits. Blaise was the only one aware of it. While the snakes trained, he had vaguely given tips to their players on strengths and weaknesses of the reds, hints that had been discussed the previous evening with Draco. The Gryffindors had understood too late in the game that all their tactics were known. Potter had caught the snitch anyway, but by that moment, their chasers had collected enough points to almost counter the hundred and fifty that the bloody Golden Boy would never miss. Little was to say the Gryffindors weren’t happy. Draco inwardly thanked his idea of the Masked Ball: this way, he should be able to pass a globally calm evening. He had painted his hair silver and grown it longer then tied it up. Incredible what Potions could do… It wasn’t the best costume, but it should be able to hide his identity for a time. Blaise’s date finally arrived, a nice sixth year Ravenclaw from what he had said. She effectively looked fine, studious but still of good company. Speaking of company…

Draco spotted Professor Lupin entering the Hall and walking to Professor Snape and his companion for the Ball. Even with the mask on, he could never have missed the man; the fragrance of his perfume attracted Draco like light did butterflies. Just in time to avoid crushing his plan, he brushed his hand over the man’s arm, an act that got Lupin to turn. “Can I help you?” the professor asked gently.

Draco smiled. He hadn’t been recognised. ‘Truly, professor, you should be more attentive. It could be anyone!’ he thought with amusement. “Yes,” he said, “to a dance.”

Lupin gaped slightly then chuckled at the situation. “Ah… I’m sorry but you must mistake me.”

Draco smiled seductively and bent on the professor, his lips lightly touching Remus’ chin. “You’re right, I must have mistaken. You surely aren’t the man I waited for all month and that I am inviting to a dance.” Just at this moment, music began. ‘Perfect timing.’

Lupin frowned and contemplated more attentively the young man he was facing. Then realisation burst in his eyes. “Draco…”

“The one and only,” the young man murmured in his ear, swiftly and imperceptibly dragging his professor toward the middle of the Hall where couples were already dancing.

“Someone will recognise us,” Remus complained vaguely. He shouldn’t be accepting this; he ought to be resisting. It was dangerous, contrary to his resolutions. But the secrecy that surrounded the pair and the fantasy of a dance in the company of the handsome boy was appealing… Besides, he couldn’t very well break the news to Draco that he wanted to suspend any relation during the Ball; it would only aggravate the problem. So he let himself be led. And it would be lying to claim he regretted it…

Draco hadn’t even bothered replying. He had always hated his dance lessons, and putting them in practice with Pansy had been more of a bad experience than a real enjoyment, but this... His left arm was firmly curving around the older man’s waist, his right hand raised to the air, delicately holding Lupin’s; their bodies were modelled to each other and Draco could feel the heat rising from the man, the slight hesitation and fear at being discovered, his beating heart and his softly flushed cheeks. The world had never been so perfect.

In the other part of his mind, Draco heard Professor Snape conversing with him. He saw himself noticing Tom and chatting nicely…

o-

Severus examined his reflection in the mirror. Dumbledore had insisted that the professors also wore masks for the Ball. He had vainly tried to contest the order, stating that should an incident occur the students had to be able to locate their teachers quickly; the old man hadn’t wanted to hear of his complains. So he found himself staring at his own face yet he couldn’t recognise it. The feeling was weird and he was reminded of his death-eater years.

When it was time, he joined the staff in the Great Hall, cursing the difficulties he had with finding them among the older children. At length, he noticed Albus. The headmaster had charmed his beard to look like a part of his clothing. Severus rolled his eyes at the old man’s childishness and made to join him when a younger one accosted him.

The face was hidden, just like every other person in the Hall, and Snape observed the exposed parts of the stranger. The shimmering play of light on short black rustled hair, the glint of intelligence in deep blue eyes, the lingering smile at the white lips’ corner, who could that be? He frowned. “What do you want?” he asked, not wanting to reveal his ignorance.

The grin increased and Severus pondered for a time if this could be Potter playing a trick on him. But no, the azure orbs hold too much malice for the boy to be a Gryffindor. Such an expression could only be allocated to a Ravenclaw or a Slytherin. Preferably the second choice, for Severus would deeply regret that someone with so promising mental capacities would have fallen to this house of brainwashing bookworms.

“To ask you a question,” answered the boy in a rather low voice that Snape scarcely heard above the chattering of the students.

Severus eyed the skies. Couldn’t he be left alone for the rest of the evening? If he had accepted this masquerade of the masks it had been in hope that he would go unnoticed. “Then ask already and don’t make me lose my time,” he snapped.

The secret eyes screwed up in pleasure, the face creased into a smile, and Severus feared the worst. “Are you sure you could afford it?” the silvery lips inquired.

Severus arched an eyebrow, attempting to remember if he had done something remotely stupid recently that would justify the question. Many examples came to his mind, the last being his visit to a certain institution in Sinshoe Alley, said establishment being a brothel. His looks not allowing him to find company for a night, he had resigned himself in the purchasable one. But no longer had he entered the house that his sight had been drawn to a light blond haired young man, a whore whose airs he hadn’t been able to resist. And when he had come, deep inside the boy’s body, it was Draco’s name that he had called. At that moment, he had known he was doomed. “Afford what?” he asked.

“The challenge.”

And all was suddenly clear. The object of his nights’ desire was in front of him. “Malfoy,” Snape acknowledged. “If you’re referring to the Wolfsbane, you should retire your participation. It will save you from humiliation.” Truly, he hadn’t thought that Draco had taken the declaration literally. At that time, he had been preparing the base for a new potion, one that would sever the connection between Potter and Voldemort. He had been continuing it since with Draco’s help. When the boy had come and seen him, Severus had lied about the potion, still doubtful of where Draco’s loyalties lay. He had deeply regretted the lies. And now he learnt that Draco had been working on the Wolfsbane since then. He would have to make some researches; he couldn’t let the boy win the challenge!

Draco chuckled. “It is you that should worry professor. As I told you a month ago, I have a totally new idea about it, one that could revolutionise the Potions Art. Are you sure you can pit your experience against my novelty?” he sneered. This affirmation was far from the truth. Apart from the idea, he had nothing concrete, having put all his efforts of the past month in his demonology, animagus lessons, and Potter’s potion. Yet, it could only do good to stir the Potions Master in fighting him. Especially with the heat and lust that he could feel erupting from the man’s lower parts at the mention of competition.

Snape snorted at the simple suggestion that a child could undo him. Inwardly, he was extremely curious and slightly stressed as to what the child could have invented. Draco had good ideas, and it wouldn’t surprise Severus that one of them could effectively lead to a new and more effective version of the Wolfsbane. Still, to say that it could revolutionise their art… Was it a good lie, or had Draco really discovered something incredible? Severus wished he could search the boy’s mind for the answer but he wasn’t ready yet to test Draco’s trust in him. He wouldn’t have a second chance.

Draco glimpsed at two people in the middle of the Hall as the music began. Snape scowled. What was Lupin thinking, dancing with a student? Who was stupid enough, anyway, to invite a werewolf to a dance?

“Where were you?” Draco suddenly inquired of the air next to him.

Severus had seen enough conversations between the two of them to understand that his favourite child was conversing with the spirit, the spirit who, he was sure, had much to see in the Gryffindor’s almost defeat of the morning, so couldn’t be that bad anymore…

Draco smirked. Tom was going according to the plan, a scheme that the spirit ignored and that he would ineluctably be victim of. Then, all would be for the best. Who had thought he was too childish and spoiled to be a Slytherin? Who had thought the house had definitely gone to shadows? Well, they would be surprised. He sent Tom to look after the next part of his plan then turned back to the surprised professor.

