
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4941163.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death,
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Multi, F/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Harry_Potter/Severus_Snape, Remus_Lupin/Harry_Potter, Remus_Lupin/Harry
      Potter/Severus_Snape, Loraina_Cobbleshot/Severus_Snape
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Severus_Snape, Remus_Lupin, Kingsley_Shacklebolt, Minerva
      McGonagall, Hermione_Granger, Loraina_Cobbleshot
  Additional Tags:
      Angst_and_Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Slash, Dark_Creatures, Werewolf, Vampires,
      BDSM, Torture, Bloodwolf, Anxiety, Depression, Suicidal_Thoughts
  Series:
      Part 2 of Dark_Creatures
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-10-05 Completed: 2016-08-08 Chapters: 52/52 Words: 161564
****** To Die Upon a Kiss ******
by Slytherkins
Summary
     Sequel to The Proud Man's Contumely. The war is over. Harry and
     Severus are adjusting to peace differently, and the young man turns
     to an old friend to help him make sense of their changing
     relationship. But when the unthinkable happens, all those who care
     for the young man will be tested. The question is whether their love
     for Harry will prove stronger than their distrust of each other.
Notes
     Couldn't help myself. Had to explore further. Tone and style of this
     one will likely be much different than the last.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Weary Reckoning *****
[smock]
                       Part One: The Smock-Fac'd Soldier
Harry drew close to Severus where he was bent over his writing desk and leaned
in to kiss him on the cheek. It was not a peck but a gentle caress. The Potions
Master did not look up from his grading. Harry sighed. “Evening,” he said,
casting a disgruntled glance at Severus as he stepped away but not letting it
show in his voice. “How were they today?” he asked, tossing his bag down beside
his armchair in front of the hearth before throwing himself into the chair
after it. It had taken him a while, but he had eventually convinced Severus to
properly furnish the sitting room.
“Brainless. Disrespectful. Inept,” Severus reported in monotone. “You ask as if
you think one day they might be otherwise,” he grumped. Harry sighed again.
“Want me to take your mind off it?” he offered, waggling his eyebrows. Severus
snorted.
“Later perhaps,” he muttered. Then, “Have you eaten?” he added, trying to sound
indifferent but failing.
Harry knew what he was asking. “Oh, yeah. There’s a new Italian place down the
street from the Ministry. Lasagna, garlic bread,” he quipped. Finally, Severus’
quill paused and he looked up at Harry. The young man grinned, but it wasn’t as
playful as he’d been aiming at. “You ask as if you think one day it might be
otherwise,” he echoed. “What do you think? I had a bloody sandwich and chips,"
he reported, toeing out of his shoes. "I do know how to keep track of the days
of the week, you know.”
“That’s a new development,” Severus grumbled insincerely.
“So I take it you’re hungry.”
The man paused. “If you feel up to it,” Severus said, slightly uncomfortable,
not looking at him.
“Have I ever not?”
“That was before you started Academy.”
“Severus, you bled me once a week, almost every week, through an entire fucking
war. If I can handle that, I think I can handle it during Auror Training.”
Harry tried to mean it, but the course was pretty brutal. The war had been
different. Weariness had been a way of life then. Peace made him comfortable
enough to resent it now. Still, he’d never shirked in this, and he wasn’t about
to start.
Severus lay down his quill and regarded the younger man. “I needed it more then
than I do now,” he said quietly. “If you no longer wish to-”
“Severus, shut up and eat me,” Harry said witheringly. Rather than responding
with irritation, Severus looked tenderly at Harry. He rose from his stool and
swept over to kneel in front of him, bringing a hand to the young man’s face,
and Harry sighed into the touch. He missed this; Severus’ tenderness. He’d seen
it less and less often since death was no longer creeping around every corner.
Harry wondered sometimes if the only reason the man cared about him, or had
ever decided to express it, was because he had been afraid Harry would be
ripped from him at any moment. Now that the biggest threat to Harry’s life was
inattentive bus drivers, he found Severus increasingly distant, and it troubled
him.
“I love you, you know,” Harry reminded the man. He did it often. One day,
Severus might return the favour. But apparently not today.
“Do you want to make the cut? Or shall I?” he asked softly instead.
“You do it,” Harry whispered, closing his eyes and sinking back into the
armchair. He was always so sleepy afterwards. He heard Severus collect the
knife and healing salve. Thank Merlin for the stuff, or Harry would be covered
in small, neat scars by now.
“Open your mouth,” Severus ordered him quietly.
Harry’s eyes flew open. It had been a long while since they’d done this, and
though the salve tasted awful, it was more than worth it. Without a word, Harry
offered his tongue to his typically recalcitrant lover, eyes never leaving
Severus’ face as the man ran the razor edge of the blade across it. Harry had
long ago grown accustomed to the dull, metallic pain. He waited with baited
breath for Severus to lean forward and take the bleeding muscle into his mouth;
which he did slowly, almost teasingly.
It was sublime. It always was when Severus took his blood. Bittersweet and
lovely. But this was always more special. Harry often swallowed as much of the
stuff as Severus did, but neither of them cared when the kiss was so deep, so
precious. The healing salve was forgotten as arms wrapped around bodies, as
Severus lifted him carefully and effortlessly from the chair and carried him to
the bedroom. Tonight would be a good night. The first in far too long.
 
***** He Speaks Home *****
Harry glanced over to the nearby newsstand as he shuffled impatiently with a
group of others for his turn to floo out, and he was slightly surprised to find
he recognised one of the faces staring back at him from one of the magazine
covers. Harry strolled over, losing his place in line, to pick up a copy of
Wizards' Weekly, a fashion magazine he'd never read before. The cover
proclaimed 'The Modelling World's Newest Golden Boy.' And there, in nothing but
skin-tight, metallic-gold short pants, was Eric Conners. He lazed slinkily on a
golden sofa, smiling that wily smile Harry remembered so well; occasionally
throwing his head back on his impossibly long neck, or shaking out his long
yellow hair, all the while throwing the reader small, suggestive winks.
Harry smiled nostalgically at the magazine he held. As stunning as Eric had
been at school, now he was practically a demigod; certainly no longer the soft-
edged boy Harry had met in the Alcove. He was longer, firmer, more defined, but
still androgynous. Harry was a little amazed to realise he could have had this
gorgeous creature, was taken aback remembering how once those perfectly pouting
lips had stretched around Harry himself. He blushed, and then his blush
deepened when he noticed the stand's proprietor was watching him. Harry had the
impulse to set the magazine down and rush away, but then he reminded himself
that he was a celebrity by accident, and that he didn't give a damn about PR;
that the only reason he hadn't already come out publicly was for Severus' sake,
and that what one newsstand operator suspected didn't mean a damned thing.
Harry paid for the magazine and walked back over to the floo line, not
attempting in any way to hide his interest in the cover or the article which
was generous with other photos. He'd have to hide it from Severus, of course.
But Harry felt that, if the man was going to be so stingy with sex, he had to
expect Harry to take care of things himself. And if this was how Harry wanted
to take care of them, then...
Harry abruptly changed his mind. He was going to leave the damned thing on the
coffee table when he got home. Eric's name was a dirty word in their household,
and if anything could bring Severus out of his shell--and get him into Harry's
pants--this should certainly do it. Harry forgot all about the flirting Adonis
on the magazine he still held. As he flooed out, all he could imagine was
Severus, and how pissed he was going to be, and how very much fun it was going
to be when he took it out on Harry. Not tonight but soon, he hoped. Harry was
still grinning as he stepped out of the floo in an 'abandoned' building near
the Ministry and Disapparated.
“Honey, I’m home,” Harry sang jokingly down the hall of Grimmauld Place, weary
but looking forward to Remus’ company.
Remus’ head appeared peeking out of the kitchen doorway toward the entry.
“Harry!” he said, delighted. “Wasn’t expecting you.” Wiping his hands on a
towel, he stepped into the corridor to greet the young man.
“Too tired to go back to Hogwarts tonight,” Harry explained briefly, giving
Remus one of those not-really-touching, slap-on-the-back hugs that men give.
“Thought I’d crash here. They want us back early in the morning.”
“Wonderful. Well, not about the tiredness, but certainly about the company,” he
smiled warmly. “Tea?”
“Oh, I love you,” Harry proclaimed with a tired smile, dragging himself down
the hall. Remus just grinned at him and led the way to the kitchen. “Actually,
I’m starving,” Harry said as he tossed his things onto the kitchen table.
“Fancy a nosh?” he asked Remus who nodded agreeably and started pulling open
pantries.
“I could eat. What’d you have in mind? I could make us a sandwich.”
“I’ve got it,” Harry said, his weariness falling away as he inspected the
contents of the refrigerator, growing more excited by the prospect of food.
“Harry, you just got here and you’re exhausted,” Remus argued. “Sit down, let
me make something for you.”
“No, I like to do it,” Harry objected, pulling out bacon and eggs. “Every
morning at the Dursley’s, it was my job to man the stove. Never thought I’d
miss it,” he said, shaking his head. “And besides, I never get the chance with
Severus.”
Reluctantly, Remus took a seat, pouring them both a cuppa and nursing his while
Harry busied around the kitchen, making breakfast of all things. “You do have a
wand, you know,” he pointed out as Harry went about things manually.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Harry grinned, rummaging through a drawer for
utensils. “Anyhow, I’m not sure how it would turn out. I never learned how to
cook with magic.” He set about slicing tomatoes as Remus watched, oblivious to
the other man's brooding expression.
“Harry,” Remus began cautiously, inspecting the contents of his tea cup. “I’ve
been meaning to talk to you about something.”
“Yeah?” Harry asked distractedly over his shoulder, pulling out pans. “What’s
that?”
“I’m moving.”  
Harry dropped the saucepan he was setting on the stove, barely managing to save
it from the floor before straightening and turning an anguished look to his
former guardian. “Why would you do that?” Harry couldn’t conceive of Grimmauld
Place without Remus. The man had been staying there for the past five years,
most of it spent helping Harry turn it into a proper residence. Granted, Harry
didn’t often stay, but Remus leaving seemed wrong somehow, like the Prime
Minister leaving Downing Street. It just wasn’t done.
Remus sighed. “Come now, Harry,” he said. “You’re almost twenty-one. The war is
over. The Order no longer exists, much less has need of a Headquarters.”
“Your point?” Harry scowled, leaning back against the countertop as he turned
to regard Remus.
“So, Grimmauld Place is completely yours now,” Remus said, resigned. “And with
you training to be an Auror--and I have no doubt you’ll be accepted onto the
force--then you’ll have need of the place.”
“But I live at Hogwarts. With Severus,” Harry murmured, thinking it through
himself. It hadn’t occurred to him that things would change so drastically.
He’d just wanted to be an Auror. He hadn't known what else to do with himself
other than continue to fight Dark Magic. But he reluctantly saw Remus’ point.
“Harry,” Remus said, giving him a frank look. “You realise you can’t leave out
from Hogwarts every time you are called on a mission. It makes much more sense
for Severus to move here. His commute would be relatively simple and there is
ample space in the basement for his lab.” Remus looked as unhappy about the
situation as Harry felt. “It's just more practical for you to be in London.”
Harry sighed, turning back to the tomatoes on the cutting board with much less
enthusiasm than before. “It hasn’t come to it yet,” he said. “Stay, Remus. At
least until I discuss it with Severus? Nothing is definite yet, and it may not
be for a while.”
Remus shook his head. “Harry, I know you’re worried about me, but you know how
I feel about-”
“Remus, this isn’t charity,” he said firmly, turning back to him. “It’s a
favour you’re doing me. Who knows when we’ll actually move? Or if we will. And
someone has to look after the place.”
Remus sighed again, reaching over and refreshing his cup. “Alright,” he
relented. “But only until things are definite.” Harry smiled at him and Remus
returned it, at least until Harry turned again. The young man went back to
making breakfast, relief renewing some of his enthusiasm for the task. “So
how’s the Academy? I’m sure you’re breezing through,” Remus said
conversationally, sipping his tea. Harry laughed.
“You’d think defeating Voldemort would count for something,” he complained only
half-jokingly as he took an opener to a tin of beans. “They certainly don’t
pull any punches. And I mean that literally. My jaw is going to be sore for
days,” he grinned, then winced, massaging it.
“Good Lord, don’t tell Severus,” Remus muttered, shaking his head with a smile.
“He’ll assassinate someone.” Harry grinned at the skillet he was holding,
pausing in lighting the stove as he imagined the scowl on Severus’ face as he
plotted the death of innocents for daring to lay a finger on Harry. It wasn’t
especially funny because it was not beyond the man; the plotting, not the
actual killing. The smile was for how absolutely Remus had the man pegged.
“Don’t worry, I know. He won’t hear it from me,” Harry promised. “You know, I’m
half surprised Severus didn’t apply to the Academy himself, just so he could
follow me on assignment to make sure no one fucks with me.”
“He is especially protective,” Remus mused.
“Possessive you mean,” Harry said wryly, not even joking by half this time.
Talking about Severus caused his thoughts to keep drifting back to the magazine
in his bag. Harry suddenly didn’t feel that much like cooking at all anymore.
He cast a disgruntled look at the opened tin and sliced tomatoes and decided
they could wait, at least for a moment. He set the skillet aside and forgot the
stove entirely to sit at the table and contemplate his tea cup. Remus gave him
a worried look.
“You know...that’s just his way,” Remus consoled.
“I know,” Harry muttered, completely without humour, frowning at his cup.
Remus’ brow furrowed. “Harry, is everything alright with the two of you?”
Harry looked up sheepishly through his fringe but didn’t answer right away.
Talking with Remus about Severus was no longer as rare or as awkward as it had
been in the beginning. But sometimes it was still uncomfortable, especially
when the situation was less than ideal. Harry sat back in his seat with a sigh
and gave his tea cup a dirty look.
“Maybe,” he said finally, grudgingly. “He just…” Harry hesitated to say what he
was really thinking, but Remus sat patiently for him to collect his thoughts
and his courage. “He’s been so distant lately. I mean, he was never...you
know," he shrugged. "But it seems different now.” Remus was silent,
contemplating Harry as Harry contemplated Severus. “I suppose he really does
love me, doesn’t he, Remus?” Harry said, showing rare insecurity.
“Of course, he does,” Remus replied immediately, eyebrows drawn, slipping a
hand over Harry’s as it lay on the table between them. “I just imagine he’s not
the kind to say it often,” he added softly. Harry sneered, gave a short,
mirthless laugh.
“Or ever,” he muttered.
“Perhaps," Remus began but Harry interrupted him.
“Not once, Remus,” Harry clarified quietly, almost as angry now as he was
upset. Remus scowled.
“You mean he’s never? In all this time?” he asked, aghast. Harry shook his head
sadly, fighting back tears. He hadn’t come here to cry to Remus, though he
figured it wouldn’t be the worst thing if he did. Who else was there now that
Hermione had gone off to University? And who else could understand the
situation as Remus could?
“It’s not the only thing he’s never done,” Harry added bitterly, setting his
tea on the table to keep from throwing it against the wall in a sudden fit of
frustration. Remus, who had been sitting speechless trying to fathom what Harry
had just told him, drifted a questioning gaze back to the young man as if he
couldn’t imagine how it could be worse but suspected he was about to find out.
Harry had never spoken this aloud to anyone. Not even to himself, even to try
to convince himself that he was not bothered by it. He swallowed nervously.
“He...he never lets me,” Harry began, blushing crimson. “Never once, Remus,” he
said, meeting the other man’s eye and shaking his head. “He’s never let me.”
Remus stared at him blankly for a moment, and then he understood what Harry was
saying.
“What?” He was beside himself.
“I stopped trying a long time ago,” Harry explained in a small voice, studying
his hands. “I suppose it’s okay, though, right?” he said then, trying to
believe himself that it was true. “I mean, it isn’t as if he doesn’t take care
of me other ways. Sometimes takes care of me and asks nothing in return.” But
Harry couldn’t fight his hurt any longer, and his voice wavered. “It...it would
just be nice, you know? Just once.” Harry quickly swiped at the rogue tear that
had dared escape.
“Harry," Remus began, the very picture of sympathy and righteous indignation.
“Harry, that isn’t healthy. Have you not discussed these things with him?”
Harry laughed bitterly. “Yeah, because Severus is just the type to talk about
his feelings. I can barely get him to tell me what he thinks of the new coffee
table.”
“Do you think…” Remus offered hesitantly. “Would you want me to-”
“Oh gods, no!” Harry said, horrified. “Can you even imagine?” He shook his head
again, scowling. “No. I just...it helps to talk to someone about it, Remus,” he
said shyly. “Though, I know you probably don’t want to hear about it.”
“Harry, there is nothing you cannot talk to me about. You know that,” Remus
insisted gently. Harry gave him a weak smile and nodded.
“Just because I can doesn’t mean that I should,” he whispered, suddenly wanting
more than anything to unload all his doubts and insecurities. Remus could see
the young man struggling internally and rose from his chair to pull a
surprised, abashed Harry to his feet and into a proper hug. Harry returned it
gratefully, reluctant to let go. “You told me it wouldn’t be easy,” he sniffed
into Remus’ shoulder with a small laugh, holding him tighter. “I just
thought...I don’t know what I thought,” he admitted, real tears falling now. “I
suppose I thought I could handle it. That it wouldn’t matter.”
“Harry,” Remus said, drawing back to look at the young man. “I also told you it
had to be mutual, remember? There is no reason for you to feel you have to put
up with ill-treatment simply because you decided years ago to love a difficult
man. There are limits to what you should endure as compromise.”
“But I said I wanted him forever, Remus,” Harry said, stricken. “Just as he
is.”
“Harry, you were a child,” Remus said, almost critically. Of the situation, not
of the man before him. “People change. Lives change. One naive promise does not
mean you have to consign yourself to a lifetime of pain. You deserve more if
that is what you truly want.”
Harry wiped his face and nodded, feeling better and worse at the same time. “I
know,” he admitted quietly. “It isn’t that I don’t love him the way he is. I
just...I want more from him than I think he’s able to give. But not really so
much that I would leave him to find it somewhere else.”
“Talk to him,” Remus said firmly, laying a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Give him
a chance to change. Communication is essential to a relationship, Harry. He may
not like it, but if he loves you, he will listen.”
Harry smiled at him and nodded again, more hopeful, more resolute. “You’re
right, Remus,” he said, his familiar determination returning finally. “Thank
you,” he added, giving Remus another quick hug. Remus patted him on the back.
“Always. It’s what I’m here for,” he whispered reassuringly. Harry almost felt
bad acknowledging the truth of that statement.
“Look, I think I’m going to go home tonight, after all,” he said, glancing back
at the started meal and then to Remus apologetically. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Of course not,” Remus responded, moving to clean up. “Go do what you need to,
Harry. I’m right here if you need me.”
 
 
***** To Spy Into Abuses, and Oft My Jealousy Shapes Faults That Are Not *****
Harry flooed into their quarters from Severus’ office, nervous but determined.
He’d spent the walk from the gates thinking on what he was going to say, but
Harry’d never been good with that kind of thing. Until he had something to
react to, he always drew a blank. Or else he’d start as planned and an
unexpected comment would throw him and he’d have to make it all up as he went
anyway. It was even harder with Severus because he was so sardonic and so often
caught Harry off guard. By the time he finally made it home, the idea was
simply to barrel in and do it. Which was, in a nutshell, pretty much Harry’s
approach to life in general. He was halfway down the steps to the Potions Lab
when he heard voices and abruptly stopped, surprised.
“So, the Little One is staying over with Uncle Remus tonight, my love?”
Harry’s surprise quickly turned to confusion, and then to a threatening pain.
Why was Loraina here? Harry’d seen Severus give her her week’s supply of
Substisanguinus just a couple of days ago. Harry’s heart thumped in his chest,
and he got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He carefully descended
a couple of more steps and strained to listen.
“That’s what he told me an hour ago,” Severus drawled. Harry hated the sound of
Severus speaking to Cobbleshot. It had always seemed too relaxed and familiar.
It was the voice Harry liked to think was reserved for him, and he disliked
being reminded he hadn’t been the first to hear it. “Why? Did you have
something in mind?”
“A few things,” she purred. Harry bristled, feeling as if some invisible band
was tightening across his chest. It didn’t really mean anything, he told
himself. Cobbleshot swung between purr and croak most of the time, as if
alternately trying to seduce or dismiss the world around her. He wondered,
though, exactly what things she had in mind.
“Not tonight,” Severus said flatly.
Harry swallowed the lump that suddenly formed in his throat. Not tonight. Did
that mean there were other nights?
“But, Sev. I’m bored,” she complained mildly.
“And since when has it been my job to entertain you?”
Cobbleshot laughed at that. “But you have always been entertaining, whether you
meant to be or not. Why do you think I fell in love with you? Your dashing good
looks?”
Harry felt his face burn. He seethed. Seethed that she dared be so flippant
about such a thing, that she could so casually insult Severus and that Severus
seemed to take the comment in stride. Harry’d spent years trying to convince
Severus he found the man genuinely attractive, and apparently, Cobbleshot had
been strolling in Merlin knows how often, chipping back away at that. But most
of all, Harry seethed at the mention of love, wondering if she referred to it
in the past tense or not. His heart broke, regardless. They tossed the word
around so easily between them. ‘My Love.’ Harry hated the pet name, despite
that Severus had not used it for her in his presence since their relationship
began.
Harry tried to tell himself he was reading too much into the conversation, that
there was no reason to think this wasn’t an innocent misunderstanding. No
reason except that Severus had been so distant and had seemed so uninterested
in Harry lately. The bands around Harry’s chest tightened further.
“Loraina,” Severus sighed, “I have work to do.” Harry closed his eyes, said a
small prayer of thanks, and resisted the urge to peek around the corner. If it
was less than innocent, a part of Harry simply didn’t want to know. Until Harry
saw them touch, he could tell himself it never happened. And Harry needed that
deniability. He didn’t think he could handle it if…
“I’ll see myself out, then,” Cobbleshot said with a disappointed sigh. “Let me
know if you change your mind, my love.”
“I’ll do that,” Severus muttered, but not as dismissively as Harry would have
liked. He panicked slightly, knowing Cobbleshot was about to come up the stairs
he was standing on, and he crept quietly back up them so that he was stepping
into his and Severus’ bedroom just as Cobbleshot stepped out of the lab.
She had spotted him. “Little Harry. You're here after all,” she greeted,
seemingly too brazenly if she’d been there for what Harry was trying not to
suspect. But then, this was Loraina, and that didn’t mean much. Harry back-
stepped out of the room as if he hadn’t realised she was there.
“Rainey,” he returned, failing at the casual tone for which he was aiming. “Wh-
what are you doing here?” Of course, she didn’t answer. She walked up to him
and stroked the hair from his scar and looked at it fondly. Harry had learned
long ago not to expect her to respect his personal space, but after what he'd
just overheard, it was more galling than usual. He swallowed his annoyance.
“No. I can’t call you that anymore, can I?” she whispered. “Not little any
longer, are you, Our Harry?”
“Nope. All grown up,” he said with a forced smile, not feeling it at the
moment; actually, feeling more a lost little boy than he had in a very long
time.
She ran her eyes over him appraisingly, as if she hadn’t seen him every week
for the past few years. “Yes you are,” she said softly, smiling in a way that
made him uncomfortable. “And how lucky is Our Severus?”
Harry shuffled awkwardly. “Not to be rude,” he said, not trying very hard at
all to avoid it, “but I’m rather tired. I’m headed to bed.”
She paused, almost as if she were about to ask to join him, but finally just
sighed and turned to go. Four years and Harry still hadn’t become accustomed to
her oddness. But despite himself, Harry could see what Severus had loved in
her, and how it would appeal to Severus especially: her casual disregard of all
convention, her boldness, and the echo of the beauty she must once have
possessed, made more pronounced by her unwavering confidence. Harry tasted
bile, he scowled at her as she went.
“Take care of him, Our Harry,” she threw back over her shoulder as she flooed
out. Harry’s scowl deepened as he wondered if she was the reason he’d been
failing lately to do just that.
Harry had not done what he’d come home to do, but he felt too conflicted now to
attempt it. Cobbleshot’s presence changed things. Harry wasn’t sure how
exactly. He’d never been the jealous type and the feeling was new to him.
Nonetheless, Harry fished his recent newsstand purchase from his bag and set it
on the coffee table. He pointed it deliberately at Severus’ chair, taking a
final, long look at the cover before taking himself to bed.  
 
***** To Follow Still the Changes of the Moone With Fresh Suspicions *****
Harry barely slept that night, both hoping Severus would come to bed and
dreading it. But the man rarely slept himself, at least at night, particularly
when some project held his attention downstair, and even more seldomly when
preparing for N.E.W.T.s. Harry remembered a time when Severus would sometimes
study him with a look that now seemed reserved only for test tubes and piping.
He had loved and hated it at the same time; that still, intense look of
fascination and anticipation, as if Harry were some slow-maturing potion. He
had never been sure what change Severus expected to see in him.
He smiled at the memory, but it was bittersweet. That seemed like such a long
time ago now, especially to a man as young as Harry.
After a few more hours of tossing and turning, he finally gave up on proper
sleep and got dressed, walking into the sitting room on his way to the bathroom
where he noticed the magazine still sat untouched on the coffee table.
Apparently, Severus had not come upstairs at all in the night. And really, why
would he come up if he did not expect Harry to be home? The young man had long
suspected Severus preferred his cot in the lab and only ever slept in the full
size in the bedroom to appease his young lover. After much deliberation, Harry
snatched up the magazine and stowed it in his satchel, not wanting to provoke
even in the rather pleasant way he'd intended. For all his grumbling about
Severus' possessiveness, a part of him delighted in it. It was often the only
proof he had of the man's affection. Harry was almost afraid Severus wouldn't
react to the magazine at all. And he was afraid of what, then, that would mean.
“Our Severus,” Harry muttered under his breath, not even really aware he was
thinking of what happened the night before until the words slipped out. 'Our'.
As if they shared. As if Severus wasn't his completely, his exclusively. It
left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Harry told himself he was simply overreacting. He resolved to just give it
time. Confronting Severus before he was sure of anything was certain to end in
disaster, anyway.
He flooed out, hopefully without the man ever knowing he'd come home. But it
wasn’t as easy to leave the matter behind him as he had intended, and Harry was
distracted all that day at Academy, suffering several bruises for it. Though
Harry really did no worse than the other cadets, his instructor seemed mildly
disappointed, and Harry cursed inwardly. Expectation insisted on following him.
