The Producers

Snape watched the retreating Potter with nothing short of pure, unadulterated horror. He called out, in the vain hope that the boy might at least stop, turn around and hear him out, but the louder he shouted, the faster the footsteps moved away, until the firm closing of a door told him he had wasted his breath.

He had briefly entertained the idea of jumping up and manhandling Potter back into the room, if only to hold him firmly by the shoulders and drill it into him that he had been warned. Vapours of stinging cold air forced him back under the covers. Lucius’ voice was clear and as sharp as broken glass.

‘You’re mine, Severus, all mine, and another shall never have your heart now you have promised it to me. I am the love of your life. Your heart belongs to me.’

The words thrashed around his skull.

‘Who do you love?’
‘You Lucius, I love you.’

Snape shut his eyes against the rising nausea.

‘Why were you looking at that boy, Severus?’
‘I wasn’t!’
‘I saw you. You want to fuck him don’t you? Shall I fuck him for you?’
‘No!’

Rolling onto his stomach, he buried his head in the pillow.

‘Look! See how much he’s enjoying it!’
‘Stop Lucius, please! Why won’t you believe me? It’s you I love.’
‘Then show me how much, Severus.’

Sharpened razorblades ground against Snape’s eyes.

‘I don’t like it when you do those things. I love you Lucius, I don’t want you to love anyone else like you love me.’
‘It’s just sex, not love.’

Snape ground his fists into his eyes so hard that white sparks flashed across his retinas.

‘Go on Severus, you touch him.’
‘No! I don’t want to! Don’t make me do this!’
‘If you loved me you would.’

Salty wet tears bled from his eyes and soaked into the pillow.

‘You know I love you! Let me touch you, Lucius, let me show you how much I love you!’
‘If you loved me you’d touch him,’
‘Please Lucius, just hold me, I just want to be held.’

Knives slashed at his chest and he balled the sheets in his fists.

‘There, that wasn’t so awful was it? Come here, I will hold you now. Shh, why are you crying?’

Snape managed to twist his head only a fraction of an inch away from the pillow before he retched.

***



Harry sat perched on the edge of his bed. His mind was racing so fast he thought any sudden movements might cause him to pass out.

‘It’s never been that intense.’

‘Then why?’ Harry whispered to himself. ‘How could you do that if you didn’t care for me?’ he blinked away a fresh batch of tears.

An echoing memory assailed him.

‘Love is overrated, Potter.’

‘I know you think that, I can’t pretend to understand why you feel that way but that doesn’t matter. What I was trying to say is that if you just wanted to fuck me, well, that would be okay.”

Harry smiled bitterly through his tears. It was so unbelievably not okay that he wanted to scream. He had given Snape permission to do exactly that. He had asked for sex. And got it. And bloody loved it. And now he was expecting more than the other man was capable of giving. Perhaps it was him. Perhaps it was true; he just wasn’t lovable. Who could love The Boy Who Lived for his soul and character, rather than the facade of willing hero of the wizarding world? He had naively thought their friendship would eventually take on a new form, that of love. That it would be a simple step to go from friend to partner.

Hadn’t he been warned? He had. Charles had made the same mistake. Harry felt a conflicted sympathy for the man. He had listened but not truly heard Snape bluntly telling him that his love life was actually just a sex life.

It hadn’t felt like just sex, but what would he know? His first time, with anyone, how could he know the difference? He had thought he was making love; now, in hindsight that had obviously been a ridiculous fantastical notion. As Snape had said, it was just sex. Except it wasn’t, not to him.

Harry miserably picked up his pants and pulled them on before kicking the t-shirt stained with Snape’s invisible hand prints underneath the bed. He sat back down and reached for the stack of CD’s. What a fantastic surprise that had been. Snape had obviously gone to a lot of trouble to get those ‘Muggle music discs’ for him and he had been profoundly moved by the gesture. He loved music so much, the escape it provided. Listening to the words that mirrored his own sentiments made him feel more human somehow. Right now, though, he didn’t think he could stand to hear the misery of his own life reverberated in the melodies.

