Objects of Desire

Chapter 5  - About Last Night

By Azrael Geffen

6AM

Piers Tambling had worked as an apprentice at the Museum of Magical Arts and Antiquities for approximately one year. Having never dreamed of any particular career in his seven years at Hogwarts, Piers could not say that his position was one he particularly sort. The apprenticeship had been thrust upon him when his Father, concerned over his sons lack of prospects, had spoken to a friend at the Ministry and in turn, that friend had spoken to the Curator who had offered the job. Being taken on as the only apprentice to the Curator in fifty years was an honor Piers had never expected and was certainly not fool enough to reject. Not being known for his skill with a wand, Piers would have settled with working in any position that ensured extensive use of magic would not be called upon and as luck would have it, life in the Museum was quiet and not particularly challenging.

In his private thoughts, he believed that Curator Semeuse was particularly odd. The old man was fastidious in his own appearance and with the cleanliness of the exhibits. Semeuse had the strangest habit of talking to inanimate objects as though they were his pets and his favorite collection seemed to be one consisting of House Elves that had been taxidermised, probably because they looked as though they could talk back. Despite all of this, Piers thought he got along with the old man seeing him as somewhat wise and knowledgeable, like some kind of eccentric uncle. He made the decision when he had first arrived to do everything he was told and listen to the old man, convinced that if he did he would learn a lot.

Then the Ministry sent the Death Eaters for exhibition and things began to change.

Piers watched Semeuse become in turns agitated and excited at the prospect of a new collection. A live human collection at that. When they had arrived, the musty old House Elves were forgot and the Curators excitement reached fever pitch. The fastidious little man placed all his time and energy into setting up displays and cataloguing his new collection. He then set about ensuring that the temperatures and humidity were accurate, as though the Death Eaters were as precious as historical mummies from the dawn of civilization. He fawned over his prizes, seemingly unaware that they had once been the worst of all humanity.

Piers did not share his employers passion for the new exhibits. He found the Death Eaters creepy. They sat so silent and still, like giant dolls propped up in the window of a demonic toy store. That they were alive and in that state unnerved him. He hated having to help dress them, clean them and touch them. Their skin was warm when he reasoned it should feel cold and dead, their limbs were too supple, they smelled distinctly alive. It would be better if they were dead, that way he would feel less as though he was violating them in some way. He would leave food for them, right beside their hands and they never reached for it, but by morning it would be gone. If he did see them move he was sure he would be terrified by it.

Of course, along with the Death Eaters came the fanatics who wanted them dead or dismembered, or both! Thousands of threatening letters had poured in after The Daily Prophet had run the article about the exhibition. ‘The Death Eaters should be destroyed,’ the public cried, ‘we will come and destroy them!’ Semeuse had contacted the Ministry who had placed extra security on the Museum. Piers opinion was that, if people saw what had become of the Death Eaters, they would agree that they had indeed been destroyed.

At 6am on Tuesday morning he had awoken to sounds coming from the Sais room. He knew it was the Sais room even without climbing out of the warmth of his bed, instinct told him it had to be. That’s where they were, and his bed chamber was right next door to it. He lay still, his ears straining for even the smallest of sounds. Surely the Curator would hear and go straight down, or the Aurors who had been posted at the doors of the Museum, but he heard nothing of them. No raised voices, just the initial sounds of cabinets being opened and then a strange scraping noise, like something being dragged away...or dragging itself away. Could that happen, could one of the Death Eaters have come to its senses and crawled away? He knew the answer was no, it was an impossibility given the nature of the Dementors Kiss. So someone was in there.

He waited, he knew it was too long, but he had never been brave. He had been a Hufflepuff at school and he had finished the year of the Tri Wizard Tournament. He remembered the Death of Cedric Diggory and had quickly learned to equate bravery with death. Harry Potter had faced the Dark Lord Voldemort and lived, but Piers Tambling was no Harry Potter, he just simply was not that kind of person. He would certainly not put himself at risk for the sake of a few mindless Death Eaters. So he waited until all the sounds had died away in the stillness of morning and silence again filled the Museum. Then he climbed from his bed, pulled on his robes and his slippers and headed out into the darkness of the Sais Room.

"Lumos." Each of the exhibit cases lit up for him and they stared back at him. Uncomprehending stares of the damned, he shuddered. He scanned each face, trying to see a difference in any of them and found none. Then he came to the last case, the biggest case, the case that held the worst of them all.

The case was empty. The door was opened and the case was empty. Piers felt his mouth run dry and a dull ache of panic formed deep in his gullet. Where had he gone? How did he get out? Common sense told him that Lucius Malfoy could not have got up and walked, it was an impossibility, but common sense played very little part in the cold dark of 6am in a room full of eerie staring Death Eaters. On top of everything else, he would have to go and tell the Curator that the most prized of his prized possessions was gone. The Curators interest in Lucius Malfoy had made the young man cringe when he first noticed it. Now that the Death Eater had gone he wondered just how the Curator would take the loss. Archibald Semeuse might be a fastidious man, but Piers was under no illusions when it came to how powerful the old Wizard was. Rumors about a rather dark youth abounded in the Museum; Piers didn’t relish the task ahead.

He set out along the shadows of the corridors to the Curator’s chambers and was surprised to see a light coming from within the room. So Semeuse was awake, perhaps he had heard the noise also. Piers was about to knock when he heard a voice within. The Curator’s voice, talking softly but distinctly, groaning occasionally, as though in passion. Piers flattened himself against the wall and peered into the room.

His mouth fell open at the scene within.

Lucius Malfoy was sprawled on the bed, arms splayed out across the satin covers. The Curator had fanned the long blonde hair over the pillows, his face had been tilted up, thrown back a little, so that Piers had a perfect view of his profile. The white cotton shift in which Malfoy had been so carefully dressed in was pushed up above his waist and the Curator had mounted him. Piers watched in horror as the Curator stroked the still face gently with one hand, while the other pushed Malfoy’s legs roughly back to allow for a deeper entry into his body .

"You like that?" Semeuse murmured to his victim, "You like that don’t you my Angel?"

His ‘Angel’ said nothing, but had he been capable of speech, Piers had no doubt that the man would have screamed out ‘NO!’ The Curator had not been careful with him, his lust had caused him to push violently into the body and Malfoy’s smooth thighs were streaked with blood. Piers fought the urge to vomit at the sight of the man he had considered his mentor, defiling the body of a man that was as good as dead.

Semeuse was kissing Malfoy now, whispering to his ‘Angel’ between feasting on his mouth. Piers felt his lip curl in disgust and before he knew what he was doing he had stepped from the shadows.

"Curator!" His voice was almost a sob such was his disgust.