“Is there a reason why you order him to watch the girl?” asked the man. What had Draco invented now? What was his point? The boy had many secrets, more than Severus dared to count. And he was hurt at the idea, because, even if Draco had forgiven him, such an attitude proved that he hadn’t forgotten. To recall there was a time when the child told him anything, any thought of his mind…

Draco eyed him pensively before a smirk marked his lips. “Speak your mind, professor. Do you think there is a reason?” He paused as Snape screwed his eyes imperceptibly, resisting the urge that told him to search the boy’s mind. “We will hamper the dancers if we stay here. Would you say no to a drink?”

Snape snorted and they headed for a corner of the Hall. Draco served them both a glass of pumpkin juice. He sniffed it, hoping there was no surprise of the Weasley twins in it. He didn’t fancy turning red and gold or having corns on his forehead for the rest of the evening, just like what some first years had been victim of during lunch. He sipped some of the liquid and when no reaction occurred, he handed over the other glass to the sitting professor.

Severus suppressed a smile, sensitive at the attention. Indeed, he was doomed. Doomed to fail in resisting the boy’s charms and his own lust at the sight. But it wouldn’t be said that he’d have given in without resisting, and before falling to the Demon Master’s claws, he’d make sure to tame the devil.

He remained silent, listening to the noises of the Hall. Suddenly, he frowned. These two identical costumes, it could only be the twins. What was Dumbledore thinking of, inviting them over? If the old man wanted to perfect his collection of tricks he could simply visit them at their shop. Or maybe he feared that, during his absence, Draco would invent another game…

The twins were surrounded with a group of children, probably Gryffindors. They were attentively bent over a table… and was that a map?… Oh no! This was a masked ball, no Marauders Map allowed! Snape posed his glass on a near table, got up in a rush but stopped just as abruptly. One of the children was pointing at people on the dance floor. Lupin and his partner exactly. Why were they so interested in the two dancing men?

Next to him, Draco had also gotten up, noticing the attention of his professor. He screwed his eyes at the sight of the Map, realising the great interest the group of children focused on. “What is that?” he murmured. And then Severus remembered: Draco had never been told about the item. The pupils of the child showed slight concern. Why? Snape observed anew the couple. It was all he needed to understand. He turned back to his masked companion, and they returned to their seats, not without a last glance from Draco at the Gryffindors.

Severus grasped and fingered his glass, his heart racing at the realisation that he was no more than a pawn in a game. “Why are you here?” he asked, looking the child in the eye. If Draco wanted the werewolf, so be it, but why bother with keeping company with an old Potions master? Draco smirked as he arched an elegant eyebrow, amused by the slight jealousy he sensed in the voice. Both taking pity of the other man and wanting to raise the stakes of their relation, he opened his mind and suddenly, Severus saw. Lust. Pure lust. Desire to possess and be possessed. Images of carnal and primal sex.

Plunging in Draco’s deepest dreams, he vaguely felt his pants tighten around him. Imaginary Draco was doing… things to imaginary Snape… It was… Severus came back to reality in time to lift the glass to his lips and swallow back the juice with a moan that menaced to denounce him.

At the taste of the liquid in his throat, his eyes rounded in fear and he choked, his heart stopping in its course. His mind blurred and his legs abandoned him, letting his body fall to the floor before unconsciousness claimed him.

“Professor!” cried out Draco, kneeling on the stone ground and removing the mask to tap the man’s cheeks. But Severus didn’t awake. His raspy breath was failing, threatening to stop anytime.

Students formed a circle around them and someone, who Draco assumed in his panic to be Dumbledore, levitated the professor and headed to the Infirmary. They were on the way when Madame Pomfrey came to meet them. She caught Snape’s wrist and pronounced spells to get the non-beating heart to work. Without success. In a dash, Draco ran to the Infirmary, forestalling the others by some meters, collected herbs on the shelves of a cupboard and frankly began melting them together…

o-

Ron was raging. Seventeen goals! The Slytherins had passed seventeen goals by him! It was impossible! Never had they played so good on his weaknesses. His bad mood extended to the full team. They had been tricked. Someone had spied on them all along. There wasn’t much wonder who… The twins reddened with anger when they were narrated the matter. But Malfoy wouldn’t go unpunished. They’d make sure that he never tried that again! The Ball granted them the perfect opportunity to humiliate the blonde. They’d better not miss it.

In the Great Hall, they dispersed to find Malfoy, but the masks prevented them from discovering the snake. When the music began, they opted for another tactic. Harry took the Map out of a pocket. He was against such measures, having suffered much from public humiliations, but Malfoy had gone too far. The blonde couldn’t be allowed to cheat at their expense!

They scanned the Map, looking for the wanted name, dozens of attentive eyes praying that it would appear before them so that they could exact their revenge. And suddenly, a hand extended toward a dot. They had found it.

The dot was moving on the dance floor, along with… Moony?!! What was the man doing with this rat? Hadn’t he noticed how the Slytherins had almost undone the Gryffindors during the match? Hadn’t he understood the snake had played his part in it?

“Let’s see if Moony will stay with him after that,” muttered Ron, taking his wand out, followed by some players. But before he could hex Draco with a well-concentrated Furnunculus charm, Hermione snatched his wand away.

“Are you mad?” she uttered.

The Gryffindors frowned at the interruption. “He spied on us. It’s fair comeback,” said Harry for their cause.

She tilted her head with disapprobation. “And I agree, but not this way.”

“Why?” they almost whined. “After that, Malfoy will never think of bothering us again!”

She sighed soundly. “I’m disappointed, especially with you, Harry.” She sounded like McGonagall. “What do you expect? That Malfoy will accept his humiliation and bury the hatchet? He’ll be angry and he’ll do everything he can to bring you down after that. Even forget of his good resolutions…” Her pupils were dilated, intent on him to understand what she was talking about. Dumbledore had said it enough: Malfoy could be a very important addition to the Order, especially now that he had proved he could work with Harry without killing him. But even after the demon’s incident, when Draco had gone to the headmaster and accepted to help them with the potion, the boy hadn’t sworn fidelity to the Light. He still doubted it was his road to follow.

Hermione had gone to Dumbledore to discuss her doubts, for the old man was the only one that could deflect her suspicions. He had entrusted her with maintaining the calm among the Gryffindors. He had taken time to explain to her the problem that Draco caused. Many people came to the Order for help because they were repulsed by the bloodshed of the death-eaters or because they had family to protect. Draco was different. He didn’t care about the muggles, had never and would probably never either. Moreover, he was important enough, what with his potions and his demonology, for Voldemort to accept not to harm some people in exchange for his services. The dark lord would certainly proposition Draco soon with a contract that would specify the people the boy would take away from the battlefield.

Draco had no obvious reason to join the Light; the dark lord offered him amnesty and power when the Ministry threatened him with prison and death; yet he helped them anyway. ‘Why?’ Dumbledore had asked with a smile and a gleam in the eye. He had given no explanations.

But as Hermione watched the Map and the two plots dancing in accordance, she needed none.

If the Gryffindors humiliated Draco in front of the only person that kept him to the Light, his pride would be so tainted that he’d surely not remain long. But how could she make a bunch of angry teenagers understand that?

