A Wizard Song

Chapter 20 - The Legacy of Barty Crouch

By Telanu

       

It was a rotten weekend.

The whole school was in uproar. The Gryffindors were disconsolate, both over Neville's betrayal and the loss of nearly all their house points; the Ravenclaws were upset that the Quidditch Cup had been called off when it had been so nearly within their grasp; the Hufflepuffs couldn't seem to stop gossipping; and the Slytherins mainly seemed gratified that Gryffindor was even less likely to win the House Cup than they were.

Neville had already been thoroughly demonised.

"Crazy in the head," whispered some.

"Secret servant of You-Know-Who!" whispered others.

There were a few who dared to defend him: both Ginny and Hermione believed firmly that they, and Neville's other classmates, could have done more to help him, and said so. Ron maintained adamantly that Neville had been responsible for his own actions. As for Harry, he kept his head down most of the time, unable to say that Neville had not been at fault, but still speaking up when the slander grew too great.

"No, Neville never tried to stab me in my bed," he told Ernie Macmillan in exasperation. "Honestly."

Neville had also made headlines. The Sunday morning Daily Prophet read:

JUDAS KISS: BOY-WHO-LIVED BETRAYED BY FRIEND!
Housemate Attempts to Murder Harry Potter During School Quidditch Match

When Harry saw that Rita Skeeter had written the article, he put the paper down at once and refused to look at it again. Ron, however, read it avidly.

"Look at this!" he told Harry and Hermione over breakfast. "'Sources who wish to remain anonymous' -- wonder who that is -- 'say that Longbottom has had it in for Harry Potter for a long time, perhaps years. "He was always talking about how much he hated Potter," says one such source. "Potter, and all the other Gryffindors who turned up their noses at him."' I don't believe it! Turned up our noses? When did we do that? When we were getting the Slytherins off his back or helping him with his homework? Who would say such a dirty rotten -- "

"Malfoy," Harry said quietly, gazing over at the Slytherin table where Draco was gloating over the article with Crabbe and Goyle. He saw Harry looking at him, and smirked.

Harry waited for the rage to come -- the pounding of blood in his ears, the red haze around his vision, the urge to leap across the tables and curse Malfoy right now. But it didn't come. As Malfoy curled his lip at him, all Harry felt was a deep, cold calm settling over his heart, a feeling of inevitability, of certainty, of patience. It felt good. It felt comforting.

It felt powerful.

Harry's lip curled into a grim half-smile as he and Malfoy stared each other down across the Great Hall. At the sight of it, Malfoy's smirk turned into a puzzled, slightly apprehensive frown before he turned away quickly.

"Reckon you're right," Ron was saying. "Malfoy's always been chatty with the press, hasn't he?" He glared over at the Slytherin table, but Malfoy was no longer looking their way.

"Oh, let's please talk about something else," Hermione said. Then she smiled. "I heard George sent you an owl yesterday, Harry."

"Oh," Harry said, and felt his cold sense of purpose vanish in the heat of embarrassment. "Yeah. He, er, wanted to say he was glad I was okay."

"And he showed it by sending Harry a card that sang dirty limericks," Ron said in disgust. "It wouldn't shut up even when Seamus shoved it under a pillow. We had to set it on fire."

Hermione giggled. Harry looked moodily up at the high table, where Severus sat picking at a bowl of porridge. His gaze met Harry's, flashed with heat, and quickly darted away again.

And that was another thing. The weekend had sent the school into such a flap that there had been no time to see Severus at all, apart from brief glances during meals, and Harry was going crazy. He had a hunch that Severus might be as well. Harry could have died on Friday, if not for the luck of a Christmas gift, and the urge to go to Severus and prove just how alive he was was very strong. But there had been no hope of that in the last couple of days.

Harry turned away from Severus, to find that Ron and Hermione had followed the path of his gaze. Damn. He should have been more careful about that.

"Snape doesn't look too happy, does he?" Ron asked softly, glowering. "You think he'd be thrilled Neville was gone. He always hated him, the bastard."

Instead of admonishing Ron for cursing, like she usually did, Hermione shook her head. "He was always so awful to Neville," she said. "Neville hated him so much…like you told Dumbledore, Harry, that's why he tried to kill you…I mean, he was obviously seriously disturbed, but you can't help but wonder, if Snape had only treated him decently -- "

"We treated him decently for six years and look where it got us," Harry interrupted, stabbing a sausage with his fork. "He'd rather have listened to Malfoy than me. Maybe Snape had the right idea about him all along." He jammed the sausage in his mouth and began chewing ferociously, not really tasting it. That was true, too. How easy it had been for Neville to cast Harry's friendship aside for Malfoy's, even before Harry had threatened him. How simply he'd believed all those lies and promises he'd been fed. Anyone stupid enough to trust Malfoy probably belonged in St. Mungo's, really.

"You don't believe that, Harry," Hermione said, sounding appalled.

"Maybe I do," Harry snapped, standing up. He couldn't eat another mouthful.

"Where are you going?" Ron asked in surprise.

"I don't know. To…to revise, I suppose." It'd do as well as anything else. What he really wanted was to fly a few laps round the pitch, but it had been closed off for the weekend.

"We'll come too," Hermione decided. "I can explain that Astronomy chart to you both again…"

"Sure," Harry said, "okay."

But before they got beyond the entrance hall, just as they were rounding the corner to go up to Gryffindor Tower, they ran into Snape. Literally: Hermione, in the lead, bounced right off him. Ron caught her as she apologetically stumbled backward, and Harry thought he heard him mutter, "Oh, not again…" under his breath.

"Watch where you're going!" Severus snarled, narrowed eyes fixed unerringly on Harry.

Harry recognised his cue and seized it gladly. "It was an accident," he snapped. "Let her alone!"

Hermione gave Harry a warning look, but it was too late. Severus had all the excuse he needed, and he idly brushed off the front of his robes as he said silkily, "Things are rarely accidental where you are concerned, Potter. Such rudeness to a professor. Now let me see -- there isn't really much benefit in taking more points from your House by now, so let's make it a nice, long detention. I'll see you at two o'clock today, Potter. I trust you'll find the time." Severus' eyes were gleaming as he spoke. Harry knew he rather enjoyed this sometimes -- the acting. The fact that they had to fool people. Well, at least one of them was getting some fun out of it.

As Severus swept down the corridor, Ron scowled after him. "How d'you like that?" he muttered. "He was just in there eating -- what are the odds -- it's as if he came out here trying to get us in trouble!"

"Wouldn't put it past him," Harry agreed, leading the way towards Gryffindor Tower and finding he had to hide a small smile.

Well. Maybe sometimes it was a little bit fun.

       

Ron and Hermione attributed Harry's edginess that day to his upcoming detention with Snape. Well, they were right, in a way. Ron predicted that Harry would have to gut a bunch of slimy things for potions ingredients now that Neville, who had used to be Snape's favourite subject for that, was gone. Hermione hoped for a kinder fate for Harry. "Maybe he'll just have you sweep the floor, or…or sweep the floor," she said optimistically. Harry decided that sweeping floors was a good excuse and he'd use it later: it'd be difficult to say he'd been cutting up frog parts for hours but return from detention wearing clean (if rumpled) robes.