Semeuse froze and turned his face to the young man who now stood in the door way glaring at him with such a look on his face. He felt himself flush. "Tampling," he said with as much dignity as he could muster. He looked down at his Angel and noticed with some dismay that Lucius was bleeding and made a mental note to be more careful in the future. He turned his face back to Tampling and wondered what he could say. He had no excuse for what he was doing, save for his own lusts and he doubted that Piers Tampling would understand them. He looked at the man. Little more than a boy really, not someone he wanted to be caught by, but surely one who would be easy to manipulate.

"You must stop this, Curator," Piers felt a rush of power over the old man. "This is unnatural, the Ministry will demand your resignation. You could go to prison!"

Semeuse looked back down at Lucius who was beautifully disheveled. There was a little blood in his hair, Semeuse would have to wash it. He smiled tenderly at his Angel before looking back at the boy. "I don’t think we need talk about that sort of thing, Piers," he said calmly. "I’m sure we can come to some kind of arrangement."

"Curator?"

Semeuse pulled out of Lucius and quickly wrapped his robes around himself. He pulled the shift down over Lucius’ hips and gently stroked the legs as he closed them. "It has been a good many years since I was an apprentice, Piers," he said, standing up and stepping towards the boy. "But I remember that it was not the most enjoyable of positions. I can still remember just how frustrating it could be." He smiled thinly and picked lint from the shoulder of his robes, "I could advance your career considerably. Imagine that, you could be a Curator yourself in a few short years with my help. Your family would be so proud."

Piers took a step back, his eyes shifting from the Curator to the Death Eater sprawled in the bed. He remembered Draco Malfoy from School, a nasty piece of work who loved to throw curses at people when the teachers weren’t looking. Snape’s pet. He looked just like his Father. He had even met Lucius once, if one could consider it a meeting. He had bumped into him in Diagon Alley once when he was buying school supplies and Malfoy had muttered something about half bloods polluting the streets. So why should he care about what the Curator was doing? Malfoy had probably performed acts that were far worse in his career.

The answer was simple, seven years at Hogwarts under Dumbledore had instilled an innate sense of decency in him. This was just plain wrong.

"I am not interested in what you can do for me...” he stuttered, "You are raping this man simply because he can’t defend himself."

"Rape is such a harsh word, Piers, and I can assure you I am not simply taking advantage of him. We have no idea of his opinion of this is, do we? He might enjoy it."

"You’re sick!" Piers cried, unable to contain his disgust. "You sick bastard!"

"Now now, boy, there is no need for this. Think about it. I have been in this position for over 50 years, I highly doubt that the Ministry will believe the upstart pretensions of a boy who wants my job."

"But I don’t care about your job!"

"Of course you do."

"I...I don’t. I’m going to the Aurors! I…I…I’m going to tell them what you’ve done. I’m going to make sure you never see this museum again!" He turned to walk away, shaken but strangely proud of himself. It was the first moment of bravery in his life.

Archibald Semeuse looked from Tampling’s retreating form to the Angel lying prone in the bed and felt everything he had worked for slipping from his grasp. It was his Museum, he had assembled every collection in it. Everything belonged to him and no one else. The upstart, Tampling had threatened that. The upstart had to be stopped. There was only one course of action left open to him.

"Avada Kedavra." Semeuse muttered the curse so softly that Piers Tampling could never have heard it. Tampling heard a rush of the curse coming to him and didn’t have time to so much as turn to see what it was. He hit the floor with a thud, having never known what hit him.

Semeuse walked to the body and nudged it with his toe. "It is a shame," he said a little sadly, "you really would have made a good curator one day, but I should have told you, no one ever takes my collections from me or me from my collections." He turned back to Lucius and smiled warmly at the figure whose eyes had closed. He wished for a moment that he had seen it happen, he so would have loved to witness the movement. Semeuse then rolled Piers Tampling’s body over and stared into the slightly surprised face. "The Angel is mine, I will brook no threats from silly little boys on that count," he hissed.

After contemplating the situation for a moment, he decided that the mummification room needed a new addition.

~ ~ ~

Hermione sprawled head long behind a suit of armour and vomited onto the stone floor. It felt marvelous, like the release of some crushing pressure, like a vial green poison flooding out of her system. She felt her palms connecting with cool stone and energy coursed through her in convulsive waves.

Oh Gods this is awful.

Snape. She had been kissing Snape! Less than half an hour ago he had made her come. She had been brought to orgasm by his hand. Then he had left her there, cold, alone and overwhelmingly drunk, which in turn had lead to this terrible journey through the castle to the Southwest Tower and the wonderful prospect of bed and the hope of oblivion from the events of the night. So far she had made it as far as the Charms corridor, which wasn’t so bad. She was at least in the vague vicinity of the tower.

When she was able to raise her head she saw that she was being observed by Lavender, who was staring at her as though she was some interesting, but faintly repulsive bug. Hermione crawled away from the sticky puddle and sat shakily against the wall.

"What are you doing out of bed?" she asked, disgusted at the taste in her mouth and that someone had been there to witness the display.

"I couldn’t sleep," Lavender replied and reached her hand to help Hermione to her feet. "Are you ok?"

Hermione scrambled to her feet. "I’m fine," she slurred, spitting bile ungraciously onto the floor. "I just need some sleep."

Lavender contemplated her room mate, unsure of what tactic to use in dealing with her. She had never considered Hermione Granger a friend. Hermione had always been Ron and Harry’s friend, and while Harry and Ron were somewhat endearing, (Harry being, well, Harry, and Ron being a bit of a flirt ), Hermione had never really possessed the qualities that drew people to her and Lavender, along with many others, always believed that there was something in Hermione’s manner that mocked them. The girl was just so good at everything, and she had the annoying habit of looking at those who weren’t so very brilliant as though they were, in fact, stupid. Which wasn’t the case.

Lavender was not particularly knowledgeable when it came to school. Her aims at Hogwarts had been simple, get through with a good understanding of magic and get a decent job at the end of it. Hermione’s fervor for learning and perfection and the sheer pride she showed when she displayed her abilities were nothing short of irritating and had lead many to avoid her. She had no interest in the things that most of the girls had been interested in. Dating, hair care, makeup, clothes, none of these things entered Hermione Grangers sphere. When she had turned up with Viktor Krum to the Yule Ball, Lavender had nearly fallen off her chair in shock. It had been decided long ago that it would be better to simply leave her to her books and her study and forget just how accomplished the Muggle Born Witch was.

So it was really a shock to find her disheveled and being sick in the charms corridor, reeking of alcohol and the unmistakable musky undertone of sex. There was a rather large love bite on the girls’ neck. Dismissing any hesitation, Lavender slid her arm around Hermione’s waist and began to pull her along in the direction of the Tower.