He’d naively thought that winning the war would have laid that all to rest,
would have allowed him to be normal finally. But it had only solidified his
reputation and increased his celebrity, neither of which Harry had ever
wanted.  
Harry left for the weekend determined, determined not to think about Severus,
or about his final assessment and graduation...or anything at all, actually.
Grimmauld Place was quiet when he walked in with his arms full of wallpaper and
buckets of paste. He’d been meaning to strip and re-paper the third floor for
months, and right now he needed something at which to throw some mindfulness.
Harry didn’t wait for Remus to get back from whatever errand he was on, instead
heading straight upstairs and to work. It was hot, messy business and Harry
stripped his shirt, focusing on the task at hand and ignoring, as best he
could, the sweat that trickled ticklishly down his back. His work was steady
and productive. And before long, Harry was empty of all thoughts of
Severus...of Severus and Loraina. Harry was only here and now, only sweating
and scraping, peeling paper and burning muscles.
Which is why he didn’t hear Remus come home. Didn’t hear him climb the stair.
Didn’t notice his expression when he wandered into the room, curious to see
what all the noise was about. In fact, Harry didn’t realise the man was present
at all until he returned a moment later and cleared his throat, offering Harry
a glass of cool water. The young man was momentarily startled, then immensely
and vocally grateful.
“You’re a lifesaver,” he grinned at Remus, stepping down from his stool and
using his cast off shirt to swipe at the worst of his sweat before accepting
the glass.
“You could have waited for me, you know,” Remus chided.
Harry shrugged. “I needed to get my mind off some things,” he explained, still
short of breath from his exertions. He took a seat on the step ladder and
swallowed half his water in one go. “Made some progress, though,” he said,
surprised himself at the amount of work he was able to get done. Remus stepped
back and leaned against the door frame with his arms folded. He scanned the
room, nodding, but quickly turned his attention back to the young man, studying
him much more thoughtfully.
“So,” he said, toeing at some discarded paper on the floor, “did anything in
particular inspire this sudden productivity?” His tone was curious, but his
look was concerned. It was subtle, and no doubt most others would not have
picked up on it. But Harry had been reading the man’s expressions for years now
and wasn’t so oblivious any longer to Remus’ frequent worry. Harry set down his
glass lest it betray him if his hands began to shake, wiping the condensation
on his jeans. He momentarily considered lying, saying nothing was bothering
him. But Remus had been reading him for years, as well, and would see through
it in an instant. Harry never had really been adept at dishonesty, anyway. He
shrugged.
“Just...things didn’t go as planned last night,” he admitted finally to the
floorboards. Remus nodded again and found an unopened bucket to perch on,
resting his elbows on his knees, waiting for Harry to elaborate. But Harry had
spent all afternoon avoiding the subject and didn’t feel like confronting it
now. “How are you feeling today? Up for a bit of home improvement?” he asked
Remus with a grin. He pointed to a roll of wallpaper, hoping to distract him.
“Sorry I didn’t check with you first. What do you think of that pattern? I
thought it might look nice with the new drapes.” He chuckled. “But then, I’m
not all that domestic. Too used to bare dungeon stones. If you hate it, you had
better say something before we put it up.”
“Harry,” Remus said softly, “it’s your house.”
Harry sighed, avoided looking at Remus, not wanting him to see the annoyance in
his expression. “Yeah, but you live here still. And I think you have a better
eye for this stuff, anyway.”
Remus looked at the wallpaper and nodded, but somehow Harry knew all this
nodding had nothing to do with the pattern, and it was starting to get on his
nerves. He knew what was coming. “Harry, it’s fine. I like it. Listen,” he
ventured. “Do you want to-”
“Put up wallpaper?” Harry interrupted, his voice forcefully light. “Yeah. Want
to lend a hand?”
Remus hesitated. Harry could tell he wasn’t going to let the matter go, just
put it on hold. Remus nodded again, and Harry bit back the curse on his tongue.
“Where are we starting?” Remus asked finally, peeling off his cardigan and then
his own shirt as he surveyed the wall.
But Harry was too distracted to answer straight away. Remus rarely removed his
shirt, instead opting to sweat through whatever task they set about fully-
covered. Harry suspected it was because he was self-conscious about his scars.
But then, they all had scars now, didn’t they?
Actually, Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen the man disrobed in any way. He
habitually wore at least as many layers as Severus. Shirt, jumper or vest,
cardigan or jacket. Somehow it had always made him seem vulnerable to Harry,
though he wasn’t sure why. Severus never seemed vulnerable. His layers were his
armour. But Remus never wore imposing black robes. His layers were mild-
mannered, and it made him look...meek. Nakedness took a certain amount of
confidence, and not the brand in which Remus was wealthy.
But now the man stood topless, showing no hesitancy or self-consciousness at
being so as he rested his fists on his narrow hips and considered the walls,
his ill-fitting trousers hanging low. And why should he be hesitant? Remus was
surprisingly fit, a fact that apparently had always been well disguised by
layers of knit and wool. Harry momentarily considered it some shock tactic to
get him to talk, and if the aim had been to unsettle Harry, Remus had certainly
succeeded. But more likely, it was simply that it was hot in the room, and
Harry was Harry. And Harry had his own shirt off, and not with any thought of
effecting Remus.
Right? Right.
So why was Harry so...bothered?
“Harry?” Remus asked, throwing the young man an inquiring look over his
shoulder. Harry blushed and quickly grabbed his own shirt.
“Actually, you know, I just realised how tired I am,” he hedged, for some
reason having difficulty finding the opening in his top in his rush to put it
on. “I didn’t sleep well last night, and they put us through the paces today.
We’ll do it later. I’ll probably be here all weekend, anyway. Apparently,
Severus has N.E.W.T.s to take care of. Want to see about dinner?” he asked,
finally managing to pull his t-shirt over his head.
Remus gave him one of those looks. One of those ‘stop moving about so much and
let me puzzle you out’ looks. So Harry didn’t wait for his response, walking
out the door and bouncing down the stairs with Remus following more slowly,
crawling back into his own clothes as he went.
In the kitchen, Harry began opening cupboards. Remus stayed out of the way of
his increasingly frantic search.
“Anything in particular-?”
“I thought I saw some Firewhisky in here the other day,” Harry said, still
digging.
“Ah. You meant that kind of dinner,” Remus said, almost to himself. “I thought
you meant food in some form,” he added, nonetheless reaching overhead and
pulling down a large, half-full bottle of brown liquor and setting it on the
table. Harry quickly snatched up two glasses, leaving all the cupboard doors
open behind him as he took a heavy seat and poured himself a shot. He downed it
quickly, grimacing a bit at the bite, then poured another and also one for
Remus this time. Harry leaned back in his chair and played with the liquid in
his glass as he waiting for the last drink to do its work. Remus took his glass
in hand but looked only at Harry, and the young man could feel it on the back
of his neck.
“Could you please not?” Harry said rather irritably. Remus gave him a puzzled
look. “Remus. Please, just sit, will you? Drink the bloody whisky.”
Remus carefully took his seat, sipped at his drink, being far more patient than
Harry felt he had any right to be. Harry wasn’t trying to argue with Remus, but
the man was so unflappable. It was a far cry from what Harry was accustomed to
at home. Of course, there the roles were reversed more often than not, with
Severus doling out the irritability and Harry calmly taking it in stride. He
sighed. He determined once again to stop thinking about home and the man there
who was unknowingly driving Harry slowly mad, and probably for some imaginary
fucking reason.  
Harry rolled his eyes. “You’re doing it still,” he pointed out calmly, feeling
Remus’ eyes on him despite his whirling thoughts. He was still irritable but
forcing himself to be a bit more tactful.
“Harry, what exactly am I meant to be doing?” Remus said, exasperated, but in a
good-natured sort of way. Harry was finding it harder and harder to be annoyed
when Remus was so mild. He shook his head.
“The Look,” he clarified, playfully wagging a finger at the man. “You have
many, but this one says...” Harry cleared his throat and attempted a hopefully
non-mocking imitation of the man’s soft-spoken tone. “‘Now, Harry. We both know
you’ll feel better if you talk about it.’”   
Remus looked slightly affronted. Then abashed. Then amused. He smiled
reluctantly and took a drink, careful not to look at Harry as he did so. “I
don’t really do that,” he said finally. “Do I?”
Harry grinned, which triggered one in Remus as well. “Oh yes,” he told Remus.
“You do. Tell me, with a straight face, that wasn’t what you were just
thinking.” Apparently, the man couldn’t, as he hid his blush in his glass, and
Harry’s smile broadened, knowing he’d cornered him. They stared at each other
for a moment, and then the silent giggles broke free of their tethers.
“Okay, fine. I admit it,” Remus said, chuckling. “But I worry about you,
Harry,” he added more soberly. “And I feel like the only thing I have to offer
you is an open ear and my advice.”
Harry shook his head, finished his drink and poured another. “Remus. Really. I
don’t just come here looking to burden you with my silly problems. It’s not
like it’s your job or anything.”
“It’s not a burden or a chore, Harry,” he said, looking fondly at the young
man. “It’s just what friends do.”
Harry accepted this with a smile and raised his glass. “To friends, then,” he
toasted. Remus played along, raising his own and then emptying it, allowing
Harry to pour him another.
“So," Remus said, looking a little rosy in the cheeks as he contemplated his
new drink. “Are you going to tell me? Or do I have to give you The Look again?”
Harry groaned but was smiling still. He’d had too much to drink too fast. He
leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, playing idly with his glass.
He'd known as soon as he saw Remus’ face upstairs that they were going to talk
about this eventually. Remus was as stubborn as Harry was. Gryffindor trait, he
assumed. But he really didn’t want to talk about his suspicions yet. Because
then he’d have to acknowledge them, and voicing them seemed like it would make
them more concrete.
Of course, saying them out loud might also give Harry the opportunity to hear
how silly they sounded. But he wasn’t ready to take that risk. 
“I just didn’t get a chance to talk to Severus, is all.” It wasn’t technically
a lie. “He’s busy. I think it’s to do with N.E.W.T.s,” Harry explained.
Remus scowled slightly. “Huh,” he said, reaching for the bottle. Even through
the increasingly warm haze of his whisky buzz, Harry could tell there was
something on the man’s mind.
“Huh, what?” Harry pressed. “Why do you ‘huh’?”
Remus looked up at him as if he hadn’t expected Harry to catch that. He shook
his head. “It’s nothing.”
“No,” Harry said, shaking his head. “You can’t do that, Remus. Out with it.” 
Remus looked mildly uncomfortable. “It’s just that...you were here last weekend
for the same reason.”
Harry shrugged. “Yeah?”
“How many N.E.W.T. students does he have this year?”
Harry burrowed through the fuzz in his brain to find an answer. “A handful,” he
shrugged. “You know how picky he is when it comes to N.E.W.T.s.”  
“That’s what I thought,” Remus said, taking a contemplative sip but offering
nothing further. Harry had the urge to shake the man until he just spit it out.
“Remus,” he warned.
“It’s just that...he’s spending an awful lot of time on a handful of students,”
he mused. The look on Harry’s face seemed to signal to Remus he had wandered
into dangerous waters and the man back-treaded. “But perhaps he just sees extra
promise in these,” Remus reasoned aloud, attempting to brush it off. Harry
scowled.
“He didn’t have much nice to say about them last time I asked,” he muttered,
deep in thought.
“Oh, well,” Remus said, picking up on Harry’s sudden shift in mood and possibly
feeling it was time to lay the subject to rest. “You know him better than I do.
I’d almost suspect insults are the closest Severus ever comes to compliments.
If he really disliked you, he’d probably just ignore your existence.” 
“Yeah,” Harry said distractedly. “You’re probably right.” Or maybe Severus
wasn’t spending as much time with his N.E.W.T. students as Harry had thought.
Maybe Severus just wanted Harry out of the house.
“Speaking of exams,” Remus ventured, “there’s still time to prepare, you know.
Are you sure you don’t want to sit them? I’d be more than happy to tutor.”
“Now why would I do that when I’ve already been accepted into the Auror
program?”
“Well, you might decide you don’t want to be an Auror forever. Or a day may
come when you are no longer able to be. Being an Auror is dangerous business,
and if you’re looking for employment elsewhere, they may not be as generous as
the Academy has been. Special dispensations are rare, even for Harry Fucking
Potter,” he jibed. Harry waved him off. 
“I graduate in a week, Remus. Besides, my vault at Gringotts is still fairly
damned full. You and I both know I don’t really even have to work.”
“So why are you?” Remus asked him seriously.
Harry stared at his drink. “It distracts me,” he confessed. Remus didn’t have
to ask from what. They were all haunted by those they'd lost, but Harry even
more so, because it had been his responsibility to save them. Severus had once
provided Harry’s distraction. And now Harry needed Firewhisky to distract him
from Severus. Though, it didn’t seem to be working as well as anticipated. He
sat his glass down and pushed it out of easy reach. Remus silently stood and
collected their glasses, emptying them in the sink. Then he surreptitiously
plucked the bottle from the table and stowed it back in the cupboard as Harry
brooded.
 
   
***** And When He Seem'd To Shake, and Fear Your Looks *****
Remus fetched them some takeaway, and once their bellies were full of curry,
Harry found a second wind and decided he’d like to tackle the third floor after
all.
Remus stripped his shirt again, with Harry following suit rather more
reluctantly. He figured it was the nakedness, in general, that was distracting,
not that it was specifically Remus’. Even after all this time, Severus was
never, ever casually naked around Harry. No matter how admiring Harry’s gaze
was, Severus seemed to subtly shrink under it. He’d filled out a bit once he’d
started taking Harry’s blood on a regular basis, but he was still thin. Harry
thought he was beautiful, his skin so pale it reminded Harry of pearls. The way
he moved made his thin frame look lithe and efficient instead of malnourished.
But still, it was the only time Severus ever exhibited anything less than
complete confidence and self-possession. Harry found it endearing, if
frustrating. And really, how could Harry convince the man he was attractive if
Loraina showed up regularly to remind him that most of the world considered him
less so?
But damn it, Harry thought irritably, the rest of the world shouldn’t matter
should it?
It didn’t take long for Harry to become rather inured to a bare-chested
Remus...for the most part. It was difficult not to make comparisons, though,
especially when Remus reached overhead to spread paste or smooth paper over it,
and Harry got a long, safe look at the way Remus’ muscles moved beneath his
tawny skin; the satisfying bunch of his shoulders, or the ripple of his back.
Harry tried his best to ignore it, but he suspected Remus snuck peeks at him,
as well. And there was something exciting about that thought and about the
newness of the situation.
Regardless, they functioned well together, and their work went smoothly with
only the occasional clumsiness on Harry’s part when the other man did something
particularly distracting. There were a couple of instances, though, when Harry
heard thumps or bangs that weren’t the result of him accidentally knocking
things over. “What was that noise?” Harry wondered aloud, holding a length of
paper flat for Remus to mark and cut.
“Oh. I meant to mention,” Remus said distractedly, smoothly pulling a box-knife
from his back pocket and running it along the fresh lines he’d drawn. “We
appear to have a Boggart in the attic. I heard it yesterday but had some
errands to run. I planned on taking care of it this weekend,” he finished,
gathering up the precisely carved strip of wallpaper and moving immediately to
smooth it in place. The banging from upstairs sounded again, and Harry looked
at the ceiling as if he would be able to see through the floors that separated
them and spy the thing.
“It’s getting dark outside,” he said to himself. “It must be getting restless.”
“Is it bothering you?” Remus asked, taking a break and regarding the young man.
“I could go take care of it if you’d like,” he offered.
“No. I’ll do it,” Harry said, still looking at the ceiling, mostly to avoid
looking elsewhere. “It’ll be good practice. We covered boggarts, but I think
they are saving the practical test for the final assessment. And it’s been
awhile since I met one. I’ll go.”  
“I’ll clean up in here, then. Shout if you need me,” Remus told him. Harry was
already halfway out the door.
The task was simple enough, but Harry was excited still. He really was well-
suited for the duties of an Auror, however much he hated Ministry politics. But
the work should make it worth it, at least he hoped.
Harry let the door to the attic swing open as he raised his wand and considered
the stooped space before him. They really needed to get rid of most of this
mess, he thought. They’d been tossing things up here for years when they didn’t
know what else to do with them, and it was now crammed almost to capacity with
random, potentially dangerous odds and ends.
Harry ignited the end of his wand with a pale blue light and crept through the
labyrinth of boxes and dusty furniture, listening for the rattle and knock of
the boggart. But it seemed to have sensed his presence and was quiet until
Harry was just a few feet from its hiding place. A trunk at his feet suddenly
jumped a few inches, making a terrible racket on the creaky wooden planks, no
doubt attempting to frighten Harry. But the young man simply smiled.
“Gotcha,” he whispered, squaring off against it and taking a few steps back.
Harry cast a spell bursting the rusty old lock and waited as the boggart
considered him, working out his greatest fear. The black robed figure rising
slowly from the trunk was familiar. But not in the way Harry expected.
Instead of the usual Dementor, Harry watched as Severus stood and stepped out
of the box, drawing to his full height in an intimidating fashion before the
thin shoulders curled back into Severus’ usual, contemptful stoop.   
Severus? Why, of all things, was it Severus? Harry wasn’t frightened of his
boyfriend. The young man was intrigued enough by this unexpected phenomenon
that he did not cast right away, and that hesitation was a grave mistake.
“I never loved you,” boggart-Severus sneered in a voice dripping with caustic
disdain.  
Harry realised he had miscalculated, let his guard down. An inexcusable mistake
for a would-be Auror. Though rationally he knew the thing before him was a
mimic, was not really his long-time lover, Harry staggered back until he was
stopped by the precarious stack of rubbish behind him, surprised by how painful
those four words hissed in Severus’ low voice could be.
“How could I?” it went on, piercing Harry straight to his heart. “You’re a
child,” it spat. “Andmale. It was fun for a while, but one does not
simplybecome gay, Mr. Potter. How very naive of you to assume I’d turned. For
you,” it sneered. “For a foolish, talentless, scruffy-haired, scrawny, self-
entitled boy. My gods. What if someone whose opinion I valued found out?”
Severus--no, Harry reminded himself, the boggart--shuddered. Still, Harry let
out a small sob despite himself, feeling his stomach curdle. Remus walked in
just as the creature’s rant really picked up steam.
“Never. I never loved you,” it snarled. “No one could! You’re pathetic.
Whinging. Overrated. You should have stayed in that bloody cupboard, you
repulsive-!”
Remus stepped in front of Harry who at this point had dissolved into a silently
weeping mess on the floor, his hands over his ears trying to block out the
hateful words. As Remus drew his wand, however, the boggart looked at the man,
considered him, and shifted. Harry glanced up to find Severus was gone. Now, he
could see himself lying on the floor where Severus had been. He was wearing his
Auror uniform and his chest was still smoking from the spell that had killed
him, his eyes staring blindly at the ceiling. Remus ignored the tableau and
turned to the real Harry, helping him to his feet.
“Darling, are you alright?” he asked, concerned.
“Yeah,” Harry said in a shaky voice. “It just caught me off guard, is all. I
expected...” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Well. I didn’t expect
Severus.”
“It’s been some time since you faced a boggart, Harry. Our fears change.” The
rest of Remus' thought was cut short by the strange sounds which started coming
from the boggart-Harry behind them. The man’s eyes widened and he turned to
face it.
Harry, confused, stepped up beside Remus and patted his back comfortingly as if
to remind him that the real him was right there and unharmed. But neither of
them could seem to turn away from the sight or bring themselves to cast the
charm. The ‘Harry’ before them was no longer dead. It was changing. It was not
shifting to another boggart-form, the form had already shifted. Harry watched
in horror as his own face contorted painfully, his jaw seeming to dislocate
before elongating, his neck cracking loudly as it lengthened, his knees
breaking backwards...all while the not-him cried out in agony.
Remus’ greatest fear, or one of them, after Harry dying, seemed to be Harry
becoming infected by Remus’ own bane. It was something, perhaps, he considered
a fate worse than death. Harry was mildly fascinated by the grotesque process,
though beneath it his heart ached knowing Remus endured this month after month.
A whimper from Remus snapped him out of it.
All the blood had drained from Remus’ face and he was backing slowly toward the
door, shaking his head. “No,” he whispered, over and over, his wand falling
from his fingers. Harry had never seen him so shaken. Harry quickly took
possession of himself and turned to the snarling, now fully transformed
werewolf and shouted, “Ridickulus!”  
The thing suddenly found itself groomed like a French poodle with bows in its
fur. A soft chuckle and a second wave of his wand banished the whimpering beast
into a puff of smoke. It hadn’t been funny enough, though, for Harry’s humour
to linger, and he turned solemnly to Remus who looked sheepish and tear-
stained. Harry mirrored the expression. It was more than a little embarrassing,
considering who they were, that a simple boggart had so undone them both. Harry
pulled the man into a hug, which Remus returned as if afraid to ever release
the young man again, his fingers biting lightly into Harry’s still-bare flesh.
"Anything could happen to you out there,” Remus explained in a quavering
whisper, holding Harry even tighter. “Aurors encounter the very worst in our
world.”
“Werewolves are hardly the worst things in our world,” Harry replied softly,
stroking Remus’ back, blushing at how much he enjoyed the sensation. “I happen
to know a rather decent one.”
“But they aren’t all like me. And if they feel threatened... Harry, sit the
exams,” he begged, finally pulling away to look Harry imploringly in the eye.
“For me. So that you have options. So that if you decide you’re tired of
risking your life…” Remus choked on the rest of the his sentence.
“Remus, I had no idea you were so bothered by it,” said Harry with a troubled
scowl.
“It’s your life,” the man said, stepping away. Turning away. “I don’t have any
business telling you what to do with it. No one does, not anymore. You’ve lived
for others for far too long. I just worry,” he finished softly. Harry stepped
beside him and wrapped an arm around his shoulder.
“Remus. I’ll be fine. I’ve faced worse, you know,” he pointed out, and they
both sighed in acknowledgement of the sad truth of that. "I was surprised to
see Severus, is all. I can handle it out there. Really.”
“Out there, you can’t afford to be surprised, Harry. A distracted Auror is a
dead one. Or worse.”
Harry ignored his unease and put on a brave face. “You know they throw the
rookies at the simple stuff for a while,” he shrugged. “It’ll be fine, Remus. I
promise. It’s not like I’m going to be infected on my first mission out.” The
man nodded reluctantly and shook off the last of his doubt, at least visibly.
“Want to go finish that Firewhiskey?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at the young
man.
Harry laughed weakly and nodded. “Yeah. That actually sounds fantastic.”
They settled at the table with their glasses in hand, both silent for a while,
reflecting on what had just happened. It was Remus who spoke first. “You know,
don’t you, that even though he does not say it, there is no question that
Severus loves you.” The statement had been confident, incontrovertible. Harry
looked up at the man, wanting to believe him but still hearing the words the
boggart had spoken in his head. And they seemed to be louder just at that
moment than Remus’.  
“How do you know that, Remus?” Harry asked, his voice smaller than he would
have liked.
“Harry,” Remus said as if it were obvious. And perhaps it should be, but for
some reason, it wasn’t. Not to Harry. “You know he’d die for you. He
practically has on a number of occasions. His feelings are deep and sound. I
don’t know what’s passed between you lately to make you doubt it, but-”
“Loraina,” Harry said simply, cutting him off. Remus fell silent as Harry
polished off his drink. “The reason I didn’t get to speak to Severus last night
was that, when I got home, Loraina was there.”
Remus looked unsettled. “Were they…?”
“Nothing happened,” Harry confessed. “He sent her away. I went to bed. I don’t
even think he knew I came home. I just...it was unexpected.”
“Has it occurred to you you might be taking the visit out of context?” Remus
said softly.
“Of course, it bloody has, Remus,” Harry replied wearily, some of his earlier
mood returning. He sighed. “I just can’t get it out of my head, is all,” he
added more civilly, digging the heel of his hand across his eyes.
“Well. Firewhiskey isn’t likely the best method,” Remus replied, reaching over
to take the bottle from the table. Harry allowed it, though he still toyed with
his glass.  
“It just seems like everything is changing, Remus,” he said quietly. “And I
hadn’t expected it to. And I don’t think I like it.”
“Life is change, Harry,” Remus said philosophically as he set about making them
a pot of tea.
“I suppose,” Harry sighed. “You know, don’t you, that Severus will never agree
to move here. But you’re right. I can’t remain at Hogwarts if I intend to be an
Auror. Unless he can floo directly to the Lab, he’ll just turn his nose up at
the idea and…”
And Harry was afraid Severus would make him choose: Severus or a career. Life
in general or life with the man he loved. Which was so static, but which would
be more than enough for Harry if only Severus gave a little more of himself.
Which, sadly, Harry could not see happening, no matter what Remus said. Harry
had the rather ominous feeling that something precious was drawing to an end,
and it made him want to curl into a ball, to hide beneath his covers like he
used to do in his cupboard, dreading Petunia’s wake-up call, as if pretending
could prevent its happening.
Remus handed him a steaming cup of tea before settling into his seat beside
him. It was much more fortifying than the Firewhisky had been. “Have you
thought of talking with Minerva?” he asked, waking Harry from his thoughts.
“About?”
“About connecting the floo from here to Severus’ quarters. Your rooms are so
deeply buried in the Dungeons, the potential threat would be limited, and I
have no doubt she’d be open to the compromise if it kept her Potions Master in
place. And happy. Besides, you know how fond she of you.”
“Remus, you’re a genius,” Harry said plainly, looking at him in amazement. It
was almost perfect.
Remus flashed him a grin. “I have my moments,” he said quietly. But as he
sipped his tea, he seemed less than pleased, perhaps, to have solved this
particular problem.  
***** (For This Was Briefe) I Found Them Close Together *****
 “You don’t mind?” Harry blinked, surprised.
“Really, Potter. I was surprised you didn’t request something similar months
ago when you started training. You know I’m fond of you, but it has been a bit
strange to have you about. Especially since you refuse to resume classes,” she
added with a stern look over her glasses. McGonagall had encouraged him to
continue his education after Voldemort fell, but Harry had resisted, not
wanting to be the oldest student at Hogwarts. Something that would be
especially odd now that he was no longer even a teenager. Hermione hadn’t been
bothered, but then Hermione was Hermione. Harry had needed more time to get his
head straight afterwards, anyway.
“Remus has been urging me to sit the exams,” he admitted, squirming
uncomfortably under her stare.