Harry debated the plausibility of being able to get out and see Flora. God, how he needed to talk to someone. What might she be doing? No doubt spending Christmas with her family; Harry didn’t even know where that might be. And even if he did, he could hardly go intruding on them with his tale of unrequited Professor love at this late hour. Still, though, it wouldn’t hurt just to Floo quickly to Hogsmead and check the pub. Highly unlikely, but...

He snatched up his jeans and tugged them on before getting a new t-shirt from the drawer, not wanting to retrieve the soiled one from under his bed. Bending over to grab his shoes, another blinding pain gouged his abused flesh and he wished forlornly he had taken up Snape’s offer to alleviate the discomfort. Harry pulled on his jacket and made sure to retrieve his wallet before quietly slipping out of his room and closing the door behind him.

His determined stride towards the fireplace was interrupted by the faint but unmistakeable sound of retching emanating from the other bedroom.

***


Snape swallowed down the last of the bile and wiped the back of his hand against his mouth. Cold sweat ran in rivulets, mingling with tears over his ashen cheeks and along his jaw line, finally gathering at his chin before hurtling towards the bedcovers.

He wanted to get to the bathroom to clean himself up but his hollowed legs refused to transport him and he sank exhaustedly against the headboard, fatigued by the effort.

The snick of the door catch sidetracked his attention from the vile images and abusive words that were plaguing his mind.

“Oh my god!” Harry burst into the room and froze when he saw the slack form and the rancid vomit that was pooling on the covers. The stench of it mingled uneasily with the lingering smell of recent sex.

“What’s wrong with you?” he cried, running to sit on the untainted side of the bed and reaching out to hold Snape’s hand.

Snape wondered if it were possible to die of humiliation.

“I myself have been asking that question for a very long time,” he muttered hoarsely.

“Are you sick? I mean, obviously you’ve been sick but why?” Harry’s own predicament was forgotten as panic gripped him. He tried to touch Snape’s forehead but his hand was feebly slapped away.

“Don’t touch me!” Snape hissed, shrinking back from the contact. He wanted to shuffle over but the rotten odour assaulting his nostrils served as a reminder of what was beside him.

“I’m worried about you! Why have you been sick? Was I really such a terrible shag?” Harry meant it as a joke but there was a small frisson of fear that it might actually have been the truth.

“Of course! It’s all about you isn’t it? Only the bloody Saviour of the wizarding world could fool himself into thinking everything is about him. Just go, will you.”

“No! I’m not leaving you!” Harry gripped his hand harder as Snape was dragged back into lucid nightmares.

‘I’m not leaving you, I would never leave you.’
‘But where are you going Lucius? Can’t I come with you?’
‘Now, Severus, stop this at once. I won’t be beholden to you like this.’

Snape surfaced just long enough to become aware that his stomach was heaving again.

‘But you love ME Lucius! You said so! You promised me you wouldn’t do this anymore! At least take me with you!’

‘I MADE NO PROMISES! Let me GO!’

The pain of being hit across the face felt as real now as it had done twenty years ago. Snape wasn’t even sure it hadn’t been Harry punching him; perhaps it had been a meeting of past and present, wrapped up in one cruel, stinging blow. His head hit the pillow with the force of it. Blindly he felt for his face, certain that the cold, solid metal of Lucius’ cane would still be imprinted there.

A small warm hand covered his and he could not find the strength to push it away. Fingers entwined his own and together they stroked his cheek.

Blinking against the pain, his eyes found Harry’s; wide green orbs spilling tears as they beseeched him.

“You have to tell me! What’s happening to you? I don’t care what it is, or what you’ve done or who it was, but you have to tell me, right now. I can’t bear to see you like this! I know that wasn’t you pushing me away earlier, I know you!”

“You know nothing about me,” Snape was too weakened to inject the words with the harsh tone they so richly deserved to be delivered with.

“How can you say that? You’ve been my constant throughout everything that’s happened. You took care of me before, I know you care for me now, even if you won’t admit it.”

Snape stared into the burning eyes for a long while. Every few seconds, a newly formed tear would spill and he watched its precarious journey down the smooth terrain of Harry’s cheeks.