~ ~ ~

They were lined up across a field like an old fashioned army. They had kept him at the back because they needed him to live long enough to kill the Dark Lord and he knew that he would live. He had to. After Voldemort was dead he could die, he was supposed to. He knew it, deep inside, he had to die by the end of all this. They wouldn’t mourn him; if he died they could immortalize him as legend.

They stood still in their lines, staring expectantly across the field at the absent enemy, waiting for what seemed like an eternity before they came. A thousand Death eaters descending from the sky on winged horses as black as night like stampeding nightmares. They carried Staffs. Harry had never seen one before, but they were powerful and they tore flesh and bone to shreds as the Death Eaters began to pick them off from the safety of the skies.

The method of attack was unexpected and they began to scatter. Charlie Weasley was telling him to run. He really needed to run, he had to hide. He had to survive. He had to get back to the school and the apparent safety of the stone and mortar that could weather this storm.

The field, he realized dully was the Quidditch pitch, but the hoops and boxes were gone.

He had to get back to the school.

"Harry, RUN!"

He looked at Charlie but his legs wouldn’t work, he couldn’t move, even when Charlie’s face distorted and seemed to detach from his head some how and travel, the _expression still fixed, straight into Harry’s own face and hit him with a sound like wet meat.

Then he was being picked up and carried away by one of the black riders and Snape looked at him from under the black hood.

"Don’t forget to scream," said Snape.

Harry screamed. Harry screamed and sat bolt upright in the half light. Morning. A dream (a memory), it was only a dream (a memory). He began to shiver as the sweat cooled on his body.

"Lumos." He had woken Ron who stirred and mumbled for light. He pushed himself up and looked at Harry who was sitting half naked in the bed across from him. "Bad dream?" He yawned.

"Yeah, sorry, it was just a dream" (a memory).

"You seriously need to start taking dreamless sleep potions before you go to bed. Dumbledore said you could."

Harry shrugged. He knew he should, but he had a terror of being unable to wake if he needed to.

"Um, Harry, mate." Ron grinned, "Your giving me a bit too much information here."

He looked down the length of his body to where the bedclothes didn’t quite cover his modesty and pulled his blankets up self consciously. "Thanks," he mumbled. But Ron was looking past him now. Looking at the wall behind him with a face set in something that could have been horror or wonder or both.

Harry turned to see what Ron was seeing and saw the contract. It was exactly as they had left it the day before, with one very major exception. Harry and Ron’s rose bushes were still shamefully nude of flowers. Hermione’s, on the other hand, had sprouted a tiny pink rosebud.

"I thought it was supposed to be a full flower," Ron said, eyes not leaving the tiny blot of color.

"It is," Harry replied, eyes fixed to the same spot, "maybe she didn’t go the whole way."

They continued to stare, wondering who in hell Hermione had been with, why she hadn’t told them about him and just when she had found the time to do it. They really had to talk to the girl.

~ ~ ~

Draco Malfoy was lost in the pleasure of the most vivid early morning masturbation session that he’d had in years. His breathing was heavy and labored, his hand working vigorously over his erection and his eyes firmly shut, conjuring in his minds eye the image of the person who had induced his current state.

Potter. Potter who’d had the audacity to not only kiss him but to then turn and run like a thief in the night. Potter who had eyes like fanciful jewels and a tongue that tasted like cinnamon sticks and cauldron cakes. In his imaginings, Potter was doing a hell of a lot more than kissing him. Draco had an excellent fantasy life, he could picture every inch of that flesh, imagine the way that body would move, how his mouth would feel wrapped around…

"Ohhhhhh, Harry." His hips bucked up into his hands and he was thankful, not for the first time, that he had his own room.

Draco had never been with a man before, but this did not mean that he was adverse to the idea of it. The opportunity had simply never arisen. He had been sexually active since he was fifteen and women were never really a problem for him. He had been raised with the simple motto of pleasure for pleasures sake.

Draco smiled and began to work himself a little harder. Potter was not beautiful, he had the most wonderful set of eyes Draco had ever seen and he had filled out nicely as he got older, being trim but somehow stocky. Potter was not particularly tall but neither was he horribly short. From all accounts he had a similar stature to his Father, James Potter and looked like him in the same way that Draco resembled his own Father. Potter was, however, the hero of the wizarding world. He had brought down everything that Draco had once held sacred. The very idea of his worlds hero, sucking a Malfoy cock was quite simply too delicious to pass up. He could see Potter doing it too, those pink lips parting, the emerald eyes closing...

He could feel his body cresting, aching for release. It was as though he was tapped into some incredible energy source, building power up inside his belly and he began to whimper softly, "Harry…Harry…"

In his mind’s eye, all sexual activity ceased and he was left with only a memory. The memory of Potters hand splayed out across his chest and that first moment when Draco had nudged those perfect lips apart and tasted the inside of Harry’s mouth.

"Oh Gods, Harry."

Harry closed his eyes when he kissed, Harry had plunged his hands into Draco's hair, Harry had trembled when he had met his tongue.

"Oh, oh, oh Gods…HARRRRYYYYYYYYY." He came in thick bursts into his hand, and, breathing heavily, he settled, his hips came to rest and a feeling of sleepy satisfaction washed over him like rain. His eyes blinked open.

"Fucking hell, Potter," he said to the stars he had charmed to appear on his ceiling.

He lifted his hand and surveyed its coating of seamen. Frowning a little he sniffed it and then licked it tentatively, tasting his own seed. It wasn’t awful. A little bitter but then, so was he. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked down at his now sticky belly and wondered if her could indeed do it. Since the trials he had not made an attempt to seduce anyone and with good reason. Some scars will never heal and he had his own to make him self conscious enough about taking a new lover. Add to that the prospect of that lover being Potter and he knew he was treading on dangerous ground indeed. He never could abide the idea of rejection and he had never tasted it before, he wasn’t planning on starting now. Wiping what was left of the seamen across his chest, he decided he really needed a shower.

~ ~ ~

Breakfast

Harry stared at his breakfast with total disinterest. He was tired, his dreams were beginning to disturb his sleep beyond measure and now he had added a new and wholly unimagined problem to what was becoming an ever increasing list.

Draco Malfoy.

He had kissed Draco Malfoy.

Truth be told he had more than simply kissed Draco Malfoy. He had feasted on those perfect lips and stuck his tongue right in Malfoy’s mouth! By the Gods, if Ron knew where his tongue had been, he would cut the offending appendage out of Harry’s head and burn it. That was, of course, after he had come to terms with the fact that Harry, his best friend and room mate of seven and a bit years, had kissed another man.

So what happened today? Did Malfoy waltz into the Great Hall, smile his biggest shit eating smile and tell all and sundry that the Famous Harry Potter was a stark raving homosexual who had molested him only last night?

Harry could hear him now, drawling the awful truth out to anyone who would listen; "Oh yeah, stuck his tongue right down my throat, fucking faggot."