It seemed that two o'clock would never come. By noon, Harry was feeling impatient. By one o'clock he was restless. By a quarter to two he was so twitchy that Ron and Hermione seemed glad to bid him goodbye. Well, he was glad to go, and maybe they could use the time to do some of what he was off to do himself.

Whatever that was. Harry wondered, as he descended the Tower stairs, if Severus still wanted to…

Well, he probably did. Harry resolved to let him have his way this time, and to put a much better game face on it. This bloody awful weekend…they might have lost each other again, and for good this time. That could still happen, with Voldemort out there. Anything could happen, really.

It was funny how easy it was to forget that. To forget that there might not be time for hesitation or fear. But Harry did forget, and it seemed to him that he had to learn this lesson over and over again.

Harry was thinking about all of this as he hurried down to the dungeons, when suddenly he felt an unwelcome, familiar sensation: he remembered it from the Quidditch match on Friday. That bizarre tingle. That feeling of something near him being…wrong, or dangerous, or something.

Oh, not now!

Unfortunately, ignoring it most likely wouldn't make it go away. Harry tried not to look as if anything was wrong, just in case somebody was watching him and looking for his reactions. He scanned the area as casually as he could manage: the only things off this corridor were classrooms and Severus' office, so it tended to be deserted over the weekend. Harry couldn't see anyone, but he got his wand out, just in case.

He tried to tell himself that he was imagining things. It was only understandable after the excitement of the weekend. But the feeling refused to go away.

If something was really wrong, the smart thing to do would be to get out of the dungeons -- but Severus was down here, too. If there was danger, Harry could hardly just leave him alone…or what if he was already hurt? What if that was what motivated the feeling of wrongness?

Fighting back a sudden wave of panic, Harry started heading towards Severus' office at a much brisker pace, with the nagging feeling growing in his head until it was no longer just nagging, but a low, steady drone in the back of his skull that about drove him mad, and Harry couldn't work out what it was, he couldn't --

As he raised his hand to bang against Severus' office door, a flash of movement to the left arrested his eye.

White movement. Swiftness. He'd seen it before --

Faster than thought, Harry whirled, his wand pointing down the corridor as he cried, "Petrificus totalus!"

The spell wouldn't work if it was a ghost or spirit, of course. But as he heard a sudden skittery, clattery noise, followed by a terrified squeak, and then a thump, Harry didn't think he had a ghost on his hands.

When the flash from the spell had faded sufficiently, Harry squinted down the shadowy length of the corridor. Something small and pale was lying very still next to a suit of armour. Severus' office door made no movement, but then, it was conditioned to respond to Harry's touch, not his voice. And the wood was very thick; Severus might not have heard him. Harry's fear for his lover vanished, along with the sense of wrong. Whatever had been troubling him had disappeared as soon as he'd caught the whatever-it-was with his spell.

So what was it? Keeping his wand out, Harry hurried over to the suit of armour. A few paces away, the white shape became obvious. An animal.

A ferret.

Harry stopped dead in his tracks, thunderstruck. The ferret, from its frozen position on the floor, looked balefully up at Harry, its beady silver eyes glittering with malice.

Ferrets didn't usually have silver eyes.

But Harry didn't have to know that. From the moment he'd realised what the white shape was, he'd known what was really going on. He bent down and picked up the stiff, sleekly-furred creature, staring down at it, feeling that cold, calm feeling wash over him again.

"Malfoy," he whispered.

The ferret couldn't move, of course, or answer him, but Harry fancied its eyes looked a little more frantic. Unless looking frantic was customary for ferrets. Harry wouldn't know.

This was what had panicked him? This was what had made him fear for his lover's safety, and his own? Draco Malfoy?

Draco Malfoy, who currently lay so still and helpless in Harry's hands?

Harry could not, if pressed, have explained exactly how he knew the ferret was really Malfoy. He just knew; knew it like he knew how to ride a broom or swallow his dinner. Instinctively.

Just like he knew he would never, ever have an opportunity like this again.

It would be so easy. Harry could feel the ferret's bones beneath the fur and skin, thin and delicate. Just a little pressure in the right place. A flex of fingers -- a quick, snapping twist -- then bury the ferret's body. Draco Malfoy would mysteriously disappear, and nobody would be any the wiser. Severus, Neville, Hermione, Ron -- all the people Malfoy had ever hurt or endangered or insulted -- Harry could finally pay Malfoy back. He could pay Malfoy back for all of them with one swift movement of his hands.

That feeling of cold, boundless contentment swelled within him. So easy. So easy. "You should never have messed with me," he whispered down into the ferret's thin, furry face.

Now the ferret's expression was frantic. Harry was sure of it.

His hands tensed --

Capable of murder at the age of sixteen, Severus' voice suddenly sounded inside his head.

-- his hands paused --

I hope you do not have such dark places as I do, it continued.

-- his hands froze.

As if waking up from a dream, Harry stared down in dawning horror at the animal in his hands. No. No, he wasn't like that. He wasn't like Neville, or even Sirius or Severus. He wanted Draco to be punished, to suffer, but this, this wasn't really the right thing to do -- Harry wasn't a murderer -- it was wrong, it was wrong!

What was his life worth if he let himself be as bad as Malfoy, or worse? Dumbledore had been right all along: it was about choices. Malfoy ought to pay the penalty for what he'd done, but it wasn't up to Harry to mete that out. It was up to Harry to choose to do the right thing -- to let him live.

And as Harry relaxed his grip on the frozen ferret, his rational mind returning, the cold monstrous part fading, he realised what a near miss it could have been. Malfoy wasn't really a ferret, after all: what if, after Harry had killed him, his body had changed back to being human? There would have been no way to hide that! He would have been caught! Probably sent to St. Mungo's, just like Neville…or even Azkaban…

"You lucky little shit," he whispered to the ferret. "You unbelievably lucky little shit."

He'd have to take Malfoy to Dumbledore. He briefly considered fetching Severus and bringing him along; Malfoy was a Slytherin, after all. But Harry wasn't entirely certain that Severus wouldn't want to punish Malfoy on the spot…perhaps in exactly the sort of way Harry had just avoided. That kind of temptation, Harry didn't need. No, Severus would just have to wait a little longer. They both would.

Harry walked by Severus' closed door without knocking on it, feeling the keen bite of regret. Dumbledore would summon Severus soon enough, he was certain, but all the same…another afternoon lost. He let his hands tighten just a little bit on the ferret's neck as he ascended the dungeon stairs. Malfoy might have got a reprieve, but there was no sense in letting him be too comfortable.

He got quite a few odd looks as he hurried across the school clutching a petrified ferret, but he spared time for none of them, heading straight for Dumbledore's gargoyle. "Cupcakes!" he said, and it shifted aside to let him pass.

It occurred to him, as he took the steps two by two, that Dumbledore might be busy, or in a meeting, or something. Maybe Harry should have gone to McGonagall? She knew all about Animagi and that sort of thing, after all. But, as it happened, when Harry knocked, Dumbledore's office door swung open to reveal that the headmaster and McGonagall were both already there, apparently talking in the two armchairs by the window. McGonagall's eyes were very red and she was clutching a chequered silk handkerchief tightly as she glared at Harry.