Was it possible that his extreme reaction had been the culmination of an emotional release? Might he be able to coherently explain to Harry just how damned he was? How the boy was wasting his time, choosing to believe he was a good person at heart, that he could give love freely without fear? What good would it do anyway? Merlin knew how obstinate Potter was. He would continue to argue and protest, no matter what Snape said.

“It’s nothing, just an upset stomach. Christmas dinner tends to have that effect on a miserable old scrooge like me,” He tried a weak smirk.

“Don’t lie to me. Tell me what’s going on with you. Food poisoning doesn’t cause you to be thrown backwards like you’ve been slapped across the face!” Harry was clutching Snape’s hand so tightly his own was almost numb.

Snape felt another sudden surge of brute force pulling him back into the dark recess of his mind, invisible fingers clawing at him as he sank.

“Stop crying! You made me do that! How dare you try to stop me going!”
“I’m sorry Lucius, I’m sorry!”
“You don’t love me at all. You can’t do, behaving this way.”
“I do love you! I’m only this way because you made me so!’

His whole body felt like it was being dragged backwards through a narrow tunnel. Suffocating against it, throat restricting, Snape began to choke.

Harry, already wide eyed and petrified at what he was witnessing, threw himself forward and held on as tightly as he could, soothing words falling from his mouth.

“It’s alright, you’re going to be okay, I’m here, wherever you are I want you to come back to me, you’re safe here with me, come back to me now. Now, Severus!”

The strangling sensation around his neck finally eased and Snape gulped down cold, stagnant air, panting hard. The warm body pressed tightly against him housed its own erratic heartbeat, pounding duplicitously in time with his.

Snape carded his fingers through Harry’s hair, and held the damp face against his chest. Harry whimpered in sheer relief at not being pushed away, and buried his head deeper into the crook of Snape’s neck, holding him as tightly as he dared.

Minutes passed and neither one of them made an attempt to break away. Eventually Snape gripped Harry’s shoulders and forced him upright.

“Were you going somewhere?” he said coldly, noticing Harry’s jacket.

“No, I mean, yes but that doesn’t matter now, I’m going to stay here with you.” He tried to lean forward into the embrace again, but Snape kept him firmly at arms’ length.

“I don’t need a babysitter, Potter. I’m fine. Where were you off to anyway?”

“You’re quite obviously not fine! I’m staying whether you like it or not. It wasn’t important, I was just going to see if I could find Flora.” Harry stopped his useless struggling but still Snape did not let him go.

“Running back to the little wife so soon?” he spat contemptuously. “Why am I not surprised?”

“I needed to talk to someone. I know you don’t feel the need to talk about stuff that bothers you, but I do! She’s just a friend, you know that.” Harry studied the floor and refused to make eye contact. Snape finally released him but Harry could still feel the ghost of sharp fingertips digging into his skin.

“And what precisely, are you finding so disturbing that it is imperative you must go out so late on Christmas evening?” Snape knew he was being a complete and utter bastard but he couldn’t help it. It came much more naturally than being agreeable.

Harry lifted his head and scowled. Even weakened by sickness and God knew what else, the man’s barbs were still like a knife to his chest. For a split second, Harry hated him.

“Right, because you have no idea why I might be upset. How about, I just lost my virginity to my ex professor, who just happens to be one of my closest friends. Or, how about, I just had the most fantastic experience of my life and then got dumped? Or perhaps, the first person I ever made love to just told me that it wasn’t making love at all? That’s what I wanted to talk to Flora about.” Harry got off the bed and paced the room, not sure if he was expected to continue his tirade or wait for a response. Snape did not leave him wondering for long.

“Yes, you lost your virginity, I grant you that. But it’s hardly worth the song and dance you insist on making of it. I am well aware that it is probably a priceless thing to your legion of fans, but I must reinforce to you that I am not one of them. Furthermore, you were not ‘dumped’ as you so childishly term it. To be relieved of one’s status as a partner you must first be in a relationship. We aren’t and we weren’t.”