Harry shuddered…

But Malfoy had kissed him back.

Had he? Yes, yes he had! Harry was certain of it. Draco’s hands had caressed their way up his back, Draco’s tongue had explored the cavern of his mouth. Harry had to stop thinking about this right now before he became any more aroused.

Aroused? Aroused! Oh Gods he was sitting at breakfast, and he was aroused!

He looked around hoping no one was looking at him and was dismayed when Lavender caught his eye and smiled. She headed over to them and began her story of finding Hermione drunk and vomiting in the charms corridor earlier that morning. He knew he should be far more interested by this news than he was, but he was too busy contemplating dropping a jug of iced water in his lap.

Ron stared to say something about Hermione, he got as far as, "What would Herm…" Then he stopped mid sentence and didn’t bother to hide the look of utter disdain that crossed his face. Harry looked at him, not daring to turn around. Ron had the face on that he reserved for one person and one person only and that could only mean one thing. Harry felt the bench move beside him as someone sat down on his other side and he froze, hoping against hope that somehow, Hermione had woken up completely sober and recovered after only an hours sleep and had come down to breakfast. Of course, that was not possible, he could see a few of the girls of various houses looking at their table with eyes full of childish adoration and there was only one person who created that kind of look amongst so many young girls. He turned his head slowly.

Malfoy. No, Draco. No, Malfoy.

Shitfuckshitfuckshitfuckshitfuck.

~ ~ ~

Breakfast had never been Severus Snape’s favored meal of the day. It was far too early to be confronted with the smiling faces and inane chatter of 1200 students, which, when all put together, came out as a dull roar that attacked the senses. Today was far worse than most and he asked himself why he had bothered. The answer was horribly simple. He wanted to see if she came down.

Looking at the large serve of bacon, fried eggs, fried tomatoes and sausages that Minerva was piling onto his plate, he felt the urge to gag. She added toast for good measure despite his weak protestations not to. If she added kippers, he would throw up on top of it all.

Now that would be something they’d all remember.

She didn’t add kippers and he thanked heavens for small mercies. He reached for his coffee with shaking hands.

"You need to eat something," Minerva said, pursing her lips in a way she hoped looked stern and tried to suppress a snigger. "Greasy food will help to settle your stomach."

"I don’t think I could..."

"Eat," she said ominously, looking at him in a remarkably motherly way, "or I will spoon feed you."

He forked bacon into his mouth and set about forcing his jaw to work on chewing.

~ ~ ~

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Ron spat, "Isn’t this the time you usually jerk off in the bath?"

Malfoy smiled pleasantly and said; "Not this morning, Weasel, I had good reason to jerk off a little earlier than usual today. Pass the toast please, Harry."

He pronounced Harry’s name very distinctly, and Harry blushed pink. He passed the toast to Draco without looking at him.

"Thank you, Harry."

Harry ventured a peek in the blonde’s direction, only to find Draco staring openly at him. When Harry looked, Draco offered up a dazzling smile. The one that had been known to make girls go weak at the knees. Harry felt a little giddy at the ridiculousness of the situation that had him sneaking looks at Draco Malfoy and having Draco Malfoy give him that smile. He quickly turned back to Ron and the comfortable speculation about the identity of Hermione’s mystery man, all too aware of the blonde eating his breakfast by his side.

~ ~ ~

"Honestly Severus, you should know better than to drink that much on a school night."

Nod. Chew.

Hermione hadn’t come down and he doubted that she would. He cast a glance over to their table and saw Draco sitting in Miss Granger’s usual place. That was odd, but he felt far too terrible to actually speculate or even care. If the girl knew what was good for her she would spend the entire day in bed and sleep it off.

"Did you take a hangover potion?"

Nod. Chew.

"And?"

He forced the over masticated food down his throat. "I feel better than I did."

"This is better?"

"Yes."

"Merlin’s Balls, Severus! How much did you drink?"

The answer was obvious. "Too much," he mumbled. He decided he would send Hermione a potion to take as soon as she woke up, with sleep and the potion he could at least ensure that she was in a better state than he was.

Maybe he could stomach toast. He took a bite and immediately wished that he hadn’t. The forced chewing began again and he pushed the plate away and lovingly picked up his coffee with shaking hands.

"That," said Minerva, indicating the cup, "is not going to help."

~ ~ ~

Owls started to descend from the rafters with the morning post and Harry was filled with a familiar feeling of apprehension. He had never liked the morning post. Despite having no one left to lose he still watched the owls descend with a sense of dread. Hedwig circled down to him, competing with pig for the fastest decent, using her wings to create enough wind to push the tiny owl back.

They were both cut off by a giant Ministry Owl who swooped past and to Harry’s horror came straight for him. It couldn’t be for him. What could they possibly want from him? The owl landed, not in front of Harry, but Draco beside him. It waited patiently for the letter to be detached from its’ leg before launching itself back into flight.

Draco turned the letter over in his hands. He recognized the seal and ascertained that it wasn’t a Howler. Why would the Ministry be writing to him? Did they want more money for his parent’s upkeep? He had already sent clothes, blankets, travel expenses for this awful side show of an exhibition and he had paid the annual levy that he could only hope ensured they would both be fed. What could the Ministry want now? He sighed and opened the letter.

‘Dear Mr. Malfoy,

Secretary
Ministry of Magic.’

Draco stared at the letter for the longest time. Sounds around him seemed to diminish and become nothing at all. He saw nothing, everything ceased to exist in that moment. The only thing that did exist was the letter in front of him. It remained constant and in focus, the occasional word becoming bolder than the others. Springing out at him as if to reiterate themselves to him. Narcissa, Died, Interment, Body.

He folded the letter, slowly and deliberately and placed it in his pocket. He then drew a deep breath, pushed himself away from the table and turned to walk out of the hall with long measured strides.

~ ~ ~

Harry watched Draco go, wondering what had been in the letter. He pushed his copy of the Daily Prophet aside to read later and laughed dutifully when Ron called merrily after Draco’s retreating back, "Bad news then?"

He had three letters of his own. One from Lupin, one from Tonks and one from Moody. All were along a similar line. Why hadn’t he written to them? Was he all right? Did he need to talk about anything? He did need to write back to all of them. He figured that he should think himself lucky that they were still interested in his welfare at all.

He was aware of Ron laughing about something and decided not to take an interest. If it was important he had no doubt he would find out what it was very soon. Instead he focused on Lavender making her way up to the teachers table to inform the Professors that Hermione was ‘sick’. ‘Gods, Snape looked bad,’ he thought and wondered, with a momentary sense of elation, if it was life threatening.

~ ~ ~

Snape really should never have allowed himself to crow so loud over Slytherin being ahead in the Quidditch cup this year because Minerva was taking great pleasure in torturing him. Evil Witch.