Dumbledore said firmly, "I'll hear no more about this, Minerva," before turning to Harry and saying, "Come in, Harry. May I ask what is so urgent that you had to disrupt my meeting with Professor McGongall while holding -- " he peered at the animal in Harry's hands, suddenly looking very alert indeed, " -- a ferret?"

"This is Draco Malfoy, sir," Harry blurted, holding the ferret out to Dumbledore as if for proof.

Dumbledore moved to stand behind his desk, peering at the ferret over his half-moon spectacles. McGonagall sniffed loudly, dabbed at her eyes, and said acerbically (if thickly), "Mister Potter, as I hope you are aware, transfiguring another student is a very serious offence -- "

"No!" Harry said quickly. "It wasn't me! I've been seeing him like this all year, and I only just realised -- he's an Animagus, Professor!"

McGonagall stared at Harry as if he'd lost his mind, but Dumbledore merely gestured for Harry to bring the ferret closer. When Harry did, Dumbledore gently prodded it with one bony fingertip.

"Interesting," he murmured. "Would you care to investigate for yourself, Minerva? You're the resident expert, I do believe."

McGongall still looked very doubtful, but she drew out her wand and tapped it against the ferret's side. Then she gasped.

"MISTER MALFOY!" she exploded. "What in the world -- how could you possibly -- "

Harry felt a wild surge of triumph. Dumbledore, however, only said, "He can't answer you like this, Minerva…"

"Well, of course he can't!" she snapped, and snatched the ferret from Harry's hands, placing it on the rug before the fireplace. Then she pointed her wand at it again. "Animagum restituo!"

Before Harry's fascinated eyes, the ferret grew, enlarged, lost its fur, acquired clothing, and all nearly within the blink of an eye. Sirius' transformations, Harry remembered, had been even faster -- but then, his godfather had undoubtedly had more practice. And where there had been a petrified ferret, a petrified Draco Malfoy now lay stretched out and immobile on the floor, his eyes glittering with rage.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "I now have a great many questions for you, but you won't be able to answer them like that, of course… finite incantatem!"

The paralysing spell vanished, and Malfoy slumped back down against the floor for a moment, a hiss of breath escaping him, before he scrambled up to his feet, face scarlet with fury. He pointed a shaking finger at Harry. "It's all a lie, Potter transfigured me, and when my father hears about this -- "

"I imagine your father will be hearing about this very shortly, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said mildly, and gestured for Harry and Malfoy to seat themselves in front of his desk. Harry sat, enjoying Malfoy's discomfiture hugely, but Malfoy remained standing, still shaking with anger. "And, of course," Dumbledore continued, "it is rather difficult to undo a normal transfiguration with a spell expressly designed to uncover Animagi. Isn't that right, Professor McGonagall?"

"Quite," McGonagall said, her lips a thin line.

Draco turned pale.

"You have been well and truly caught, Draco," Dumbledore said. "May I suggest that you have a seat and answer a few of my questions?"

"Does he have to be here?" Malfoy asked mutinously, looking daggers at Harry.

"He's been spying on me all year, Professor!" Harry interjected.

"Mr. Potter may stay," Dumbledore said, and Malfoy flopped down gracelessly into a chair, staring sullenly at his knees. McGonagall moved to stand beside Dumbledore's chair, her narrowed eyes still glaring at Malfoy in disbelief.

"As I said, I have some questions for you, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said, his voice still pleasant, his gaze stern and hard. "Let us begin with the obvious: when did you learn to become an Animagus?"

Draco opened his mouth.

"I will know if you are lying," Dumbledore added.

Draco closed his mouth again. His throat worked furiously, and then he muttered through his teeth, "Summer after fourth year."

Harry felt that thunderstruck sensation again. McGonagall's jaw dropped. Malfoy had been an Animagus for two years?

Harry went very still, as the realisation hit him. Malfoy had been able to transform at will, apparently, into a small, quick animal since fifth year. The sort of animal that would be able to lurk about and follow someone swiftly and quietly…the sort of animal that could easily spy on, say, two people kissing on a balcony…so that was how he'd known…

What if Malfoy said something about that? What if Dumbledore asked him what he'd seen while spying? Harry's feeling of triumph disappeared, to be replaced with stomach-knotting apprehension. And McGonagall was here, listening to everything…oh no…

The walls have eyes. How much could Malfoy have really seen? Surely he wouldn't have been able to get into Severus' personal rooms. Could Animagi sneak past magical wards? Harry had to fight back a sudden surge of nausea at the thought.

"Two years," Dumbledore was musing aloud. "That is quite an accomplishment…setting aside the restrictions on underage wizardry, of course, which I suppose a few judicious words from your father might have negated. How interesting. Who taught you?"

"Pettigrew," Malfoy said defiantly. "Peter Pettigrew." Harry's fists clenched in rage, as they always did when he thought about Wormtail.

"Peter Pettigrew, I have it from reliable sources," Dumbledore glanced briefly at Harry, who realised he was referring to Sirius, "was in Latvia the summer after Voldemort's return." Malfoy twitched, though Harry couldn't tell whether it was because his story had been called out or because Dumbledore had spoken the Dark Lord's name out loud. "There would seem to be a contradiction here."

"I-it's true," Malfoy said defiantly. "Pettigrew taught me. He -- he Apparated to our manor."

"From Latvia? All the way to England? Every day of the summer?"

"I mean…not Apparated…he, he portkeyed -- "

"Pettigrew is, of course, in Ministry custody right now," Dumbledore said. "And subject to a goodly dose of truth serum any time it is deemed necessary. Shall I call him up?"

Malfoy went even paler.

"Who taught you, Draco?" Dumbledore repeated, his voice now as cold as his eyes.

When Malfoy spoke next, his voice had gone as small and squeaky as the ferret's. "Rita Skeeter," he managed.

Harry stared at him. Dumbledore nodded, his eyes never leaving Draco's face. "That would have been the summer, of course, in which Miss Granger forbade her to write anything…" he mused. "I see she found other gainful employment."

"Yes, sir," Malfoy whispered, his face chalk-white.

"A good teacher, was she?"

"Yes, sir."

"Dear me…dear me…you, naturally, first became acquainted with her while giving that series of charming interviews. I believe the first was about Hagrid?" Beneath the ice of Dumbledore's gaze was very real anger, Harry saw.

"The world had a right to know the truth about him!" Malfoy burst out. "The public has a right to know what sorts of monsters you hire to teach children -- "

"Silence!" Dumbledore interrupted coldly. In spite of himself, Harry shivered. Malfoy seemed to shrink even further in his chair. "It is possible, I suppose, that you gave another interview," Dumbledore continued, his voice glacial, "only this year. Did you?"

Malfoy bit his lip for a moment, before replying, "So what?"

"I seem to remember promising," Dumbledore said, "that whoever was responsible for that story would be severely punished. 'Expelled,' I believe, was the word I used."

Harry held his breath. McGonagall looked as if she was doing the same.

"My father -- " Malfoy choked.

"Will have no say in this matter one way or the other, I am afraid. Mr. Malfoy, you have provided very damaging and deliberately hurtful information to the press concerning the reputation of a Hogwarts staff member and a Hogwarts student. You are an illegal Animagus. You have used said Animagus form to spy on your classmates. You have violated the law concerning the use of magic by underaged parties. You stand on the very brink of expulsion from this school." Then Dumbledore paused. "And yet…make no mistake that I know to whom you will turn if I send you away now. I do not wish to see that happen."