“As well he should. But in the meantime,” she sighed, “I’ll arrange to connect
Severus’ floo to Grimmauld Place. You’ll have to floo elsewhere from there,
however. I won’t have any of our floos connected to the Network in general.”
“Thank you, Headmistress,” he smiled, immensely relieved. “I’ll go and tell
Severus.” McGonagall pursed her lips and nodded curtly. She had never approved,
and Harry had never blamed her, but there was little to be done about it at
this point.
“Good luck on your assessment this week, Potter. Are you certain you’re ready?”
she asked more kindly. “Do you need any additional-”
“No, no. Thank you,” he said, heading her off and rising from his seat. “I’ve
been preparing my whole life, Professor. And the Academy had brushed me up on
everything I’ll need for the test. I’ve got it handled.” He smiled politely
again, backing toward the door where he bid her goodbye. Harry made his way to
the dungeons next, in a rather smashing mood. And he grinned wickedly himself,
figuring he knew a way to make Severus a bit more receptive to his proposal.
Severus’ office was empty as he flooed to their rooms which were empty as well.
All the better, really. Harry tossed his satchel at the chair, ignoring as it
bounced off and into the floor, and headed for the Lab, shedding his clothes as
he went, leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for Severus to follow. By the time he
reached the bottom of the steps, he was completely naked. He rummaged around
Severus’ desk to locate the knife and balm. It was time for Severus to feed,
and Harry intended to make this week memorable.
He pricked his finger. After all this time he enjoyed the little pain, the tiny
thrill. It was a reminder that he was still full of life as he could see it
pumping red from the puncture he’d made. It bled freely, as if well-practiced
by now, and he used the seeping digit to draw a wandering trail of bright red
from his clavicle, around one of his nipples (which was already stiffening with
anticipation) and down his stomach...then further, down his already stirring
length, allowing the blood to drip haphazardly over the bobbing head. By the
time he was finished, he looked like a morbid piece of living art. He liked the
effect and had a feeling Severus would, as well. He licked his finger clean
before smearing a bit of balm, healing it. Then he scooped up even more of the
stuff and reached back to prepare himself.
Which was what Severus caught him doing when he wandered down the stairs,
eyeing the trail of clothes littering the stairwell. Harry didn’t stop, he just
locked eyes with Severus as he added a second finger, twisting to reach in a
way that showed the vampire the still glistening map he’d drawn on himself. The
man froze, his mouth hanging slack, his eyes following every movement the young
man made, but he didn’t draw closer until Harry’s preparations pulled a low
moan from him. It was like a summons, and Severus stalked toward Harry, licking
his lips.
“Someone came home in a mood,” he said, his voice tight and eager, studying the
trail of blood. Harry let his hand slip from himself when Severus took him by
the arms, slowly laying him back across the angled desktop at the same time
Severus’ tongue descended to Harry’s collarbone. The young man gasped and
arched into the touch, urging the tongue to lap more firmly, and Severus
obliged, alternatively kneading Harry’s flesh with the probing muscle and
lapping at the blood on Harry’s chest until Harry was a writhing creature of
want. He was moaning Severus’ name well before the man reached the trail’s end
and sank to his knees to claim the treasure there. Harry looked down on the
bobbing black head and caressed it lovingly, his other hand falling to Severus’
shoulder where he felt something tickle his palm. Panting, he lifted his hand
to see what was tangled in his fingers. And he froze.
Harry had inadvertently picked something up from the shoulder of Severus’ robe.
It was a hair. A blonde one.
Harry stared at it, hardly noting Severus’ increasingly fervent ministrations
as the implications struggled to penetrate Harry’s lust-addled brain. Severus,
however, noticed the sudden change and pulled back, looking up at Harry with
questioning eyes. “Harry?” he asked, lips red and swollen, canines peeking from
their part. “Is something the matter?” Harry casually shook the offending
strand from his fingers into the floor and forced a smile, shaking his head.
“Come here,” he requested softly. But instead of the kiss Severus stretched
for, Harry turned his back and leaned over the desktop, bracing his elbows and
pressing back into Severus’ still clothed erection; attempting to distract them
both from the troubled tears that threatened.
Severus groaned, gripping Harry’s hip with one hand and using his other to free
himself from the stiff black layers of his unofficial uniform. Harry wasn’t as
ready as he had been a moment ago, but that was fine. He hoped Severus noticed,
and he hoped Severus was rough. That way, one or two wayward tears would go
unremarked upon. He could feel Severus’ hardness hesitate at his opening. Harry
didn’t wait for the slow, gentle pressure and instead pressed himself back
firmly, feeling himself tear at the breach. Though, thanks to the balm, he
instantly healed, and neither of them waited for Harry to adjust.
It was gloriously savage, for the first time in a long time. For months Harry
had craved Severus’ tenderness, and that was what the man had given him when he
gave him anything at all. But this...this reminded them both of when their
affair had been new and urgent, when they hadn’t felt like they had the time to
spare on gentleness and preparation and every time was a wild, fevered rut.
Neither of them seemed concerned with the items that fell in streams from
either side of the usually immaculate desktop as Severus’ thrusts threatened
the very integrity of the desk’s structure, driving them both, grunting, toward
climax with firm, insistent strokes.
“Harry,” Severus shuddered, on the brink while Harry still hadn’t come. “I
can’t…”
“Come in me, Severus,” Harry gasped.
And Severus obeyed, emptying himself deep inside the young man with a ragged
groan, bruising Harry’s hips with biting fingers as Harry’s own erection still
swayed painfully full beneath them. Severus pulled himself out gently and
turned Harry to kiss him, noticing young man’s unsatisfied cock with dismay. He
looked searchingly at Harry, stroking his cheek. “Have I done something wrong?”
he asked, his expression so achingly soft and open after his own release that
it brought a lump to Harry’s throat.
Harry didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t know the answer to that question.
He wanted desperately to, but he could still feel the phantom tickle of blond
hair on his palm.
He wasn’t going to have that conversation with Severus now, though. Not like
this. He felt far too vulnerable. He knew Severus was as well at the moment,
and it did not seem fair. Though, he hesitated, too, to tell Severus his news
as he had planned, receptive as the man might be now. He forced himself to
smile, hopefully believably, and he brought a hand to Severus’ face, his heart
contracting ever so slightly at the way the man nuzzled his palm.
“I’m fine,” Harry rasped, feeling his erection fading. “It was nice. It's just,
I think I’m not quite used to that anymore. We should do it more often,” he
winked. Severus did not seem convinced, but he didn’t press, stepping back to
allow Harry to stand upright and lean into his thin arms. “I love you,” Harry
whispered, near to tears but trying to hide it. If Severus would only say it.
Only once.
But he kissed the young man instead. It was divine. It spoke of love without
actually saying the words. And despite his disappointment, Harry melted into
it, returning the sentiment with a subtle desperation until Severus broke off
to look at him. “Four days,” he said in a barely audible whisper, looking
unexpectedly stricken. Harry, already upset, was surprisingly moved by Severus’
expression.
“Four days?” he asked with a gentle scowl.
“Until it’s official.”
His graduation. “Oh, that. Yeah,” Harry smiled.
“You realise I’m unregistered still,” Severus pointed out. When Harry didn’t
seem to understand his point, he hesitantly elaborated. “Harry, once you take
your oath, you’ll be legally obligated to report me to the Ministry. My
position here would be placed under scrutiny. And our...relationship would be
frowned upon,” he explained carefully. “You aren’t even meant to fraternise-”
“Enough of that,” Harry warned, holding him tighter.
Severus went on anyway, showing far more emotion than Harry was used to from
the man. “It will look bad. Be bad for your career, if...”
If they were found out. Particularly if Severus was by someone else. No doubt,
especially considering they were both men, many would assume that Severus held
some sort of sway over the young man, and that would never be tolerated by the
Ministry. They’d been over this before when Harry had applied to the Academy.
It hadn’t seemed like a big deal then. Harry had no intention of outing
Severus, regardless of the circumstances. They’d determined to just deal with
the obstacles as they came. If they came. Now the obstacles were infinitely
closer but still not before them. Not yet. However, Severus’ voice carried a
grim finality, as if the damage had already been done.
“Severus?” Harry asked, dread increasing its icy grip on his insides.
“What…what are you saying?”
The man looked as if he were about to say something more but couldn’t bring
himself to. He pressed his forehead to Harry’s, against the scar that was now
just a scar. “Nothing,” he said softly. “I only want to be certain you are
aware, fully, of the implications of-”
“Severus, shut up,” Harry whispered imploringly, eyes squeezed closed, kissing
him to ensure he did just that. It was as lovely as the last, but it
felt...different. Harry couldn’t help thinking it felt as if Severus was
concentrating too hard, as if memorising the kiss.
Harry couldn’t help thinking it felt as if Severus was saying goodbye.        
 
***** Were it My Cue to Fight, I Should Have Known it *****
They parted reluctantly and then turned to survey the damage. Severus almost
never used magic to clean. He considered it lazy. But the disaster that was his
desk was too extensive for anything else. A wave of his wand sent the items
that littered the floor momentarily airborne before they reorganised themselves
on the tabletop. That in hand, the two turned to the stairwell where Severus
went on ahead while Harry crawled back into his discarded clothing on his way
up.
Harry had just pushed his head through the neck of his shirt as he cleared the
top step when he noticed Severus was stooped to pick up the contents of Harry’s
satchel. Apparently, the thing had spilled when it bounced out of his chair and
to the floor. It wasn’t until Harry saw Severus retrieving Wizard’s Weekly from
beneath the coffee table that he even remembered the damned thing had been in
there. Harry froze, was momentarily mortified. This was not how he had wanted
Severus to find it, particularly after their recent exchange. He feared the man
would misunderstand, and Harry held his breath as he waited for Severus’
reaction.
But there wasn’t one to speak of. Severus straightened with the magazine in
hand, gave the cover a long look and a sneer, and then placed the thing on top
of the rest of Harry’s papers and stowed the pile back in Harry’s bag, setting
it carefully on the floor beside the young man's chair. Harry’d expected hurt
or shock, anger...or a reproving look at the very least, but Severus simply
took his own seat before the hearth without a word. 
“Is Miss Granger coming to the ceremony?” Severus asked, idly picking something
from his robe front. Harry didn’t answer right away. He was more unsettled than
he felt he should be. He figured, though, he had simply worked the scene up in
his head too much. Just because reality hadn’t met his expectation, it was
silly to think Severus’ reaction to the fashion mag was a serious indicator of
anything, really. Still, that didn’t quiet the sour twist in the pit of Harry’s
stomach.
“No,” he said finally, distractedly, falling into his own chair. “She, uh...she
has final exams. An important paper is due the next day. She can’t come.”
“I’m sorry I can’t attend, Harry,” Severus said sincerely. Harry glanced up and
waved off the apology.
“Don’t be. Remus isn’t coming, either. An Auror Academy graduation can’t be a
comfortable place for Dark Creatures or former Death Eaters.” Which pretty much
summed up Harry’s entire circle of friends. Which made Harry wonder why he had
thought it was such a great career choice in the first place. “Kingsley will be
there,” he added as an afterthought. “I really just need someone to pull me
away from the press afterwards. It’s not a big deal.”
“It’s the beginning of the rest of your life, Harry,” Severus said, almost
sadly. “It’s an important event.”
Harry didn’t like the way the man had said it, neither did he care for this
suddenly fatalistic tone Severus had adopted since they finished in the lab.
“Severus, you are the most important event in my life,” Harry said seriously,
wanting to reach across and touch the man. But Severus’ attention was
elsewhere, and he had never been much for hand-holding, anyway. Besides the
semi-frequent ‘I love you’, Harry wasn’t usually so effusive, as Severus was
not one who responded over favourably to sentiment. But Harry felt him pulling
away and didn’t know what else to do but reassure the man of his affection. “I
really don’t care who is or isn’t around to watch me walk across a platform to
collect a piece of paper,” Harry sighed, resting his head on the back of his
chair. He felt a headache coming on.
“You should move to Grimmauld Place,” Severus said quietly after a long moment,
waking Harry.
The young man scowled, stared long and hard at Severus. Even though he’d meant
to broach the subject himself, suddenly the topic felt unwelcome. Severus
hadn’t said ‘we’ should move. He’d said Harry should move.
“It would be more convenient for you,” Severus added casually, reasonably,
rising from his chair but not looking at Harry as he moved to his grading desk
and shuffled through some papers. Harry grumbled inwardly. He should have known
he wouldn’t have quieted Severus with just a kiss or two. Harry didn’t have
much else in his arsenal at the moment, though, and he didn’t feel like
fighting.
No. This was fine. This was good, that Severus thought it was his idea. Harry
just needed to open his mind a little further. “There is a lot of room in the
basement,” he offered.
“For what?” Severus muttered, scowling at an essay.
“Your lab,” Harry said as if it should be obvious. Severus scoffed.
“It would be a good place for you to put some exercise equipment,” Severus
murmured distractedly, dipping his quill and making a red mark on the offending
homework. “I know you enjoy that sort of thing, and there’s never been any room
here.”
Again, ‘you’ not ‘us’.  For some reason, it made Harry more angry than upset.
Perhaps he felt like arguing, after all. “Yeah. I could do that,” he muttered,
placing just a touch of emphasis on the ‘I’, mulling over the dull pain of
Severus so casually condoning Harry’s departure without including himself in
the plan.
“We could meet up on the Weekends,” Severus added. “Maybe in Hogsmeade. As you
so often remind me, we rarely go out. It might be nice.”
Harry was almost properly angry now. Granted, they’d seen so little of each
other since Harry started at the Academy, but visiting? Like old school chums
catching up on a Sunday over a fucking pint? Harry could almost see it: him
with a mug brimming with ale, Severus’ brimming with blood, chatting about
Harry’s latest assignment or Severus’ classes, each pretending they were
genuinely interested in the trials of the other. But the two had never shared
interests, only intimacy. And Severus seemed to want to throw that away.   
“Oh, surely you’d prefer to feed someplace more private,” Harry said bitterly.
“Or are we to rent rooms at the Three Broomsticks?” he spat. Severus finally
lifted his eyes to him, looking as if he were fighting a scowl.     
“Harry, that’s not-”
“Should I prepare a guest room for you at Grimmauld Place? That would be
cheaper than hiring rooms. Or hell, I could just bottle a pint of myself for
you weekly and send it by owl. Would that be more convenient for you?”
“Harry, you misunderstand.”
“Oh, I don’t think I do, Severus,” Harry snapped, shaking. He rose from his
chair and snatched up his bag. But instead of the floo, Harry approached
Severus. “You aren’t getting rid of me that easily,” he said, tone firm but
voice unsteady.
“Harry,” Severus argued, stricken. “Of course I’m not trying to ‘get rid’ of
you. But you cannot work-”
“There is no ‘but’, Severus. I’m not going alone,” he said with finality,
looking the man sternly in the eye. “How could you possibly think I would?”
“Harry, you cannot live here and work for the Ministry.”
“I hadn’t intended to, Severus. Move with me.” Severus shook his head as if the
idea was preposterous, opened his mouth to protest but Harry cut him off.
“Because you love me, move there with me,” he challenged, begged.
Severus looked at him for a long while, warring internally. “I can’t,” he said
finally.
“Why not?” Harry demanded. Severus looked away and shook his head but did not
answer.
Harry didn’t want to tell Severus about the floo. He didn’t want to lay out the
reasons why it could work. He wanted Severus to choose this. To choose him. He
wanted Severus to want them, convenient or not. They had needed each other
once, as surely as they needed oxygen. They had been magnetic and explosive,
coming together through whatever obstacle to collide beautifully; ripped apart
over and again by circumstance but always finding one another to burst against
each other once more. And now Severus wanted Harry to just forget that? To
carve out that part of himself and leave it behind, out of convenience?
When the man still didn’t answer, Harry said firmly, “Then I’m not moving
either,” and started toward the floo. He wasn’t ‘leaving’, but he was too upset
with Severus to be in his presence just at the moment.
“Harry,” Severus began, just as firmly, as if trying to reason with the young
man. But Harry turned back and stalked up to him, silencing him with a
stubborn, angry kiss. Severus didn’t fight it, but he didn’t yield to it,
either.  
“No, Severus,” Harry whispered fiercely, still grasping the back of the man's
neck. “I will walk away from the Ministry before I walk away from you, do you
understand?” After all they’d been through, Harry would be damned if a normal
life--if peace--was what finally defeated them.
It took a moment, one that felt longer to Harry than it actually was, perhaps.
But finally, he felt Severus’ arms around him, felt the man surrender to the
embrace with a sigh. “Obstinate fucking Gryffindor,” Severus muttered fondly.
Harry smiled, though inside he felt like weeping; partly with relief, partly
with fear. “We’ll discuss it later, Harry,” he promised.
The young man hadn’t forgotten the blonde hair. And it wasn’t that it didn’t
matter, but it didn’t necessarily mean anything. Harry wasn’t going to let
Severus just let him go. He had to try harder, was all. He wasn’t going to lose
this man without a fight. And fighting was all Harry knew. Fighting was what
Harry did best.

***** I Would Not Have Thee Linger in Thy Pain *****
Over the next few days, Harry rushed home after classes, taking his dinner in
their rooms instead of eating while he was out, in order to spend more time
with Severus. Despite the man’s insistence that Harry needed more rest, he
stayed up in the evenings to help Severus in the lab.
And he touched Severus, as often as he could; in casual ways while they worked,
and in not so casual ways when they were done. But he failed to coax Severus to
bed for anything other than sleep, and he worried that there was more to it
than the older man not being able to keep up with Harry’s libido.
Harry couldn’t help but wonder if this extra attention was bringing them closer
or driving Severus further away. He certainly was enjoying it, and Severus
didn’t complain. But there was a subtle coolness in the man, and Harry didn’t
know if he should increase his efforts or cease them. Severus had always been
closed off, and Harry felt something that approached panic realising there was
no way for him to know where he stood without cornering the man and forcing the
conversation which Severus had promised but never again broached. One which
Harry was suddenly afraid to have at all.
These insecurities were new. As difficult as the man could sometimes be, Harry
never felt it was a portent of anything in particular. It was simply Severus,
and Harry loved him. But their relationship was changing. Had changed. And
Harry felt like he was slowly and silently drowning in his doubt. He did not
succumb to it, however, until that Friday when he barreled, grinning, into
Severus’ office after his assessment.
“Am I to assume, from your jovial mood, that congratulations are in order?”
Severus asked, stepping from behind his desk. Harry waved his wand, locking the
door behind him before turning to slip his arms through the ones Severus held
behind his back, hugging the man around the waist.
“I passed, if that’s what you mean.”
“Of course you did,” Severus said, almost dismissively.
“Wasn’t much of a test, actually,” Harry went on, unsure what to make of
Severus’ lukewarm reaction, whether it indicated confidence in him or
disinterest. “Either they have very low standards, or they really didn’t want
to risk me failing. And I’m not sure how to feel about either option, to be
honest.”
“Let us hope it was the latter. You bring with you quite a lot of positive
public opinion. I wager they’ll be putting your face on posters before the week
is out,” Severus said with half a smile, finally softening a bit and draping
his arms loosely around the younger man.
Finally, Harry allowed himself to relax a bit. “Want to celebrate?” he purred
suggestively.
And just like that, Severus stiffened again. “I’m to meet another of my
students soon,” he said hesitantly. “Exams are next week.”
Harry was having none of it. He only needed a few minutes. “They’ll wait,” he
whispered confidently, cupping the front of Severus’ trousers, following with
his hand as the man shied away. Harry knew how to break down Severus’ defences
when he really wanted to, but it only worked when he saved it for rare
occasions. Harry’d been flirting for days, and now it was time to stick to his
follow-through.
Severus’ eyes had drifted closed and his breathing had shallowed well before
Harry had chased him against the wall with a determined hand and buried his
face in the crook of Severus’ neck. A part of him felt like leaving his mark
there, and he smiled against the man's skin, imagining what Severus’ student
might think if the Potions Master swept into the classroom with a fresh
lovebite. He controlled himself though, ignoring the man’s weak, sighed
objection as Harry deftly unbuttoned his fly. And he knew he had won the clash
of wills when Severus moaned his name, sinking his fingers into Harry’s hair as
Harry sank to his knees before him, sliding the length of his body against the
man as he went.
“I really...can’t,” he panted, making absolutely no move to stop the young man.
Harry grinned. “I’ll be quick,” he promised, tugging back Severus’ pants and
kissing the hollow of the man’s hip. He was rewarded with a stifled moan. Harry
settled between Severus' legs and smiled up at him, loving the the way Severus’
dark eyes could darken even further with desire. But then Harry noticed
something that soured his happiness. He broke off his gaze at Severus’ face and
dropped it apprehensively to the organ directly in front of him.
Harry smelled something...new. Something particular that seemed to linger
despite scrubbing or scouring. It was a scent that did not belong to Severus.
Or to Harry. And after four years, Harry knew those two scents well. This
wasn't even male. Harry knew because he'd never smelled it before. He didn't
have to have.
The young man tried and failed to not reflect on the fact that Severus knew
Harry would be occupied with the assessment that afternoon, that there was no
chance of him turning up unexpectedly. It was a painful revelation. Not only
that Severus had probably been unfaithful, but that he had the audacity to let
Harry do what he was doing now even before the stink of the sin had had time to
wear off.
But then, Harry had all but forced Severus to allow it. And perhaps this was
why he'd had to.
Harry closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to Severus’ stomach, hugging him
around the hips, feeling like a failure somehow but still not wanting to let
the man go. A tear rolled from the tip of Harry's nose and onto the sable nest
of Severus' pubic hair before Harry realised he was crying. He wasn’t even
angry, just heartbroken. “Harry?” Severus asked, stroking the top of his head.
The gentle care in his voice sounded mocking to the young man now. “Is
something the matter?” But Harry didn't trust himself to speak, and he didn't
want Severus to see his tears.
And so, feeling decidedly ill, he did what he'd settled himself in to do,
bringing the man to a quick finish. And, in the process, cleaning what he was
sure was the scent of a woman from Severus' cock. Harry somehow managed to take
possession of himself by the time he rose to his feet, but his hold was
tenuous. He didn’t know why he felt guilty seeing the pain on Severus’ face
when he shied away from the man’s kiss. Harry wasn’t the one who had betrayed
them, so why was he the one who felt ashamed?
“I have a big day tomorrow,” he said in an unsteady voice, his back turned. “So
I’ll likely be in bed when you get home.” Home. Suddenly, that word didn’t seem
to fit anymore. “You’re late for your appointment,” he pointed out, heading for
the floo. He was hurt further that Severus did not call him back, as he once
might have done, demanding to know what was wrong. And Harry did not glance
back at the man until after he’d dropped his handful of floo powder into the
hearth.
The expression he saw on Severus’ face in that instant contained such a
profound sadness that Harry lost his fragile composure. But the floo was
already carrying him away, and Harry did not think it wise to floo back while
he was weeping uncontrollably.
It might not be what he thought. Hell, Severus might have simply spilled a
strange potion ingredient down his front earlier that day. What did Harry know
about female scent? But he’d been trying to rationalise too much lately:
Severus' coldness, the blonde hair, Cobbleshot’s visit...and now this. Harry’s
suspension of disbelief could not weather this latest suspicion. And if it was
all a misunderstanding, why had Severus looked so sad as Harry left?
As if he realised Harry knew?
 
***** I Dare Not Task My Weakness with Any More *****
Severus did not come to bed that night, and Harry did not seek him out when he
woke.
Harry felt oddly numb, as if he were stumbling through a dream, waiting to wake
up. He wasn’t entirely certain how he later found himself on a rickety platform
at the Ministry in his newly issued uniform, sitting alongside his fellow
graduates as the Head of the Auror Department droned on about Honour and
Vigilance. Harry wasn’t listening. He was watching the crowd. He was certain it
was larger than usual for an Auror release ceremony, and that there weren’t
typically so many reporters. Harry didn’t think it was just his imagination
that everyone seemed to be looking at him, or that not everyone appeared
friendly. In fact, a few spectators looked downright hostile, including one man
who seemed to leave in disgust after a brief staring contest with Harry.
Though, the young man was not inclined to be bothered.
Of all the dozens of people eyeing the stage he sat on, Harry recognised only
one. Kingsley sat in the front row, looking up at him, full to bursting with
pride. Harry didn’t feel he had done anything special, but he appreciated
seeing a friendly face, anyway. Kingsley wasn’t the only Auror to have been in
the Order, but all the others were off on assignment. Harry would never really
be accustomed to being the centre of attention, and Kingsley’s presence was a
welcome anchor in a sea of ogling strangers.
The program was short, and Harry’s walk across the platform undoubtedly raised
the most boisterous applause. Afterwards, he spoke a few vague words for the
cameras and politely declined several interviews. Then, on cue, Kingsley pulled
him away on ‘official Auror business’ which consisted of a sarnie at Grimmauld
Place with Remus.
“I wish I could have been there, Harry,” Remus apologised as the three of them
nursed a pot of tea after lunch. Harry waved him off as he had the Potions
Master before.
“You and Severus both, so guilt-ridden over not seeing me walk across a bloody
stage,” he said, much more light-heartedly than he actually felt. He didn’t
fail to catch Remus’ suddenly analytical stare, but he ignored it. “Tell him,
Kingsley. It was boring and uneventful.”
“He brought down the house,” Kingsley grinned instead, oblivious to the
exchange.
“Traitor,” Harry grumbled, smiling into his tea cup. Kingsley just guffawed and
clapped Harry on the back, continuing undeterred.
“You should have seen the cameras, Remus. One would have thought the Queen was
making an appearance.” Harry groaned.
“Well, there you are, Remus. It was well documented. I’m sure you’ll see it
eventually,” he sighed, rising to his feet. “And if you want a preview, you can
watch me walk to the loo, which is about as interesting as the ceremony was.”
Remus chuckled but followed him with concerned eyes. Kingsley’s rich, deep
laugh chased Harry from the room.
Harry didn’t particularly need to piss, he simply needed a moment to himself.
Even though he’d drifted through most of it in a haze, the day had been a bit
overwhelming. And he still hadn’t completely processed what had happened the
day before. It was as if the event had tripped some safety mechanism in his
mind, not allowing Harry to really examine things in case he suffered a
complete breakdown as a result.