He willed her to shut up but knew Minerva McGonagall well enough than to think that she would. Oh no, Minerva was only just warming up and once she was warm, well, he may as well die because he wasn’t going to get peace any other way.

His head was pounding and if he was honest he would have to admit that he was probably still drunk. He hadn’t slept, he had bathed but he could still smell Hermione on him, he could still taste her. It had been far too long since he had been with a woman. So long in fact that he had done the unthinkable and taken advantage of a student. A student who was well and truly above the age of consent, but a student none the less. That was unforgivable and he could only hope she wouldn’t go straight to Dumbledore and make a complaint against him. He had got the poor girl drunk and molested her! How could he possibly have allowed it to happen? If Dumbledore found out he would be out of Hogwarts faster than he could say ‘Absinthe’.

It would never happen again. Not that there was any chance that it would. Miss Granger (and she was Miss Granger and not Hermione) would no doubt wake up and wish she was dead when she recalled what had happened. It really was the stuff of nightmares. He had no idea how to stop her from going to Dumbledore. Would she go to Dumbledore? She had seemed to enjoy it last night.

Enjoy it? What are you thinking you fool? She was so drunk she had no idea what she was doing!

He couldn’t think straight in this state. He wanted nothing more than to lie down and go to sleep. He wanted nothing more than to have Minerva shut up and leave him alone. He wanted nothing more than to not have Lavender Brown heading in his direction. It seemed he wanted a lot.

"Heads up, Severus." Minerva was saying, "Here comes Miss Brown, time to put your face on."

He scowled at her.

"Yes, that’s the one."

He took another mouthful of coffee, his shaking hands seemed to be getting worse not better. This really was not going to be a good day.

~ ~ ~

Lavender eyed the Professors tentatively and smiled her prettiest smile. She knew it didn’t work on Snape, but McGonagall had warmed to it over the years.

"Good morning, Miss Brown." McGonagall said cheerfully. Snape barely managed to grunt at her. He really didn’t look so good. Not that he ever did, but today he looked awful. Really awful. Worse than ever, if that was possible. He didn’t look so much sick as, well, hung over to high hell. Like Hermione had first thing this morning.

Like Hermione.

She almost felt the light bulb go on in her head and fairly gaped at the foul Potions Master. It wasn’t possible, of course. Hermione Granger was never going to win any competitions in the Snape’s favorite category. But she could distinctly smell the faint scent of the same alcohol that Hermione had positively reeked of. Snape had obviously had a bath, but she could still detect it. Lavender’s sense of smell was legend, she planned to make Perfumes and Scents when she finished school. She could also detect the same undercurrent of sex that had been coming off Hermione in waves. That was interesting, very interesting indeed.

She almost laughed out loud, and she had no doubt that she would have had the whole idea of it not been so absurd. Hermione and Snape? Who would have ever thought it? More importantly, how on earth had it happened?

"Miss Brown?" McGonagall was looking at her questioningly, pulling her attention away from the Potions Master who had started to glower a little under her scrutiny.

"Oh, yes, Sorry." She offered her smile again, "I just wanted to let you know that Hermione Granger," she looked pointedly at Snape, trying to see if he reacted at all, "is sick and won’t be in class today."

"Oh my," McGonagall said, "I hope she’s all right."

The end of her sentence was drowned out in Snape’s reaction. Lavender managed to jump back only a split second too late. Snape dropped the coffee cup and it smashed on the top of the heavy oak table. Lavender was least affected, only being caught by some of its contents. Snape and McGonagall, on the other hand, were covered in it.

McGonagall’s mouth thinned, but Lavender saw something akin to laughter dance across her face. Snape was staring at the table, completely unable to comprehend that he had dropped the cup and doused the three of them in coffee. Then the smell hit him. The smell of coffee and congealing fat from breakfast. He dry retched and Lavender stepped back a little further from the table. Even McGonagall pushed her chair back away.

Snape’s hand flew to his mouth. "IthinkI’mgonnathrowup!" He dry retched again and fled out the door behind him.

The Great Hall was silent. You could have heard a pin drop as everyone stared at the now vacated seat. Now that was something you didn’t see everyday. The room remained in its apparent silent spell until the unmistakable sound of Ron Weasley’s voice broke it.

"Well, Harry, looks like you're out of Potions for the day."

Minerva couldn’t help it. She stared to laugh.

~ ~ ~

Potions was indeed cancelled and while the school rejoiced in the fact that Snape had taken his first sick day in some 17 years, Harry spent the time he would normally spend in double potions sitting in the library avoiding his own troubled thoughts as he had been doing every day since the war ended. He had declined an offer of going to a ‘study group’ with Ginny and Luna, knowing that the study group would consist of the three of them drinking cheap illicit wine and the girls trying to get him to kiss them. He had decided that he really did need to at least try and get his head around his Potions work and he didn’t want the girls to know he was really struggling with it.

They were up to the Tria Prima.

‘Alchemy focuses on identifying and purifying the Tria Prima, the three principles of soul, spirit and body - represented by sulphur, mercury and salt. The processes used in the purification of the mage. The search for the elusive substance, the Philosophers Stone, which is said to both transmute base metals into gold and to be the elixir of immortality, signifies the Alchemists goal of achieving union with the divine.’

He really didn’t get it, and he should, considering he had actually held a Philosophers Stone in his hand. Union with the divine? If Snape had union with the divine, Harry would eat Hedwig. He just wanted to learn to make potions so that he could get into school to begin Auror training. The prospect of three more years school was terrifying. He groaned. He would be in his twenties before he even got a job, if he got a job at all. The added fact that they might not accept him at the end of it didn’t inspire him with confidence, but it was all that kept him going most days. He really had to pass this subject.

Deciding that he really needed to wait until Hermione was around, he put the Potions work away and pulled out the Daily Prophet from his bag and scanned the news. It had been a long time since he had considered the Daily Prophet to be a reliable source of news, but he scanned it out of habit, in much the same way as he had when he would hide in the Dursley’s garden with it.

An article on the Death Eaters exhibition headlined the front page. It appeared that the Museum had received threats from disgruntled victims of Voldemort and his followers who wanted blood and were prepared to use the exhibition as a chance to get it. It would open in London in two weeks where it would stay until after Christmas, then it would go on tour around England and then Europe and would end some time in May.

It was scheduled to reach Hogsmeade on February 20th. Harry doubted Ron would wait that long. He was planning to get a camera from Fred and George to take Photographs of the Malfoy’s with which to torture Draco. Harry had mixed feelings about the exhibition. Dumbledore called it a travesty. Lupin, in his letter referred to it as a ‘carnival of human misery’ and yet Harry found himself oddly fascinated by it. He didn’t want to go, but something drew his interest. He had never seen someone after the Dementors’ Kiss. The idea of it horrified him, the living dead, no thoughts, no memory, no nothing. Just an existence, uncomprehending existence. He wondered if they would look dead, he wanted to see if they did.