Harry almost gasped. Malfoy went so pale that he appeared translucent.

"I think it is time I spoke with you alone," Dumbledore said. "And after that, of course, we must have a little chat with your Head of House."

Malfoy's face went from white to red.

"I'm no Mudblood-loving traitor," he whispered. "My father warned me -- he warned me you'd try this. So you can forget whatever deal you think you're going to make with me -- I am a Malfoy, not some polluted, money-grubbing, student-screwing Sna -- "

McGonagall gasped in outrage. Harry stopped himself from going for his wand just in time as Dumbledore interrupted, his voice deadly quiet, "That is enough."

"I'll never join you," Malfoy said. "You can go to hell."

McGonagall's furious "Mister Malfoy!" clashed with Harry's low, venomous "You first." Malfoy turned and sneered at Harry, who remembered how fragile the ferret's bones had felt under his fingers.

Malfoy turned back to Dumbledore and said, "Expel me if you like. I don't give a damn. I'm going to Durmstrang next term, anyway. Father promised me." His eyes narrowed. "If you know where I'm going, then you know I'm going to be ready."

Dumbledore looked very grave, and very sad. "So be it, Mr. Malfoy," he said quietly. "We must all make our own choices, of course." He gestured to McGonagall. "Minerva, please escort Mr. Malfoy down to his dormitory where he will begin packing, and ask Professor Snape to come up here at once. I would like to have a word with Mr. Potter."

McGonagall looked puzzled, but gestured sharply at Malfoy with her wand. He rose rather shakily to his feet, and sent Harry a poisonous glare.

"See you," Harry said, trying not to smirk too obviously in front of the teachers.

"See you, Potter," Malfoy said softly. "Don't get too comfortable."

"That will do, Malfoy!" McGonagall snapped. "March!"

Malfoy saluted Dumbledore ironically, though he didn't quite look him full in the face, and sauntered out the office door, McGonagall right behind him. The door shut, and Harry was left alone with the headmaster, facing him across the expanse of the desk.

"It has certainly been an eventful weekend," Dumbledore remarked, pushing a tin of little yellow sweets across to Harry. "Lemon drop?"

"No, thank you," Harry said, watching Dumbledore with some apprehension and wondering why the headmaster had wanted to talk to him and not Malfoy. Granted, Malfoy was definitely a lost cause, but why Harry?

Dumbledore popped a lemon drop in his mouth and leaned back in his chair, sucking on the sweet as he regarded Harry thoughtfully. "Where did you find Mr. Malfoy this afternoon, Harry?" he inquired.

Harry went red, and cursed himself for it. "O-oh," he stuttered. "In the dungeons. I was going down for a detention, and I saw him…and I came here instead of going to detention…"

"A detention with Professor Snape?" Dumbledore asked.

As if he didn't know, Harry thought crankily. But all he said was, "Yes, sir."

"Well, Professor Snape should be here in a few minutes; I think we can get your detention excused."

"Or delayed," Harry said, trying desperately not to sound hopeful.

Dumbledore raised one silver eyebrow at that, but he only said, "And you say Mr. Malfoy has been spying on you all year?"

"Maybe longer," Harry mumbled.

"Maybe," Dumbledore agreed. His gaze grew distant and sorrowful. "I had hoped, of course…" his voice trailed off.

Harry couldn't stand that Dumbledore looked so sad over someone like Malfoy. "He's been rotten all along sir," he burst out. "He's always been like that, he's not worth it -- "

Dumbledore pierced Harry with his most penetrating gaze. "It is my considered opinion, Harry," he said, "that all children -- and most adults -- are 'worth it'." Harry looked down into his lap, feeling suddenly ashamed. "I do understand," Dumbledore added gently, "that you will see things far differently. And what would the world be like if we all agreed on everything?" He popped another lemon drop into his mouth. "Professor Snape will be here soon," he said after a moment. "I am afraid I will have to ask you to leave, Harry; he seems to become unaccountably distracted when you are around, and I really will require his full attention. But before you go, was there anything you wanted to ask me?" Dumbledore's gaze sharpened again. "Or tell me?"

Harry, who was still beet red from the comment about Severus, had what seemed like a thousand possible answers to that buzzing around in his mouth, waiting to fly out like so many bees. I sent Neville round the twist…I almost killed Malfoy twice…I can't seem to stop getting angry sometimes, and if it's all the same to you I REALLY want to stay at Hogwarts this summer…

But he couldn't say any of that, of course. Instead, Harry asked another question that had been in the back of his mind ever since he'd found Malfoy-as-ferret lying in the corridor. "Why did Malfoy turn into a ferret, sir?" he said. "I mean, do you know? It's the same animal that -- that Crouch turned him into in fourth year."

"I suspect that may have had something to do with it, yes," Dumbledore said. "Mr. Malfoy apparently takes rather naturally to being a ferret -- I understand that learning your true Animagus form is half the battle won, which may account for why Draco accomplished such a difficult task so quickly. Another is that he had a teacher, of course."

"Your true Animagus form," Harry repeated slowly, thinking of his father, who had become a noble stag; Sirius, who transformed into a great, loyal dog; and Pettigrew -- who turned into a rat. And now Malfoy, who could also turn into a slinking, sneaky rodent. "So…so does your Animagus form…I mean, is it, does it reflect your own inner nature or something?" Had that made any sense at all?

But Dumbledore was smiling now as he rose from his chair to guide Harry to the door. "A most insightful question, Harry," he said, "and one that Animagi have hotly debated amongst themselves for centuries. Professor McGonagall has written a monograph on the subject which I believe you might find edifying, should you choose to look it up."

"Are you an Animagus too, sir?" Harry asked daringly as they paused at the door.

"I? No, no, my dear boy. But between you and me," Dumbledore leaned in, his eyes twinkling gently, "I have always believed I would have made a splendid duck-billed platypus."

       

Harry returned to Gryffindor Tower without meeting Severus on the way, to his disappointment. He hoped against hope that they would be able to meet tonight. He didn't know if he could take another delay.

But in the meantime, he wanted to tell Ron and Hermione the great news, before it inevitably spread ot the rest of the school. Malfoy expelled! Ron would do cartwheels.

But they weren't anywhere to be found when Harry arrived. He waited impatiently for a full ten minutes before they came into the common room, looking slightly flushed but otherwise impeccable -- Hermione's influence, Harry was certain. He had to bite back a quick pang of envy, thinking again of his own lost opportunity, before reminding himself that the afternoon's events had been worth it. Ron and Hermione looked surprised to see him, and came over quickly when he gestured them into an unoccupied nook by the window.

"What happened with your detention?" Ron asked as they huddled together. "That was quick."

So were you, apparently, Harry thought, but didn't say it out loud. Instead, he began, "You know that weird white shape I've been seeing around the dungeons after detentions?"

Five minutes later, Ron and Hermione were both staring at Harry, slack-jawed. It was a very satisfying moment.

"Malfoy became an Animagus when he was fourteen?" Hermione asked in disbelief. "But -- in one summer? When it took your father and his friends years? How is that even possible?"