Quite besides all that, Harry was at least as disappointed by Remus’ absence as
Remus was; or at least, he was upset by the fact that Remus’ attending would
not have been wise. The man had been given a medal by the Ministry for his
participation in the war, for gods’ sake. The first ever awarded to a ‘Dark
Creature’. But that didn’t necessarily buy him the trust of the Auror force at
large. Which was Harry’s other conundrum.
Before the Academy, Harry’d only known Aurors like Kingsley and Moody: brave
individuals who cared about what was right and good, who believed in justice.
But Harry’s recent experiences with the department had left him disillusioned.
He’d almost been tempted to fisticuffs on more than one occasion by some
careless, prejudiced comment by his fellow students about werewolves in
general, and once regarding Remus specifically. It was enough to make Harry
dread the attitudes he’d face in the department possessed by older, less
progressive veteran Aurors.
And that was nothing compared to the prevailing opinions about Severus. Far
from receiving a medal, the man had simply been pardoned, mostly based on
Harry’s testimony. So few knew--really knew--how important a role Severus had
played in the war. Even Harry wasn’t privy to all the details. And when
Dumbledore fell, he took most of Severus’ credibility with him. It galled Harry
far more than it did Severus. It seemed unforgivable to the young man that he
could be so hounded by praise when the real hero of the war was ridiculed and
mistrusted. It bothered him that Severuswasn’t bothered by it, as if he’d long
ago accepted injustice as a condition of life.
Harry leaned against the bathroom wall and rubbed his eyes with the heels of
his hands. Regardless of whether or not Harry had reason to doubt Severus’
fidelity, he would never wish harm on the man. But if there was ever a whisper
about Severus’ condition, half the Auror department would be baying for his
blood, and it felt as if Harry had thrown in with the enemy. If Severus were
found out, Harry would be in place to possibly protect him. But at the same
time, he worried his presence on the force would make Severus’ discovery more
likely.
Perhaps this was all a terrible idea. Perhaps he’d just wasted the last several
months of his life. And perhaps this was one of the reasons Severus was
cheating on him. Perhaps he felt Harry had betrayed them first.
Harry decided he needed a drink, and he reluctantly returned to the kitchen to
find Remus sitting alone at the table. “Kingsley had to dash, said to tell you
goodbye,” the man informed him quietly. Now that their friend had gone, neither
of them bothered pretending to be cheerful.
“Do we have any more Firewhiskey? Or should I go shopping?” Harry asked
bleakly. Remus stared at him for a long moment before responding as if working
through the wisdom of pointing Harry in the direction of alcohol. But if he
didn’t, Harry’d just go find some on his own and likely drink alone.
“Under the sink,” he said finally.
Harry didn’t answer, just strode directly over and tugged open the doors,
pulling out the bottle. He was satisfied to find it was unopened. “You’re
drinking with me,” he told Remus. He left no room for refusal and Remus did not
argue. The man did not have to give Harry The Look. After they had both emptied
their glasses, twice, in silence, Harry opened the floodgates.
“Severus is having an affair,” he said dejectedly, staring holes in the
tabletop. Remus scowled, hesitated, then quietly refilled their glasses.
“How do you know?” he asked as if the statement didn’t particularly surprise
him. “Did you catch him?”
“As good as,” Harry murmured, considering his glass for only a moment before
emptying it again. He didn’t even grimace.
“Harry,” Remus sighed, “that's a serious accusation.” The young man didn’t
respond except by filling his glass again and, after he set down the bottle,
Remus discreetly took it and placed it carefully out of Harry’s reach. “Listen.
I know he seems changed lately. But just because Severus is distant, it does
not mean he doesn't still care for you. Or that he’s being unfaithful.” He
could see Harry was no closer to being convinced, and Remus sipped his drink,
gathering his thoughts. “He was engaged in the war in a different way than we
were. Now that he's no longer having to constantly play a role…” He shook his
head, as if unsure how to say what he was thinking. “Perhaps he's so
unaccustomed to showing his true feelings that he's simply struggling with it
now.”
Harry scoffed, “Why now, Remus?” He shook his head adamantly. “He never had
trouble expressing himself to me during the war. And I used to think that made
me something special,” he muttered, moving to down his drink and finding, to
his annoyance, it was already gone. “Fuck being The Chosen One,” he said,
setting his empty glass the tabletop and giving it a small shove. “Severus
Snape let down his guard. For me. Thatwas something. But why throw it back up
suddenly when it’s finally no longer necessary?” Harry asked, searching for the
bottle. “There used to be no hesitancy in his touch, Remus. No question in his
eyes when he looked at me.”
Remus leaned forward to rest his crossed arms on the table as if to
nonchalantly block Harry’s access to the Firewhiskey. “Things are simply
different now. Those times were charged with urgency, Harry. Surely you can
understand that. Really, the only reason your relationship was condoned in the
first place, and not just by me but even by Severus, was because-”
“Because no one expected me to live,” Harry finished for him, scathingly.
Remus shifted uncomfortably. “Harry, I'm not thinking clearly right now,” he
said, casting a dirty look at the glass of whisky in his hand. “I didn't mean-”
“I’m rather close to drunk myself, Remus, but I’m fairly sure I understood you
perfectly,” he said bitingly. But Harry wasn’t angry with Remus, and he needed
to stop directing his abuse at the man. He sighed and leaned back in his chair,
raking a hand over his face. “It doesn't exactly matter how it started or why,
does it? It's existed this long, and nothing in the world prevents it from
continuing. What? Am I not thrilling enough for him now that I'm not about to
die? I'm about to become a bloody Auror. Is that not dangerous enough? Or do I
need to be literally marked for death by some supervillain?” Harry lay his head
in his hands, feeling drained, defeated. “I have never denied him, Remus,” he
confided sadly. “Ever. In anything. But maybe that's just it,” he added
bitterly. “Maybe he's used me up. Maybe I bore him now.”
“I really don't think it works that way,” Remus said, looking as if he ached on
Harry’s behalf, as if he wanted to console him but didn’t quite know how.
“You know what I really think it is?” Harry asked sardonically, toying with his
empty glass. “I think the problem is that my boyfriend isn't actually gay,” he
spat, causing Remus’ scowl to deepen. “I think I was a novelty.”
“Harry, of course he doesn’t-”
“You know, I happen to be rather fond of my dick,” he went on as if Remus
hadn’t spoken. “Or I'd almost be inclined to just have them lop it off. But who
in their right mind would go to such lengths for some crotchety arsehole who
can't even say 'I love you'?” Harry said with a something between a laugh and a
sob.
“Harry, slow down,” Remus urged. “What, exactly, makes you think he's been
unfaithful?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “You mean besides the blonde hair I found on his robes?”
Remus winced and shook his head. “Harry-”
“Or maybe it’s Loraina’s unexpected visits when they think I'm staying over
here,” he offered, growing angry.
“Harry. That doesn't necessarily mean-”
“It’s because I can fucking smell her on him!” Harry shouted, finally silencing
the man. “And I'm not talking about her goddamned perfume on his collar,
Remus,” Harry clarified, chafing again at the fact that his glass remained
empty.
Remus looked troubled. “Have you talked to him about it? Perhaps he has a
reasonable explanation for all-”
“Merlin's Beard, Remus," he scowled. "Why are you, of all people, trying to
make excuses for him?” Harry demanded, exasperated. “You loathe each other!”
Remus fixed him with a pensive look, but Harry could not work out at all what
the man might be thinking.
“I want you to be happy,” he whispered finally. Harry shot him a dirty look.
“Granted, I realise you aren't happy right now. But you are stubborn as hell.
And I don't think you're done with him yet,” Remus said plainly.
“Well, it doesn't bloody well matter whether I'm done with him if he's done
with me,” Harry muttered.
“I seriously doubt that he is,” Remus said quietly. It didn’t soothe the
younger man, though the fight did seem to leave him. Harry shook his head,
finally gave up on Remus allowing him more alcohol, and slumped back in his
chair, thinking quietly for a moment.
“Have you ever been with a woman, Remus?” he asked suddenly.
Remus seemed shocked by the question and stumbled a bit over his answer. “Um.
Well yes, I have,” he said, giving Harry a quizzical look.
“Is there something special about them?” Harry asked, looking confused. “I
don't know,” he shrugged. “I used to notice girls. And then I didn't so much
start noticing boys as...I noticed you.” Their eyes met for only a moment, but
they both blushed and quickly looked away. “And then I couldn't see anyone but
Severus,” Harry went on. “But maybe I should find a girl,” he said as if
thinking it over and finding it appealing. “Just for a night.” Then Harry
seemed suddenly less confident. The world of female sexuality struck him as
intimidating. “Is it...? I mean, are they...?” Harry didn’t even know what he
meant to ask, but Remus seemed to.
“They're different, is all, Harry,” he told him with a shrug. “Not better or
worse, really.”
“They're softer, I bet,” Harry mused.
Remus smiled. “Sometimes, but not necessarily. I do actually quite like tits,”
he added, surprising a bark of laughter from Harry. Remus grinned, perhaps
relieved that Harry was lightening up. “Not boobs, mind you,” he clarified with
a shudder. “That was Sirius’ thing. I never saw the appeal in really large
breasts, when there's so much of them you feel like you're juggling pudding-
filled balloons.” Harry cracked up again, scrunching his nose in distaste.
“But,” Remus went on, “tits are actually quite nice. Small. Firm. Pert. Just
enough for a handful.” He looked nostalgic and approving, apparently picturing
the perfect pair in his mind’s eye. “Really, Harry, I highly recommend a set of
nice tits,” he concluded, raising his glass to him and draining it.
Harry groaned, looking at the man as if he’d never really seen him before. “Oh
fuck, Remus,” he said, shaking his head with a lopsided smile. “I don't even
know how I'm feeling anymore.”
“Well. You asked,” Remus shrugged, as if to say whatever trauma the
conversation caused was Harry’s own fault. But then Remus’ humour faded, and he
looked seriously at the young man. “I know you're hurt, Harry,” he confided.
“I'm not trying to make light of it. And I don't like to encourage infidelity,”
he said hesitantly, “and certainly not as a form of revenge-”
“So I shouldn't ring up Eric Conners?” Harry said cheekily. “As if he'd have me
now,” he added ruefully. “Have you seen him lately? Gods. He's on bloody
magazines and things.” And suddenly, Eric’s photo-spread was winking
seductively at Harry in his mind’s eye, made even more appealing by the whisky
in his veins. Harry sighed wistfully. “Doubt he'd even give me the time of
day.”
Remus considered Harry as the young man momentarily lost himself in daydreams.
“Harry” he began thoughtfully, drawing Harry’s reluctant attention. “You know,
with the exception of Eric, you never allowed yourself that time that most
young people have. Where you at least flirt with anyone willing, tuck off
somewhere out of sight to round second base with a practical stranger.
Exploration is a healthy thing, Harry. And perhaps it wouldn't be so bad if you
did meet a young lady,” he proposed.
Harry fixed Remus with an intent look. He still had Eric on the brain, but now
he was remembering his only other serious sexual encounter before Severus. And
his imagination, already limbered from its recent exercise, took off at full
sprint. “I don't think it has to be a woman,” he said quietly, narrowing his
eyes at the man.
“Then another young man,” Remus offered innocently, perhaps failing to notice
the way Harry now considered Remus’ torso, as if remembering it bared and
sweat-sheened.
“You know. I don't think they even have to be ‘young’,” Harry said, his eyes
drifting to areas where imagination took over for memory. Despite Remus’
tipsiness, there was no mistaking Harry’s look now, or the subtle, suggestive
tone of his voice. The man became visibly unsettled.
“Harry,” he cautioned. But Harry ignored him, placing his elbow on the table
and leaning in closer to the man seated beside him.
“Maybe they just have to be different,” Harry went on stubbornly, eyes dancing
as they met Remus’. “Maybe,” he whispered, “they just have to be open to the
things Severus isn't.”
Remus seemed frozen, unable even to lean away when Harry bent forward and
reached across him in order to retrieve the bottle of firewhiskey. Harry didn’t
withdraw, though, once it was in hand. Without a word, Harry topped off the
glass Remus still held, ignoring the subtle tremor that disturbed the liquid’s
surface. The man took a shuddering breath, as if he’d momentarily forgotten to
breathe. “This isn't a good idea, Harry,” he finally managed.
“Historically, perhaps. But I'm an optimist,” Harry grinned incorrigibly.
“Would you really deny me, Remus?” he asked, his brow creasing slightly as he
considered Remus’ lips. “If I kissed you now, would you push me away?” Was it
just Harry’s imagination, or did the man look frightened? “Shall I test it?” he
asked, unconsciously licking his own lips.
Remus swallowed uncomfortably. “You shouldn't,” he said, though his voice was
small and uncertain.
Harry smiled to himself. He’d been seducing Severus for years. Compared to
that, Remus’ defences were child’s play. “Because you don't want me to? Or
because you don't feel it's the right thing to do?” he challenged. “You don't
always have to be noble, Remus,” Harry chided. “It’s okay to be selfish
sometimes.” Remus didn’t answer, but his eyes had fallen to Harry’s lips, as
well, his own having fallen open slightly. “I have an unfortunate history of
it,” Harry admitted, not sounding in the least bit contrite. “Being selfish
that is. Wehave a history. Don't you remember it, Remus?” he asked breathily,
half a second away from discarding his own self-control. “Don't you remember
the last time I kissed you?”
Remus seemed to have lost the power of speech, and his amber eyes were
imploring. But it was impossible to tell if they were begging Harry to stop, or
else to finish it and kiss him already.
“I daydream about it sometimes, you know,” Harry confessed, abandoning
seduction for honesty. He still eyed Remus’ mouth, but he cast off his guile;
suddenly wanting more from this man than a cheap, drunken thrill. “And I think,
for a long time, I compared each kiss I tasted--had ever tasted--to yours.”
Harry looked into Remus’ eyes, feeling suddenly vulnerable. Now Harry was the
one who implored. “And I often found them lacking," he whispered. "Just so you
know.”
When Remus finally recovered his voice, it was to moan.
“Oh, Harry.”
***** Cry “O Sweet Creature!” and Then Kiss Me *****
Oh, Harry
He hadn’t realised until that moment how much he’d longed to hear those very
words fall from those particular lips in just that way. It was not lost on
Harry that this was his First Love. What Harry had felt for Remus all those
years ago had been so much more than a crush. He’d ached for Remus’ presence
even before it occurred to him that he might touch the man, might kiss him. And
the thrill he had felt at the addition of those possibilities had simply
cemented Harry’s feelings for him.
Harry loved Severus, but his feelings for him were more visceral. And at the
same time, they were almost maternal. Harry wanted to care for him. He felt he
must because there was no one else to do so. Or at least, no one to do it
properly. When he looked at Severus, Harry saw a man who had been ill-treated;
a man who, like Harry, had been taught to believe he was not deserving of love.
And Harry’s need to prove Severus wrong on that point was almost all-consuming.
The physical desire he felt was strong and genuine, but what bound Harry to him
most was the need to demonstrate those feelings to Severus in the almost
desperate hope that he would one day accept them as truth. He bled himself into
the man, in so many ways. And what he gave him, he never got back in kind. Nor
did he expect to.
Remus was different; had always been different. If Severus was an abyss, Remus
was a mirror. Harry saw himself reflected in the man not only in terms of who
he was and what he had lost but also what he wanted. Remus returned Harry’s
warmth. He supported him, encouraged him, cared for him with little thought of
himself. He was as much Harry’s friend as anything. And running beneath it,
always, had been an attraction they had simply learned to ignore.
But Harry ignored it no longer. This was not now some clumsy, virginal
flirtation. Harry was an adult and well versed in the physical practices of
adults. He understood, perfectly, what he wanted from this man, what they
wanted from each other, and exactly how to go about fulfilling that desire. The
firewhiskey was not a hindrance but, instead, was a fuel. It made everything
seem more crucial and all the consequences beyond significance. This
consummation had been a long time in coming, and suddenly it seemed more
important to Harry than almost anything else in the world.
They reached for one another at the same moment, rising from their seats. Their
lips met gradually, and their hands sought out each other’s faces with reverent
fingertips. Even through the haze of alcohol, it was better than anything Harry
had ever remembered or imagined. This wasn’t the frenzied, lust-charged thunder
clap Harry had intended when he’d first leaned across the table. It was a low,
slow rumble which spoke of depth, immensity and patience; the kind one feels
deep within, incognizant of its approach until one is overwhelmed by its
crescendo. Thiswas the kiss they shared: slow and monumental, gentle and
profound; a culmination of countless heart-to-hearts, endless trust, and years
of fondness that had nothing to do with the physical.
The kiss ended as sweetly and as weightily as it had begun, and Harry drew
back, but he had no words. He could not describe even to himself the magnitude
of what he’d just felt. Remus seemed to have felt it as well, though, as his
face held the same kind of wonder as Harry’s as he looked at the young man.
There was no turning back now, and Harry resolved this would not be some
drunken romp on the kitchen floor. Something like this had to be done properly.
He reached down and took hold of Remus’ hand to lead the man silently up the
stairs to his room. Harry realised, though, when he turned to Remus there, that
he was out of his element. Whatever this was, Harry had never had it before.
There was no lead and follow, no dominance or submission, but Harry found he
liked it: the unison, the unspoken understanding that they should unhurriedly
relieve each other of their clothing and drink in the sight and feel of it.
Harry certainly appreciated the slow brush of Remus’ hand as he pulled Harry’s
shirt over the young man’s head and tossed it aside. He felt the electricity
generated as his own knuckles grazed Remus’ stomach as Harry unfastened the
man’s belt, his lips aching to claim Remus’ once more but waiting because it
did not yet seem time.
Gratifyingly, there was no reluctance on Remus’ part. Harry had feared the man
might wrestle with his conscience and lose as he had done before, and the
rejection would have killed Harry this time. But then, there were no ancient
magics that needed safeguarding anymore. And for some reason, it only just
occurred to Harry that that might have been the only reason Remus had pushed
him away to begin with. Harry had been so heartbroken, had taken Remus’
rejection so personally before that, even after learning about the magical
importance of his purity, it didn’t occur to him to go back and reexamine what
had happened between them.
But Harry reexamined it now, and he realised it had had nothing to do with
conscience or convention or propriety. Nothing to do with Sirius or Dumbledore.
The man had simply felt so strongly for Harry that he did not trust himself to
even remain in his presence; not when Harry’s safety could be endangered. Remus
had loved Harry too much to act on it.
Nothing prevented them from acting on it now, though. Once naked, they came
together slowly, taking in and appreciating the whole of the other as they
drifted closer. It wasn’t reluctance, just a sense that they had waited so long
to feel one another’s warm, bare flesh beneath their palms that to rush it
would be a sin. And so, when Remus finally touched him in just the place Harry
had forced his hand once before, he ran his hand slowly up Harry’s chest and
over his shoulder, drawing a sigh from them both. Harry slipped his own hand
around Remus' waist, memorising every contour of every scar as he went, to
settle on the small Remus’ back and pull him close enough to kiss.
It was sweet and tender, and it spoke of inevitability and long-awaited
fulfilment. But also, finally, Harry felt the heat; the low, slow burn in the
pit of his stomach like a long-dormant creature stirring after years of
captivity that now demanded more. The kiss deepened, became the kiss Harry
remembered: ravenous and ecstatic. And Remus stepped into the embrace, wrapping
his arms around Harry and pressing their bodies together, causing Harry to
involuntarily break off their kiss with a contented gasp as if some missing
part of himself had suddenly been driven home.
Then just like that, they were on Harry’s bed, tangled in one another, knotting
themselves tighter with every shift of their bodies. Both of them occasionally
broke off to stare at the other, to momentarily to take in the fact that this
was really happening, and that it really was as wonderful as it seemed, and
that there was more of it to be had. More than Remus’ mouth on Harry’s neck,
trailing hungry kisses along the underside of his jaw. More than Harry’s hand
grasping at the curve of Remus’ arse, and the swell of his thigh, and up and
down the length of the strong back Harry had admired those days before.
Remus’ mouth found Harry’s once more and, at the same time, his hand found the
young man’s cock. Harry gasped against Remus’ lips, unaware of how badly he had
been aching until Remus sought to soothe it with gentle, thorough strokes. When
Harry moved to return the favour, Remus moaned, shuddered, and Harry wondered
how long it had been since anyone had touched the man; wondered if Remus had
been neglected since that night so long ago when they had both lost one of the
most important persons in their world.
Harry wanted to make up for lost time, to somehow show Remus years of attention
all at once. He slid himself down the length of Remus’ body, his hands stroking
as much of him as was possible on the way there, and wrapped his lips around
the man, savouring the unfamiliar shape of him in his mouth and the unfamiliar
taste of him on his tongue. Remus’ fingers raked through the young man’s dark
hair as Harry devoted whatever expertise he’d acquired since to making the man
writhe and buck. It was beyond delicious, the sounds he could draw from Remus,
but nothing was sweeter than the sound of his own name tumbling over and over
from the werewolf’s gasping lips. Harry brought his hand to assist, stroking at
the cleft curving away beneath his chin, but Remus halted him.
“Harry,” he panted, sounding uncertain for the first time since they began. The
young man looked up at him with question in his eyes. And gods. Remus was
beautiful: his face flushed, his golden eyes bright and adoring. The man
veritably glowed. “It’s been...a while,” he whispered down at Harry.
Harry understood Remus’ hesitation, but he suddenly neededthis man. He laid a
parting kiss on the tip of Remus’ cock before rolling off the bed to snatch up
his robes, frantically fishing his wand from them. “Accio oil!” But Harry had
not specified, and at least four different bottles and vials came zooming to
them through the open bedroom door. Remus chuckled at Harry’s enthusiasm. It
seemed to Harry he’d heard it somewhere before and he smiled, was filled with a
sense of well-being.
Remus shuffled through the offering of oils and handed one to Harry. And oh,
how the young man loved the trust he saw in Remus’ eyes. The question was
whether it was well-placed. Harry had never done what they were about to do. It
had been done to him on countless occasions, though, and so he felt a semblance
of confidence. Harry grinned nervously at Remus as he settled onto the mattress
between Remus’ legs, stretching himself out and looking back up at him from
between the man’s thighs. He carefully slicked his fingers and then bent again
to take Remus in his mouth.
It might have been a while since Remus had done this, but he quickly
accommodated Harry’s finger, and then another. Harry would have been willing to
patiently spend the next hour carefully preparing the man, he was so enjoying
the process. But it was not long at all before Remus was tugging at the young
man, urging Harry back towards his lips and begging him, Please. Now.
Harry hadn’t felt so nervous or so excited since the accident of circumstance
that had found him kneeling in the Malfoys' dungeons. But he pushed those
thoughts away. He wanted to think of nothing and of no one except Remus. He
settled himself over him, felt legs wrap around his waist, and Harry marvelled
down at the beauty and lust and affection he saw on the man’s face. “Remus, I…”
“Don’t worry,” Remus whispered, adjusting his hips so that Harry rested at the
proper angle. “It will be alright.”
Harry swallowed his uncertainty and pressed into the man gently. And gods...how
easily he slipped inside. And how glorious it felt: this hot, tight, silken
revelation that was Remus. Harry could scarcely hold himself up, it was so
overwhelming. Their eyes fluttered to a close and they were both moaning as
Harry sank himself incrementally deeper. And when Harry, panting, settled the
last inch of himself firmly inside Remus, he rested there and wrapped his arms
around Remus’ chest, lifted his head and claimed Remus’ mouth, accepting the
man’s tongue. He had never felt more connected to another person in his life.
It was as if there were no boundaries between them, as if they were no longer
separate entities and were, instead, one being.
“See?” Remus whispered with a smile.“Perfect.”
It was. So much so that Harry was reluctant to disturb it with movement. He
withdrew slightly, mourning the momentary diminishing of their sense of
completion before returning home. Even that small movement had been an
epiphany. Each withdrawal unravelled him. Each careful thrust knit him together
again. Holy gods. How had he ever lived without this? How had Severus dared
deny him this?
He was not as artful as he would have liked, nor as smooth, but Remus clearly
had no complaints, urging him with the roll of his hips to plunge deeper, to
move faster, until they were undulating ceaselessly, synchronised. It would
undoubtedly have been easier to manoeuvre if Harry rose to his hands and knees,
but he refused to loosen their embrace. In the end, it didn’t matter. Remus’
erection brushed against Harry’s stomach with each thrust, and the sensation
was almost as pleasurable for Harry as it was for Remus, their sweat easing the
friction just enough to make the movement effortless, flawless, as Harry
relentlessly drove himself into the man.
Harry could feel his orgasm threaten, but he fought it. Though he knew it
would, and soon, Harry never wanted this to end. But as he thrust again,
harder, he felt Remus shudder. Again and Remus cried out, sobbed Harry’s
name. Harry could feel Remus’ cock pumping between them, could feel the hot,
thick proof of the man’s climax, and Harry could hold his own off no longer. He
pressed himself deep one last time and allowed himself to spill into Remus. He
was unable to hold his weight off the man as all his strength seemed to bleed
from him with his seed, but Remus was not bothered. In fact, he held Harry to
him even more tightly as they both trembled in the aftermath.
It was everything Harry could have wanted from the experience and more. Far
more that he had anticipated. Far more, suddenly, than he could handle. He
carefully slipped from the man, and they stretched out beside one another
without releasing their embrace. Harry lay a cheek against Remus' shoulder and
could feel the tears coming, but he was unable to stop them.
Alarmed, Remus gently forced the younger man to look at him, confusion and
concern in his eyes. “Harry? Darling, what's wrong?” he asked urgently, still
out of breath from his recent climax. He kissed Harry's neck, his face, erasing
the salty beads that sat there. “What's all this?”
“It should have been you,” Harry said in a choked whisper, allowing himself to
be petted. “All this time, it should have been you. I'm sorry, Remus. I'm so
sorry,” he sobbed, now inconsolable.
Remus smoothed the sweat soaked strands from Harry’s forehead. “Harry, you
don't mean that,” he chided softly. “You love Severus. You're just feeling
guilty. I apologise. This is my fault. I should never have allowed this. You
were too vulnerable-”
“No,” Harry said quietly but firmly, still crying. “I know exactly what I mean.
Severus cares for me, but he can't...” Harry's breath was coming in hiccups now
and his thoughts were too fragmented to articulate the way he wanted. “No
matter how often I tell myself otherwise, all this time I've been hoping he'd
turn into something that he's not. Or that it wouldn't matter if he didn't. But
itdoes matter, Remus,” he said with a quiet sob.