Snape slumped against the pillows in exhaustion, his little speech had really taken it out of him. He wished he wasn’t still naked underneath the blankets, because then he would be able to get a glass of water to ease his sore throat.

“You’re a real piece of work you know that?” Harry abruptly stopped pacing, and stood motionless. Only the throbbing of a vein in his forehead indicated that he was indeed alive and breathing. His eyes flashed dangerously and Snape felt more than a little pissed off at the vulnerable predicament he found himself in.

“So I’ve been told. You are hardly the first to mention it. Now would you kindly get the fuck out of my room so that I may clean myself up?” He waved loftily at the door.

“No! Like I said earlier, I’m not going anywhere. Not until we sort this out.” Harry crossed his arms defiantly, standing his ground.

“There IS nothing to sort out! Except the stinking pile of vomit that I am more than capable of dealing with on my own.” Snape screwed his eyes shut and slowly counted to three but Harry was still there when he reopened them, only now he held his wand in his hand and green flickering sparks were falling from the end of it; the diminishing remnants of recent magic. The room, Snape realised, did not smell of his festering stomach any longer, nor was he adjacent to the cause of the odour. The room did, however, still smell strongly of sex and sweat.

“Did I not make it absolutely clear that I have no interest in pursuing a romantic relationship? Were you not entirely aware of this before you embarked on your seduction of me? And you did seduce me, Potter. If you recall, I was most adamant that we not blur the boundaries of our relationship with such complications.”

Snape couldn’t put enough malice into the words; loath as he was to admit it, he knew his defences were falling down fast and it scared the hell out of him. He told himself he was doing this for Harry’s sake, that Harry deserved better than to waste his youth trying to help him overcome his emotional deficiencies.

“Well,” Harry said, voice breaking, “You certainly weren’t complaining when you were making...sorry, I mean, fucking me.” Stinging words notwithstanding, Harry’s fierce eyes were still begging Snape to say something in salvation.

“Yes. Fucking you. You are finally beginning to understand. Congratulations Mr Potter.” Snape sneered nastily at him.

“Well as long as I know that’s all it is. I mean, great! If we’re not exclusive, if you aren’t interested in anything other than that, fine. Perfect. I guess that gives me free rein to do whatever I want with anyone I want. Right?” Harry held his breath and waited.

Snape said nothing. He very much wanted to leap out of bed and wrap his hands tightly around Potter’s throat but he didn’t think either of them would be able to take the situation seriously enough if he did it with his cock exposed.

Harry flared angrily when no reaction was obviously imminent.“God, it’ll be great won’t it? I bet there are loads of places to go and meet other men. You know, just for sex? I can’t wait to do it again.” He dropped his voice to a purr. His arse twitched in abject horror.

Underneath the bedcovers, Snape dug his fingernails sadistically into the palms of his hands. “Shut up,” he muttered inaudibly.

“We could even go together, you know, me and you, out doing.. what’s the word?” Harry racked his brains, Oh yeah, cruising.” Unfolding his arms, he placed his hands on his hips provocatively.

“Aren’t we turning into quite the little slut?” Snape hissed, the corners of his mouth twitching unconsciously, giving him the look of a dog baring it’s teeth.

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. “If that’s all that’s on offer. Only following your lead. Nothing wrong with that, is there?” It was phrased as a question but Harry didn’t wait to hear the answer. He crossed the room and opened the door, pausing briefly to turn around and rub a little salt into the wound. “Merry Christmas,” he said as cheerily as he could manage.

Snape waited until he heard the crackle of the fire and the subsequent pop of Harry leaving for the pub before snatching up his tumbler from the bedside table and hurling it at the door. Tiny slivers of glass sailed through the air in every direction. They appeared red to him; perhaps a strange distortion of light, perhaps the colour of the mist that was rapidly descending behind his eyes, a theatre curtain of twisted rage.

***



It took a tremendous amount of effort for Harry to open his eyes the following morning. Both eyelids felt like they had weights attached to them, as well as a generous sprinkling of gritty sand on the undersides.

His lips were dry and cracked and he attempted to wet them with his tongue but it was thickly coated and steadfastly stuck to the roof of his mouth.