"Reckon having a private tutor helped," Ron said bitterly, echoing Dumbledore's thoughts. "Rita Skeeter. God! And Harry's dad had to learn it all out of books!"

"Dumbledore also said it would have helped to know his animal form in advance," Harry added. "That's where Barty Crouch came in." The thought took a bit of the sting out of the knowledge that Malfoy could do something he, Harry, couldn't.

And…well…maybe Harry would learn to become an Animagus some day. Maybe Sirius could teach him. Why not? When Harry was through learning all that other stuff, anyway. He'd be loads better at it than Malfoy, of that he was certain.

That was something else, too. Malfoy probably hadn't learned half the magic Harry had…not the good stuff…

Let him go to Voldemort. It didn't matter, as far as Harry was concerned. Because Malfoy was useless, and anyway, as soon as Harry was strong enough, Voldemort was done for. That was just all there was to it. He'd show everybody. Everybody.

"So Malfoy's expelled," Hermione mused, a small smile quickly growing large on her face. "Really? Is he really gone?"

"After what he said to Dumbledore?" Ron scoffed. "Did he really tell him to…" he lowered his voice, as if afraid Dumbledore might overhear him several floors away, "to go to hell, Harry?"

"Yep," Harry said.

"I can't believe it! I can't believe the little coward actually said it!" Ron crowed, and for a moment he looked so happy Harry thought he really would start doing cartwheels. "Too bad it took him this long, really," Ron added, pink with pleasure. "Shame he didn't become an Animagus first year, if that's what it took to get him expelled…"

"Then we wouldn't appreciate it so much as we do now," Hermione said. "You know…it's really just deserts, isn't it? I mean…if you're right, Harry, and Malfoy was -- influencing Neville. It's…it's only right he should be punished too, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Harry said quietly. "Yeah, I think so."

They all sat for a moment in happy silence. Then:

"This is just wonderful," Hermione said dreamily, "but ooh, I'm glad we don't have Potions tomorrow. A Slytherin expelled -- Snape's mood will be absolutely foul." The prospect didn't seem to overly bother her.

But, thinking about the way Severus always looked when the subject of Malfoy came up, Harry didn't imagine he'd be all that upset.

       

The note on Harry's pillow that night confirmed his suspicions of Severus' mood, as well as his wildest hopes: it read "COME DOWN" in large block letters and looked as if Severus had scrawled it in some haste. Harry didn't need the capital letters to encourage him; Voldemort himself couldn't have kept him away. If one of his room-mates couldn't sleep that night, Harry planned to hex him into unconsciousness.

Fortunately, everyone was snoring right on schedule, even Ron, who had been so excited about Malfoy's expulsion that Harry had been afraid he wouldn't be able to sleep. But Ron appeared to be slumbering in perfect peace as Harry put on his cloak and stole out of the room down to the dungeons; and besides, if Ron woke later, he'd just think that Harry had gone to the library, or off to George's, or something.

All the way down the many flights of stairs, Harry fancied he could hear Severus' voice whispering in his ear, taste his kisses on his lips. The blood hurrying through his veins wouldn't be calmed, and Harry forgot all the bad things that had happened this weekend in favour of remembering the good: he had survived Neville's attack; Malfoy was being punished; two people who had attempted to hurt himself and his lover were out of the picture for good.

And Harry had let Malfoy live -- but he hadn't had to.

Choices. Decisions. In that moment of choice, Harry had felt his own power. He had decided whether a fellow human being would live or die, and it was more than random chance, more than just saving someone else's life from some accident or danger -- he could have killed Malfoy himself, he had let Malfoy live.

Surely there was no power anywhere that was greater than that. Surely he had nothing to be afraid of, when he'd been able to make such a judgment. So he entered Severus' quarters with no fear in his heart -- only anticipation, and a clear intent to celebrate.

When Harry came into the sitting room, Severus appeared to be in the middle of pacing round it. When Harry doffed the invisibility cloak, Severus whirled to stare at him, nostrils flaring. For a moment they just looked at each other.

"Malfoy's gone," Harry said.

"Yes," Severus agreed, his dark eyes gleaming.

"And Neville."

"Yes." Now Severus was smirking.

"And we're both still here, and we're both alive -- "

At that, Severus' eyes widened, and he crossed the floor in three long strides to seize Harry in his arms. "Yes," he said in a low, fervent voice, "yes…" he kissed Harry, "yes…" and kissed him again, harder.

Harry felt himself sagging into the embrace, and had to brace his knees to keep from falling down on the floor. The rug wasn't too bad, but for what he had in mind he wanted the bed. He felt Severus' fingers moving dexterously over his pyjama buttons, then felt one hand stop and press its palm over Harry's beating heart. Severus briefly stopped kissing Harry, and his breath came out of him in a long, shuddering sigh.

Harry clung to him more tightly, felt Severus clinging back, and they both took a moment to hold onto each other without moving, without speaking. Then, when the lump in his throat had diminished sufficiently, Harry whispered, "Bed?"

Severus nodded, and they made their way into the bedroom, dropping clothing as they went, until Harry lay back naked on the mattress while Severus divested himself of his trousers. Perils of wearing too much clothing, Harry thought, and held out his arms. Severus, looming over the bed, stared down at him as if the picture Harry made was the most fascinating thing in the world before he groaned softly and lowered himself down, taking Harry back into his arms and kissing him again and again.

But when Severus reached down between their bodies, Harry caught gently at his hand. "Not like that," he whispered.

"Then how?" Severus panted against his lips. He was already quivering with readiness.

Harry took a long, thin hand in his own and guided it to his arse. Severus went very still.

"Whatever you want," Harry said, and kissed Severus' shoulder. He'd been right: the fear was gone. Severus could take whatever he wanted, and Harry would give it to him so gladly, because there was nothing to worry about any more. Not in here, not with his lover.

"You're not ready," Severus rasped, pulling his hand away. "Just a week ago…"

"That was a week ago," Harry said, rolling Severus over and clambering on top of him, trying not to jab him with his knees. "Don't you still want to?"

The flare in the dark eyes was immediate and desperate. Severus, Harry thought with a guilty twinge, had undoubtedly wanted to for some time. The quick, hard grip on Harry's hip confirmed the feeling, before it deliberately loosened and pulled away. "Enough," Severus growled. "Now come here, and -- "

"I am here," Harry said, kissing Severus' cheek to prove it, "and I've thought about it, and I'm ready."

"Potter," Severus groaned, hips shifting involuntarily, "it's been a bloody week, and I am not in the mood for an argument -- "

"Good, me neither," Harry said, and, holding his breath at his own daring, sat himself gingerly on top of Severus' erection and wriggled. Maybe that would --

He found himself flat on his back in a heartbeat, with Severus shoving him down in the mattress, kissing him desperately. "Stop," Severus choked out between kisses, "stop, you're teasing, I can't -- "

"It's not teasing," Harry gasped. "Not if I mean to let you." He wriggled again. Severus moaned. "You'll be careful," Harry added in a softer voice. "I know you will."

"Yes…but…" Severus' eyes were fogged, rationality quickly fading away. Harry took the advantage, and fell back on a sure-fire method.