Remus held Harry tighter, clearly hating the young man's pain but not knowing
what to do for him other than love him. He stroked Harry’s bare, sweat-cooled
back as the young man wept until he finally calmed and pulled away to lay on
his back, staring despondently at the ceiling. Remus regarded him silently for
a moment.
“Harry,” he began evenly, propping himself on his elbow to better look Harry in
the face as he spoke. “Even if you hadn't chosen Severus then, you and I...it
wasn't the right time,” he explained gently. “You were just a boy,” he said,
shaking his head. “It wasn't only the spells that drove me back here away from
you those years ago, though it killed me to do it. It would have been even
harder had you crawled out of that pit and declared yourself to me, but still,
I would not have taken you. You were too young by far to understand what you
asked. To know what you wanted.”
Harry drew himself up onto his elbow as well, ignoring the mess of tears on his
face. “But you let me go to Severus. To be with Severus,” he said, confused.
Remus looked at him sadly and reached down to grasp Harry’s hand as he spoke.
“I knew better than to try to stop you. I could see the determination in you,
and I knew nothing I did or said would keep you away from the man. Though, I
think perhaps it was the right time for the two of you then,” he said
thoughtfully. “You healed each other, Harry. Severus is a better man for having
had you. But you are no longer the boy you were then. You no longer need the
kind of support he provided. You're a man now. You have your own path to
follow. Severus chose his long ago and cannot alter it.
“Darling, has it occurred to you you may simply have outgrown him?”
Harry rolled to his back but still held Remus' hand, digesting what the man had
just said.
“None of this,” Remus added, gesturing to their still-naked bodies, “negates
the happiness you found in him. And you cannot tell me you didn't find it,
Harry. It was rarely remarked upon because it was...taboo. But everyone could
see the care you felt, for each other. He needed you as much as you needed him.
There was no denying it. You were stronger together. But the war is over,
Harry,” Remus whispered. “And perhaps what complimented the one in the other is
simply no longer necessary.”
“You know, Severus spoke to me once of compatibility, of the nuance of
seemingly incompatible elements complimenting each other. I'd almost forgotten
it until just now,” Harry said absently, thinking back to that night in the lab
when he had been ‘serving detention’. It was one of the first times Severus had
relaxed around him, spoken to him as a person and not as a student. “But he was
speaking of potions ingredients,” he said softly. “At least, I thought he was.”
“I'm not trying to drive you away from him,” Remus assured, seeing Harry’s
lingering affection for Severus written clearly on the young man’s face. “I’m
not trying to steal you from him, Harry. I only care for your happiness, and I
haven’t seen it in you lately when you talk about him. Not for a long while,
actually. That isn't to say you may not be able to salvage it.” Remus said this
as if he felt he had to but was loathe to do it. “The question you must ask
yourself, my Darling, is whether you should try. It is okay to find contentment
in what you have. And just as acceptable to want more, as well.”
Harry wiped his tears, feeling foolish for bawling on the man moments after
he'd fucked him. But this was Remus, and he didn't feel embarrassed enough to
regret any of it. Remus did that. He made everything okay. He always had. Harry
looked at the man, as ever amazed by his kindness, his selflessness. Harry made
an informed choice then to lean forward and kiss him again, the kiss he’d
reserved, held secret in his heart all these years but hadn't had the
opportunity to share until now; the sweet, unhurried one that took their breath
away and that Harry could still feel long after it ended. Harry pressed his
forehead to the other man's, and his eyes fell closed with a sigh. “I love you,
Remus,” he whispered, selfish because Remus allowed it.
“And I love you, Darling,” Remus replied without hesitation, bringing a hand to
the back of Harry's neck. “Nothing will ever change that,” he said, echoing
their younger selves.
Harry knew what he was really saying. Even if Harry went back to Severus now
and the two of them never again touched in this way, Remus would cherish this
still, just as Harry had cherished their encounter before. It wasn't that Remus
would wait for him. It was simply that his feelings would remain steadfast,
whether they were requited or not. And so Harry realised he needed to decide,
soon, whether that was the tragedy of the man or else his saving virtue.
***** He Gave Me for My Pains a World of Sighs *****
Remus cast the obligatory scouring spell and the two lazed together in Harry’s
bed for some time afterwards. They didn’t speak. They simply enjoyed the
nearness of each other. But as pleasant as it was, Harry’s discontent was
slowly building and, before long, it soured the peace of the moment.
It wasn’t as if Harry had never known contentment with Severus, but it had been
a long while, and being with Remus only highlighted what his relationship with
Severus lacked. Harry found that he wanted this same thing with Severus, that
he required it. He could no longer accept their relationship as it was. Harry
resolved the man would give him more, or Harry would leave and accept it from
someone who didn’t make him work so hard for a mere shadow of it. Harry
recalled people always saying that love was a struggle, that relationships were
hard work, and he'd certainly always toiled to be with Severus. But that seemed
nonsense to him now. Loving Remus was as effortless as breathing.
Still, Harry wasn’t prepared to abandon Severus, even if his suspicions about
his infidelity were confirmed. He was willing to forgive the man, especially
when he knew--he knew--Severus had it in him to make Harry happy if only he
would try. Harry didn’t need much more from him, he was devoted to the man. But
if Severus could not make such small concessions, Harry felt that perhaps his
devotion was being wasted.
Remus did not comment when Harry disentangled himself and began dressing, a
sense of purpose infusing his movements. He was silent still as Harry bent to
give him a parting kiss, though Harry could tell by the way the man savoured it
that Remus expected it to be their last. Harry wasn’t as confident of that. He
genuinely wished he could be, and he concentrated just as hard as Remus to
committing the sensation of the caress of the man’s lips to memory. But Harry
knew Severus better than Remus did, and his heart was already breaking as he
anticipated the confrontation to come.
Harry left Remus naked in his bed and made his way heavily down the stairs,
steeling his determination as he went. He and Severus needed to have this
conversation, and they needed to have it before Harry lost his nerve entirely.
He wasn’t entirely sober, but he still felt he was not inebriated enough to
manage what he meant to do. Before making his way to the sitting room to floo
back to Hogwarts, Harry covertly slipped back into the kitchen, fortifying his
resolve with one final shot of Firewhiskey.
This could be it. As Harry contemplated the hearth, floo powder in hand, he was
conflicted. He was terrified, but he needed this situation to be resolved,
regardless of whether he had Remus here to cushion the potential blow. Still,
the fact that Remus waited for him made the endeavour marginally less
frightening than it would have been otherwise. Harry felt like a coward
considering this. But then, who is truly brave when it comes to matters of the
heart?
Harry stepped through the hearth into the sitting room to find Severus perched
at his grading desk. The man lifted his head to greet him, his expression more
pleasant than usual but, as soon as he caught sight of Harry, Severus’ good
humour faltered and shifted into concern and then to mild disapproval. “You're
drunk,” he observed, no doubt smelling it on the young man. He sighed and
returned his quill to its stand, settling back on his stool and crossing his
arms.
“Not drunk enough,” Harry muttered with only a hint of a slur.
“Is there, perhaps, some reason for your getting sotted before teatime?”
Severus asked, eyebrow raised, clearly bemused. “Don’t tell me. You stumbled on
your robes on your way to the podium in front of the entire Wizarding World.”
Harry shook his head. He couldn’t dance around this. He had to just say it
before he lost his nerve. Harry straightened and looked the man squarely in the
eye. “Severus. Are you cheating on me?”
The question was clearly unexpected. Severus ruffled, then abruptly stood and
swept, scowling, past Harry and down the stairs into the lab without a word.
“Don’t walk away from me, Severus!” Harry demanded, following closely at his
heels. The man declined to respond until he’d reached the centre of the lab.
“I’d prefer not to have this conversation with you while you’ve been drinking,”
he said tersely when he finally turned to the young man.
“That’s just too bad because we’re talking about this now.”
Severus scoffed, but he looked uneasy. He played it off as best he could by
crossing to his desk and snatching up a parchment, squinting unseeingly at its
contents. Harry followed, refusing to be so obviously brushed off.
“Say something.”
“You clearly have your mind made up. I really don’t know what I’m meant to
say,” Severus said stubbornly. Harry took a deep breath. The harder he pushed,
the more the man would close off.
“I just want to understand,” Harry said, his voice small and unsteady. “I’m not
angry. Not much. I get that you aren’t really...gay.” Severus glanced up at him
uncertainly. “If you tell me that I just can’t give you what you need, I’ll
understand,” Harry promised, tearing up. “Or if you tell me that you just don’t
love me-” Gods. Those words were so difficult to say out loud. “-then I’ll…”
He’d what? He’d shatter. He’d crumble to dust. What was he even doing? Why had
he pressed the matter? Harry suddenly couldn’t breathe. They were going to end,
and it would be his fault. “Just explain to me why you’re even still with me if
you're in love with Rainey,” Harry pleaded. “Why have you ever been with me,
Severus?”
Severus dropped the parchment he was pretending to read. “For fuck’s sake,” he
muttered quietly, scowling. “What makes you think I’m in love with Loraina?”
“Please, Severus,” Harry spat indignantly, a rising anger infecting his
heartache. “Stop treating me like a fucking child.” Severus' lingering
affection for the woman had never been a question. Harry had always just clung
to the hope that that flame, if it could not die, was not as strong within
Severus as the one which burned for Harry; the one which the young man tried to
feed continuously, to Harry’s detriment. “I know you've been having an affair,”
Harry said, not as coldly as he'd have liked.
Severus scowled at him. “You know no such thing,” he said with a dismissively.
“The hell I don't!” Harry spat through clenched teeth, refusing to be the inept
student to Severus' burnt-out professor. “Don’t do this, Severus. Don’t pretend
you don’t know what I’m talking about. If you want her-”
“I don't want her!” Severus snarled, his blasé facade finally cracking. Then he
sighed in exasperation, as if Harry was being an idiot. “But what else will I
have when you leave me?” he demanded angrily.
And there is was, as good as an admission. Even though Harry had been expecting
it, it still devastated him. He stumbled back from the man, shaking his head.
Despite his near-confession, despite the hurt expressed by Harry’s every
movement, Severus drew himself up as if he were the wounded one.
Harry was beside himself. “Why else would I leave you, Severus, if not over
this?” he cried desperately. Surely the man could not be so blind.
“I'm not stupid, Harry,” Severus muttered bitterly, avoiding Harry’s gaze.
“I've never deserved your love and you have never deserved the burden of me. I
knew it was only a matter of time before you realised that,” he spat. “You
always insist on bringing up want. But what I want really has no bearing on
things.”
Despite the years of adoration Harry had showered on the man, Severus was still
that rejected, mistreated little boy; the double agent convinced no one knew
who he truly was and unwilling to believe anyone would accept him if they did.
Harry stared at him, shaking his head, his insecurity voicing itself before he
could question the wisdom of it. “You don't believe it, do you?” he said in a
pained whisper, incredulous. “I’ve told you a thousand times, but you still
don't believe that I love you.”
Severus would not meet his eyes, and Harry could tell the man was struggling.
Harry hoped, though he felt he knew deep down that it was a doomed hope, that
Severus would finally lay the matter to rest. That he would sneeringly tell the
young man that he was being a fool. That of course he believed, and why was
Harry being so melodramatic?
“No,” Severus sneered instead. “Of course not. How could you?”
Harry's heart splintered in his chest, a thousand shards of stone that pierced
and Harry could feel each and every one.
No. Severus couldn't mean what he'd just said. Harry knew he didn’t. What’s
more, he knew Severus knew Harry knew it.
But Harry was tired, so tired, of this struggle. He was sick of walking on
eggshells and deflecting Severus' bloody mood like a stone in a bloody stream
and pretending it did not touch him. Once, the man had been his champion:
fierce and protective, strong in ways Harry never could be. Once, he made up
the part of Harry that the boy lacked, in order that Harry did not have to
develop it in himself. But the young man no longer needed that now and, though
the War was over, Harry still fought. Every day. And he was so weary of battle.
“And so that’s why you think it’s okay for you to start fucking your old
flame?” he demanded tearfully. “Well...what if you aren’t the only one?” It was
spiteful and unnecessary, but Harry was wounded and did not quite manage to
subdue that ugly part of himself that wanted to return the favour in kind.
Severus, however, didn’t bat an eye.
“Yes, and how is Mr. Conners these days?” Severus spat back viciously. Harry
was taken aback.
“Eric?” Harry scowled. Severus smirked and retrieved something familiar from
his desk.
“‘And what inspired you to go into modelling?’” Severus read sarcastically from
the article. “‘Well, I had wanted to go into Healing, but then I failed my
Potions N.E.W.T.s. For some reason, not long after the start of my last year at
Hogwarts, my Potions professor decided he hated me. Hated me. It was hell, I’ll
tell you,’” Severus deadpanned. “‘Anyway, with that plan derailed, I started
modelling as a lark. You know, just for a bit of extra jingle in my pocket
while I figured things out. But it took off. The camera seems to love me’,”
Severus finished, rolling his eyes and looking almost physically ill. “What?”
he demanded. “Leaving this on our fucking coffee table?” he hissed, shaking the
magazine at Harry accusingly. “Taunting me with your affair because you felt
whingy and neglected is somehow not as bad as anything I’ve done?”
Harry shook his head, too confused to even formulate a proper response.
Finally, Severus’ scowl faltered as he took in the look of bafflement on
Harry’s face.
“No,” he gasped. And Harry knew he’d figured it out. Eric wasn’t the old flame
Harry’d been referring to, and the young man had only one other to speak of.
Severus reached out to his desk for support. He looked pained, panicked, and
Harry’s face burned. He wasn’t exactly ashamed but, seeing the proof of it, he
hated having hurt the man, despite that Severus had done the same to him and
first. “So that’s why you stink of wet dog,” Severus sneered coldly, collecting
himself. He looked away in disgust. Harry forgot his guilt as the comment
stoked his anger again.
“Well, at least I don’t stink of wet pussy,” Harry hissed angrily. “And I’m not
asking you to suck it off me.” Severus’ expression simply soured further and he
still refused to look at Harry. They had clearly reached the point of no
return, and Harry felt it was time for his ultimatum. “Severus. Tell me that
you love me,” he said tightly, voice halting with the effort of drawing breath
through the pain in his chest. “Now,” he demanded shakily. “Say it out loud, or
I'm going to walk up those steps and I am never coming back down them, do you
understand?” Severus did not respond except to close his eyes, as if trying to
block Harry out. “Tell me!” he choked. “Please, Severus. Just once. Tell me you
love me,” he begged.
Severus seemed to crumple, but only for an instant before he straightened and
looked Harry in the eye, his expression hard. For a long while, he did not
speak, and Harry waited, not daring to breathe. He willed the requested words
to come, knowing his hope, his desperation, was written clearly on his face.
“And why would you wish me to lie about such a thing?” Severus drawled, his
face completely impassive, sounding almost bored. Truthful or not, it was too
much for Harry. He would have preferred the man be demonstratively cruel, to
hiss and spit; anything but this, this casual indifference as he watched Harry
finally come undone.
Severus' blank expression swam as Harry's vision was blurred by tears. He felt
them stream down his face, and he wanted to follow them to the floor to burst
with them there. But somehow he didn't. Somehow he managed to stagger back
toward the stairs, to stumble his way up them, simply trying to hold on to
himself long enough to make it back to Remus. He wasn't sure he had the
strength. Each step that didn't find him a sobbing pile on the floor seemed a
miracle.
He barely spared a thought to taking his things. He had so few and nothing that
couldn't be replaced. Nothing but those few souvenirs that held sentimental
value, and they would only remind him of Severus and his heartache. And so
Harry left it all behind him, falling out of the floo at Grimmauld Place and
almost directly into Remus' arms where he finally allowed himself to shatter.
***** When Love and Lust Get in the Way of My Senses *****
“You shouldn’t go in tomorrow,” Remus said adamantly from the bedroom door
where he leaned against the frame with his arms crossed, giving Harry a
particularly motherly look.
Harry sighed and pulled the coverlet over his head, wishing the man would just
come back to bed. He didn’t feel like having this argument right now. He felt
like having a drink, and crying some more, and then maybe sleeping for the rest
of his life. But to his chagrin, Remus had rid the house of alcohol shortly
after Harry had arrived and poured his soul out onto the man’s breast along
with copious amounts of salt water. Granted, though, Remus admitted to
disposing of most of the firewhiskey down his own throat in the short time
Harry had been gone. In lieu of a drink, Harry rolled to his side, turning his
back on Remus and hugging the mess of blankets to his chest, feeling rather
disappointed that he seemed to have temporarily run out of tears.
“I can’t miss my first day, Remus,” he croaked wearily, his voice worn to
shreds by the sobs that had wracked him intermittently until embarrassingly
recently. He felt swollen and heavy and hideous, and yet Remus still looked at
him like he was some kind of wonder. Harry mentally shook his head at the man.
And he was more than slightly confused by the emotions stirred by the fact that
his bed clothes smelled like Remus. Like Remus and him, and what they’d done
the day before...before Harry’s universe had collapsed.
“Why not?” Remus sighed as he sat down on the bed, raking his fingers through
Harry’s dishevelled hair as the young man stared dejectedly at nothing. Harry
had to admit he loved this, the way Remus petted him. He’d done it for ages
after Harry had stumbled out of the floo. Harry sighed contentedly and rolled
to his back to look up at the man.
Severus had been Harry’s entire world for years, and getting over him would not
be a simple or expedient process. But he realised, rather guiltily, that their
break up was, in many ways, a relief. Being Severus’ lover was demanding,
exhausting, and too often filled with disappointment. Harry wouldn’t say he
wasn’t still in love with the difficult bastard, or that he wasn’t gutted by
what had happened, but things could be so much worse for Harry right now, he
reflected. He could have tumbled into an empty sitting room to cry himself
sick, alone, and in such a state of mind that there really was no telling what
he might have done. Instead, he’d fallen into the arms of an endless source of
comfort, an inexhaustible bastion. When Harry had wanted to cry, Remus had let
him cry, holding him tightly when he was in the mood and stroking his back from
a distance when Harry couldn’t tolerate any closeness that wasn’t Severus’
characteristically stiff embrace. But when Harry had wanted intimacy, Remus had
obliged then, as well; not scolding or audibly analyzing Harry’s motivations
when he had wrapped his arms around Remus’ neck and kissed him for what seemed
like hours; not judging Harry or himself afterward when Harry had bawled to him
again about the virtues of the other man, when Harry had felt he wanted no
other kiss than one from Severus’ thin, curling lips one last time. Since then,
they had spent the night and most of the next day simply laying in bed,
touching in some way, as Harry continued to suffer from emotional hiccups.
Until Remus had decided that he, at least, needed to eat and had warned that
Harry would do so as well soon, of his own accord or no.
“It’s not as if they’d kick you off the force,” Remus persisted, stretching
back out on the bed beside him. Harry felt almost ashamed for wishing the man
had slipped beneath the sheets instead of on top of them. And for wishing, as
well, that he would do so with considerably fewer clothes. Was almost ashamed,
but not quite. Harry sighed.
“I don’t think I’d make many friends, though, do you?” he grumped. “Half the
department already thinks I’m an entitled, overrated publicity draw,” he
muttered. “I’m going in, Remus.”
Severus would have agreed with him, Harry thought. He would have told him to
stop whinging already and to get out of the bloody bed and fucking eat
something for gods’ sake. Harry’s tears had apparently recovered enough to
spill silently once more. Remus’ brow furrowed delicately.
“Harry. Stay home,” he implored softly. “You simply aren’t in the right frame
of mind to look after yourself. Whatever the fallout, your safety is more
important.”
“It’s my first day,” Harry said, exasperated. “What could possibly happen? I’ll
probably be sent to investigate some regurgitating toilets or something.
Besides, I’ll have a partner. Really, Remus, I’ll have another good cry or two
and everything will be…” Harry swallowed. He couldn’t even voice the lie that
he’d be okay. “I’m still going in,” he finished firmly.
Remus sighed, reaching up to wipe the fresh tear tracks from Harry’s face with
gentle fingers. “Will you at least eat something?”
Harry shook his head and rolled closer to the man, grateful for his presence,
taking in the rugged perfection of his features. Harry was growing hungry, but
not for food, and he wanted to stop thinking of Severus, if only just for a
moment. “Kiss me,” he whispered impulsively. It was not a request. Harry was
feeling needy but not bashful.
Remus obeyed the command without hesitation, and Harry brought his hand to the
back of the man’s neck, making sure it was sweet but not as innocent as Remus
clearly had intended. Harry wondered how much longer he could get away with
ordering the man around. Remus liked to please but was not exactly submissive.
Severus had always been the commanding one in their relationship, though, and
Harry felt he liked flexing this particular muscle. He decided to flex it a bit
more.
“Take off your clothes,” he said, just a bit more sternly. Remus met Harry’s
eyes for a moment, perhaps wondering, too, how far he’d let Harry go before
deciding he’d had enough. Still without objection, though, he reached up to
unfasten the buttons of his shirt. Harry halted him. “No. Stand up. Do it where
I can see.”
That was another new thing Harry was relishing: getting to watch. Remus’ look
turned a shade more excited, and he wordlessly slid from the bed and stood
beside it, removing his clothes much more slowly than was necessary as Harry
followed his every movement. Harry let him stand naked for a while as he
appreciated the bare expanse of his skin, marbled throughout with pearly scars.
And the longer he looked, the more obviously, physically keen Remus became.
“Now take off mine,” Harry said quietly.
Remus stripped the blankets from Harry with considerably more urgency than he’d
disrobed himself, not pausing before curling his fingers beneath the band of
Harry’s pants and tugging them off and away. He didn’t wait for another
command, though, and slipped himself immediately between Harry’s legs, kissing
delicately at the insides of the young man’s thighs.
Harry grudgingly conceded to himself that Remus was a more talented lover than
Severus had been, no matter how generous or attentive the latter could
sometimes be. And there was always this. This one thing Severus had never given
him. After using his mouth to ensure that Harry was thoroughly and properly
lubricated, Remus crawled up the young man and straddled him, easing himself
down over Harry’s length as Harry stroked the man’s thighs. Harry threw his
head back on his pillow with a groan, exposing his throat, and Remus bent to
devour it as he rode him. It all lacked the tenderness of the day before but
more than matched the previous experience in passion.
Remus removed one of Harry’s hands from his thigh and placed it on his erection
instead. But he guided it, relieving the young man of any responsibility by
essentially using Harry’s hand to bring himself off. Harry simply laid back and
watched the man bring them both to climax, practically feeling like a prop. But
he had zero complaints. It was gorgeous and erotic and new. The sight of the
man alone, as he worked them both relentlessly, would have been enough to
finish Harry, and he ended up coming well before Remus who then sat clenching
around Harry’s fading erection as he used both his own hands to squeeze Harry’s
fingers more tightly around his cock until he finally showered the young man’s
chest with his release.
Remus’ expression as he looked down at Harry afterwards was fierce and, for one
of the first times in a long while, Harry saw the wolf in him. Though, it was
Harry who snarled then, pulling the man down on top of him and savouring his
weight. He kissed him thoroughly, drawing back only when he required breath.
“Okay,” he told Remus with a smile, his first since stepping through the
hearth. “Now I can eat.”
***** More Than Pertains to Feats of Broil and Battle *****
 
                                    [green]
 
 
 
 
                       Part Two: The Green-Eyed Monster
Grayson was dead.
Harry had only just met him hours before but had liked him. He'd seemed a
decent, honest bloke. Harry had praised his luck.
It was hard to process, but his new partner was bleeding on the ground, and
Harry could tell by the hollow look in his eyes that he would never be getting
back up. In the end, it hadn't mattered that the man had been a hardened and
talented veteran Auror, because pulling a trigger is so much faster than
casting a spell, and bullets are so much harder to deflect than magic.
Dark Wizards, by nature, did not play fair, but most were prejudiced enough not
to sully themselves with Muggle weaponry. These, however, seemed to be above
nothing if it gained them the upper-hand. Harry was bitter. Horribly, angrily
bitter. After all he’d lived through, he was going to die like this: on his
very first assignment from a bullet to his chest.
But maybe not. If they had wanted him dead, then he’d be dead already. Which
meant they wanted him for something else. Judging from the crude Dark Mark
knock-offs tattooed on their forearms, Harry guessed that what they wanted was
retribution, possibly of a slow and agonising nature. Harry took his chances
and fired off a spell at the gunman as he dove for cover behind a stack of
crates. As Harry had suspected, the man did not shoot. He barely managed to
deflect Harry’s curse while juggling his gun. He was definitely more skilled
with a wand and seemed to prefer it, opting to shoot left-handed. Perhaps Harry
had a chance, after all.
“Someone take his bloody wand off him!” the man bellowed. Harry knew the
bastard. He’d seen him at the Release Ceremony. He was the one who’d stomped
off after glaring daggers at Harry. It was careless of the young man to have
written him off then, but Harry had been preoccupied with Severus at the time.
Harry saw movement from the corner of his eye and sent a disarming spell at the
Witch who ran at him before knocking her cold with a curse. He had no idea from
which direction the next attack would come, though. The gang had ambushed them
as they entered the abandoned factory to investigate reports of illicit potions
trafficking, and the two Aurors had taken out four of those Wizards. It was
only after his companions had fallen that the last man standing pulled out a
gun. But the factory was large, and there were more of them hiding throughout
it, and Harry had no way of knowing how many.
His attackers weren’t talented, but they didn’t underestimate him. Their
strategy seemed to be simply to overwhelm him with numbers. And though Harry
was in fine form, deflecting curses from all sides and taking out three more of
the assholes in quick succession, Harry no longer had anyone to watch his back.
It was only a matter of time before they managed to seize him, pinning his arms
and legs to the ground with a body apiece.
“Open his mouth,” their leader commanded, jogging over once the battle had been
decided. His movements were frenzied and disjointed, and Harry suspected it was
due to more than just adrenaline.
Harry resisted wildly, and none of his assailants could manage to find purchase
on his face, though the bloody claw marks Harry accrued were testament to their
sincere effort. Impatient, the man pressed the barrel of his gun to Harry’s
head. “Open your fucking mouth, you murdering cocksucker!” Still, Harry
refused, feeling certain that a bullet to the brain would be far preferable to
whatever they wanted to force on him.
In the end, they used Harry’s own wand, painfully forcing the tip past his lips
and between his back teeth to pry his jaw open just enough for their purposes.
As his accomplices worked, the gang leader withdrew a phial of violently orange
potion and unstoppered it, ready to pour it down Harry’s throat the instant the
gap in Harry’s teeth would accommodate it.