Thankfully, Harry lowered his wand. He hadn’t realised all the implications but had known Hermione long enough to realise that she had her reasons, reasons that couldn’t be said out loud in the middle of the Great Hall. Fred had followed the same reasoning and laid his hand on his little brother’s arm to calm him. “She’s right. If attention is drawn to Malfoy,” he whispered, “people will realise he was dancing with Moony. If someone outside of us learns of that, the Ministry could use it against Dumbledore. I’m not sure that professors dancing with their students hidden by masks is the sort of publicity he seeks.” This was exaggerated, for dancing with a student had never gotten anyone sacked, but taking the louses that ran the Ministry into account, they could very well attempt to, or at least turn the story into juicy press. Anyway, it would do Moony no good at all.

But they had no more time to ponder on the problem as a cry troubled the room. They turned to the noise and saw a man they recognised as Professor Snape being unmasked by a panic-stricken dark-haired student. Dumbledore got to the man before them, soon joined by Malfoy and Moony. What had happened?

o-

Draco felt his other self go mad with worry and his own heart quickening in fear at the situation. Lupin stiffened in his arms, and they headed toward the shout. The professor didn’t know what was happening and while the man went to help Dumbledore, Draco bent to retrieve Snape’s glass from where it had fallen. He sniffed the remaining content and then, when the examination offered no answer, collected some liquid on his finger to lap at it. In an instant, just as quickly as the professor Snape had realised what he had drunk, Draco knew they had little time left.

He got up and ran after the group that had departed for the Infirmary. His other self was already working on a counter-poison. Lupin observed, powerless, as the Mediwitch cast spells on the unconscious body. Draco squeezed his hand and passed him, directing his steps to the bed. He drew Madame Pomfrey away, not noticing her starting to complain and the headmaster beckoning her to calm down. Draco bent over the still body, laid his right hand on his professor’s forehead, extended the left one straight in the air, and closed his eyes.

A circle of light formed under the bed and the shadows of the room began moving around them. Draco muttered demon words and Snape’s body jolted in a single spasm. The boy fainted on the man and all signs disappeared.

Silence filled the Infirmary, except for the leaves still being crushed, but was soon broken by Madame Pomfrey. “What just happened?” she asked, completely taken by the quick scene. She marched over to the duo. Severus was now breathing slowly, his face calmer, his body exhausted by the experience.

“Energetic link,” explained a boy that was getting up from a corner of the room. He mixed his crushed leaves with water and gave it to the professor. “He should be fine now. He needs rest to fight the poison.”

“Poison?!” repeated Madame Pomfrey with surprise. “He was poisoned during the Ball? Albus, we can’t let the students eat and drink anymore!”

“I know. Food and drinks were sent back to the kitchens,” the headmaster replied calmly.

The still masked dark-haired student searched his robes to take a phial out and drank it. Under the horrified stares of the present ones, he grasped his stomach, moaning in pain and vanished in a puff of black smoke.

Draco opened his eyes, removed his mask, and rubbed his painful temples. He looked tired, his face aged by a single line of worry on his forehead. He gently took the professor’s hands into his own and massaged them slowly, never letting Snape out of his sight. Who would have done that? He wondered while transmitting energy to the still sleeping man. The juice hadn’t been poisoned when he had served it; someone must have put the poison in the drink during their conversation. But when? Draco could only think of one moment: when Snape had set down his glass to observe the Gryffindors. Someone had been spying on them from the beginning and had used the little time he was provided to pour the pure ajida into the professor’s drink. Ajida was considered one of the most effective poisons: inhaled or ingested, it immediately blocked the thoracic muscles, along with the heart. The only positive thing was that the one doing the poisoning had probably been a student and little informed in the way of poisons. He had thought he chose the best, but for people remotely good in Potions, to counter ajida was easy. The danger was now passed but that didn’t mean that the guilty one would remain safe. Draco would find him and then…

o-

Remus hesitated in pouring a glass of whisky. It truly wasn’t like him to rely on alcohol but the situation… Giving in to his aching for a good pick-me-up, he caught a glass and the bottle, eyed them with suspicion, then abandoned the glass and only took the bottle, directing his steps to the cold of the opened window.

He inhaled deeply the fresh air and drank a gulp of whisky straight from the bottle, appreciating the fire on his tongue and the freezing on his cheeks. The night was wonderfully calm and the sky clear, no light, other than his room’s, was contesting the supremacy of the stars. Yet he couldn’t admire it… As he scoped the school’s grounds to the forest and took another sip, he remembered the reason for trying to get drunk and his eyes moistened.

Some hours ago, since he couldn’t be of any help in the Infirmary, he had gone back to the Great Hall in order to help calm the students. That had been the official version. The unofficial one was his heart hadn’t been able to bear the sight. He had observed the young man that had declared his love to him not a month ago sharing for another the same demeanour of indivisible attention and care.

Remus choked on his soon-to-fall tears. Wasn’t it him that, just before the Ball, was thinking that Draco needed more experience? Funny, like Fate enjoyed playing with them. But he had been right in the end: whatever Draco felt for him, it wasn’t true love. The boy visibly was attracted to his teachers, surely a result of his lack of friends during the past year. Teenage hormones had transformed it in physical desire. That was all…

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he nearly missed a soft knocking on the door. Who could that be at this hour? Every student was sleeping now, Severus’ health had stabilised, and the staff had gone to their own beds. Except him…

He put down the bottle on the chimney and went to open. It was Draco.

The boy’s eyes were underlined by broad dark lines and shot with blood. His still silver hair was tangled from the root to the tip, and he was trembling, probably from cold. “They didn’t let me stay in the Infirmary…” he murmured in a broken voice, as if pleading for an answer, for acceptance, for his arms.

“Draco…” he didn’t know what to say. The look in his exhausted eyes was one of need. The child wasn’t here to talk. He wanted to feel, to touch and to live. But it would be nothing more than an illusion. A mirage that would only be realised in the morning. Remus was too aware of that. “You should go to your dorms and sleep,” he counselled gently.

Draco lowered his eyes to the ground. “Yes… I’m sorry I bothered you… Good night.”

Remus watched the young form as he disappeared in the shadows of the corridor, his heart aching endlessly in his chest. Had he done the right thing? If he hadn’t sent Draco away, he knew what would have occurred. Draco had wanted physical comfort, and Remus would have given it despite his suffering after it. But was leaving the child alone in his pain better? Draco was hurt and tired; what if he did something stupid? The boy was sensitive, much more than he let others see. He had needed help and… “What did I do…” he realised with horror. Grasping his cloak, he rushed out toward the dungeons, hoping the boy would have taken this way.

What had made him react in such a manner? How could he have been so selfish? But he knew the answer: he had been jealous, envious of Snape who had stolen part of Draco’s affection. It had been so long since Remus was last shown unconditional kindness and love that he now clutched at it desperately. Of course Draco loved Severus: the man was his mentor, his model, his idol. That was why he had once again used his duplication potion in order to be with the both of them during the evening. Nothing more. Let Remus find Draco and the boy forgive him, then they’ll forget everything about this rubbish idea of experience. To Hell with the rules, in eight months, Draco would be out of school and of age, and to Hell with Lucius, they would find a way around him.

He was running down a corridor when he stopped dead in his tracks; a scream was echoing in the castle. Draco…

o-

Draco went away from the room, head bent, eyes stinking with tiredness and sadness. His heart was hurting so much… All had been going on well and then… Lupin had rejected him. He understood why: the man was only human and monogamous. How foolish Draco had been to think that he could be a demonist among wizards.