An insistent throbbing in the back of his skull added to the growing list of bodily malfunctions as fragments of memory returned to him.

Snape. Sex. Row. Tears. Vomit. Another row. Pub. Drink. More drink.

No Flora, he remembered. Who had he been talking to? He had definitely talked to someone. He winced as a new illumination hit him; he had cried into his pint and someone had rubbed his back comfortingly.

Oh God.

Harry lurched out of the bed and fell to his knees as his treacherous body conspired against him. He groped blindly for his glasses until a more urgent need to get to the bathroom took over.

Crawling on hands and knees, he made it just in time to throw up in the toilet.

Oh God.

Quidditch today. Boxing day Quidditch tournament. Harry didn’t need to see a clock to know that he was meant to be out there now, practising with his fellow Gryffindors.

When he was satisfied that he was not going to be sick again, he shakily got to his feet and went back into the bedroom. His wand and glasses were folded among the discarded clothes and he felt slightly better when his sight was returned to him.

A quick glance at the bedside alarm told him what he already knew; he was ten minutes late for practice.

Pulling on fresh clothes, he grabbed his Quidditch bag and broom and headed for the door. The acrid taste in his mouth stopped him and he decided that he really needed to return to the bathroom and brush his teeth. That done and thinking only about getting to practice, he hastily exited his room.


***


“Good morning.” The low, velvet tone was laced with a disturbing pleasantry and it stopped Harry in his tracks.

“Hi,” he mumbled, promptly disregarding the thrill hearing it invoked, “can’t stop, I’ve got Quidditch all day.” He started to move towards the door but Snape kept talking.

“Yes of course, the unutterably tedious Boxing Day Quidditch tournament.”

“Well you don’t have to come if it bores you that much,” Harry said sulkily over his shoulder.

Snape snorted in derision. “I do not believe as Head of House I have a choice. Though I suppose for lack of any real entertainment today it might be pleasing to watch Slytherin pound Gryffindor into the snow with their bludgers.”

“Yeah, like that’s going to happen,” Harry said scornfully, managing another step before...

“I thought you were fond of being pounded by Slytherins.”

‘Only one,’ Harry thought miserably, refusing to turn and look Snape in the eye.

“Did you want something?” he tempered evenly, talking at the door he longed to escape through.

“Just to wish you luck. And to ask if you were serious about visiting an exclusively male bar and club? There is one I have frequented on several occasions that you might find beneficial.” Harry felt his bones chill. “Unless of course, you were bluffing,” he finished.

Harry heard the sofa yield as Snape reclined into it. He was pretty sure there would be an evil smirk on his face too. Harry wanted to make sure he wiped it off.

“Sure. Why not? Not like I have a boyfriend or anything is it? Let’s go. When do you want to go? Tonight? Is tonight good for you?”

‘Shut up and calm down!’ the little voice advised.

Since Snape was not afforded a view of Harry’s face, he could not see the tiny twitch below his left eye, nor the way he was twisting his lip with his teeth.

His smirk receded astonishingly quickly at the vehement agreement. “As you wish. Tonight then.” He watched Harry take one further step and slip out of the door.

‘Bugger,’ he muttered crossly, reaching underneath the sofa for the pile of papers that might afford him a little light relief.

***

By the time he reached the Quidditch pitch, Harry was in an unusually foul mood. His teammates were already airborne, and he cursed them for being so bloody eager. He was supposed to be the Captain; they should at least have waited for him.

Throwing his bag into the changing rooms, he mounted his broom and shot up into the sky, shouting instructions at all of them in a far from encouraging manner.

The bitterness of the winter’s day filled his lungs and warm steam clouded his face each time he exhaled. Riding hard, he flew as high as he dared, allowing himself a stilling moment to quietly marvel at the breathtaking scenery surrounding Hogwarts.

Things always felt a little better up here, no matter what problems he had to face.
Apart from the Dementors, he remembered with a shudder; they had not been particularly willing to let him have his private moment of peace amongst the clouds.