It flowed from the vial and into Harry's mouth like quicksilver, and then the
struggle became sealing Harry’s lips shut to prevent him from expelling it.
Despite his best efforts, Harry felt it burn its path down his throat to fester
in his stomach, incapacitating him almost immediately. His attackers released
him and fled back several steps, but Harry was no longer able to take advantage
of his sudden freedom.
They stood watching as he writhed, his throat too damaged for him to even cry
out. Harry was almost convinced he’d swallowed acid, but whatever this was was
far worse. He could feel the magical effects spreading instantly to all his
muscles, though he had no idea what the effects were meant to be other than
blinding pain. Clearly, something was supposed to be happening because his
attackers became restless.
“Is it working?” one asked anxiously.
“How the fuck should I know? Shut it,” was the reply. Harry couldn’t tell who
spoke. He could no longer see. He could no longer do anything but burn.
“Fuck, we killed him!”
“So fucking what? Good riddance.”
“But he didn’t want us to kill him! He wanted-”
“Shut the fuck up!”
“I’m getting out of here. Fuck this.”
“Me, too.”
“...Sod it!”
There were receding footsteps, and then Harry was alone.
And then, blessedly, Harry was unconscious.
***** If Ever I Did Dream of Such a Matter *****
Harry’s lucidity came and went. There was pain and oblivion, and in between
there were dreams, but Harry had trouble telling any of it apart. Sometimes it
seemed like nonsense. Sometimes he had brief flashbacks to the war. Few of the
episodes that played unbidden in his mind were pleasant, though they were far
preferable to the pain. It seemed he lay on the cold concrete floor of the
factory for an eternity before help arrived, but it could not have been long at
all. It only seemed so in Harry’s detached anguish. He hurt but, gratefully, he
felt himself slipping away again.
Harry!
Wait. This must be a dream, because it sounded as if Severus had just cried out
his name. There were rapid footsteps and commotion, hands touching him, sending
him into new heights of agony.
Definitely not a dream, then.
‘He’s critical.’
Harry could not answer, could only lay as a blind, silent witness to what was
happening around him.
‘Let me see him.’ The panic in Severus’ voice was heartbreaking.
'Grayson is gone.'
‘What in bloody hell is he doing here?'
'He was outside when the call came in. Followed us in.'
'And you let him?!'
'Sir, you’ll need to come with us.’
'Bloody fucking hell,' Severus muttered. 'Are you seriously trying to arrest
me? For what? I was just outside, arguing with you idiots. Youlet this happen.
How am I under suspicion?’
‘The runners eluded us, but we have good descriptions to circulate. Fucking
Hell, is that-?’
‘We have to get him to Mungo’s. Now,’ stressed the concerned stranger
inspecting his injuries. Harry heard little hope in the Witch’s voice.
‘Let me see him. Please. I can help...Listen to me, I am-’
‘We know who you are.’ The coldness in the stranger’s voice angered Harry even
through the haze of his pain. ‘Now, I suggest you go home and stay there before
I change my mind and decide to take you into custody anyway.’
‘Where he goes, I go.’ The stubborn, dangerous edge in Severus’ voice was
familiar enough to be comforting, at least to Harry.
‘Sir, we will restrain you if necessary.’
‘For fuck’s sake! I’ve broken no laws. And St. Mungo’s is a public institution.
How, exactly, do you intend to prevent me-’
‘Don’t worry, Severus, you’re welcome to accompany Harry to Mungo’s. Braxton,
leave him be.’ Harry was fading, unable to hold on to consciousness much
longer. But he knew this newly arrived voice, trusted it. It was almost as if
it were giving Harry permission to sink again.
‘But, Mr. Shacklebolt, Sir…’
‘I said leave him be.’
...Leave him be…
It reminded Harry of something as he drifted.
...Leave him be…
Harry is listening at the kitchen door. This is long before he repainted the
walls a lighter beige, and the hallway is still dark and oppressive. The whole
house is. But Harry hasn’t thought about decorating yet.
“Severus,” Harry hears the Headmaster’s muffled voice through the wood that
separates them. “I’ve tried to be tolerant. Harry has emotional needs which he
feels you meet, and I’ve attempted to respect that.Buthe is also naive and
confused. Remus, at least, had the decency to turn him away. I realise your
history with him is more complicated, through no fault of yours, but taking
Harry’s blood crosses one line too many. Surely you see this cannot continue.
Harry cannot afford to be weakened in this way. And he is simply too young to
be engaged in this type of relationship. With anyone, much less with you.”
Harry is ruffled by the fact they still discuss his sex life so openly. He’d
thought that was a thing of the past. There is nothing left to preserve. But
what rankles most is that they continue to discuss it behind his back.
“But he’s old enough to fight a fucking war, Albus?” Severus hisses in
response. Harry feels warmed by his umbrage on Harry’s behalf. “To be
volunteered to take down the greatest Dark Wizard in history? I’ve been telling
you for years that he’s just a boy, to goddamned treat him as one, but you only
seem to care about his limitations when they don’t fit your designs!”
“It’s time you took your own advice, Severus,” Dumbledore says coolly. Harry
knows the man has Harry’s best interest at heart, but it’s difficult not to be
bitter. “If you will not be responsible, ifhewon’t, then I shall have to be so
for you both. You’ve just said it yourself. He’s a boy! He cannot take a lover
twice his age. He should not be allowed to-”
Harry has heard enough. He abruptly opens the door to the kitchen, stepping
through it with a fierce expression. He stands at Severus’ side, but his glare
is only for the Headmaster.  “Leave him be,” Harry warns.
Dumbledore looks unsettled, clearly under the impression that the conversation
had been more private. “Harry,” he begins cautiously. But Harry is not having
this. He’s seventeen and has seen battle enough to age him far beyond his
years. He will not be spoken to like a child.
“I may be young, but I amnota boy,” he says stubbornly. “I could die tomorrow,
fighting your war,Headmaster,” Harry spits mockingly. “Severus could be
discovered and killed by Voldemort at any time,for playingyourgame,” Harry
hisses, shaking with indignation.
“Harry, I did not start this war,” Dumbledore argues sternly.
“But you orchestrate it! As surely as Voldemort does.Youpull our strings. I
have a fucking target on my back, Professor. Any of us could die any day now.
Like Bill did. Or Moody. But Severus and me? We’re the ones in the most danger.
And you really mean to tell us we can’t be together? You mean for our lives to
contain no joy at all before they’re sacrificed for the cause?” Harry feels
Severus’ hand descend lightly to his shoulder, but he is unsure if the man is
offering support or cautioning his temper. Harry appreciates the touch but
doesn’t turn to him.
“Harry,” Dumbledore says, exasperated. “Of course, I want your happiness, but
I’m concerned-”
Harry isn’t in the mood to hear the man’s excuses. He respects the Headmaster,
but Harry is more than simply a headstrong student now. “I’m sorry, Headmaster.
But the answer is no. You will not take this from me,” he says firmly,
interrupting the man’s, no doubt, very solid and protective reasoning.
“Harry,” Dumbledore says, more sternly. “You cannot see it now, but this is not
healthy.”
"I don’t give a fuck what’s healthy! We’re dead men walking. And if I want to
give myself to Severus then, by gods, no one--not even you--will tell me I
cannot. And if I want to give him allof me, what exactly are you going to do to
stop me?” When the Headmaster does not answer, Harry strides over to the
countertop and takes up the sharp knife Mrs. Weasley had been using to prepare
dinner, bringing it down across his forearm in a quick and decisive motion.
Harry does not flinch or break eye contact with Dumbledore, who seems frozen in
confused horror. It is Severus who cries out, as if the knife has wounded him
instead, and rushes to Harry’s side. He drops to his knees beside him, his
expression pained and frantic as he cups his hands beneath the wound as if
every drop of Harry’s blood is precious beyond words.
"This,” Harry says, displaying the wound and the blood that runs from it to the
Headmaster, “is mine to spill. Not yours. I’ve given you plenty. I still give
it. But it ismineto give, and I say Severus can have a share...while there’s
still a share to be had.”
Severus, meantime, has abandoned the streams pouring off the sides of Harry’s
arm to grasp at the wound itself. “For gods’ sake! What the hell is wrong with
the two of you? Someone cast a healing charm!” he cries, unable to do it
himself with his hands coated in slick red, attempting to staunch the flow
manually. Severus looks to Harry with a wounded expression, and the boy can see
the question in it: 'Why this display? Why this self-harm? Why forme?' And
Harry answers back wordlessly with his own firm, determined expression:
‘Because I love you.’
It is Remus who rushes to cast the healing charm, quickly staunching the flow
of blood, eventually leaving nothing but a long, thin, sealed wound that will
later scar. Harry hadn’t even realised the man was in the room. His actions,
his anger, had been for Dumbledore, and Harry regrets the pain and worry he
reads in Remus’ expression. But as soon his task is completed, Remus withdraws
back to the shadows of the kitchen table.
Though Harry is practically as good as new, the experience has undone Severus.
Harry is certain the man is not aware of the tears scattered across his face.
Harry gives him a loving, apologetic look and reaches up to wipe them away, but
he only manages to smear his own blood across the man’s cheek. They both ignore
it as Harry leans in to kiss Severus gently in front of everyone present. And
Severus returns it, just as sweetly, as if they are the only two people in the
world. Harry tastes Severus’ confusion and gratitude, his worry and relief, in
the kiss. And then, without a word, Harry takes Severus by the hand and leads
the man away from their shocked and silent audience and to his own room, where
Severus tenderly cleans Harry’s wound with tongue and lips and unvoiced wonder.
***** I See, Sir, You Are Eaten Up With Passion *****
Harry hears the front door slam shut and rushes to the landing to peer down the
stairwell toward the anteroom. The entire house is tense. Severus is overdue,
and Harry isn’t the only one who comes out to hear word on Voldemort’s latest
plans. Remus, Molly, Sturgis, and Kingsley pour from the kitchen into the hall.
Harry hears the creak of the door to the room where Rainey, Tonks, and Hermione
have holed up, talking. Dumbledore takes to the landing below Harry, and they
all wait for the Potions Master to appear.
When he does, Severus looks directly up to where Harry leans over the railing
as if the man knows, instinctively, where he is.
“Severus,” Dumbledore says tightly, clearly requesting his report. Severus
glances at him but returns his eyes almost immediately to Harry, sweeping past
the assembly in the hall to start up the stairs toward the young man. He does
not even look at the Headmaster as he passes him on his way to his lover. 
Harry is just as focused on Severus and opens his arms to him when he
approaches, but Severus’ embrace is brief for all its tenacity. He pulls Harry
into their room without a word and waves his wand at the door, shutting and
locking it behind the confused young man.
“Sever-”
Harry is not given the opportunity to finish his word, much less his question,
as Severus crushes his lips to Harry’s, drawing him to the bed as he kisses
him. Harry does not question or object, he only returns the man’s passion,
racing with Severus to remove his clothes as the man tears at his own buttons
beneath their locked mouths.  It seems only moments before they are chest to
chest with Harry nested in the man’s lap, their fingers tangled in each other’s
hair. Severus holds him so tightly Harry barely has room to manoeuvre his hips.
But he doesn’t need much. It’s just enough. It’s perfect.
Nothing breaks their kiss until Severus presses a hand to Harry’s shoulder and
pulls away. Harry protests with a whine, but Severus reaches over to the
bedside table, pulling Harry with him as if unwilling to be separated from him
even for a moment, to retrieve the gleaming, razor-sharp knife he uses each
week to open Harry’s veins.  “Open your mouth,” he whispers between gasping
breaths. Harry is confused but does not hesitate. Severus’ tongue peeks from
his mouth, showing Harry what he wants, and once Harry offers his, Severus
draws the blade across the tip, resulting in an instantaneous fount which he
quickly catches in a deep, ravenous kiss.
They have never done this before, but it is magic. Harry comes almost instantly
with Severus following closely. The kiss continues, though, until the wound
ceases to bleed and they are both drunk on Harry’s blood. Though Severus is
flaccid within the young man, he makes no move to shift them. He pulls back
only far enough to examine Harry, as if for the very last time.
“You have to mean it,” he says finally. Harry is still reeling and shakes his
head, not comprehending. “The Unforgivables, especially, require intention. You
cannot be ambivalent, Harry. You must have murderous intent.”
Harry nods, swallows nervously. “I know. I...I can do it,” he says firmly,
convincing neither of them. Severus looks at him sadly and caresses his cheek.
“Do not bother with Animus Secretum. When the way is clear, cast the Killing
Curse. And, Harry...mean it.”
“I will,” Harry says, his voice small and tremulous.
Severus kisses him, softly and lingeringly, and his eyes fall closed before he
whispers: “I know you will.”
It had been one of the better visions, one Harry did not mind reliving. He
mourned it even more when the pain returned. It wasn’t as intense as it had
been, so Harry was unsure if he was really surfacing or if he would descend
again into another dream. He was unsure if he was really hearing voices or was
just imagining them.
‘I'm sorry, sir. Family-Only beyond this point.’
‘Don't pretend you don't know who the hell is lying in that bed. What other
family do you suppose he has?’
Severus was still with him. Knowing he was close, Harry suddenly wanted to see
him. But no matter how hard he willed it, he could not open his eyes.
‘His guardian-’
‘Guardian?’ Severus demanded scathingly. ‘He's twenty fucking years old! What
makes you think he has a goddamned guardian?’
‘His former guardian. In these situations, we defer to-’
‘I have guarded that young man's life since he was a boy. I guarded it
personally through years of war. And you're telling me I can't care for him now
because I lack an expired piece of parchment?’
Harry was concerned. He knew Severus was aware that he would need to curtail
his temper if he was going to make any progress with the nurse. But the Potions
Master had a point of no return, and he seemed to have reached it a while ago.
‘We're very sorry, sir. Mr. Lupin has been notified and will be arriving
shortly. He will have to approve all non-familial visits.’
‘Listen to me.’ Harry was uncomfortable hearing the pleading tone in the man’s
voice. Severus never pleaded. ‘I'm his best chance.’
‘We have Potions Masters of our own, sir, if you would just let them do their
job-’
‘For fuck's sake! I wouldn't trust a pet rock to you bungling fools! And I'll
be damned if that young man survived battle with the most powerful Dark Wizard
the world has ever known just to be taken down by some stupid, two-bit, black
market potions dealer! If you do not let me try to determine what he ingested
and provide an antidote, and as a result he-’
Pleading...and now choking on emotion? In front of strangers? Harry needed to
wake up properly and soon. Severus was clearly at some sort of breaking point.
Harry needed to show him he would be alright.
‘If he does not recover, then I shall consider you all accomplices in his
murder, and the justice I seek will not come from the Wizengamot. Do you
understand me?’ Harry wondered if the woman was aware of how dangerously
serious the man was being.
‘Sir. Security is on their way,’ she replied coldly. So, she was aware. ‘You
should leave now. Sir. Sir!’
The hand grasping Harry’s reawoke the fire that had been ebbing in his limbs,
but Harry didn’t mind as much as he might have if it were a stranger's.
‘Harry. Listen to me, My Love.’
Harry was disappointed. After all the hope that had blossomed in him, this
whole episode had turned out to be just another nonsensical feverdream. Severus
had never called him ‘my love’. That name was reserved for another.
‘I'll be back for you,’ Dream-Severus vowed. ‘I will fix this. Don't leave me.’
 
***** As if There Were Some Monster in his Thought *****
“You stand alone, Old Man,” Voldemort taunts. Harry’s arms collapse from
beneath him, sending him back to the ground as he struggles to recover from the
curse he took to his side.
Dumbledore is staving Voldemort off, giving Harry time to find his feet again,
but Harry can tell the man is flagging. Voldemort is so much stronger than they
had imagined. Still, the villain is showing his own signs of wear. If only
Voldemort would slow his relentless assault long enough for Harry to do
anything at all except deflect. He’s had no opportunity yet to take an
offensive, and they are running out of strength.
“Ah, Severus,” Voldemort greets as he shoots off another curse at the
Headmaster. His tone is casual and unconcerned, but Harry hears the shortness
of his breath. Harry struggles to locate the Potions Master through the
flashing chaos of the Master Wizards’ duel, more motivated than ever to rise to
his feet. He had hoped the man would stay far away from this final
confrontation, but his presence now is a boon despite Harry’s fear for him.
“My Lord,” Severus replies coolly, having not yet entered the fray.
“Severus, my most trusted servant. Stand beside your Master now.”
Harry finally catches sight of Severus. His robe is torn and he is blackened
and bruised through the rents, but his expression is stony and determined.
Without a word, he steps forward to take a stance beside the Headmaster.
Voldemort bellows with rage. He sends a string of curses toward Severus, and
Harry cries out, desperate to reach the man. He finds his knees but is not yet
able to rise further.
Severus deflects the volley with difficulty but still manages better than Harry
and the Headmaster have been, allowing Dumbledore to rest a moment before going
on the assault. Now the battle is less one-sided, with Voldemort having to
defend himself at least as often as he casts. Harry staggers to his feet,
looking for an opening so he can finally end this madness. But he hasn’t
forgotten what Severus cautioned the night before, and he feels apprehensive.
As much evil as Voldemort has done, Harry isn’t convinced he has it in him to
be a murderer.
“Severus! You dare defy me?” Voldemort spits, his anger rising as he struggles,
increasingly, to fend off their combined assault. “Do you really think this
betrayal will be rewarded if I fall? They will never trust such a fickle
allegiance.”
“Fickle? I’ve been Dumbledore’s creature for almost two decades,” Severus
replies, far more calmly than should be possible while he seamlessly casts and
deflects. The man is a marvel of concentration, but then Harry knew this
already. “My allegiance is clearly defined. I’ve been feeding the Order your
secrets for years,My Lord,” he taunts. “I’mthe reason they seem to baffle you
at every turn. I’m the reason The Boy Who Lived lives still.”
Voldemort almost forgets Harry and Dumbledore entirely as the depth of Severus’
betrayal becomes clear to him. “I shall enjoy your death almost as much as I
will savour the boy’s!” He redoubles his assault on Severus who stumbles under
the onslaught.  Dumbledore attempts to distract the fiend, with Harry finally
able to add his own firepower. He steels himself and utters the dreaded words.
But the Killing Curse does not kill, even though it strikes Voldemort squarely
in the chest. He merely staggers, undoubtedly in pain but still very much
alive. Harry’s intention was not strong enough and Voldemort laughs when he
realises.
“It appears your gamble was misplaced,” Voldemort sneers to Severus, drawing
back to cast his own Killing Curse. But it is not aimed at Harry.
When Severus responds, it is not to Voldemort but to Dumbledore: “Look after
him, Albus.”
Harry and the Headmaster realise at the same moment what is happening when
Severus intentionally lowers his guard. ‘I know,’ Severus had said when Harry
had promised he would have murderous intent. He planned to sacrifice himself
all along. Harry screams in horror, but as he is swaying on his feet several
paces behind the two, he may as well be miles away. He is too injured and it is
much too far for him to prevent the tragedy unfolding before him.
Dumbledore, however, is merely a few steps from Severus. Without hesitation,
the Headmaster takes those steps, throwing himself in front of the curse meant
for the Potions Master. He is dead before he even strikes the ground.
Severus can’t seem to comprehend what has just happened. He drops to his knees
beside the old man. Harry stumbles toward them, conflicted. He is relieved
Severus has been spared, but the Headmaster’s loss is more than he can bear.
Voldemort’s own surprise is short lived, and he cackles in triumph. Seeing
Dumbledore’s eyes empty, their ageless sparkle snuffed forever, Harry’s rage
crests. His hatred solidifies. He turns to a still-jubilant Voldemort and
stares murder at him, feels the curse on the tip of his tongue. Apparently,
Voldemort considers the real threat vanquished and has not yet raised his guard
again. Harry is about to prove him a fool.  “Avada Kedavra!” he screams. And
this time, the spell does so much more than wound. Still, Harry stalks toward
Voldemort’s now-prone form and casts again. “AVADA KEDAVRA!”
Voldemort’s vacant, slightly surprised expression does not change as Harry
fires the spell into his body again, but the young man draws back to cast it
once more, anyway. If he were holding a gun instead of a wand, Harry would
empty the clip into the bastard. And then perhaps reload. Before the spell can
pass his lips again, familiar arms wrap around him from behind, familiar lips
press to the back of his neck, seeking to calm him.
“Harry! Stop. It is done. It is over,” Severus cries wearily, finally allowing
himself to feel his exhaustion and his grief. Harry does not struggle in the
man’s embrace, but he still looses a bellow, bleeding out his own sorrow
through it. “The prophecy is fulfilled, Harry. It is done.”
 
It was the worst vision yet. Surfacing now was a relief. Harry would rather
burn than relive that moment ever again.
But Harry didn’t burn. There was pain, but it was duller: the aching weakness
of a long, raging fever that has finally broken. The bed he was lying on seemed
too comfortable to be clinical and his covers too soft. With monumental effort,
he cracked his eyelids a fraction to find himself in his own bed in his room at
Grimmauld Place. Though, he was still too weak to open his eyes properly, to
turn his head or to speak. Harry was unsure if it was simply an effect of
looking through his lashes, but everything had a strange aura. The colours were
too vivid. The sunlight falling through the windows was too warm and too
bright. And the sounds he heard were sharper. He could hear voices and knew
they were coming from downstairs, though he should not have been able to hear
them so clearly from where he was.
“The only reason they allowed me to bring him home is because they could do no
more for him, but I was not comfortable removing him, Severus. He’s stable, but
he is not well. When are you going to explain why it was so important to bring
him here?”
“I did not want him here, I just did not want him there.”
The two men were climbing the stairs, and Harry could swear he could smell the
both of them, their scents distinct despite the way they mingled on the air.
Harry watched as Severus burst into the room. The man stopped abruptly when he
caught sight of Harry but clearly could not tell the young man could see him as
well. Harry’s heart ached to see the anguish on Severus’ face as he looked at
him. But his troubled gaze did not last long before he strode quickly to the
windows. “For fuck’s sake. Douse that lamp!” he commanded Remus who was just
stepping into the room behind him. Both men looked haggard and Harry wondered
when they had last slept.
“Severus, what in hell are you doing?” Remus asked wearily, nonetheless
reaching to turn off the lamp on Harry’s bedstand.
“Drawing the curtains, what does it fucking look like?” he snarled, exhaustion
making him even crankier than usual. Whatever his reasoning, Harry was thankful
for the darkness. It was easier on his eyes and his skin. “He should be at
home,” Severus said, turning back to scowl at Remus.
“This is his home,” Remus replied firmly, his voice low and angry.
“Since when?” Severus spat, reflecting the man’s annoyance back at him. “How
can I treat him here when my lab is at Hogwarts?” he demanded to know. “And who
in hell do you think you are to make these decisions? He's been mine for years.
You have him now on a legal technicality.”
“I'm someone who loves him enough not to speak of him as if he were a piece of
property,” Remus growled, the wolf in his blood showing strongly.
“Don't act as if you’re the only one who cares for him,” Severus sneered. “You
had your chance before, Lupin, and you turned him away. Just because you’ve
changed your mind does not make him yours.”
“You know why I did, Severus,” Remus countered, his voice holding a dangerous
edge. “Stop pretending there was another option.”
Severus gave him a withering look. “You didn't have to fuck him to claim him!
He came to you and you broke him into pieces. I know,” he hissed through
clenched teeth, “because I was the one who cleaned up the bloody mess you left
behind.”
“He isn't some prize to be claimed, you complete arse!” said Remus, taking a
small step in Severus’ direction. The two shouted at each other across Harry’s
bed, as if it were the only thing preventing them from tearing one another
apart. Harry hated them fighting. It was exhausting and upsetting, especially
since he couldn’t stop them or interject. Harry wished he could at least tell
them to lower their voices. His head was splitting.
“I loved him enough to let him go, Severus. And I love him enough now not to.
You may have given him something to cling to once, but now you only hold him
back.”
“And what, pray tell, do you do for him?” said Severus, eyeing Remus’
aggressive stance with a dismissive sneer. “Besides let him bugger you?”
“I support him!” said Remus, so exasperated he could barely contain himself.
“Gods, Severus. You're such a bloody fool!” he spat. “Harry loved you! And you
drove him away. You never believed in his love, and that hurt him more than you
know. You never believed, despite that he never gave you any reason to doubt-”
“No. No reason except fucking some mangy werewolf behind my back,” Severus
muttered bitterly, glaring at the other man.
“And what of Rainey?” Remus challenged coldly. Harry waited anxiously for
Severus’ explanation, a vise around his heart, but the man offered none.
Severus seemed suddenly unsettled, glancing away from Remus and to the floor.
“That is none of your business. Harry and I-”
“How can you possibly think it's not my business?” Remus scowled.
Severus clearly resented Remus’ indignation. “Oh, you're so fucking self-
righteous, Lupin,” Severus sneered, his voice dripping with disgust. “But you
don't understand the situation as well as you assume. You think, because the
two of you talk, that you are close to him. But you cannot fathom the intimacy
Harry and I have shared!”
“And apparently, you cannot fathom the intimacy that he and I have shared,”
Remus interrupted, “considering you never let him top. Not once in four years.
Merlin's Beard, Severus! How could you do such a thing to him? What were you
thinking? You were in a sexual relationship with a gay man but could not bring
yourself to have gay sex?” Now it was Remus’ turn to look disgusted. “Is it so
you could still think of yourself as straight and Harry's dick as an occasional
indulgence? As though he didn't count so long as you never let him near your
arsehole?” he barked.
Harry was uncomfortable with the satisfaction he felt seeing the shame and
regret in Severus’ posture. “Harry and I have an understanding,” Severus
hedged. Though, Harry wasn’t sure what understanding that was. The comment did
little to quiet Harry’s bitterness over Severus’ denial of himself. “Or we did
before this confusion with Loraina. Which will be resolved as soon as you let
me treathim.”
“Confusion?” said Remus, shaking his head. “He didn't leave you because of
Rainey, Severus. He left you because you broke his fucking heart.”
Severus drew himself up, scraping what was left of his dignity together, and
gave Remus a knowing look. “You can't understand what we have. You've always
just wanted him for yourself, and it kills you that he chose me over you,” he
said, snidely. “It kills you that he chose the cranky, greasy Slytherin over
the noble Gryffindor. And if you think so little of me, what does that say,
then, about you?”