And Severus… Draco had claimed to want the two men as his mates and he couldn’t even prevent one from being hurt. Snape had been poisoned just under his nose and Draco hadn’t been able to save the man from the pain inflected on him. He was a loser. What had he thought to imagine that he could be as strong as Potter? Fathering Karnar, studying with Hath’Gack, being a friend to Tom, loving Remus and seducing Severus, learning demonology, becoming an animagus, researching potions, plotting against the Ministry and Voldemort, resisting the darkness’ ascendancy. It had been too much.

Tears fell freely on his cheeks and his legs gave way, his body crumbling to the floor. He choked on sobs and curled up in a ball, his chest aching more than ever. He was a failure. He had abandoned his wand, for he would never be as good as Potter and his father. Lucius had gone on giving lessons to Potter; he had nothing left to teach his son. But even as a demonist, Draco wasn’t strong enough. He couldn’t protect those he cared for. Severus had been hurt; Remus had been hurt. So many people wanted to destroy Tom and kill his demons…

Draco vaguely heard a voice calling him and felt the warmth of someone crawling next to him.

Blaise had been dancing with his partner when he had heard the shout. Snape was dying. He didn’t care much about the man. To Blaise, it was only a professor. But the professor had always been good to him, not nice, but fine. He listened to him when he needed to talk; he helped him with his homework if he didn’t understand it. It was the general attitude of the Potions Master with his students and not a special treatment for him; still, it remained pleasurable to know that someone in this castle cared about Slytherins.

When he had met Draco, Blaise hadn’t liked him. The boy was boastful, considered himself to be above the others… Blaise had done his best to avoid him during five years. Then, with Lucius Malfoy being sent to Azkaban and Crabbe and Goyle to Durmstrang, that had changed. Draco’s transformation had been incredible. Blaise hadn’t been able to believe it at first sight. During the last month, the young man had become a good friend, someone he could talk freely with and have no fear that his speech would led Zabini to be forced into joining a side for the war. Even if they couldn’t talk, Tom seemed a great person too, after the first shock of his being the Slytherin heir. The conversations the spirit held with Draco were animated with laughs.

Draco liked Lupin, Blaise had noticed. It was ok with him: the werewolf posed no problem to him, as long as he didn’t go attacking the students. Even then, Lupin could have killed a Gryffindor, and Blaise wouldn’t have cared. But there was one thing that he didn’t understand: why didn’t Draco liberate his powers? They had fought a lot since their first duel and Blaise deeply enjoyed the sessions, even if he lost every time. It was extremely pleasant to confront a demonist, since they had different ways to control their magic. Still, in each encounter, he had felt something that stirred inside his friend’s body, a feeling desiring to be unleashed. Why was Draco resisting?

When Draco hadn’t reappeared after the end of the Ball and Blaise had begun to worry for his friend, he had gone to the Infirmary but Madame Pomfrey had informed him that the boy had been sent back to his dormitory. Zabini had frowned. It was bizarre for he hadn’t met Draco on the way. Maybe he had gone to Lupin? Blaise was on his way to the professor’s room, which he had learnt the location of the past year by pure coincidence, when he saw a form on the floor.

Recognising Draco, Blaise ran to the boy and knelt next to him. Draco was cold and weeping, obviously hurt.

Draco turned and noticed Blaise. “Go away,” he stammered out, his body shaking with spasms and rage. His chest was getting heavier each second and he felt he wouldn’t be able to resist much longer. His demonic side was taking the upper hand in his body. A mate of his had been hurt, and he wanted revenge for it; another had rejected him and would be forced into servitude.

“What?” cried out Blaise, “You think I’d leave you here? Are you mad? Come on.” Saying that, he tried to get Draco up. But the Slytherin pushed him away.

“Run.” Draco was bent in two, his face screaming his pain. He glared again at Blaise who remained unmoving. “Run, you imbecile. I’ll kill you!” A convulsion seized him. Pain, hurt… It was too much. If he gave in, just half a second, just the time to relieve his aching… To accept a little part of the darkness inside of him. He stopped struggling.

Suddenly, the world seemed much better. The agony had ended and he could observe the boy next to him. This one had defied him many times, always coming back after his defeats. What was he thinking? That he could beat a demonist? Draco was so much stronger than them, why had he refused the evidence? But all of it was past now…

Blaise observed Draco and froze. The boy’s eyes had gone dark and menacing. The demonist was staring at him with intent and his instinct told him to turn tail and run. But he couldn’t present his back! Breath quickening out of fear, he took out his wand, just in case… This was different from their usual fights; the atmosphere was hot, heavy, and frightening. He just had time to detect a moving of the shadow at his side when his wand was snatched away and he was brutally pinned to the wall. His head was spinning from the shock and he vaguely registered Draco advancing toward him.

“Draco,” he faltered out, “You’re not yourself…”

But the demonist smirked. “On the contrary. I have never felt better.” Every doubt had evaporated. He knew who he was and where he was going. He laid his hand on Blaise’s chest. This one wouldn’t bother him anymore.

Blaise felt a hand on him, energy infusing his body, warm then hot, and he screamed as the burning heat invaded him. He squirmed in an attempt to avoid the hand and escape the shadows but they were holding him well. Dolour was getting to his mind as the fire was eating him alive. In a half-conscious state, as he battled to go on breathing, he felt he was being released. He collapsed on the floor and peered at Draco. But the boy was occupied elsewhere…

o-

Moony ran to the noise, praying to arrive in time. His heart stopped at a scene he wasn’t ready for. Draco swirled toward the interruption and smiled. “If it isn’t the little rebel…” he murmured with a sneer. Remus took some steps back and took his wand out as Draco marched on him.

Lupin lightened the corridor with a spell, keeping the shadows from reaching him, and faced the Slytherin. Draco wasn’t in his normal state; darkness was looming up in his soul, evil showing in his eyes. He advanced toward Remus, and the man went to stupefy him, when he noticed he couldn’t talk. Draco gave a wicked little laugh as he crossed the last few steps that separated him from his professor.

Remus stiffened. This wasn’t the Draco he was used to fighting. When training, the child had always taken care not to harm them because he had wanted to learn to master his skills; this opponent yearned to destroy. The wolf in him scented the danger and the power radiating from the shadows around him as they infested his small area of light. In a last flash of hope, he caught Draco’s wrist and twisted it, forcing the child to turn so that he could clench both of his arms behind his back. Too late. His own shadow had redressed and grasped him backwards, making him fall on the floor.

Draco sat on him before he could react and crushed their lips together. Despite the situation, Remus felt his body answering to the need. It was so good, the feeling of this young flesh on his. How could he have sent Draco away? Contradictory wishes muddled up his brain. Hands tore at his shirt, ripping it open. “No…” he whimpered without conviction. This was wrong. It wasn’t Draco. The boy would never force him.

The weight on him suddenly vanished as Draco was being hurled away by a rush of wind. Dumbledore helped Remus and Blaise get up as Draco recuperated from his fall.

“Would you mind fighting someone of your strength?” defied the headmaster.

Draco chuckled. “Are you certain you can afford it? You’re old, your heart is weak, and you will break.”

“You of all people should remember that underestimating is a weakness,” insisted Dumbledore, “If you believe yourself so strong, let’s go out.”

Remus stared at the two men as they made their way to the pitch. Had Dumbledore gone mad!? ‘No! Stop! Albus! It isn’t Draco! You can’t fight! Albus!’ his mind cried out since he hadn’t regained his voice.

‘I know,’ a voice in his mind replied, ‘but he needs to consume his anger or we won’t be able to reason with him. The curse on you will wear out soon, talk to him then, never stop, you must reach him.’