Today the lake was a deep green colour and brilliant rays of sunshine refracted from it, causing it to sparkle like a giant emerald. The sky was clearer than Harry could ever remember it being, the sun hung low on the horizon and blazing fiercely, though no heat from it seemed to be able to reach him.

Harry looked down at the tiny dots that were his teammates. He took in the vast expanse of the castle, and finally cast his eyes towards where he roughly guessed the dungeons to be. How tiny and insignificant Snape was from up here. He would look no bigger than an ant if Harry could see through the impenetrable stone walls.

No, he would not think about all of that now. He had a job to do, regardless of his unrelenting hangover and insistently throbbing arse. It would be all the more sweeter to win the Boxing Day tournament if only to see Snape sulk over it later. Perhaps that would put a damper on the suspiciously high spirits he was in this morning.

Feeling somewhat appeased, Harry leant into the broom and steadily guided it back towards the ground.

***

Snape delayed arriving as long as was courteously possible. The first game had already been played and Ravenclaw had beaten Hufflepuff with a well caught Snitch a mere twenty minutes into the game.

The next match, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, was due to start in a matter of minutes as Snape climbed the stairs of the tower that contained both his students and other supporters outfitted in various shades of green. In contrast, he was wearing his customary black robes, overlaid with a heavy woollen coat to shield him from the biting cold. He was used to the chill of the dungeons, but these were practically arctic conditions.

Taking his seat, he watched the dressing room door closely, waiting for the annoying little brat to fly out and do his usual round of waving and general crowd pleasing. So much for Potter not enjoying his enforced celebrity; he was like a bloody fish in water the second he came out to greet his adoring public.

The crowd were in their element; loud shouts and cheers were radiating from every tower. Another shout, much closer to his own ear caused him to turn around and seek out the face he knew he would see.

“Professor Snape! Over here!” Snape had to make another sweep of the vast seating area before finally catching sight of a blond head installed at the very back. Sighing deeply he gave a curt nod to acknowledge Draco Malfoy’s attendance and resettled his gaze on the player’s exit.

Draco, not to be dissuaded by the distinctly cool greeting of his former Head of House, pushed past the row of seated spectators and descended the stairs with a flourish of his robes.

“Hello Professor, I was wondering when you might show up.” Draco had changed more considerably than one might have thought possible during a four month absence.

His startling blond hair had been allowed free rein and swung loosely, the ends brushing his shoulders. Snape suppressed a shudder at how much he resembled his father. Not to say that he hadn’t always, but the transformation from boy to man had brought with it a finality. His growing was done, he had usurped even Lucius’ good looks with his finely chiselled jaw and sculpted cheekbones.

“Good morning Mister Malfoy. I take it you are well?” Snape hoped Draco would quickly tire of his company and seek out someone more likely to be captivated by his presence.

“Very well, thank you sir. My father is unfortunately not in such a good way. I take it you know he is in Azkaban?” Draco’s arrogant mask slipped and Snape saw how deeply affected the boy had been by the dissemination of his family. Tom Riddle had a lot to answer for.

“Yes, I had heard. I am sorry that you are suffering because of your father’s actions, Draco, but he is there with good reason. He had lost his way.” Snape awkwardly placed his arm around the young man’s shoulder to pat it in commiseration. Unexpectedly, Draco leaned into the touch and sighed deeply.

A flurry of red and gold appeared in his peripheral vision and Snape looked away from Draco in time to see the Gryffindor team bursting forth from the changing rooms. Knowing Harry would be leading them out as Captain, he had no trouble fixating his eyes on the mop of dark hair as it proceeded to make a lap of the pitch. The other players were laughing and waving, high on adrenaline and the anticipation of a good match as well as a satisfactory result.

Harry was not participating in the merriment. His face was dark and brooding and he kept his hands firmly clasped either side of his broom. As they flew past the Slytherin tower, he resolutely kept his eyes ahead of him, deliberately not looking in Snape’s direction.