"I said I wanted you to be my first," he said. "In everything." Severus' eyes widened. "Don't you want to…"

Severus kissed Harry so hard his eyes rolled back in his head, and gave a soft, growling moan that made gooseflesh rise on his arms. "Be sure," Severus panted, great long shudders rolling through his body. "Oh, God -- be sure -- "

"I'm sure," Harry gasped, unable to stop wriggling and pressing against his lover's body. And he was sure. This was amazing…amazing to have something Severus wanted so badly, and to be able to give it to him…better than any old pair of dragonhide gloves, that was for certain.

Severus looked down at him, face already sheened with sweat, eyes still dazed. "Just…I can stop," he managed. "Do you understand? If you need -- "

Harry touched his cheek, and Severus' eyes closed. "What are we going to use?" he asked softly. "The blue stuff?"

Severus' eyes opened again, and took a moment to focus properly. "No," he said hoarsely. "No, I have…something slicker. It will…it will make things easier."

Harry smiled up at him, kissed him, whispered, "Where is it?"

"…It's…I…ah. Damn it. I didn't know you'd -- I'll be right back." And Severus' warmth was gone, leaving Harry feeling quite bereft for a moment while his lover went back into the sitting-room, stark naked, and made rummaging noises. By the time he returned to the bed, holding a small phial of gold-coloured liquid, he appeared to have regained some of his composure. Severus set the phial carefully on the bedside table, and when he took Harry in his arms again and kissed him, lying atop him, it was slow, restrained, controlled. But beneath that, Harry could feel the need trembling just beneath the pale skin.

Harry shivered and moaned, tracing circles on Severus' back with his fingertips, encouraging that need as best he could, shifting his hips delicately until they rubbed up against Severus' erection. It was already leaking, already red and quivering, and Severus cried out softly, letting go of Harry to grab hold of the bedcovers on either side of Harry's head.

"So hard," Harry breathed, feeling the shortage of air in his lungs as he shifted his hips again, "so hard -- "

"Merlin," Severus gasped, tearing his mouth from Harry's in order to press his face, flushed and hot, against the curve of Harry's throat. "Merlin, yes -- " He opened his mouth, panted softly, and then latched onto the tender skin and began to suck.

Harry clung tightly to him. Oh, he loved that -- couldn't think when -- his own cock was aching, but it almost seemed secondary to whatever Severus was thinking, was feeling… "Please," he whispered, and kissed Severus' shoulder urgently, "please, I want to know -- "

Severus' long, thin arm shot out to the bedside table and he seized the phial. He disengaged himself from Harry's squirming body -- closing his eyes briefly when Harry couldn't stop a whimper of loss -- and put his hands on Harry's hip, obviously trying not to grip it hard. "Turn over."

Harry took a deep breath, nodded, and did; when his cock came into contact with the sheets, warmed from his body, he gasped, and quickly raised himself to hands and knees to keep from rutting into the bed. From behind him, he heard a faint groan.

Then he felt a hot, quick kiss at the base of his spine. "The picture you make," Severus breathed against his skin, and Harry felt his face flush as an idea of that picture appeared in his mind. Then he heard the sound of a bottle being unstoppered and forgot to be embarrassed, as just a little of his former nervousness made itself known. He took another deep breath.

Something smelled nice -- sort of like wild herbs. He supposed it was the stuff in this phial. "Do you make that yourself?" he asked, unable to crane his neck all the way around to look at Severus properly.

"Yes," Severus said, and then, to his surprise, Harry felt warm, incredibly slick and slippery fingers sliding between his thighs, brushing against his balls, and finally curling around his cock. He froze, gasping, trying desperately not to buck his hips into that amazing grip. The oil on Severus' hand was so smooth and warm… "I think it feels rather nice on," Severus said, in what was probably supposed to be a conversational tone, except for the panting. "Don't you?"

"Oh, oh God! I'll come!" Harry wailed in warning, clinging to the linens.

"Yes," Severus whispered, and gave one smooth stroke of his hand. Harry convulsed, screaming into a pillow and feeling one crafty finger from Severus' other hand sneak its way inside him as he came. The finger, impossibly slick, gently prodded the tiny nodule inside him, and he shook and cried out again as sparks shot off across his brain, making the orgasm feel as if it would never end.

Then he collapsed against the sheets; Severus withdrew his hand just in time to keep from getting it trapped between Harry's body and the bed. Harry lay slumped for a moment, shivering, still hard. Severus hadn't withdrawn his finger, and continued tickling Harry gently with it. Harry moaned, then mumbled, "Wow."

"Good?" Severus asked hoarsely.

"Muh."

Severus hummed softly, kissed Harry's shoulder, and then whispered, "Bear down around my finger."

Harry blinked, swimming back out of his stupor with an effort. Oh yes…the book had said it hurt less if you pushed back than if you relaxed, hadn't it? Harry bore down as Severus said, and felt another finger slide inside him. It was briefly weird and stretchy-feeling; then two fingertips were tickling the little gland, and his legs jerked helplessly while he moaned. It was a strange sensation, feeling so relaxed at his head and his toes from the orgasm, with his middle a hard-knotted ball of desperation.

"Good," Severus breathed from behind him, kissing his shoulder blade again, the tip of his tongue branding it with a liquid point of heat. "Very good."

"M-more than I ever hear from you in Potions class," Harry teased, managing a grin.

"Your talent in Potions," Severus said, with a rasping trace of his normal imperiousness, "leaves something to be desired compared to this." Harry rather thought he felt his lover's thin lips curving up into a smile against his shoulder. He suddenly snorted. "What's so funny?" Severus asked with deceptive mildness.

"'Required'," Harry said, and snorted again. "'Component'."

This time, Severus didn't kiss him, but nipped him sharply on the left cheek of his bum, startling a yelp of laughter out of Harry. The laugh turned into a moan when Severus flexed his fingers again. His breath fluttered out of him in a soft sigh. "That feels good," he whispered into the pillow.

He heard Severus take a deep breath. "Can you take another?"

Harry certainly hoped so, or they were going to run into trouble. All he said was, "Yes please," and enjoyed feeling Severus shiver at the word "please."

Third finger in, and Harry felt full now, wondered how anything bigger could possibly fit. It felt good at the same time as it burned and ached…how was that possible? He remembered the first time Severus had done this, on Valentine's Day, and what had happened -- how Harry had sensed some kind of magical aura around Severus, how it had made him feel so connected to his lover, how it had seemed so beautiful and good -- and he didn't want to think that had been only a hallucination; suddenly he wanted so desperately to feel it again…

Listening to the sound of Severus' laboured breathing, twitching and shivering at the feel of a mouth at his neck and gentle fingers in his body, Harry closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and -- reached.

He couldn't explain how he'd done it. But he had; suddenly, it was there, the glorious sensation of Severus' magic pulsing and swirling all around him, caressing against his own magic, touching and mixing and dancing.

Severus gasped again, and Harry wondered if he could feel it too -- he hadn't last time -- or, no, he'd felt it, but he just hadn't known what Harry was doing, and now was probably not the time to stop the proceedings and explain things. Harry decided it would be better to just keep mum about it for now, and be careful not to push either of them as far as before. It wouldn't do to come so early. If -- if Harry could just keep from reaching out any more and grabbing it as he had the last time…he restrained himself with some difficulty.

But it still wasn't enough. Not the fingers, not the aura -- Harry needed more, needed more of Severus, more contact, more sensation, more anything. And he knew how to get it. "More!" he cried out.