Outside, the weather had gone as dark as the events. The sky had clouded over and rain was falling in quick and heavy drops, soaking the ground. Icy wind was roaming the pitch and Remus fathomed this was Dumbledore’s doing. The fighters faced one another, their clothes already drenched. From where he was, Remus could see Draco shivering with the cold. Demonists hated the cold.

He attacked. Shadows grouped from the centre of the pitch and launched on Dumbledore. But the wind was making them weaker, and he defected them with a sudden gust. Draco clenched his teeth. The old man was good. And what with the rain, fire would be of no use here.

Remus suddenly felt the curse leaving him as his throat was loosened. “Draco!” he yelled instantly, “It isn’t you. Stop now. You can control your...” He couldn’t finish his sentence. The boy had turned back to him in a dash and placed the same malediction again.

“Draco,” called Dumbledore, seeing the boy wouldn’t let Remus talk, “We can stop. You are my friend and I don’t want to fight you. I understand what you went through but it doesn’t have to go on. You can…”

“Shut up old man!” shouted the boy, urging the shadows into attacking.

Albus was assaulted from all sides; he concentrated his mind into confusing the black masses. Too late did he see the boy murmuring under his breath. His chest jumped as the link was established and his energy defused in the air. A shadow threw itself at him and he morphed his wand in a buckler to drive it back. Between two wards, he turned to Draco and twisted a rush of wind above him, crushing him on the muddy ground, breaking the link in the process.

“Draco, come to your mind. This isn’t you. You must stop, I don’t want to fight you.”

Draco redressed, his robes and pants covered in dirt and mud, his hands trembling with cold. “Too bad for you… Irch Karnar.”

And it occurred to Dumbledore that Draco wasn’t the only one to have underestimated. In front of him, an enormous mass of shadow was unleashing sparks of thunder. Cold was participating in the creation of the lightning, rain was dispersing and developing its strength. Was that Karnar, the sweet little demon? The shadow moved toward him in a dash and hit him hard, the force of the thundering blow sending him metres away. Karnar marched on him and, half blinded by the water and the stars in his head, Albus recognised the child under the mass of power. His eyes were full of fury and hatred. His master was getting attacked. His master had been hurt!

A guttural scream of rage escaped his throat as he released the concentrated thunder from his hands on Dumbledore. The man defused part of it and took the rest, resisting the urge to scream in pain. He had been foolhardy on this one: Draco had grown stronger with his training; it was logical that his demons would evolve in synchronisation. Albus didn’t want to hurt Draco, he had thought he could let the boy vent his anger upon him, but the strength of the blows contradicted his will. He couldn’t afford getting seriously hurt.

Before Karnar could attack again, Dumbledore morphed back his wand and hexed Draco with a Stupefy. But his spell met only void as the boy had disappeared for a fraction of a second. This was the work of the second demon, Hath’Gack, the one that had never been seen. Draco smirked. “You’re finished, old man.”

Albus didn’t reply and got up, Karnar still observing his moves, waiting for an order from his master. “Draco, I’ll tell you one last time, stop this madness. It isn’t you fighting. I don’t want to hurt you, all of you,” he said, motioning to Karnar and the place he felt the other demon’s energy residing in.

Draco scowled. “You truly underestimate me, old man, if you think I used all of my tricks. You wanted to duel, then fight; don’t cower now.”

Resigning, Dumbledore acquiesced and took a duelling pose. He had to stop Draco. He just had to. He was partly at fault in this matter. If he hadn’t sent Draco away from the Infirmary, this wouldn’t have happened. And if he let Draco go away in this state of mind, who knew what he’d do? He readied himself, aware of the means that the boy would use to destroy his enemy.

Remus was assisting these two people that he loved dearly. Draco was hurt; Dumbledore was hurt. This couldn’t go on. Draco had said he wasn’t able to clear off maledictions; what would result in his using them? Albus could die from them. Remus wouldn’t remain outside the fight.

The curse on him had once again worn off. He took some steps toward the duelling scene, gulped back his fear, and raised his voice above the wind’s cries. “Draco! I beg you…” This got the boy to swirl at him. “It is me that angered you, only me. Albus did nothing. I am solely responsible. If you want to hurt someone, hurt me, I deserve it. I wasn’t there when you needed me…” His unshed tears of the evening were finally falling freely as he bent his head.

Draco’s eyes flashed with wonder, and he advanced toward the interruption. The man was broken, defeated. Draco lifted his chin in a soft gesture and looked at him in the eye. There was no darkness in them, only devotion and love, and the pain shook his heart. Remorse stroked him at having brought dolour upon this innocent man, and all anger left him. He let go of the chin and caressed an offered cheek. What had he done? How could he let himself harm the one he loved?

“I had sworn never to harm you…” he murmured in a pained voice. ‘And I failed…’ he thought with horror.

“And you didn’t,” Remus whispered back, “I’m fine. Let’s all go back to the castle.”

During their conversation, Dumbledore had joined them, satisfied at Remus’ intrusion in the fight. His back slightly hurt at his fall and his head at the thunder but it wasn’t something that Poppy wouldn’t be able to cure in no time. Just the romantic scene he was bearing witness to was alleviating his pain. He laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder and squeezed it, emphasising the professor’s words. But, to their surprise, Draco shook his head.

Rain had stopped and clouds had dispersed, wind was singing softly the praise of the fighters. In reaction to his master’s calm, Karnar was once again a sweet little boy, and Dumbledore thought that he much preferred him this way. The demon slipped his hand in Draco’s and they withdrew from the two men.

“It isn’t finished,” Draco finally spoke, “It is still here, in me. I would hurt you again.”

Remus froze. “Don’t go,” he pleaded. He needed Draco at his side, the boy that gave him hope that made him smile; he wanted his heart to stop aching.

“I have to.” The demonist was all too aware of the darkness inside of him, of the anger and hatred that longed to go out. “But I will be back. In one week, at the most, I will be here.” Because in exactly seven days, there was an event that he wouldn’t miss for the world. It had taken him one month to prepare, and it was now the time to keep his promise. Snape was sound in the Infirmary, Blaise had probably joined him and was not too badly injured, Dumbledore seemed fine, Tom was achieving the task he had been given; he could go. Not giving a damn about the headmaster’s presence, he kissed his lover a last time and moved away to the forest.

Despaired, his breath coming out in chokes, Remus observed Draco disappearing in the shadows of the trees. An arm encircled his shoulders and he leaned against the understanding old man. “He will be back,” Dumbledore repeated Draco’s declaration. “He’s always true to his word.” Dumbledore’s heart clutched tight at the knowledge that he had somehow caused this situation. He had doubted their love for each other, thought that Remus’ was the result of his long search for affection and Draco’s was the consequence of his lack of friends. He had been deeply wrong and regretted his conversations with the werewolf.

And in his mind, he was already making a list of the people that could help him verify that Draco was fine during his absence. Hippogriffs could make sure that the boy was safe but Draco had never liked them enough to allow them proximity. Most of the others would refuse when learning the boy was a demonist. It seemed like Albus would have to trust Draco with his own well-being… Hopefully, the child loved Remus enough to come back scathed or not come back at all...

o-

Thursday, November the 5th

Harry sighed at his homework, earning a glance from Hermione. She rested her quill in her inkpot, rolled her parchment, and gave him her full attention.

“What is the matter?” she inquired in a motherly voice.

“Moony.”