The story went on to tell of deaths. Three Death Eaters had died when they had suffocated on their way to the exhibition. Narcissa Malfoy’s name caught his eye. One of the three. He remembered Draco’s sudden retreat from the hall and the official letter from the Ministry and it all suddenly made sense. His mother was dead.

Harry’s only real memory of Narcissa Malfoy had been of a haughty woman who was remarkably pretty except for a look as though she had a perpetual bad smell under her nose. He had once accused Draco of being that bad smell, it seemed so long ago now, like a different age. Narcissa had been Sirius’ cousin, just as Draco was Tonks cousin. Harry very much doubted that Draco had ever met Isadora Tonks and for the briefest of moments he fantasized about introducing them one day.

He wondered how Draco was taking the death. He hadn’t been in transfigurations and Harry hadn’t seen him anywhere when he discovered that Potions was cancelled. Harry now doubted that he would turn up for Defense against the Dark Arts this afternoon, which would leave Harry partnerless and he would probably end up with Ginny because Hermione was ill. It was not a prospect he relished. Ginny spent the last year being in turns hot and cold to him. She had asked him to the Study Group and he had said no, this was obviously a personal rejection, and she had glared at him with those accusing eyes she had, as though he had done her wrong by not being able to make ‘them’ work. He didn’t want to be landed with that whilst trying to duel with her.

Perhaps he could skive off sick himself, but he knew he couldn’t because it would lead to too many questions, and he didn’t want Ron accusing him of avoiding his sister. It didn’t help that the only person he really wanted to see was the one person he couldn’t. He had hoped Draco would go to class and they could perhaps talk. But talk about what? The fact that Harry had kissed him? The fact that he had kissed Harry back? The whole subject seemed a little stupid.

Harry realized, with some dismay that he was doing the very thing he had been trying to avoid. Thinking.

Was he making too much of the kiss? It was, after all, just a kiss and for all her knew, Draco could go around kissing people all the time. He did have a certain reputation after all and it had to originate somewhere. Harry could just be another in a long line of people who threw themselves at the Ice Prince (yes, that was a name he had heard some girl call Draco, Ron had laughed his ass off at that one). He wondered how many people he kissed back though. Was it many? Probably.

He was grateful when the halls echoed with the hollow sound of a bell that indicated the end of the lesson. He stuffed the paper into his bag and headed out to the greenhouses for Herbology.

~ ~ ~

Draco had dealt with the news of his mother's death in the only way he knew how. He had returned to his room, smashed a Muggle snow cone that she had brought him from South Sea beach when he was five and when he couldn’t repair it he had screamed in frustration. He then calmed himself, forced himself to breath, straighten his robes, smoothed his hair and sat down to write a letter to his godfather telling him the news and asking him to take care of the arrangements as he really didn’t think he could. A quick trip to the owlery was then taken and upon returning to his room he collected his work for study, and three decent bottles of gin, deciding not to attend lessons but realizing that he shouldn’t allow himself to get behind. He settled in front of the fire in the common room to read up on Transfigurations while attempting to get himself mind numbingly drunk.

~ ~ ~

Hermione slept late into the day, aided by a mild sleeping charm that Lavender had thoughtfully cast, and her own exhaustion from the night before. Crookshanks had attempted to wake her on two occasions, head butting her face and uttering a few plaintive ‘meows’ at her sleeping form. After failing to get a response, he gave up and instead, curled into a ball and slept for a few hours beside his mistress.

Some time after two, Crookshanks had been stirred by a scratching at the window. Upon rising his head to inspect the source, he was confronted by the staring face of a large eagle owl, who hooted indignantly at him. Crookshanks had ignored the bird and it continued to scratch until, finally, it got the better of him. He woke up, stretched, eyed the bird and leapt at the window pane.

Hermione woke to a stand-off between the bird and her orange cat. Crookshanks whined at the bird who glared back imperiously from outside in the snow and hooted out a stream of what Hermione was sure was owl speak for a number of rather nasty expletives. Hermione would have seen the funny side of the situation had her head not been pounding as though someone had cast the Cruciatus Curse inside her skull.

"Crookshanks, get down!" she snapped and winced as here own voice reverberated around her head. She struggled to the window and pulled Crookshanks out of the way before opening the window.

The owl eye balled the cat and flew down to the bed side table. Hermione went to untie the little package attached to its leg, but it pulled away from her and distinctly looked her up and down with a look of disdain.

‘My God, I am being assessed by an owl,’ she muttered, reaching for the package again. The owl hooted and stuck it’s leg out, turning its head away as though it really didn’t like what it saw. She untied the package and unwrapped it. It contained a small potions bottle and a note which read simply, "Drink me, you’ll feel better."

She recognized Snape’s’ handwriting and drank the bottles contents. The effect was instantaneous, her head cleared and she felt fantastic. He was good, he was very very good. She turned to thank the owl, but it glared at her and took flight.

Memories of the previous night came flooding back to her. Drinking. Drinking a lot. How much had she had to drink? Enough to make her flirtatious, so it had to be a lot. She was renowned for being a terrible prude, even when she was very drunk. She had become far more than flirtatious, she had become positively wanton. With Snape! Of all men! Snape, who never looked at anyone except to find fault and who, she had been certain, had never looked at her except to find a blemish. Greasy, vile, disgusting, Snape. What had she been thinking? Well, she hadn’t been thinking, that was ultimately the crux of it. She hadn’t been thinking because she was far too busy kissing him! Kissing him, rocking against him, coming when he had put his fingers inside her.

"Oh my God," she said, realization dawning on her, "he was bloody brilliant!"

She was suddenly filled with an incredible feeling of triumph. She had confronted the malevolent Potions Master and elicited passion. She had caused him to respond to her in ways that she would never have thought he could respond. In the entire of her time at Hogwarts, there had never been so much as a whisper of Snape ever having had a lover, a wife, a human thought. He could have been a virgin for all she knew, although the idea seemed preposterous, he knew where to put his fingers, he knew exactly the right places and found them deftly, so he must have had some experience. She had made him talk to her as more than a foolish student, she had made him laugh! At that she felt all the pride of a conquering monarch. He was a country, and she had invaded and won.

But he had recovered and left her there in the end.

But he had given her more than he could ever have wanted to.

She smiled at the memory of his lips against her throat and the way he murmured softly into the flesh behind her ear in a voice that was rich and erotic. She felt herself become wet and laughed at her own shock. She had managed to do the impossible, she was wet and thinking about Snape, two things that she would never believe would go together in the same thought.