But instead of the offence Severus intended to incite, Remus simply looked
saddened. “No, Severus. I know exactly what I'm talking about. It's you who
doesn't seem to understand. He chose you,” said Remus, as if not wanting to
argue but, instead, to open the man’s eyes. “He tried to love you. Tried beyond
all reason. He told himself he had no expectations, but it's not possible not
to develop some after four fucking years. You let him suffer for your
insecurity, for your fears and your doubts,” he sneered accusingly. “How can
you not see what you do to him? How can you not see how selflessly he pretends
not to mind when it's killing him slowly inside? You're murdering his spirit!
But I give him what you refuse,” Remus went on, his expression hard. “And I'm
not talking about sex. I can look him in the eyes and tell him that I love him,
without hesitation, without embarrassment. Which is apparently more than you
can bring yourself to do. He could have forgiven you Rainey. He cannot, should
not, forgive you for the rest. He deserves so much more than you offer. And you
don't deserve him. Because, you have the power to give him what he wants, what
he needs. But you cannot see past your own self-loathing,” he said, looking
Severus up and down as if loathing the man himself, “and he suffers for it. If
you want to blame someone for his infidelity, look in a fucking mirror,
Severus, because you have no one to blame but yourself."
Harry was beyond conflicted. Remus had just said everything he’d always wanted
Severus to hear, and Harry was moved beyond words by the sincere anger Remus
felt on his behalf. But at the same time, the defeat he saw in Severus’ eyes
wounded him to the core. It was so uncharacteristic, the way he seemed to wilt,
the way he sat heavily on the corner of Harry’s bed as if he had no fight left
in him.
“You're wrong,” he said quietly after a long moment. Said meekly, and Harry
hated seeing the man reduced to it in front of Remus, because he knew it was
something Severus would never want to happen.
“About what?” Remus demanded, still angry but visibly attempting to calm
himself.
Severus was turned away from Remus, but Harry could see him. He could see the
rare display of emotion on the man’s face that was not anger or disgust. He
looked remorseful, reflective. He looked...humbled.
“I have always believed in his love,” he whispered, almost to himself, gently
breaking Harry’s heart. “Never that I deserved it,” he added over his shoulder,
shaking his head sadly, “but that he did, indeed, love me. But how could I
acknowledge it?” he asked, his brow furrowed in a helpless expression. “If I
truly loved him how could I bring myself to voice it?” His eyes fell closed as
if he was pained. “How is it you fucking dare?” he demanded quietly, turning
back to scowl at Remus. “You don't have any more right to allow him to love you
than I do,” he said critically. “Of all the injustices he's been subject to,
how can you, in good conscience, let him accept this one so willingly?” But
then his expression turned desperate again, despairing. “You let him go before,
Lupin. Why, in gods' name, did you have to welcome him back now? Now, when he
was finally freeing himself of me? When I had finally found the courage to let
him go?” He lay his head in his hand, as close to tears as Harry had ever seen
him. Harry wasn’t the only one moved by the display. Remus looked conflicted.
It was in his nature to comfort, but this was Severus. Still, he was clearly
not deaf to the point the man was making, and he looked increasingly abashed
about his recent venom, though it had seemed perfectly justified at the time.
“I’m well aware I’m to blame for his infidelity,” Severus explained. “I wanted
him to...” But he couldn’t voice the rest of that sentence truthfully. Of
course he hadn’t wanted Harry to be with another. It was just that, as he had
told Harry more than once, he didn’t consider what he wanted to be important.
“I never meant to survive the war, Lupin,” he said flatly, though his
expression was wretched. “He was meant to move on, find someone else. Just not
you,” he added bitterly. “You said it yourself. I drove him away,” he said, as
if the memory made him ill. “Did you really think that was an accident?” he
scowled, rising swiftly from the bed to face the other man. “Did you think I
was so blind and stupid that I could not see what was happening? It tore me
apart to watch him hurting,” he confessed with such anguish in his voice, in
his expression, that Harry would have wept if he’d had the strength. “But there
was no other way. He would never have accepted that he was better off with
someone else. Someone his own age. Someone with whom he could grow old and not
watch wither while he was still robust. You know as well as I do that if I had
tried to reason with him, if I had tried to break up with him,” he sneered as
if he hated the expression, “he would only have clung to me that much more
fiercely.”
They looked at each other, the one finally understanding the other, and they
were mutually miserable. And as such, their hostility for one another seemed to
have cooled into a reluctant truce. “We are old men, Lupin. And he was so new,”
Severus sighed, shaking his head ruefully. “His life was just beginning. What
we should have done is pushed him in the direction of that Golden
Hufflefucker,” he sneered. “Gods know Eric would have been receptive.” His
distaste for the young man was clear, but the mood abated quickly. “That is
what might have made Harry happy, might have been best for him in the end. But
we didn't,” he said, leaning heavily against the bedpost. “Because we are both
sad, selfish, dirty old men. And now it is too late.”
Remus was quiet for a long moment as if processing everything Severus had just
said, and when he responded it was distractedly, as if his own misery had
slowed his thinking. “Too late? Too late for what?”
Severus shook his head, seemed to be searching for the right words or else the
courage to voice them. “Everything has changed.” Remus gave him a puzzled,
apprehensive look, and Severus hesitantly elaborated. “I have seen these
symptoms before,” he admitted. “And if I am correct, it is too late to remedy
this tragedy. He will need us both, now more than ever.”
Remus stiffened, mirroring the dread Harry felt. “I think it's time you
explained yourself, Severus,” he said coolly. Severus raked his hands over his
face, steeled himself.
“The Dark Lord was losing the war,” he began reluctantly. “He endeavoured to
create a stronger army, one of expendable soldiers. Expendable in the sense
that he would have slaughtered them all after the war was won because such
abominations could not be allowed to live.” Remus did not take that ominous
comment well and took a seat on the corner of Harry’s bed as if his knees could
not carry the sudden weight of the conversation. “The Dark Lord commissioned
me, personally, to engineer these new monsters,” Severus went on with a heavy
sigh. “And he was very specific in his desires. He requested a potion. Well.
Not so much a potion as an infectious cocktail. You see, he had vampires in his
following and also werewolves, but what he wanted was a hybrid. A creature with
the strengths of both but lacking the weaknesses of either.” At this, Remus
visibly paled, but he did not interrupt. “Of course, such a thing is
impossible, and I told him so. I explained that, while theoretically a hybrid
might be realised, there was no way to remove the limitations of either
creature, giving him a soldier that was doubly vulnerable. I had hoped to deter
him,” he said bitterly, “but he seemed to find those terms acceptable, so long
as his soldiers were doubly deadly in battle, as well.
“As you are well aware, Lupin, we are natural enemies. And of course, one of
the reasons for that is because the infections that make us what we are cannot
co-exist in the same host, making us toxic to one another. The Dark Lord
charged me to find a way around that.
“I failed as long as I was able,” Severus averred. “But I had to show some kind
of result or else my position, and my life, would have been in jeopardy,” he
argued defensively, despite that Remus has said nothing. Indeed, he did not
seem capable of speech at that moment, as if struggling not to accept the clear
conclusion of Severus’ story. “None of the test subjects survived. Though in
all honesty, I may have done the world a favour. They were all violent, dull-
witted, easily-led ideologues like the scum who attacked Harry in the factory.
Addicts mostly. In truth, I worked out the solution fairly early on, but the
serum was never successfully completed by me except in theory. Which means
someone must have continued my work after the Dark Lord fell.” 
Finally, Remus could stave off the truth no longer. “No,” he gasped, hand to
his mouth, turning even paler than before. He looked down at Harry with an
anguished, horrified expression. “He's not…”
“He is both,” Severus confirmed, equally as devastated. It was a moment before
he could fight through his own despair to speak further. “What happened in that
factory was an act of vengeance. But this is far beyond the cannon fodder who
perpetrated the crime. Who orchestrated it, however, I cannot yet say.”
Remus rose to his feet and began pacing, looking as if he were about to be ill.
“Now you see why he had to be removed from St. Mungo’s. They may be
incompetent, but even they would have figured out the truth given enough time
and tests. And no one can know,” Severus said adamantly. “His legacy cannot be
tarnished by this. I will not have him reviled. I will not have the world see
him as anything less than the saviour he is. No doubt, that was the aim.
Whoever did this, they could easily have killed him. They didn’t want him dead,
they wanted him burdened and disgraced.”
Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about this revelation. He knew both men
considered this the worst possible tragedy, but they each survived their own
infections with some semblance of a normal life. Harry really felt he had no
right to complain when he would be experiencing little more than what the two
most important people in his world had dealt with for decades. That was not to
say he wasn’t frightened. He saw the toll it took on them both.
“The other subjects never woke,” Severus went on uncertainly. “But none ever
lived this long, either. I think...I think he should survive, but…” Remus lost
the battle with his stomach and lurched toward the desk in the corner where he
was quietly ill in the wastepaper basket. Severus went on speaking as if it
were not happening. “I have not yet developed a potion to alleviate the
symptoms because a hybrid has never existed before,” he said anxiously as Remus
wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and drew back to the bed to stare
helplessly down at Harry, near to tears. “It isn't as simple as giving him both
Wolfsbane and Substisanguinus. The elements of one are hostile to those meant
to be treated with the other. I will have to start from scratch, and he is the
only subject on which I might test-”
“He is not some guinea pig,” Remus interjected quietly, giving Severus a
reproving look.
Severus seemed frustrated by what he, no doubt, considered Remus’ short-
sightedness. “And I am not some mad scientist,” he replied acidly. “I'm trying
to help him, dammit!”
“I really think you've done enough, don't you?” Remus replied with a
surprisingly dangerous edge to his voice, glaring at the man. “I think you
should leave now.”
Severus’ own temper flared back to life like a struck match. “You'll have to
kill me first,” he hissed, pushing sharply away from the bedpost.
“I could, perhaps, arrange that,” Remus growled, a feral glint in his golden
eyes.
Harry’s own eyes were now, finally, open. It was the most he had managed so
far, and keeping them open was an exhausting effort. But no one was looking at
him anymore. They were staring daggers at each other. Harry could feel the
danger in the air, the impending violence, and he struggled to find his voice.
He managed a weak whine, but the two men were so intent on one another they did
not notice.
“You don't have it in you,” Severus sneered in a low voice. “But you should
watch what you say, mongrel. Because I have always had it in me. And you know
it.”
Remus’ lips curled back in a threatening display as the wolf in him took over,
and Severus took a step forward as if accepting his challenge. If Harry did not
do something, and now, there would be blood. He mustered all his strength, all
his willpower, and concentrated it on his lungs, his vocal chords.
“Stop it,” he whispered, so weakly he despaired of their hearing it. “Both of
you,” he managed to say more firmly.
The result was instantaneous. Their hostility evaporated, replaced by cautious
hope as they both turned to him...and gasped.
***** Or Feed Upon Such Nice and Waterish Diet *****
They stared at him for a moment, peering closely at his face. Then Severus
sighed and crumpled with relief, and Remus collapsed onto the bed beside Harry,
seizing his hand and abruptly breaking into silent tears. Harry’s head swam and
he felt as if he were slipping back into unconsciousness, but he made an effort
to tighten his grip around Remus’ fingers and lift his unoccupied hand to
Severus; though he failed on both counts. The situation should have been more
uncomfortable than it was. But he needed them both, and he was grateful they
were both there.
Harry’s eyelids began to drift shut despite his battle to keep them open. They
did not close entirely, but the scant light from the cracks in the curtains
seemed almost too much for him, and now he knew why. Severus noticed his
struggle and recovered himself quickly, reaching into his robes and pulling out
their knife. It rang as he drew it, catching Remus’ attention. He looked up to
see the Severus brandishing the blade with an intent scowl that was fixed on
Harry. “Good Lord, Severus,” he gasped, shooting to his feet as if ready to
disarm him. But to his surprise, Severus thrust the knife at Remus, handle-
first, his eyes never leaving Harry’s face.
“Cut yourself,” he said urgently.
“What?” Remus stammered, shaking his head as he reluctantly accepted the blade.
“Open a goddamned vein! He’s dangerously weak,” Severus rushed to explain. “No
doubt they’ve been attempting to force sustenance on him his body can no longer
tolerate. And while he would likely consider me tasty enough, he will find no
nourishment in my blood.”
“Are you sure it’s safe?” Remus asked, undoubtedly worrying about his possible
toxicity.
“Would I tell you to do it if I wasn’t?” Severus snipped. Remus did not
immediately move to do as he was told. Instead, he considered the knife he
held, and Severus came around the bed toward him. “Have some courage, man,” he
growled. “He’s been opening himself for me for years! You claim to care so
damned much for him, yet you can’t nick yourself to save him?” he demanded,
reaching for the knife. Remus pulled it out of his reach.
“For Merlin’s sake! I’m not unwilling, I was surprised, is all,” he objected.
“This isn’t as commonplace for me.” Severus stood impatiently to the side as
Remus pointed the tip of the blade at his arm, then at his hand, looking
confused. “How…? Where should I-?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Severus muttered, snatching the knife from him. He took
hold of Remus’ hand and brought the blade across the tip of his index finger,
cutting him deeply. Harry saw the shock on Remus’ face, then a beat later came
the wince. Harry knew that knife could split hairs. The pain never came as soon
as the blood. Severus thrust the bleeding digit toward Harry, yanking Remus
along with it until the man, scowling, elbowed Severus out of the way and bent
to offer his wound to the young man himself. Severus withdrew to the other side
of the bed again to watch anxiously.
Harry had smelled the blood the instant Remus’ flesh had parted, and its scent
practically sent his eyes rolling back in his head. He’d never wanted anything
more in his life, had never known a hunger so keen. Despite his weakness, he
found himself reaching for it with his mouth, his tongue seeking to catch the
drop that dangled from Remus’ proffered finger. He heard himself moan when he
tasted it.
He never knew it was like this for Severus or else he would have bled himself
for the man as often as would not have killed him. It was like liquid sex, a
coppery wine made of hunger and orgasms, so that no matter how much he
swallowed he wanted more. He felt it burn, rapturously, all the way to his
stomach. But the tingle it incited did not stop there, and he was confused and
discomfited by the stirring he felt even lower.
He could not lift his hand, but apparently, he could still lift his sheets. It
was embarrassing, despite what he’d done before with each of these men. It was
evidence that he was not in control of himself, and that was what scared him
most. Had he not been so weak, he feared he might have latched onto Remus’
wrist and torn the wound he nursed even wider. Might have made new ones and
drained the man dry. The impulse frightened him beyond words and, as he
suckled, he threw a panicked look to Severus...because he felt himself
strengthening. Remus’ blood was revitalising him. Not enough yet to carry out
the threat of his limbs, but enough to be concerned by the possibility.
Severus reached out as if he might stroke Harry’s arm but stopped himself
short, to Harry’s heartbreak. He wanted few things more at that moment than the
comfort of Severus’ touch. “It is normal, Harry,” he soothed, glancing to the
tent in Harry’s sheets. “It still happens to me occasionally during the dark of
the moon,” he admitted uncomfortably. “Your body will translate the bloodlust
in a more…general way, for a time.”
Harry tried to communicate with his gaze that that was not his worry. He could
tell by Remus’ gentle, concerned expression that the man was oblivious to both
the danger Harry posed and to the young man’s arousal. But a confused glance
back at Severus in response to the other man’s comment revealed the one to him.
Remus’ face flushed and he turned his eyes resolutely to the floor, discreetly
adjusting his position on the edge of the bed. Harry’s current state, coupled
with the fact that the young man was presently sucking rather intently on
Remus’ finger, had apparently put the man abruptly in the same uncomfortable
position in which Harry found himself. Or at least by half.
It was the other half which terrified Harry. His hand seemed to have a life of
its own, clawing its way toward Remus’ arm, and he whined in panic. “Get away,”
he warned in a pitiful whimper around the digit in his mouth. A desperate tear
escaped the corner of his eye even as his fingers curled around Remus’ wrist.
Remus looked to him, confused, and Severus stepped forward, unable any longer
to prevent himself from touching the young man.
“It’s okay now,” he whispered, caressing the hair from Harry’s forehead, his
expression soft though anguished. “You aren’t a danger to either of us, yet.”
The qualification did little to quiet the young man. “You’re far too weak. But
later...we may have to restrain you,” he explained gently. Harry nodded weakly,
grateful for the reassurance. Then Severus touched his fingertips to Remus’
shoulder, signalling that the man should reclaim his hand. Which he did with a
troubled expression but with little effort, to Harry’s great relief. Severus
handed Remus the small jar of healing balm that travelled at all times with the
knife, leaving the man to care for himself as he turned back to Harry.
Thankfully, once the fount of Remus' blood had been sealed, Harry's thirst
began to abate.
“Sleep now, if you can,” Severus said. Though, Harry’s body thrummed with the
vitality he’d just syphoned from Remus. His veins were singing. Severus seemed
to understand and took a seat on the bed, stroking his thumb across Harry’s
temple soothingly. It wasn’t until that moment that Harry realised he wore no
glasses, and yet he could see the man leaning over him perfectly. Harry looked
up at him wonderingly, and Severus returned Harry’s meagre smile, clearly
studying one of Harry’s eyes, then the other.
“I never imagined they could be more beautiful than they were before,” he
whispered. Harry was clearly confused, and so Severus pulled out the knife
again, holding the flat of it up before Harry’s face in lieu of a mirror. Harry
gasped at what he saw in the blade’s highly polished surface. His eyes were
changed. Drastically. They were still deeply green but only on the outside. His
pupils were ringed with bright gold which bled like starbursts into the outer
green rims. They were striking and beautiful. Harry turned them back to
Severus.
“Close them now, though, Harry,” he urged. “You need to rest.”
Harry nodded faintly, finally allowing his eyelids to slide shut. And then,
surprisingly quickly, he drifted off into the sweetest sleep he’d experienced
in days.
***** Comforts of Sudden Respect and Acquaintance *****
The fire was not done with him. It still assaulted him in waves, leaving him
washed out and weak. He rather suspected that feeding on Remus had triggered
the fever. It didn’t make him want to do it again any less, just less able to
beg for it. Which, he supposed, was a good thing, because it would have shamed
him despite that he knew he’d experience no censure from his caretakers.
The ‘lust’ portion of the term bloodlust was more than applicable. He felt it
all through his body, ached with it even more keenly than that time Severus had
tied him to the bed for two days and teased him mercilessly. This was far less
enjoyable. There seemed to be no promise of eventual release. He had a feeling
that more blood would only fan the flames that engulfed him.
It wasn’t just desire Harry felt in sweeping tides, either. His emotions were
erratic, all-consuming, and completely uncontrollable. He experienced fits of
rage and anguish, elation and fear, resentment and gratitude, all of which he
was still too weak to express. He sweated them out through his pores, instead,
whimpering when he would have screamed, lying mute when he would have wept.
Severus had told him once that new vampires were unpredictable, and now he
understood why. Everything triggered a response in him. His senses were
sensitive to the extreme. He never imagined he could smell so many things, or
smell them so strongly. And while he rarely opened his eyes when he could help
it, he could hear Remus’ and Severus’ heartbeats through walls, could hear the
rush of their blood through their veins when they were in the room, neither of
which helped his bloodlust in the least.
He was aware they kept vigil, though he often was too preoccupied with his own
inner battles to take much note of them. When he did, he simply observed,
enjoying their presence even though it drove him mad. He liked the small sounds
of them being near. Though, they rarely spoke at first, and when they did, it
was as if he wasn’t present; which in a way, he wasn’t. Their voices sounded
different to him now. Each contained their own music, and Harry was often too
distracted listening to their melody to focus on their words.
But he sometimes was blessed with pockets of lucidity. Over the spicy tang of
Severus’ natural perfume that evening, Harry smelled tea and Remus on the
stair, and he could think of no two scents more compatible. “How is he?” he
asked anxiously from the doorway.
“The same,” Severus replied, his voice weary. “The fever comes and goes.”
“I can take over now,” Remus offered after a quiet moment. “You should get some
rest, Severus.” Harry glanced over at the men, but it went unnoticed in his
general tossing and turning. Severus shook his head, and Remus sighed and took
a seat opposite the man at the small table on which Harry and Ron used to play
chess once upon a time. Harry’d moved it to his new room ages ago but had not
used it once since Ron passed.
Remus took a sip of his tea, glancing apologetically over to Severus. Their
interactions were still stiff, but necessity had made them superficially
cordial. “I’d offer you some hospitality,” the man shrugged, “but…”
“No, even with the Substisanguinus, I still cannot quite tolerate tea," Severus
confirmed. "Or at least, I cannot enjoy it,” he said with a wave of his hand.
“I believe I miss coffee more, though,” he admitted with a touch of nostalgia.
Remus nodded his understanding and the two men sat staring at Harry for a
moment, apparently assuming his open eyes were unseeing still. Neither seemed
comforted any longer by Harry’s momentary wakening the day before.
“People will come asking questions soon,” Remus whispered into his tea cup
before taking another sip. Harry’s condition seemed to damper their voices,
though they spoke plainly enough in other parts of the house.
“We'll just have to tell them he’s recuperating and cannot be disturbed,”
Severus said with a shrug.
“That won’t hold them off forever, though,” Remus pointed out. “Who have you
told?”
“No one,” Severus said, shaking his head. “But it will have to be discussed
with Minerva, at least, soon. He will have to be moved somehow if I am to treat
him effectively.” Once Remus’ temper had cooled, he seemed to accept the wisdom
of Severus’ ‘experimentation’. “They are my quarters, but they are in her
school, and Harry is a danger. He never did learn to navigate the dungeons,
though," he said with a wry smile, "so there is that safeguard.”
“You realise, the floo downstairs connects directly to your quarters,” Remus
informed him.
Severus threw the man a shocked look. “Since when?”
“Since Harry asked Minerva last week. He wanted to convince you that moving
here would not inconvenience you. But apparently, he never got a chance to tell
you.”
Severus was silent though obviously moved. He looked at Harry sadly. “Well,
that does make things considerably simpler,” he murmured.
“Regardless,” Remus sighed, “you aren’t going to invent the potion he needs in
the next three days. Especially since you refuse to leave his side,” he said
quietly with no condemnation. Remus would not have been parted from Harry,
either, while the young man was in such a state.
“I am well aware,” Severus answered, equal parts tired and annoyed.
Three days?
The Full Moon. So that was the nagging Harry felt in his bones. He couldn’t
help but remember Remus’ boggart and wonder what that transformation would
actually feel like. It had seemed so painful, yet nothing could be as painful
as what he’d already endured. And Remus withstood the change month after month.
Though, Harry saw how weak it always left him. It was not an experience the
young man looked forward to.
“We'll have need of the Shack,” Remus went on. “And probably the passage to it,
in case of emergencies. He cannot be in London. He cannot be this near
populated areas.”
Severus heaved his own sigh. “It will have to be cleared. Albus had all the
secret passages collapsed before the Last Battle. That might be our first
priority, Lupin.”
“The first Full is always the worst,” Remus said, his dread obvious in his
voice.
“And the first Dark, as well,” Severus agreed sadly. He pulled himself to his
feet and stepped toward Harry’s bed. He did not touch him, though he clearly
wanted to. “This will be his life for some time now, pulled constantly in
opposite directions by the phases of the moon. How will he endure this, Lupin?”
he asked softly, his expression pinched by sorrow while he knew Remus could not
see it.
“With our help, Severus, of course,” Remus said plainly.
Severus glanced back at the man, seeming not wholly convinced. “His instincts
will likely drive him to hate us both,” he warned bleakly.
“Or draw us closer. It may not be a matter of aversion. Werewolves are highly
social.”
Severus sneered. “That may work well for you. Vampires are not, by any stretch
of the imagination.”
“Try not to expect the worst,” Remus implored gently as if wearied by the man’s
constant pessimism. Harry knew the feeling well.
“We must,” Severus said firmly, “or we will fail him. He needs us to be
realistic.”
“He needs us to give him hope and support,” Remus countered.
Severus smirked, looking back down on Harry. “Bloody Gryffindors,” he muttered,
but the comment lacked venom, and Remus’ answering smile was genuine, though it
faded quickly. "This will not be easy, Lupin," Severus went on. “We don’t yet
even know if his condition will lend him additional strength.”
“I believe I can handle him, regardless,” Remus said with more confidence in
his voice than his expression would suggest he possessed. “Though in a worst
case scenario, you may have to help me contain him. We will need to acquire
some silver mesh,” he added reluctantly. “It is cruel but likely necessary if
he breaks through. Incarcerous after that. And an Aconite solution might not be
amiss.”
“You would have me spray him with a water bottle like some puppy who’s piddled
on the rug?” Severus said witheringly, though he eventually nodded grudgingly
in response to Remus’ stern look. “I will have to discuss it with Minerva, but
I believe my laboratory would be the best place to hold him on the Dark. Be
ready with Lumos. Maxima. His eyes will be especially sensitive. That and
garlic should help you to subdue him if he escapes me. A solution of that would
be useful, as well. And if he does get past me, Lupin, do not expect help to
come from that quarter. I will most likely no longer be conscious, assuming I'm
still alive." Harry felt his veins freeze in realisation of that very real
danger, that he could kill one of these men in the frenzy of a first Full or
Dark. "You should have others with you, regardless.”
“None of our friends would refuse,” Remus replied confidently. “We all owe him
our lives.”
“The fewer who know, the better,” Severus insisted. “No one outside the Order.
And then only those closest to him.”
“Hermione?”
“Do you really think he would want her to know?” Severus scowled.
“How could he possibly keep it from her?”
“He may prefer to sever ties,” Severus said sadly, “for her safety and his
dignity, though it might break his heart to do it. We shouldn’t involve her
unless we know his thoughts on the matter.”
Remus nodded reluctantly, toying with the half-empty teacup he still held, his
brow furrowed. "Are you going to tell Rainey?” he asked, clearly uncomfortable.
“She...may be able to help. I don’t know how Harry would feel about it, though.
The situation is complicated.”
Severus snorted. “It isn’t especially,” he muttered wryly, earning a scowl from
Remus. “But I don’t think this is something she needs to know yet,” he added,
more uncertainly. Remus, however, did not seem ready to let the matter drop.
“So, if I may ask," Remus said, sitting forward in his chair and resting is
elbows on his knees, "what is going on between you and Rainey, Severus?” he
said critically, as if unable to help himself.
“Nothing,” Severus replied, clearly bemused, “besides that she keeps trying to
drag me to the Forest to hunt.” He sighed and returned to his chair opposite
Remus, sitting heavily. “She thinks I make a pathetic vampire,” he shrugged.