Ah… The DADA teacher was the source of every Gryffindor conversation since five days ago. That Sunday morning, Snape had awoken and was said to immediately ask for Malfoy. What he was told, he didn’t like… It was his yelling at Remus that had attracted their group to the Infirmary. As soon as they had entered the place, Madame Pomfrey had shunned them, along with every student. They only had had the time to see that the poor Gryffindor wasn’t responding to the screaming, prostrated, accepting the reproaches. What about? They hadn’t known.

It had taken a roar of Dumbledore for Snape to shut up and even then, his eyes had went on talking for him. As nothing more had seemed to take place inside, students had scattered but for their tight group. They had wanted to know how Snape could dare insult one of them! Later, Dumbledore had related the events of the night, but only, he said, so that they wouldn’t bother Moony for answers. The man needn’t a bunch of students to harass him. He had also omitted some facts, such as Remus’ state of clothing when he had arrived, or the fight.

After hearing the story, Harry had been angry with Malfoy and thankful with Hermione for stopping them in time. Then he had frowned. “Why in one week?” he had asked.

All had stared at him with curiosity as he had gone on. “Why did Malfoy say that he would come back in one week? Why one week?” It could have been only a coincidence, but he felt curious that the blonde had granted himself so little time to calm down.

The Weasley brothers had been of surprising help to resolve his question. In Harry’s third year, they had made a habit of breaking into Snape’s lab to steal ingredients for their tests. It wasn’t rare that they came upon boiling concoctions. They generally vaguely studied what the Potions Master was working on, in case it could get dangerous for the students. One of these times, amazed, they had discovered a birth chart on their new DADA professor: Remus Lupin. After that, they had long believed that the harsh attitude of Snape was in fact due to a denied attraction toward his colleague. But what connected it with their current matter? Hermione had inquired as Dumbledore’s eyes were gleaming. They had explained: in one week, it was Moony’s birthday. They had never given it much thought, since at that moment Lupin had been no more than a teacher. It had taken such an event for them to remember it.

Harry had felt like something was amiss in their voices, as if they were omitting a fact but when, thrilled, Ginny had proposed that they organise a big feast, he had forgotten about it. Chuckling, Dumbledore had given his assent, as long as they kept it low. He didn’t want more of the Ministry in his affairs.

“What about him?” asked Ron. The three of them were working in the Common Room, forced by Hermione. On a near table was a group of Ginny’s friends who, contrary to them, didn’t need to be pushed to study.

“Why do you think Malfoy wants to be here for his birthday?” Harry inquired back.

“To give him a present looks like a good point to me,” proposed Hermione, rolling her eyes. Truly, boys could be dense sometimes.

“You really can envision Malfoy of all people offering a gift to Moony? He doesn’t seem the type to.” Ron gave a shrug of suspicion at the idea.

“Why not?” Hermione bit back. “He already did much for professor Lupin, what with the Wolfsbane development and all. Maybe this is his present, by the way. He could have found the way to counter the morphing.”

Harry sighed again. He didn’t know what to think of Malfoy; the Slytherin was a mystery. He could be horrible and irascible and insufferable then he suddenly did something great. On the contrary, he could keep quiet for months then reveal that he had been plotting all along. He helped the Order but he protected Riddle, he liked Moony but he hurt him. Although, after giving it a little thinking, Harry had to admit that the blonde had had no control over his actions.

The next day brought them a surprise they weren’t waiting for…

o-

Friday, November the 6th

Reunion of the Order.

The Ministry was in uproar; death-eaters had roamed Azkaban and liberated the prisoners. On Thursday evening, the aurors had taken their nightly watch, when they had heard noises of bombs around the prison. They had rushed up toward them and met death-eaters in direct confrontation. They had been quickly outnumbered and, before they could call for reinforcements, the death-eaters had departed and the cells were empty.

“There is a fact that I can’t quite grasp,” muttered Mad-Eye. “Why no auror was killed? That’s not like death-eaters to let someone live when they can kill them.”

Whispers ran in the room. Indeed, that was singular. Maybe they hadn’t the time?

“Anyway, that isn’t our current problem,” recalled Kingsley, “If You-Know-Who took the time to liberate his followers, it is positive he’s planning an attack.”

Dumbledore wasn’t talking, and he was examining the paper one more time. What Moody remarked was true, but that wasn’t the only strangeness: why bombs? Experts had studied them and deducted that they had been simple smoke grenades. What had been their point in the attack? Besides, how was it that the detection spells around Azkaban hadn’t activated? Albus swirled his head toward the only calm man of the room, Lucius, and he smiled. Of course… Why was the man so calm when, the day before, he had been so anxious for his son?

“Maybe you know something?” Dumbledore inquired at his attention while the others were still discussing their strategies to turn down an unexpected attack of death-eaters.

“I do, and no need to go into a panic,” he motioned with commiseration the excited ones of the room.

Always on the lookout for a fight against Malfoy, Figg tilted. “You have reasons to say that, maybe…” she asked with reproach and disgust.

“Only one,” sneered the high lord, “At the moment we’re talking, I have thirteen unconscious death-eaters in my cave.”

Dumbledore smiled at hearing the answer he had been waiting for. In a corner of his eye, he caught a brief glimpse of Remus making the connection. The poor man was feeling guilty for Draco’s departure, and Severus’ then Lucius’ outbursts hadn’t diminished his depreciating. Thankfully, Narcissa had arrived to calm the man down. Whenever it concerned Lucius, this woman was a benediction. And the secret gaze that she had shared with Dumbledore while motioning Remus told him that she had something going on that her husband wasn’t aware of. There were many plots in the Malfoy Manor recently…

“How is Draco?” he inquired for Remus’ sake, since the professor would never dare ask in fear of the answer he would get.

Lucius didn’t reply immediately, as if pondering something he had lived. “I don’t know; he didn’t stay long.” He wasn’t talking to anyone in particular, only recalling the scene of the past day and making his own conclusions. “He seemed happier though. More calm, too, almost serene.” He turned to Dumbledore. “There was someone with him, a man, but I only saw him from far away.”

“A man?” Albus repeated, frowning. Was it a new demon? Or maybe Hath’Gack’s physical form? Or someone else? He would have to ask Draco about it when the boy came back. This could wait. Glancing again at Remus, he felt the man’s mind being much at ease.

Moony stared in space for the rest of the reunion. He didn’t care what was going on, he wanted to see Draco, to know what had occurred during this week of absence, to understand why the boy had suddenly decided to go back to Azkaban. He yearned for his presence at his side, for the warmth of his hands and the love in his eyes. Only one more day and Draco would be back; he had promised it!

He was about to go out when a hand gasped his shoulder and released it immediately after, as though disgusted by the contact. He turned back to discover Lucius, lips pursed. The high lord was very reluctantly handing him over a paper. Remus took it with hesitation, wondering why Lucius Malfoy would give him a piece of paper that, strangely, was completely white. He fingered it to find an inscription but no, the paper was blank. He went to ask but when he held up his head, the high lord had already departed.

Inquisitive, Harry approached him. “It’s a envelope,” he said.

Remus frowned in incomprehension. “A what?”

The boy smiled at his professor’s uncertainty. Wizards really should spend more time in the muggle world. But what interested him was: what was Lucius Malfoy doing with that? And who could give an envelope to Remus? Did he know some muggles? But then why pass by Malfoy? The man certainly wasn’t the type to have such items in his house. “An envelope,” he repeated, “Muggles use them to transport mail. You have to open it there.” He took the article from Remus’ hands, who didn’t resist and looked stunned when Harry splintered a flap that had been concealed on the paper, revealed a slit inside it and took out another piece of paper.