~ ~ ~

Draco had well and truly settled himself in front of the fire and had already finished one bottle of gin and was half way through the second when Hermione, bathed and dressed, walked into the common room. She surveyed him silently, noticing the empty bottle and the half empty one beside him. He didn’t look drunk at all, and that was a little frightening to her. He was taking up the entire fire place and therefore the very place she had planned to settle herself with her Arithmancy homework. It looked as though he had every one of his school books out for study and she wondered why he wasn’t in class as he was supposed to be.

"Do you have to take up the entire floor?" she asked irritably, and he lifted his head. He hadn’t realized she was there. He was wearing a black T-shirt and faded blue jeans, two articles of clothing she would never have wagered him owning let alone wearing. He also wore glasses, thin platinum framed ones that were narrow ovals and obviously expensive. She wondered how such a nasty piece of work could look like Draco Malfoy, was it some kind of cosmic joke that someone who looked that good could be that bad? The same could be said of his Father, but she shuddered at the notion. Whilst she could admit that Draco looked good, she would rather not think about Lucius Malfoy in those terms.

"I didn’t realize anyone else was here," he said, not moving an inch.

"Why aren’t you in class?"

"I could ask the same of you."

She shuffled nervously. "I was sick," she said defensively, folding her arms across her chest.

"Really?" He drawled, "I thought you were passed out blind drunk in the charms corridor."

She paled. Did the whole school know? She stared at him and covering her embarrassment shoved him. "Move over," she muttered, "you’re hogging the heat."

He sighed dramatically and began to move his books and papers. She sat down before he had a chance to finish, kicking his work perilously close to the fire and he angrily gathered the papers up in no particular order. Under the pretext of getting closer to the fire, she moved closer to him, invading his personal space more from a desire to annoy him than from any real attraction.

"You drink too much." She pointed disapproving at the bottle, "You drink so much you don’t even get drunk any more."

"Well, firstly, you can talk Miss ‘I threw up all over the school this morning’ and secondly, I’m not getting drunk because it appears Snape found my supply and has spiked it all with an alcohol evaporation potion. There isn’t enough alcohol content in this to get a house elf drunk."

At Snape’s name her interest piqued. "Why would he do that?"

"Misplaced sense of parental obligation."

She frowned, it made no sense. "Why are you still drinking it?"

"I’m hoping for a placebo effect." He turned his attention back to his study, determined to ignore her, and she used the opportunity to do what so many girls in the school would love to do, she had a really good look at him. He was as beautiful as Snape was ugly. Of course, she was in the process of re-evaluating Snape’s beauty, but the old comparison still sprang to mind. He was slim, but not too thin. From the well toned arms that emerged from the sleeves of his T-shirt it appeared that he was constructed of a mass of long lean muscles. He was looking a little scruffy these days and if anything, it made him look better. She had grown up with him looking perfectly polished and refined, now that he had relaxed and allowed himself to look more natural he was managing to set many hearts a flutter. He had gone from an elegantly carved beauty to a bit of a sex symbol. Apparently some of the first and second years even had a fan club going. Colin had told her about it. They asked him if he had any pictures of Draco and he was subsequently making a killing with reprints of old Slytherin Quidditch shots.

He moved into a more comfortable position and she admired the way his limbs moved, he seemed quite comfortable being Draco Malfoy.

"Are you quite finished perving at me?" He asked after a time.

"I’m just taking the opportunity to get a good look at you," she replied easily, "usually at this proximity, you are throwing a curse at me, I don’t usually get a chance to have a decent look."

He surprised her by laughing. "Like what you see?" He asked and stretched his arms out dramatically so that she could see all of him.

"Not bad, nice bum."

"Thanks." He smiled to himself, "Now stop staring, you’ll make me self conscious."

"You?" she scoffed. "Never!"

He laughed and shrugged, and she was surprised again when she realized he was a little embarrassed. Wonders would never cease. For a moment she wondered if she had woken up in some kind of alternate reality where Snape was a sex god and Malfoy was civil. He had gone back to his workbook and was slowly re-absorbing himself in it.

"What are you studying?" She asked before he could become too immersed.

"Transfigurations," he murmured, not wanting to be distracted further.

"Was the class good today?"

"I don’t know," he replied, "I wasn’t in it."

"Why didn’t you go? You can’t just not go to class because you didn’t feel like it."

He put the book down and glared at her, "Considering your own excuse for not going is fairly lame, I don’t think you have a right to comment, I have never not been in class because I went on a bender the night before."

She felt her face go pink, "I think we have all ascertained that I did a bad thing, my question was why you weren’t in class today."

He sighed and became annoyed, "Not that it is any of your business, but I got a letter from the Ministry informing me that my mother has died and I really didn’t feel like attending classes today. Is that a satisfactory answer?"

She paled and averted her eyes and felt awful. "I’m sorry," she said, "I didn’t know, I’m so sorry."

He shrugged, "Shit happens, she is probably better off now anyway." He could not keep the bitterness from his voice, and he took another mouthful from the bottle of gin and returned to his book.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

It was becoming obvious that he wasn’t going to get anything done with her sitting there. He looked at her and wondered why in hell she wanted to talk with him anyway. "Now why would a mudblood like yourself care about how I feel about the death of Mrs. Malfoy?"

"Don’t call me that," she said, "I’ve done nothing to provoke you. Why do you push people away when they try and take an interest in you?"

He surveyed her coolly. "Has it ever occurred to you that I might not want you to take an interest in me? I have no interest in you, you’re a know it all mudblood bitch who gets off on the idea of being the smartest witch to come through here in a century and is best friend to Weasel, who if you hadn’t noticed, is the bane of my life."

"You forgot Harry," she said bitterly

"Harry." He repeated the name almost absently and then coming to himself he said, "Harry doesn’t count."

Hermione frowned. "Did you just call him Harry?"

Draco flushed red.

Hermione’s mouth fell open. "Oh," she said, and then the full implications hit her, "oh!"

"It’s not what you think," he said quickly.

"Okay." She was a little stunned. Draco liked Harry. Draco really liked Harry. She wondered if Harry knew about it. She was damn sure Ron didn’t because if he did it would be all over the school by now and probably waving above the Quidditch pitch on 20 foot banners.

"He... he piqued my interest."

"Oh?" Was he going to talk? Her curiosity was burning. Had Harry actually done something to create this?

"He..." Draco smiled, he really wasn’t with her at that moment, it was a mischievous smile, far away, remembering something. He snapped back to present. "Have you managed the animal transfigurations yet?" He asked suddenly, changing the topic and looking at her in an unnaturally friendly way.

"Umm, oh, umm..." She was a little flustered, ashamed that she had been hanging on for the slightest tidbit of gossip about exactly what Harry had done to cause Draco to smile like that. "I’ve tried a little of it, not that successfully, how about you?"