Just before leading his team out onto the pitch he had checked to make sure Snape had arrived in time. Harry had seen Draco slither into place beside him; had watched their short exchange and seen Snape putting his arm around Draco. And Draco had responded earnestly, lessening the distance between them. And so when it was time to make the usual flyby of the four towers, Harry had been adamant that he would not give them the satisfaction of him noticing. If he did not look at them, then they did not exist.

Finally assembled in group formation, Harry focused all his anger on the small, golden ball, itching for it to be released by the whistle so that he could give chase.

Snape had long since released Draco’s shoulder and uncomfortably straightened himself in his seat. The young man had remained silent during the parading of the teams, even refraining from making derisory comments about Harry. Snape thought it must be symptomatic; he was showing clear signs of depression.

This was not the intolerably arrogant, overconfident young boy he had come to know the past seven years. Draco sighed again and leaned closer to him, too close for his liking and he was about to protest when Draco started speaking.

“I know about you and my father.” Scarcely audible, the insinuation fell shatteringly from his lips. Snape closed his eyes and ground his jaw, heart sinking into the pit of his stomach.

“It’s okay,” Draco continued quietly, “I won’t tell anyone. The last time I visited him he said he wanted to make amends. He asked me to tell you he was sorry. I’ve never seen him so disturbed. He frightens me when he gets that way. I’ve done what he asked of me. Now you know.” Draco sat back in his seat.

The shrill whistle made Snape’s eyes snap open and he vainly searched the pitch for Harry, praying to Merlin that he hadn’t just heard what he thought he had heard. Draco mistook the silence as an invitation to continue talking.

“He wants you to visit him. He begged me to ask you. I think he’s a bloody hypocrite. I asked him once, you know, about other boys. He told me I was disgusting to even think such things and if he caught me so much as looking at another man he would cast an Unforgivable on me. And all the time he had been messing about with you!” Draco shook his head in disbelief.

“Shut up!” Snape hissed as quietly as he could, “You know nothing about your father and I. It is nothing I wish to discuss with you and neither should he have! Whatever you think you know, you foolish child, you will keep it to yourself. I never want to speak of this again.”

Snape made a great show of patting down his robes, as though the mention of Lucius name had dirtied them and valiantly attempted to concentrate on the game.

“I’m sorry,” Draco whispered, “I didn’t mean to upset you. I thought you might want to know. I won’t say another word on the subject.” He pulled his cloak tighter around himself and pouted.

A little of the tension drained from Snape’s tight shoulders.

“Good. Now, tell me... Have you ever been to a bar called ‘The Colonel’s Quarters’?” Snape kept his eyes on the game in progress. Potter was flying at a death-defying angle. It was almost like he missed being in the Infirmary.

Draco raised a querying eyebrow at him. “The one on Renter’s Lane?”

Snape smirked. “I don’t believe that is the true name of the street it resides on. I am surprised you would know of its somewhat dubious moniker, but yes, that is the place I was referring to.” He shot Draco a sideways look, marginally impressed.

“Yeah, I know the place. Only been a couple of times though. I’m still getting used to my freedom, no fear of being hexed for it now father is indisposed. Why do you ask?”

“I plan to visit that establishment tonight.” Hell, the boy had confided in him. What harm could it do to casually refer to a club in the context of extending an invitation?

Snape had had his suspicions about Draco, but it had seemed improbable that he would inherit his father’s homosexual tendencies. Apparently, though, unlike his father, Draco was not attempting to repress them.

“Brilliant! Can I come with you?”

“Perhaps it would better suit you to meet me there. I am bringing someone with me this evening.”

“Oh,” Draco’s face fell a little, “Boyfriend is it?” Snape felt a significant measure of the tension return.

“Certainly not,” he snapped, “If you insist on nursing your impudence back to full health, perhaps it would be best if you didn’t come. I spend far too much time as it is in the company of discourteous brats.” And how, he thought, as he caught sight of one very familiar discourteous brat flying far too high for his own good.

“Okay, keep your robes on!” Draco snickered, “I was only asking. Didn’t think you’d be taking someone you wanted to impress there anyway! I know for a fact it’s not called Renter’s Lane for no good reason. Still, I could do with a night out. Thanks Professor.” Draco puffed his chest up in obvious pleasure and Snape was secretly pleased he had managed to cheer the boy up a bit. Not that he would ever admit to it.