With emotion, he accepted the offered note and unfolded it. ‘Ah…This time, I recognise the writing.’ His face cracked into a smile when he read the elegant script. “I always keep my promises. Tomorrow night, wait for me,” it said. A light laugh shook his body at the theatrical presentation and he folded the paper back before someone could read it. Then he remembered. “But why muggle paper?” he asked Dumbledore who had been observing them from the beginning.

The old man needn’t read the message; he saw it well enough in Remus’ mind, and the joy that pierced the professor’s eyes was enough to disclose the expeditor. And it made him smile too, for, when he had speculated on what new eccentricity the young Malfoy would invent, he certainly hadn’t conjectured this one.

“Who knows the way his brain works?” he inquired back with a gleam in the eye. Dumbledore had problems containing his curiosity of the whole matter. Was it connected to this other man that Lucius had talked about? Would Draco have met muggles? It seemed peculiar, though, that the boy would willingly go near them without reason. What had happened in the forest?

o-

Saturday, November the 7th

Remus soon forgot of such secondary problems and his heart was swollen with happiness each time he recalled the content of Draco’s missive. He didn’t see the time pass before it was already Saturday evening. Excited as he hadn’t been in twenty years, he searched for something to occupy his agitated mind. He had tried reading but had found his legs moving on their own and pacing his room. The wait was turning his head. He couldn’t sleep; he hadn’t been able to swallow any food, his mouth was curving every five seconds in a thrilled grin.

He settled for his usual resting place on the window, hoping he would see Draco arrive. As he was ordering his lungs to breathe and exhale, for they had tendency to stop, he heard a knock at the door. Rushing on his feet, he straightened his robes and, calming his racing heart, opened the door wide.

His joy dissolved when he saw Hermione standing in the corridor. The girl smiled in apology. “I’m sorry to disappoint you so, professor, but I fear my hair is too bushy to please you…”

Despite his sadness that it wasn’t Draco, Remus grinned slightly at the attempt of a joke and invited the girl to enter, which she did. “Professor, I was wondering if you would accompany me to the Gryffindor tower?”

His eyebrows rose high at the question. “There is a problem?” he asked. It was still early in the night, not even eight o’clock, and the curfew wasn’t before two more hours. Why would she request that of him?

“Oh no, not at all,” she hastily calmed his apprehension, “But the Gryffindors would enjoy seeing you. You’ve been in the moon these last weeks and we saw little of you. You’re not only a professor to us, you’re a friend and we miss your company. Moreover, you’re always kind to us and I think it’s well time we turn the tables.”

Remus fought not to gape at the declaration, not daring to tell that he preferred to wait for Draco than sharing their company. He liked them, but why today? “I…” he stammered, “I’d really like to see the lot of you but…” but he didn’t want to quit his room in case Draco arrive. What would the boy think if he wasn’t there?

Hermione didn’t stop grinning. “I thought of everything,” she guaranteed and took out of her pocket a post-it on which one could read ‘I’m at the Gryffindor tower. Remus.’

The man smiled at the attention. “But how did you know…”

“Professor,” Hermione sighed and giggled, “You’re worse than Ron when he was trying to ask me out. We women are much more sensible for this sort of thing that you men are. I’m astonished that Harry didn’t understand when he saw the two of you dancing together… Really… A whole bunch of brainless adorable blokes, all of them…”

Silence fell in the room as Remus hesitated on the decision to take. “He won’t resent you for being happy,” she insisted, a gentle gaze in her eyes. He couldn’t resist.

He magically glued the post-it to the outside of his door and they headed for the Gryffindor Tower. They entered; he saw the whole house banded in the common room and an enormous cake sitting imposingly on a table. He flinched. Had he forgotten something? But when Hermione sent him a glance full of sense, he recalled the date and his cheeks reddened.

His mouth opened to say something but no sound came out. The children smiled and a lousy ‘Happy Birthday, professor’ reverberated in the whole tower. Had someone ever been stupid enough to forget his own birthday? But it had been so rarely wished these last years, and the week had been so tense that he had had no time to remember it. His eyes moistening, he noticed the Weasley twins at the back of the room. Weren’t they supposed to have gone last week? But who cared?

The party was livened up by the twins’ tricks. By two hours, half the room had morphed blue. Moony had been exceptionally spared by the epidemic and he suspected that Hermione was a part of this mystery. He had enjoyed himself during this time, mostly from his conversations with his closer friends. He had missed talking with Harry. The boy showed him how united their house was. And when the grandfather clock rang ten o’clock, the portrait opened.

There was a sudden hush in the common room and all turned to watch the newcomer. Draco was standing outside, in the corridor, looking only at Remus with a little amused smirk marking his lips. At that moment, Remus thought that the world could truly be perfect.

“Won’t you enter?” proposed the twins with a cunning smile.

Draco frowned with amusement. “No way will I walk in this ambush. Besides, I’m only here to collect the hero of the day.”

“And you think we’ll let Moony go alone with you?” defied Harry, more by curiosity at the blonde’s surprise than by true fear for his friend.

“Ha… I had hoped, but professor Snape warned me it wouldn’t be so easy.” He shrugged. “So I’m willing to take two of you with me. I won’t be able to bear more than two Gryffindors… But since I’m cautious, I’ll chose myself.”

He sniggered cynically at Potter’s wanting expression. “The Mudblood and the Weaselette,” he finally announced.

Remus coughed at the nicknames, scowling with admonition. Draco shrugged at the censure in the glare. “Sorry,” he whined. “It went out like that.”

The twins tried to laugh at Draco, but their voices disappeared in the middle of it and the Slytherin stuck out his tongue at them.

“Well, ferret,” retorted Hermione, gladly astonished at the blonde’ behaviour. Draco had insulted her but had looked more repentant that she had ever imagined him to be when Remus had glowered at him. “Where have you disappeared during this week?” she inquired as she and Ginny were retrieving their cloaks on a coat-peg.

Draco’s pupils glistened at the memory. “I met family,” he admitted with a boyish grin. “You’re ready? Then let’s go!” He made a step toward Remus, willing to enter and take his hand, but the devilish manners of the Gryffindors halted him on his way. Hermione was still watching him with amusement, and Remus didn’t move, amused at the scene. Would Draco dare penetrate a Gryffindor territory for him?

The Slytherin flinched, taking in he would have to make the first move. Bad, bad werewolf to impose such task on him… He would be punished later… No kiss for the evening… Or maybe just a little… Then he smirked. Did they truly imagine that he would lay a foot in a Gryffindork tower? He smirked at Remus and opened his arms wide.

Little Gryffindors shrieked in fear as a shadow raised and pushed the professor in the awaiting arms. “Gotcha.” He grinned proudly at his achievement and pulled the stunned-at-his-action professor in the corridor, Hermione and Ginny following near. From behind, Draco could hear girls giggling. “They’re so sweet!” tittered Patil.

“Sweet?!” echoed Weasley, disgusted at the idea of a sweet Slytherin.

Harry was silent. He was gazing at his three friends and ex-nemesis disappearing in the corridor and querying whether he had really missed something so big. Was that the true reason why Moony was distancing from them? He felt slightly jealous at the closeness Draco had with the professor. Remus was the last family of a sort he had, after Sirius’s death and he didn’t want to lose it.

Draco was still leading the Gryffindors in corridors and Remus identified the way to Dumbledore’s office. When they arrived at the Gargoyle, he had confirmation of their destination. Their curiosity raising to enormous proportions, they went up the stairs and found the headmaster grinning like a child and Snape inquiring as to why he was here.