Severus' fingers trembled briefly inside him, making him squirm and call out. "More," Harry said again, not sure if he was begging or ordering. "E-enough fingers -- inside me, please, inside me…"

"Oh, God," Severus moaned, and slid his fingers out carefully. Harry heard wet sounds, knew that Severus was getting more oil, was, judging from the quick, harsh catch in his breath, applying it to his cock. He'd touched himself only once before in front of Harry, in capitulation to Harry's shy request, and Harry hadn't been able to keep his hands off his own cock for watching, and they'd both come so hard they'd been shocked at themselves. Harry whimpered, remembering, and breathed, "Wish I could…see you…"

Two thin, hot hands, both slick with oil now, ran lightly up and down his back. "This will, will be more comfortable for you," Severus said, his voice choked. "Are you still sure -- "

"Yes!" Harry gasped, trying so hard not to just reach out and seize hold of Severus' aura as fiercely as he could. "Yes, yes, please -- "

The hands seized his hips in an iron grip. "Your legs. Wider -- " Harry whimpered, and spread his legs obediently, " -- oh Merlin, yes, just like that -- now -- hold still -- "

Severus' voice had gone even deeper than usual and was vibrating with tension, just like the rest of him. Harry could feel, trembling together along his lover's frame, both shaking need and superhuman self-control. Both felt good to Harry, very good, and yet some part of him wanted to know what would happen if Severus were to let go…

One hand stayed on Harry's hip, while the other went to help Severus line himself up against the small, slickened pucker. "Brace and push back," Severus whispered. "Now."

Harry did. And felt himself being pushed apart, slowly spitted, by something bigger and hotter and more living and mindless than fingers; he caught his breath at the strangeness, and the magic flared around him, lighting him up both inside and out, causing him to wiggle and push back on Severus. For a moment, pain flared too, but then it was gone on the bright whirl of sensation.

"Stop!" Severus cried, but Harry could hear such raw pleasure behind the command that he knew it had little heart in it. "Don't…don't go so fast, you'll hurt…are you all…"

"Yes," Harry said, his voice sounding a bit slurred in his own ears. "M'fine…you? I didn't do anything wrong?"

"No…" Severus' head fell forward to rest against Harry's back. His hair was already soaking with sweat. "No…but…hold…still." Each word was evenly spaced out, like dragon teeth Severus was dropping into a cauldron at very precise intervals.

"I'll try," Harry whispered in reply, though what he really wanted was to move again and see if he could recapture that amazing sensation.

"How…does…it feel?"

"Good. Full. You're not hurting me." Surprised he had the brains left to produce such a coherent speech, Harry reached back and fumbled for the hand that still clasped his hip, felt it seize his own hand, brought it up to kiss it and press it close to his chest. He could feel Severus' desperate gasps, almost wheezes, as his lover crouched over him, clearly buried as far as he felt he could safely go. It wasn't far enough for Harry. He could take more. He wanted more. But Severus was apparently hellbent on causing no harm, and while he was shaking harder than the Whomping Willow, he wasn't moving to thrust.

Harry raised Severus hand to his mouth and kissed it again. It was trembling. The other hand had moved to grip and claw at the bedsheets as if seeking to tear them. "Inside me," Harry panted. "More."

He heard a lot of breathless noises from behind and atop him before Severus managed to say, "No, I'll hurt…you're too…" A shuddering groan. "Dear God, oh God, so tight, you're…" Harry felt Severus' forehead press against his shoulder again, moving back and forth as if seeking some kind of purchase.

"I want you to," Harry whispered. He licked tenderly at one of Severus' fingertips, and the breathless noises turned into moans. He could feel Severus' thighs absolutely quivering with the effort of staying still. Teeth suddenly sank into his shoulder, indenting skin that felt much hotter than normal, and he could feel the soft, wet weight of Severus' tongue; his lover seemed to be trying to muffle his noises, for all that the usual silencing charm was up. "I know you want to," Harry continued, sucked the fingertip gently into his mouth, and clenched his buttocks as hard as he could manage around the invader inside.

A muffled scream.

Then, finally, a thrust, a hard, short one that apparently Severus couldn't control. "Oh -- God," Severus panted against the back of Harry's neck, "you impossible…you shouldn't…"

But Harry was already squirming beneath him, trying to grind the head of Severus' cock against the little nodule, making breathless whimpers that he knew Severus could never composedly endure. That won another thrust, Severus shaking even harder with the effort to keep it gentle, and Harry moaned so low and deeply in his throat that they both felt it. "Oh," he gasped, and turned his head to mouth at Severus' forearm. "Oh, more -- !"

Severus gave a sound like a sob and this time his thrust was less controlled than before. Harry tossed his head back, writhed, and whispered, "Again."

Severus thrust again, as if in thrall to Harry's command, and by now his every breath was a cry. They couldn't stop moving together, Harry pushing backward as Severus drove forward, Severus laying deep, sucking kisses on whatever bit of Harry was nearest, Harry arching his neck to give him better access. It seemed to Harry that the magic was a storm around them, just waiting for him to do something, to make some kind of connection with it, to bring his very human self into contact with…whatever it was, something inhuman and powerful and still a part of them both…

Severus' thrusts were speeding up. He panted out something; it might have been a question, but Harry didn't hear. He was inside Harry, and all around him too, and it was exactly everything Harry wanted, and if he only reached out for that magic --

Suddenly, the warm, slick hand around his cock was gone, and he found himself bucking his hips into the empty air in loss. "Oh! What…"

Severus' breaths were shuddering against the back of Harry's neck, and without withdrawing from Harry's body, he rolled them both to the side and hooked Harry's leg over his arm. The roll of movement drove him even deeper inside, but once there he didn't move quite as much, making quicker, shallower thrusts that rubbed ceaselessly at the twitching spot inside and made Harry start wailing with pleasure. He forgot all about magic auras and any other such non-physical nonsense. There was only the knot of Severus' body around him, their heaving, effortful breathing, and Severus' hand, which now had better access to Harry, plucking at his nipples, skirting down to fondle his cock with a light, shaking touch until Harry felt that he could die from it.

"Do -- you -- like it?" Severus asked, peppering the words with licks and nips along Harry's shoulder and neck, and inside himself it seemed that Harry could feel the head of Severus' cock all hot and slippery and leaking with readiness.

"I -- yes, oh -- " Harry couldn't think to say more than that. He wanted to say how it felt wonderful and strange at the same time, how it made him feel so connected to Severus. He wanted to apologise for not letting Severus do this long before now. Instead, he managed to say, "Do you like it?" And flexed his arse again.

"Ah!" Severus froze, letting go of Harry's cock to grap his hip again while he held himself rigidly still. "Ah, don't…"

But Harry remembered all the times Severus had enjoyed making him lose control, and even through his own arousal he couldn't stop a wicked grin from forming on his face as he squeezed down again. The hand on his hip tightened brutally. "Harry!" Severus snarled, his long body hot and shaking against Harry's back.

Harry took hold of the hand, moved it from his hip (he was going to be covered in bruises at the hips and throat, he just knew it), and held it again. Severus' hips gave a tiny, jerking thrust, and he moaned.