"Same. I was thinking about the difference between Animagus transfiguration and animal transfiguration and I looked into the history and how it all came about because it was used for dueling centuries ago..."

"It was?" This stunned her, she didn’t know that. She hated that she didn’t know that.

"Yes, don’t you remember? The story of Merlin and Agatha, they dueled, turning themselves into various animals until Merlin devoured Agatha. There was a later incident, Cerridwen and Gwion Bach did the same thing. Cerridwen defeated Gwion Bach when he turns into a grain and she becomes a chicken and eats him.

"Resulting in Taliesin."

"Exactly."

"You think you can do that? It hasn’t been attempted for centuries, we don’t even know if the stories are real."

Draco grinned, into the subject and suddenly glad to have someone who understood what he was on about. "Oh, it was real, it is possible to transfigure into multiple animals, you know that. It’s different to the Animagus. They transform into one animal entirely, taking on most of its physical and psychological attributes and they can stay that way for an indefinite period of time. They can’t choose the animal they become, it is something ingrained in their personality or their own physical features that determines the form they take. To perform a basic animal transfiguration is different, it doesn’t have to be perfect, and you can choose what you become. It won’t last above a few brief minutes, but it is done often enough, especially by the Aurors. The trick in using it for dueling is that it has to be done quickly and you can’t go from the animal, to yourself and then to another animal, you would have to go from animal to animal. So, say you turn yourself into a fish, you have to use the fishes brain to transfigure into something else, that’s where the trick lies."

Hermione stared at Malfoy and wished to Merlin that Harry or Ron thought this way. "Have you tried it?" She asked.

"Yes," he said reluctantly, "with limited success."

"Have you been able to reach animal form?"

Once again he seemed reluctant, "Yes, but it isn’t that good."

"You haven’t been able to do a total transformation?"

"Oh yes, I’ve been working on this for a few years now, I can do a total transformation, the problem is that I have managed to become and Animagus, and every time I try to transfigure, I automatically go to that animal and I can’t become another one."

"WOW!" Hermione’s eyes were like saucers, "You’re an Animagus! That is so cool, what’s your animal?"

He looked away, but smiled at the fact she was impressed.

"Oh come on, what is it?"

He mumbled something in reply.

"Sorry? I didn’t get that?"

He mumbled again.

"Pardon?"

He looked at her, exasperated and pink and said, "A ferret," he cried, "there, are you satisfied? It’s a bloody ferret!"

She stared at him, her mouth turning up into an involuntary smile and slowly, she began to laugh. It gurgled in her throat and escaped, high and shrill and suddenly it was hysterical and she had to hold her belly as her sides started to ache. "Oh," she laughed harder. "Oh, God," she kept going, "Does it bounce?" She rolled onto her back and howled with laughter.

He watched her patiently. There was a time he would have hexed her by now, but he found himself strangely tolerant of her mirth at his expense. He had been working on his transfigurations project for years now and this was the first time he had actually been able to discuss it with anyone. Crabb and Goyle had been little more than the goons everyone thought they were and had offered no intellectual stimulation what so ever, Pansy had been more interested in the contents of his pants than the contents of his brain. So he let Granger laugh, knowing she would come to her senses eventually and hopefully offer some useful insight.

"I.." she said at last, trying to curb the laughter. "Oh Gods, I’m sorry, that’s great." She wiped a tear from her eye, "I wish I could do it."

"I could help you," he offered, surprising the both of them, "if you’d be willing to work on it with me. I figure between the two of us we could work out how to do the multiple transformations."

She stopped laughing and sat up, her face a look of undisguised excitement. "Really?" she said, but then frowned, "Well, maybe not. I mean, I’ll help you, but I don’t think I should try the Animagus bit."

"Why not? It won’t hurt you."

"Well, if you’re a ferret, I can only imagine what I’m going to end up."

"Probably the same thing as your Patronus, that’s how it usually works."

"Yes, but not always. My Patronus is an otter."

"That’s sound about right, I can imagine you as an otter."

"Yeah? Well, I can imagine me ending up a warthog or something like that."

Draco wrinkled up his nose in disgust. "Why on earth do you think you’re going to end up as a Warthog?"

"Well, I’m not gorgeous or anything, and you said yourself you usually get something based on a physical attribute."

"You think you look like a warthog? I think you’ve been looking at the schools coat of arms for too long!"

"If I was an animal I’d probably look like a warthog," she insisted.

"Why?" he looked at her completely disbelieving what she was saying, "Because you're so covered in warts? Good grief!" He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. "Listen," he cupped her face roughly in one hand, "I know I have been fucking horrible to you for years, but it was more because you beat me at everything than that you were Muggleborn. I will say this only once and if you tell anyone I said it I’ll deny it. You are not ugly."

"But I’m not beautiful either," she said quietly.

"Do you have to be?" He smiled bitterly, "It doesn’t help to be beautiful you know. You look like you, you’re a pretty girl, not heart stopping, but pretty. One day you will meet someone who will look at the sum of all that you are and will find you irresistible. That is what matters. You have to always remember, we equate to more that the crude flesh from which we are fashioned."

She kissed him. She couldn’t help it and she couldn’t believe she did it, but she did. He responded for a moment, he moved closer, opened himself to the kiss until their tongues met briefly and they pulled away.

For a few seconds they looked anywhere but at each other until Draco, smiling boyishly said, "We really shouldn’t have done that."

She giggled self consciously. "No, wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done."

"Was kinda nice though," he said.

"Yeah, was kinda."

They looked at each other and suddenly burst out laughing.

"You know," he said chuckling, "if you’d done that yesterday, I’d be fucking you by now."

"Yep." she smiled, "Yesterday I would probably have let you." She shoved him playfully, "So you’re not gay then?"

"Well, let’s just say I figure I can grace both sexes with the pleasure of my company."

"You like Harry?"

He frowned at her. "Forbidden topic," he said.

"You said he piqued your interest."

"Maybe he did," he smiled.

"How?"

Draco laughed at her and shoved her back. "Now that would be telling."

"Come on!" She shoved him again. "We’ve just had an intimate moment, you can officially tell me anything."

"Really?" He challenged, "Well, I’ll tell you if you tell me who gave you the big hickey on your neck."

Her hands flew to her throat. She had a love bite? Oh Gods, why hadn’t she looked in the mirror? Draco was laughing as hard at her reaction as she had when he told her about the ferret. "I…I...I can’t tell you," she stammered.

"Oh?" he laughed, "Come on, we’ve just had an intimate moment, you can officially tell me anything."

"You shit head!" She was laughing now too. Leaning across she kissed his cheek and whispered, "I’m not telling you anything."

He didn’t get a chance to reply, because Harry chose that moment to walk through the door with Ron.

Chapter 6 >>