Draco clutched Remus’ hand tightly and directed him to an appearing door in the wall that the professor recognised as the cupboard Snape and he had hidden in when the aurors had come for him. They stood in front of it and Lupin glanced at Severus, seeing memories gushing forth in the man’s eyes.

“First,” declared Draco to his Potions teacher in a kind tone, “I’d like to say that when professor Lupin reacted the way he did, he unknowingly saved you from harm and problems. Had I not lost my mind at that moment, I inevitably would have later and then caused much more damage. Don’t you owe him an apology?”

Severus first looked outraged at the supposition but his eyes unwillingly turned at the cupboard’s door and he was reminded of the gentleness that Lupin had showed to him inside. Never had the werewolf made mention of his colleague’s weakness, even when being insulted. He had kept quiet about it. Besides, Draco was asking…

Snape peered at Remus’ mind and saw the man’s volition to spare him the chore and take the responsibility of his actions. ‘He’s willing to let go of such an occasion? After everything I said to him?’ Severus was overwhelmed by the extent of the werewolf’s kindness. ‘That’s impossible,’ he thought, ‘He cheated to be in Gryffindor!’ He sighed profoundly and before Remus could save him from humiliation, he presented his excuses for his behaviour.

At least that had the effect to almost engender the little Gryffindors’ fainting from the shock, a praising sight of Dumbledore, and a flashy and sexy grin of Draco.

“And now…” began the devilish boy, squeezing Remus’ hand and turning his attention to the door, “I made you a promise a month ago; it is time I keep it…”

He raised the man’s hand and laid it on the doorknob. His heart quickening at the wonder of what he would discover inside, Remus opened the door. He met with the inquisitive eyes of a dog and stopped breathing, amazed.

In front of him, the dog growled at Draco but his yell got caught in his throat when he noticed Moony and Dumbledore. The werewolf sobbed when he recognised the now morphing pet and Sirius advanced toward them, understanding nothing. Vaguely, he registered Ginny fainting completely and Hermione enervating her with difficulties of concentration.

The two friends remained standing, looking at each other, none being able to accept the reality. Draco caressed Remus’ back and the werewolf looked at him, tears falling. “I told you I would make you smile,” the boy whispered with uncertainty, “Have I failed again?”

Lupin sniffed and happiness erupted on his face as he realised that it wasn’t a mirage. He clenched at Draco desperately, never wanting to let go. Padfoot; he had brought back Padfoot.

“I’d like to understand…” broke a little voice in the back. Sirius was completely lost. He spent a year and a half in a place much too like Azkaban for his tastes and where he’d almost gone mad, then he was taken out by Malfoy and his death-eater friends, locked away, and suddenly, he was in Hogwarts…

Dumbledore made chairs appear for all of them and signalled them to sit. Draco refused to be far away from Remus and sat on his lap, defying everyone in the room to make a remark. Suddenly, they heard an intense knocking on the Gargoyle statue and Dumbledore chuckled.

The typical noise of the stone moving, then rushing steps on the stairs and Potter then Weasley loomed up, panting and sweating. The Gryffindor golden boy looked like he had seen a ghost, and Black was up in a start to meet him.

“Black!” Draco’s voice called back, “Sit down!” he ordered.

To everyone’s surprise, the man did exactly what he was told, even if his eyes showed that he really didn’t want to. Harry was flabbergasted “What did you do?” he cried out.

Draco smirked. “I gave him an order. What are you doing here, Potter?”

Dumbledore beckoned their attention. He had sensed Harry and his friend running all the way from the Gryffindor tower, probably just after casting a discreet look at the map to discover where their friends and sister had gone with the Slytherin. In order not to let the situation git out of hand considering the tensed emotion that all were subjected to, he quickly related the bond between Harry and his godfather. After hearing it, Draco seemed to forget immediately, not interested at all in their family history, but he accepted the Gryffindors’ presence without too many groans. Severus, on the contrary, was wondering what he was still doing here…

Draco grinned again at Remus. “Are you happy?” he inquired, twisting himself on the man’s lap so that they faced one another. The look on his werewolf’s face was enough. “Do you have to ask?” Remus only replied, feeling that he couldn’t speak more; the passion was eating him. To have the boy present him with such a gift, his weight pressing him down, his heat warming, and his smell arousing him. He wanted the child in his bed, naked under him, squirming and moaning with pleasure. His pupils dilated with desire and his fingers’ grasped Draco’s robes and tightened to prevent himself from reaching other places.

Draco giggled, sensing the effect he had on the man and, unseen, intensified his contact with Lupin, satisfied when the werewolf had to bite his lip to stop himself from groaning. “I have another present for you. It’s from Mum.”

That gained him everyone’s attention. “She offers you Black’s debt… and also says to him that he’s lucky she has a modicum of sense of the family, in opposition to him…”

He waited till questions fused around him about this supposed debt to go on. Severus was beginning to enjoy himself, reassured that Draco was still his favourite and best Slytherin, always ready to strike at Gryffindors. Smirking, Draco took out a fork and fingered it. “You see, I wondered for years what was the use in these stupid transfiguration lessons we were having. Mum showed me the use it could have…”

He threw the item at Dumbledore, who caught it and stared wide at it. “Is it what I think?” the old man asked, emotion in the voice.

Rather than answering, Draco motioned him to go on. “One should know better than to roam the Manor for missing death-eaters,” the Slytherin sneered, “Particularly when my mother is home.”

Dumbledore took out his wand and, with non-dissimulated pleasure, ended all spells around them. The fork grew, swelled, rounded, revealed legs and whiskers… A fly would have been heard the silence was so deep in the office. On the desk, a yellowish rat was trembling. Sirius emitted a dark laugh. “What a pleasure…” he saluted, looking intently at the animal.

Draco nipped his enjoyment in the bud. “Since I’m in a hurry, I’ll tell the last thing quickly. Professor,” he addressed Snape, “As you excused for your errors, it would be fairer that the wrongs which were done to you are also repaired. That’s why I give Black to you.”

“What?!!!” Sirius got up instantly. “No way! You can’t do that!”

“Malfoy!” yelled Harry and his friends, “You can’t give a person!”

Draco eyed Black seriously. “I very well can. I saved you from the Shadow World, and you are mine to obey. I have no need of you so, if you wish to be a free man again, you will serve professor Snape.”

Severus was still gaping at the revelation. “Is it a bad joke?” he inquired in a hesitant tone. Could Draco really do that? Order someone around then give him or her to someone else?

“Not at all.” Draco grinned at him. “After all, without you, I would never have gone for him. That’s why from now on till one of us decides he has paid enough, he will be yours to command.” He got up from Remus’ lap and pulled the man to him. “But I fear you won’t be able to enjoy it immediately…”

o-

Draco breathed deep. In Salazar’s lab, the two professors were sitting and eyeing him with much intent and questions. He had brought them here so that no one would be able to spy on them. It was difficult enough to say, no need for an exterior person to get wind of their discussion.

He went to a shelf, uncorked a small phial and gulped it down then turned to meet the inquisitive eyes.

‘I’ll have to say it at one moment or another… Better tell it now and get over with it…’

“Well… Surely the two of you noticed that I had duplicated during the Ball?”

They nodded, remembering the awful events that had followed.

“I had a reason for that. I wanted to enjoy both of your companies, without you being bothered by it. I regret it now. If I hadn’t, the evening would probably have been more enjoyable… But it was the only solution that I had; I couldn’t chose…” He swallowed, nervous as only teenager could be.

“I couldn’t chose because I fell in love… With both of you.”

End of Chapter 7.