His mind drifted back to the unsettling part of their conversation. Lucius was in Azkaban. He had of course known this, but it hadn’t bothered him in the slightest. As far as he was concerned, Lucius deserved that and more, and not just for crimes committed in the name of Voldermort.

But Lucius a broken man? Confessing his sordid past affair to his impressionable son? A son he had had the nerve to persecute for emulating him! It really did beggar belief. That was Lucius all over though. One rule for him and one for everyone else, he remembered that well enough. How dare he even think that Snape might want to hear his pitiable excuses and worthless apologies.

The piercing whistle blow cut short his mental seething and his eyes unglazed just in time to see Harry holding the Snitch high above his windswept hair. The already deafening roar of the crowd intensified, but Snape noticed that Harry wasn’t smiling at his triumph. The Snitch was promptly returned to Madam Hooch and the victorious Seeker swiftly returned to the changing rooms.

“ I see Potter is as annoying as he ever was!” Draco moaned, “How many more times will the bloody Snitch fall obligingly into his hands? Someone should check to make sure he hasn’t charmed it!” Snape quirked a lip in amusement.

“Did you ever consider for a moment that he might actually have some skill to contribute to the game?”

“No!” Draco said in obvious disgust, “He’s just lucky. If I still played for Slytherin we’d have beaten the pants off of him!”

Snape resisted the temptation to make any lascivious remarks about Potter’s pants.

“Undoubtedly. Are you staying for the other matches?” he enquired genially.

“Not much point now. Can’t win the damn tournament now we’ve lost a game. I’ll see you tonight. What time?” Draco stood up to leave.

“Eight o’clock.”

“Excellent. See you then. Goodbye Professor!” Draco sidestepped his neighbouring spectators and vanished down the stairs.

Snape watched the boy retreating and considered the wisdom of spending his evening at a seedy homosexual club with two sworn enemies for company. Draco had apparently forgotten to ask him who his companion for the evening would be, and Snape was glad of it, because he didn’t much relish the idea of telling him.

He huddled further into his seat as the bracing wind whipped his hair across his face. They were definitely not paying him enough to suffer the grossly unfair duty of having to watch the Quidditch matches on Boxing Day. The only redeeming feature was knowing Potter would be reappearing soon. His stomach knotted a little in anticipation.

As Draco had astutely pointed out, it was exceedingly unlikely that Slytherin would win the tournament. They were already a match down, and facing Ravenclaw next; not an endearing prospect. Gryffindor would be back out after that to trounce Hufflepuff, and although Slytherin would more than likely beat them as well, it still left them in the precarious position of needing not only to beat Ravenclaw, but for Ravenclaw to go on and beat Gryffindor. That would leave them in a three way tie. Not a very pleasing result to anyone, though it was infinitely more appealing than Gryffindor beating Ravenclaw, which would proclaim them the winners, and his house would be lucky to slither into second place though only if they too won against Ravenclaw. The odds were not stacked in his little vipers’ favour.

Snape cursed under his breath. How utterly inane it was to have to sit through another four matches knowing the outcome would be entirely unsatisfactory.

Two hours dragged with agonizing slowness and Snape became convinced his arse had welded itself frozen to the bench.

The only mercifully amusing incident out of the whole one hundred and twenty minutes, had been Potter missing the Snitch by a cat’s whisker, only for it to be caught up by the Ravenclaw seeker a nanosecond later. In a show of uncharacteristically bad sportsmanship, Harry upon landing, had forcefully thrown his broom to the ground and stalked back to the changing rooms. The Ravenclaw supporters had taken great delight in ‘Oooohing’ at his little temper tantrum and Snape had needed to use every ounce of self control not to laugh out loud.

That moment of glee aside, the whole thing was a complete letdown. Slytherin also lost to Ravenclaw and so the three way tie did not come to fruition. Ravenclaw collected the Boxing Day Quidditch cup with much delight and Snape sighed in relief at finally being allowed to return to his dungeon.

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