"Do you like it?" Harry repeated, able to think more clearly without a hand on his cock. He pressed Severus' hand over his own heart, squeezed his arse a third time, and licked his lips when Severus moaned again, sounding as if he was in anguish. Teeth seized onto his earlobe in a brief, needy bite.

"Yes, damn you," Severus rasped, and flipped them back so Harry was on his hands and knees again, and began to move, thrusting so hard and deep Harry could feel the vibrations in his collarbone. "Oh, oh yes -- " He groaned again, and this time it sounded like defeat. "It's all -- I -- want -- now -- "

Harry came, screaming.

He pressed his face down into the pillow, pressed his arse back up against Severus, unable to stop moving and writhing and wishing he never had to stop coming. His muscles seized and released all at once, and it must have felt good to Severus, because he gasped, froze, and then pulled out, whipped back in, did it again, and then came, pushed into the hilt and giving short, hard, desperate jabs of his hips, making no sound except for equally short, hard, desperate gasps.

Then he collapsed on top of Harry, squashing him down into the mattress.

Harry's breath rushed out of him in an oof, as his post-climax brain slowly registered that he suddenly had a good bit of dead weight slumped all over him, and that Severus was still inside him, and that he was never this inconsiderate. Most of the time. Not about sex, anyway. "Severus?" he wheezed.

There was no answer. After a horrible moment of panic, Harry determined that his lover was still breathing, and then realised what had happened.

Severus had passed out.

Still relaxed from his orgasm, still dizzy with little thrills of pleasure sparking up and down along his veins, Harry let out a short, almost hysterical laugh. Then he elbowed backwards sharply. "Severus!"

That earned him a full-body twitch and a faint gasp. "Wake up!" Harry said, laughter bubbling up around his words again. Another twitch, then Severus swore softly, and levered himself off Harry as abruptly as he'd fallen on him, withdrawing carefully from his body.

"Sodding…are you all right?"

"Yes," Harry said, biting his knuckle to keep his laughter under control. "You only p-passed out for a second."

"Laugh it up, Potter," Severus said, his voice disgusted, but his hands tender as he gently touched Harry's arse and thighs. "Do you hurt anywhere?"

"I'll be sore as blazes tomorrow," Harry said cheerfully, carefully rolling onto his side and settling so he could look up at his lover, knowing that his eyes were still sparkling with mirth. "I'm fine. Honestly. Ah -- you? Bit overwhelmed?"

"Hmph." Severus drew the covers up and began to fussily arrange them around Harry. "If you could keep that idiot grin off your face, as touched as I am by your concern -- "

"Oh, no," Harry said. "Just so long as you kept breathing, I didn't worry at all." Then he couldn't help himself any longer, and he burst out laughing, clapping his hands over his mouth. Severus glared at Harry as he made sure he was securely tucked in, before lying down beside him to take him in his arms. Harry got his snickers under control and cuddled up gladly, raising his smiling face to be kissed once, and then once again, and then again. And after that, Severus moved to kiss his neck and shoulders again, very lightly this time, over the bruises that were already purpling.

"I don't think I meant to be quite so rough," he said quietly.

"It was lovely," Harry said. Then he yawned and snuggled in closer. "All of it was," he added sleepily. "'M'glad we did it."

Severus said nothing, but two long fingers stroked the side of Harry's face as they settled down more cosily in the bedding.

Then, Harry suddenly thought of something. He woke up just long enough to ask, "What happened -- when you went to see Dumbledore? About Malfoy?"

Severus grunted, but didn't tense up noticeably. "What do you expect happened?" he asked. "Malfoy, having broken almost as many school rules as you, has been expelled."

"Has been? Already?"

"The headmaster can move remarkably quickly when he wishes."

"Did you -- I mean -- did you have any idea? About Malfoy being an Animagus?"

Now Severus did tense, as he cracked one eyelid open. "No. No, I didn't. Both your Head of House and I appear to have been remarkably negligent in our duties this year when it comes to awareness of what exactly our students are up to."

Harry winced, imagining that after Neville's…expulsion? Suspension?…McGonagall probably had not neglected to preen in front of Snape when one of his House members had suffered a similar fate. "Well…bound to happen once in a while," he said weakly.

"Indeed. And Longbottom is a dunderheaded fool, while Malfoy has some marginal degree of cleverness -- yet that doesn't make me feel much better. I wonder why?" The rich voice dripped sarcasm.

"Well. They're gone now. We never have to see them again. Neville's off to…to St. Mungo's, and Malfoy's for Durmstrang -- "

"Yes," Severus said, staring at the ceiling. "Durmstrang, for a whole school year. He'll almost certainly never set foot in this country again, since he's only lived here his whole life as a product of a long and well-rooted family tree. Put it out of your mind."

"Well, look," Harry said in frustration, "he's never coming back here, and it's not as if I'm planning to have anything to do with him ever again."

"Plan as you like," Severus said quietly. "I will only warn you not to be surprised should your paths ever cross again."

Harry's glow was gone now, leaving him feeling unsettled and nervous, for reasons he couldn't explain. He'd beaten Malfoy well and truly this round, and was rid of him for at least another year. Anything could happen in a year. Harry distinctly remembered Ron, in fourth year, voicing the hope that Malfoy would fall off a glacier. But, for some reason, Harry couldn't quite get rid of a definite feeling of unease. He and Severus lay together in stiff, unhappy silence for a moment before Severus spoke again.

"To lighten the tone," he said, "I have -- confidentially, of course -- had a bit of news about the summer from the headmaster."

Harry blinked and looked up at him. "What's that?"

"You will be staying at Hogwarts," Severus said quietly.

Harry promptly forgot all about Malfoy as he leaned over Severus eagerly, a grin threatening to split his face. "I am? Did he say that? No, he didn't. Did he really?"

"As good as," Severus said. "He told me, after we had finished with Mr. Malfoy, that you were not to return to the Muggles this summer. I had…I had spoken to him about it before."

"You had?" Harry could barely breathe. "When -- what did you -- "

Severus waved his hand irritably, his cheeks a little red. "That is neither here nor there. What matters is that you are not returning to the Muggles, Black's little legal problem is currently bogged down in proceedings, and there is nowhere else you could feasibly go."

Harry bit his lip. "Unless…Dumbledore sends me to the Weasleys," he suggested reluctantly.

Severus' arm tensed around Harry, but he only said, "It isn't safe enough. He would not send you there." Then he leaned in to kiss Harry again. "He would not."

"I reckon not," Harry said when he had the use of his mouth back. Dumbledore had called him away from the Weasleys' house last summer, after all. And if Sirius wasn't going to be set free, then… "But Du…the headmaster didn't say I'd be at Hogwarts?"

"I told you," Severus said irritably, "there is nowhere else for you to go. Who's he going to ask to watch you? Lupin? Figg? Fletcher? I think not. You'll be here."

Harry let loose a sigh of relief, and snuggled back up next to Severus. "That sounds fantastic," he said happily, and felt his eyes starting to close again. "Everything…fantastic…"

"Go to sleep," Severus said, and Harry felt a kiss pressing against his cheek.

"I am," he replied very seriously, and did just that.

       

Author's Note: I borrowed the "Animagum restituo" spell from Resonant's Snape/Harry story "The Familiar." I hope she doesn't mind; it's a wonderful spell from a wonderful story.

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