“I’ve been taking Substisanguinus for too long. She only takes it to allow her
to function around the children, but I’ve never wanted to be that kind of
vampire,” he said thoughtfully, idly fingering the raised checkerboard pattern
on the table between them. “I’ve gone hunting with her a handful of times while
Harry was preoccupied with training, but it’s not for me. Somehow I thought
Harry would disapprove, so I hid it from him. Besides, killing woodland
creatures seems senseless to me when I have a willing fount at home. Well…had,”
he finished quietly.
Remus seemed surprised, though he still regarded the man sceptically, which
Severus ignored. “Harry was rather convinced there was more to it,” Remus
pressed. “He claimed he could...smell her on you.”
“Oh, please,” Severus said, finally meeting the other man’s eye, exasperated.
“What does he know of such things?” he said with a curl of his lip. But then
his expression melted to one of regret. “He should know, though, shouldn’t he,
Lupin?” he said then with a shake of his head. “I’ve been a selfish bastard.”
“So you and she never?” Remus asked again, curiously, as if for final
confirmation. Perhaps it was the self-deprecation that dripped from Severus’
last comment that had helped convince him.
Severus shook his head, seemingly unoffended by Remus’ continued scrutiny.
“No," he said simply. "Not for many years.”
Harry's volatile emotions shifted precipitously into a drowning guilt. He had
broken their trust first. He had cheated, based on nothing more than fear and
suspicion. But then his feelings veered sharply to anger at Severus. It wasn't
as if Harry's insecurities had been completely unfounded. They had, by his own
admission, been encouraged by the Potions Master.
Remus sat back in his chair and scowled at the man, mirroring some of Harry's
indignation. “So why let him believe it?” he asked. "Why not deny it when he
confronted you?"
“It was convenient,” Severus sighed, looking shamefaced despite his apparent
innocence. “He seemed so certain,” he said, clearly pained by Harry’s lack of
faith in him, triggering an ache in Harry as well. “I thought, if it would help
him leave…” He shrugged, at a loss. “I simply played along. Of course, I was
almost certain, myself, that he was fucking that preening Hufflepuff,” he added
bitterly.
Remus actually chuckled, drawing an odd look from Severus. “You know, according
to him, Eric wouldn’t give him the time of day?” Remus sipped his tea, eyebrows
raised, and Severus chuckled himself then. The two shared an incredulous look.
Harry was glad they seemed to be getting on so well, but perhaps it was his
muddled mind that left him completely unable to follow this turn of the
conversation.
“Do you really think it possible he doesn’t realise?” Severus scowled, shaking
his head. Remus sighed and they both regarded Harry. “Men aren’t even my cup of
tea and I can scarcely keep my eyes off him,” Severus muttered. “Gods, Lupin.
He could have anyone he wanted. Even if he wasn’t Harry Fucking Potter," he
smirked. "Which he is. I was led to believe he read some of those trash
magazines, and that seems to be all they bloody talk about. Eric Connors would
bed him in a heartbeat and consider himself lucky.”
Remus gave Severus a look of agreement and shrugged. “He spent the majority of
his life under a glamour, being convinced he was undesirable. It’s a miracle,
really, he’s as confident as he is.”
“My poor, humble sex symbol,” Severus sighed, giving Harry a fond but baffled
look. Harry wasn’t sure how to feel about any of this. He'd accepted long ago
that he wasn’t the troll the Dursley’s had led him to believe he was. But a sex
symbol? Did the rest of the world really see him that way? “And he consigned
himself to me for so long. It’s a pity, Lupin, really it is,” Severus lamented,
resting his head against the wall behind him. “All this time, he should have
been dating actresses and rock stars. Models,” he smirked, no doubt thinking of
the preening Hufflepuff again. “Perhaps one day, if I can work out a potion to
mitigate his symptoms quickly enough, he still can do those things,” he said
quietly as if he wasn't looking forward to it.
“He never will, you know," Remus said matter-of-factly. "He isn’t like that. He
only has eyes for you," he added sadly.
Severus scowled at the man. "Apparently, not only me," he sneered, eyeing Remus
with mild bitterness. Remus shook his head, finished his tea.
"No. I was just his first," he admitted grudgingly, eliciting an even dirtier
look from Severus that seemed to threaten their newfound rapport. "The first
man he took note of," Remus clarified. "And more recently, I was simply
convenient.” Harry knew that wasn’t strictly true, and he wondered, with a
pang, if Remus truly believed that. “It’s you he loves, Severus," Remus
finished, rueful but resigned.
Severus was mollified slightly but didn't seem to agree. "He feels sorry for
me," he grumbled.
"Can’t he do both?" Remus asked in that way of his that seemed to hint at him
calling one an idiot, but that was so tactfully done one didn't necessarily
take offence.
"He’s just afraid I’ll be lonely if he leaves," Severus argued stubbornly.
"Won’t you?" Remus asked softly. Severus didn't respond and Remus gave the man
a pitying look, seemed to steel himself. "Severus," he began hesitantly. "I
don’t know how he’ll be during the Full. But if it looks like I may lose
control of him...you know what I must do, don’t you."
Severus stared at Remus silently for a long moment, as if trying to retain
mastery of himself. "You’ll do what you must," he said finally in a small,
resigned voice. "As did I, once," he sighed, looking away. "And what comes of
it comes. So long as he is safe."
Remus nodded. "Yes. So long as he is safe," he agreed softly, though Harry
could have sworn he blushed as he said it.
"Does it work that way, though?" Severus asked after a reflective moment,
having apparently made peace with whatever they were discussing. "You both
being male?"
Remus hesitated, though finally nodded. "It can, if the men are both so
inclined, if they possess that instinct in human form. But it may not work out
that way. I’ve never done it before, honestly," he admitted. "Sirius was
different. Being an animagus, he wasn’t bound by the same rules. It was the
devotion of the man that..." Remus seemed too overcome by old memories to
finish the thought. "I simply don’t know, Severus," he sighed, raking a hand
through his hair. "So. How often should he...be fed?" Remus asked, clearly
wanting to change the subject. Severus shook his head, jumping on the new line
of questioning as eagerly as Remus offered it.
"It’s hard to say. It isn’t that I don’t want him to recover. But you realise,
until his blood settles, he will be stronger than either of us. If he is
strengthened too much, too quickly-"
"You want to keep him weak," Remus said plainly, cutting to the chase.
"Want? No. But we cannot afford to let him best us," Severus said, clearly
troubled by the situation. "We don’t even know if his being a hybrid will make
him inherently stronger. And we don’t need to discover the answer to that
question through tragedy. While we do not want him to be so starved he drains
you during the Full," Severus said, if not completely sincerely, "having him
weakened to the safest degree will better allow you to control him, buying us
time. By the Dark, he should be fully recovered, regardless," he sighed. "We’ll
just have to wait and see. Draining me won’t make him stronger, but the
bloodlust doesn't discriminate on that basis. If he does, and he escapes the
dungeon, any lifeform he takes in will strengthen him. And that could lead to
him being harmed. For his own safety, we have to keep him as weak as possible
for as long as possible."
Both men's misery seemed to evolve into righteous anger at the same time. "Do
you have any idea who did this, Severus?" Remus asked, looking distinctly as if
he were spoiling for a fight.
"A few," Severus admitted quietly, sounding equally murderous.
"And?"
"And nothing," Severus said, almost inaudibly. Remus regarded the other man for
a moment and nodded. The time had not yet come for that conversation, though
both of them seemed more than ready for it when it did.
***** My Speech Should Fall into Such Vile Success as My Thoughts Aim Not at
*****
Harry woke to the exquisite taste of blood filling his mouth. He was not yet
cognizant enough to realise or care where it came from, just that it flowed and
he must have more. He felt his hands seize the fount at his lips with much more
strength than he’d had for days. His fingers didn’t tremble as they sought to
close around bleeding object, they fastened like iron. It wasn’t until Harry
heard Remus’ grunt of pain that he woke sufficiently to understand what was
happening, but even then, he could not control his own limbs and their quest to
secure his feast.
Harry’s eyes flew open to find Remus leaning over him, his arm to Harry’s
mouth. This was not the teasing drip of before but a proper cut that flowed
enough for Harry to actually drink. And when it did not flow fast enough, Harry
felt himself draw on the wound to make it spill faster. Harry could see Remus
fought to keep the grimace from his face, but he couldn’t quite manage it, and
Harry was helpless to subdue the thirst which animated him. He whimpered, his
panicked eyes seeking Severus.
The man stood to the side of the bed, far enough away to communicate he was a
spectator and not a participant. “I know, Harry. We’ll have to bind you now,”
he said in soothing tones, withdrawing his wand slowly as if not to startle the
young man. Harry nodded, begged with his eyes for Severus to hurry. The spell
was whispered and Harry felt the ropey bonds circle his wrists, prying them in
shudders of increasing force away from Remus’ arm and above Harry’s head to
anchor him to the bedposts. For Harry, it was a painful relief. Remus couldn’t
quite hide his own beneath his concerned expression. He held his arm steady at
Harry’s lips, once again in control of the exchange.
But with Harry’s relief came the realisation that, though his arms were
secured, the rest of his body was doing just as it pleased. And he wasn’t the
only one to notice the pleading twitch of his bedsheets.
“You should do something with that, Lupin,” Severus muttered, looking away. The
suggestion cost him. Remus looked back at the problem and then to Severus, who
seemed to be fleeing the scene.
“Severus,” Remus admonished.
“It will make him more comfortable,” Severus spat, barely pausing on his way to
the door.
“That’s not what I meant,” Remus said more gently. He blushed, looked long at
Harry’s need and then pulled his eyes away with effort. “You should be the one
to do it.”
“I don’t know what kind of kink you’re accustomed to, but there are entirely
too many of us involved for my taste,” Severus responded bitterly.
“Listen. You cannot feed him or I’d remove myself. Just…help him, Severus,”
Remus said pitifully.
Harry watched the exchange, his heart divided. He had already accepted that he
loved them equally in different ways. But at the moment, the logistics and the
aftermath meant little to him. He simply wanted someone to touch him, in any
way. Preferably urgently in a very concentrated area, as he was unable to do so
himself, being bound to the bed. And even if he wasn’t, his hands would do
little to alleviate his problem. He knew for a fact that if he were released,
he’d rip open Remus’ wrist with tragic results.
Remus turned his eyes resolutely to the floor beside the bed, holding his arm
in place for Harry behind him. Severus vacillated. Finally, he locked eyes with
Harry who implored him with a look to do what only he knew how to do with
glorious efficiency born of years of practice. Once his mind was made up,
however, Severus wasted no time. His hesitancy fell from him with the robes he
discarded so their voluminous folds would not impede his work. He pulled the
bedclothes aside with one smart yank and fell on Harry, seemingly as ravenous
as the young man felt himself. Severus had not fed for much longer than he was
accustomed, and no doubt Remus’ blood was driving him mad. He’d often told
Harry that his expulsions were almost as satisfying as blood. Harry wondered if
he’d find them so still, or if they would be an empty delight for the same
reason Severus did not feed Harry himself.
It didn’t matter to either of them. Severus seemed as intent on milking Harry
as Harry was on nursing from Remus. It was overwhelming, the ecstasy of the
blood travelling down his throat accompanied by Severus’ familiar
ministrations. Harry moaned around the flesh in his mouth, wishing he was just
a bit more swept away by the sensation so that he would not have to notice,
even glancingly, the conflicted expression on Remus’ face.
Harry felt his back arch, his hips buck. He heard the messy, unintentional
sounds Severus made as he worked, heard the bed frame groan as Harry’s
magically strengthened but bound limbs tested its integrity. But it was all
ancillary. All he could focus on was the pleasure, the two sources combining
until he was crying out, both with his release, which disappeared quickly down
Severus’ throat, and his despair at the loss of Remus’ wrist as the man
reclaimed it.
Remus quickly sealed his wound with salve, depriving Harry of it intoxicating
scent and thus quieting his thirst. It allowed the young man’s head to finally
clear and then drove his face to burn with shame and embarrassment.
He wasn’t the only one. Severus wiped his mouth as he climbed from the bed,
bending quickly to retrieve his robes. Remus was flushed and silent, using a
spell to scour any remaining blood from his arm. It was clear none of them were
comfortable with what had just occurred, but no one commented, as they all knew
it to have been necessary.
They did not yet release Harry from his bonds, and he understood the wisdom of
it. But without his hands, he could not reach for them. He didn’t trust his
tongue. He wanted, though, to beckon to Severus, to demand the kiss he yearned
for, the one that he had always yearned for afterwards. At the same time, he
wanted to take hold of Remus’ hand and pull him close so that he might relieve
the desire that was clearly pent within him. But Harry could do neither, and
his frustration was so great it actually made him writhe in his effort not to
weep.
Both men were eager to be gone, it seemed; perhaps to wash away the
embarrassment of the evening in private. But Harry could not be left alone,
tied or not. It was Severus who won the race, unable even to meet Harry’s eyes
as he swept from the room. Harry couldn’t blame him but was desperate to
understand why exactly. Was it from having done such an intimate thing in front
of his rival? Or was it because he had been trying to let Harry go, and it was
so difficult to do so if he was expected to continue doing such intimate things
with him?
Remus was left in the room, looking as if he wasn’t sure what do with himself,
not seeming to want to meet Harry’s eyes, either, and it was too much for the
young man. Time and fever had not quieted his hair-trigger emotions, and as
Remus carefully retrieved Harry’s blankets and replaced them, modestly covering
the young man, Harry did weep--pitiably--finally drawing Remus’ gaze. The man’s
ever-present concern showed itself immediately, and he seated himself on the
bed beside Harry to stroke his brow in lieu of holding his hand which was
tethered above the young man’s head still.
“Harry, what is it? Is it the bonds? Are they too tight?” he asked urgently,
eyeing them with distaste. “I’m so sorry, Darling. We had to be sure they would
secure you. If they don’t disappear soon, I’ll remove them.”
Harry shook his head. “I’m so sorry, Remus,” he sobbed, still tasting the man’s
blood in his mouth. “I’m sorry you have to do this, both of you. I’m sorry you-
”
“None of that, now,” Remus chided, leaning forward to kiss both of Harry’s
cheeks, erasing the tears there even as the young man replaced them with fresh
ones. “You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for, do you understand me?” he
said firmly, upset by Harry’s distress. “Just like Severus and me, you did not
choose to have this befall you.”
Harry nodded but still wept. “It’s not true, you know,” Harry sniffed.
“What isn’t, Darling?” Remus asked softly.
“You weren’t just convenient, Remus.”
The man seemed startled, clearly unaware Harry had overheard his and Severus’
conversation earlier.
“I know we were talking about it, but I wouldn’t have given myself to just
anyone, Remus. You’re right. I’m not like that. I only did it because it was
you,” he whispered tearfully. Remus didn’t answer straight away. He seemed to
be struggling with himself. Being unable to prevent it from forming, the man
wiped his tear as it fell, his ache deepening Harry’s own. “And now I’ve hurt
you, haven’t I?” Harry said, crying harder. “I don’t want to hurt you, Remus, I
just want you to know it meant something. That it meant everything,” Harry
whispered vehemently. And it had. Harry just had had no way of knowing until it
had actually happened, could not have imagined how deeply his feelings for the
man actually ran until they’d been unlocked by that monumental, whiskey-fueled
kiss and then been borne out in the aftermath of Severus’ false confession.
Remus lost the battle with his composure and turned away from Harry. The young
man felt his bonds weaken, starting to dissolve as Remus’ shoulders began to
shudder. He felt them disappear entirely in time to draw the man to his breast
just as Remus began crying in earnest. This time it was Harry who petted him,
raking his fingers through the soft, sandy waves of his hair as Remus clung to
him.
“And that’s why I’m sorry, Remus,” Harry whispered. “I can’t help being in love
with Severus. But I love you, too. I always have. I just don’t know what to do
about it,” he confessed, desperation thinning his voice.
Remus drew back, shaking his head, and looked into Harry’s eyes. “It’s enough,
Darling,” he said as if absolving Harry for just ripping his heart to shreds.
“Just knowing that.” He swallowed, took a shaky breath. “It’s enough.”
“No. It isn’t,” Harry argued softly, shaking his head. He was still weak, and
every moment that passed seemed to sap his strength further, but he managed to
hold the man still, not letting him withdraw. “All you did tonight is give.
It’s all you ever do. I know you never expect anything in return, but you
deserve it, Remus.”
Remus was disconcerted. “Harry, I don’t understand what you-”
“Yes, you do,” Harry cut him off. “I know that you need.” Harry blushed, pushed
Severus from his mind, and filled his thoughts with the man in his arms. “Take,
Remus,” he said in a consenting whisper, searching for the man’s lips with his
own. But Remus shied away.
“Harry, I couldn’t possibly. You’re not well. And Severus...” he stammered, his
gaze nonetheless sweeping Harry’s face, drinking in his eyes, his lips.
“I heard Severus floo out as soon as he cleared the stairs,” Harry said
quickly, trying again.
“That wasn’t what I meant,” Remus said, pulling back, and Harry’s returning
weakness allowed it.
“I know what you meant, Remus,” Harry countered stubbornly.
The man shook his head sadly. “It’s the bloodlust, Harry. This is a residual
effect of what just happened. Look at how weak you are already. I would be
taking advantage-”
“No, it’s not. And you know it,” Harry insisted, rather more loudly than he
intended. His volatile emotions were swinging again, and this time toward anger
and frustration. “Damn it, Remus. You’re the most maddeningly noble bastard
I’ve ever met! We clearly love each other and I just invited you to fuck me.
What in hell is wrong with you?”
Remus’ vulnerability melted in response to Harry’s outburst, and he gave him a
surprisingly hard look. “I’m not nearly so noble as you might think, Darling,”
he confessed in a tone that unsettled Harry, instantly quieting the young man’s
temper. The look in Remus’ eye hinted at the feral, sending a shiver up Harry’s
spine. “As you might find on the Full,” he added. “Everything is different now,
Harry,” he warned softly, bending, despite his previous objections, to kiss
him. It was slow and possessive. And out of character, but not so much so that
Harry could not conceive of this side of the man. And the newness, the promise
of there being more to Remus that Harry might discover, made Harry tingle with
both apprehension and anticipation. “You’ll need us both for a long while to
come. Complicated as it is, we’re a pack now, Darling. And contrary to what you
might believe, I have never before settled for Beta.” Harry swallowed
uncomfortably, but then some of Remus’ typical tenderness crept back and he
stroked the hair from the young man’s brow and checked for fever.
“Sleep now, Harry,” he whispered. “Tomorrow will be a long night.”
***** To Confess, and Be Hanged for His Labor *****
“I realise that you haven’t been lucid long enough for us to really discuss
anything, but do you understand what has happened to you, Harry?” Severus asked
carefully from the chair situated beside Harry’s bed.
Harry was not up and about yet, but he was dressed at least, in a soft and
expendable t-shirt and sweatpants. It seemed like forever since he’d worn
clothes. They made him feel more human. They still chafed, though. Harry broke
off tugging at his collar to nod dejectedly at Severus. Things were awkward
between them. With the exception of their one-sided exchanges while Harry was
struggling with his feedings and fevers, they hadn’t talked since Harry had
fled the Lab for Grimmauld Place. Now that Harry was feeling half-way normal,
those other exchanges seemed as if they might never have happened, as if he
might have dreamed them with the rest; and the lingering pain of their previous
encounter was the only thing between them that was substantial.
“I heard you tell Remus I was attacked by former Death Eaters,” he admitted.
“That the potion they gave me was a hybrid infection, and now I’m both vampire
and werewolf.” He was trembling slightly. Saying it out loud made it seem more
real and more terrifying than it had yet, despite the intensity of his first
meals as this new creature. “And I know that tonight is the Full Moon," he
gulped, "and that you’re taking me to the Shack, and that I’ll be
transforming.” Severus nodded but narrowed his eyes at the young man.
“How much of that conversation did you hear?” he asked, a mild tone of
suspicion overlaying his measured concern. Harry gave him a long look,
betraying nothing. He knew it was impossible for Severus to know how much Harry
had overheard about their situation, about the lies Severus had told and why.
What’s more, Harry hadn’t worked out exactly how he felt about it all. He still
nursed a bitterness that the man would push him away after all Harry had done,
after how very hard he’d tried to make them work. It seemed somehow worse to
him that Severus had lied about having an affair than it would have been if
he’d actually had one. And Harry’s guilt over his own indiscretion was mingled
into the resentment he felt toward the man. He knew it was misdirected, but
Harry’s feelings had become a being unto themselves, and he had no more control
over them than he did over his own body any longer. Harry was drowning in so
many shades of betrayal. He decided vaguery was the best course just at the
moment.
“Bits and pieces,” he hedged. “Why?” Harry could tell the man wasn’t quite
buying his claims of ignorance, but Severus didn’t push the matter.
“As I’ve discussed with the others,” he went on instead, “though the potion was
based on my work it is not of my making, and so I can only guess at the
possible effects.” Severus’ manner was clinical. Impersonal. And it only
increased Harry’s annoyance with him. “I suspect that the infections you carry
cannot be transmitted. I also suspect that since they have been altered to co-
exist within you, you should not be toxic to either Lupin or myself. But I
cannot be certain. I thought you should know that a bite to either of us could
be potentially damaging, if not fatal. Though, it’s impossible to say how much
self-mastery you’ll retain once you transform. Typically, unless one has been
taking the Wolfsbane potion, a werewolf transformation is totally mindless. The
beast takes over entirely. But the vampire in you may mitigate those effects,
allowing you hold on to some measure of self-awareness. Unfortunately, there is
simply no way of knowing for certain, Harry,” he said, a timid amount of
tenderness infecting his tone for the first time. “There has never existed
anything like you before. But then, The Boy Who Lived should be accustomed to
that by now,” he added with a small, sad smile. Harry almost wished Severus had
left his guard up. He hated recognising the loneliness in him. He hated wanting
to reach for him.
What the man said was true. Harry was used to being unique, though it had been
a long while since he had raged over his own circumstances. It seemed to him,
in a way, he had simply transferred that preoccupation to Severus. Frustrating
as it ultimately had been, Harry was a better man for having been with him.
Their relationship had taught Harry how to care about someone else’s trials
more than his own, and in that way had freed him from his own, really. Loving
someone else so dearly, and having that someone be so tragically beset by
troubles, made one’s own troubles seem so small in comparison. And despite his
anger at him, Harry had not yet shed the habit of worrying over Severus above
himself.
Harry was mulling over his conflicting impulses when the man reached into his
robe pocket and presented Harry with an unexpected gift. “I retrieved them from
the factory,” Severus explained softly.
Harry accepted his glasses from Severus. They were cracked but had been
cleaned. It was odd, seeing them in his hand. Or rather, it was odd being able
to see them in his hand. Before, his eyesight had been so terrible that they
would have been little more than a blurred suggestion of spectacles. Now he
could see even the tiniest hairline fractures in the lenses with ease. Harry
was unexpectedly moved by the gesture and set them carefully on the table
beside his bed. He wondered if Severus had picked them up before accompanying
him to St. Mungo’s. He wondered if Severus had thought, when he retrieved them,
that they might prove to be a last souvenir of his potentially late lover.
“I certainly am not disappointed by the absence of their necessity. But I admit
to missing seeing them on your face,” Severus said, studying Harry’s new eyes
with confliction. Harry was a mess of opposing emotions himself.
“Severus, how did you get these?” Harry asked quietly, drawing a puzzled look
from the man. “I mean, why were you there?” It had been bothering Harry for
some time, in the rare moments that he’d been able to focus on the question.
Severus looked embarrassed but not ashamed.
“I was following you,” he confessed, his eyes drifting sheepishly to the floor.
“To make sure no one fucked with me,” Harry said, echoing what he’d told Remus
that day in the kitchen. He smiled despite himself. Now Severus really did look
ashamed.
“And I seemed to have failed in that,” he replied miserably. “I was not the
only one following you,” he explained. “The Ministry, apparently, was equally
concerned about your first assignment. They weren’t Aurors, simply low-level
agents tasked with surveillance. I’m hardly the Ministry’s favourite person, so
when they caught me shadowing you outside the factory they confronted me. I was
arguing with them when we heard the gunshots,” Severus said distantly, clearly
still haunted by the memory. “But they wouldn’t allow me to leave to go to your
aid,” he went on, frustrated. “They insisted on calling for assistance first.
And of course, by the time it arrived the damage had been done.” Severus seemed
to shrink then as if momentarily crushed by the weight his guilt, but he
recovered himself before Harry could give in to the impulse to comfort him.
“I’m sorry, Harry. I should not have allowed them to detain me. I should have
hexed them halfway to their graves and gone to you anyway,” he muttered
bitterly.
Harry wanted to tell him it probably would not have mattered, that even he
could not have defeated so many, could not have conquered bullets, would only
have been killed himself. But Harry had seen the man single-handedly hold off
Voldemort, at least for a time. His presence might have made all the
difference. Still, Harry’s current plight was not Severus’ fault.
“You couldn’t have known, Severus,” Harry consoled. “I’m sure whoever did this
had been planning it since I entered the Academy.” Severus did not seem
convinced and did not acknowledge Harry’s pardon.
“By the way, you are no longer an Auror,” he informed Harry offhandedly,
struggling to reinstate his formal tone. “Regretfully, you had to resign. I
forged your signature. It had to be done, but it won’t hold them off for long.
They are, of course, investigating. Kingsley is keeping them at bay until you
are...settled. But you’ll have to speak with someone eventually.”
Harry nodded. “Let’s just make it through the night first, okay?”
Severus returned his nod, drawing his wand to conjure a wheelchair which Harry
gave a dirty look. “You may be too weak to walk to the Shack but, as with your
feedings, once the transformation begins you’ll be given magical strength. We
have no way of knowing how much. Lupin seems convinced he can control you. But
if not, Minerva and Kingsley and I will be ready-”
“With silver mesh and Aconite. I know,” Harry said in a small voice, hoping it
did not come to it, if only because it would mean he would have wounded Remus
to make it so far. Harry allowed Severus to help him into the chair and then to
levitate him in it down the stairs to the sitting room where Remus, McGonagall,
and Kingsley were waiting for them before the hearth. As in his bedroom, the
lights were dimmed to protect Harry’s sensitive eyesight, but both the Auror
and the Headmistress fought to stifle a gasp at their first site of him. The
mood was uncomfortably solemn.
“Potter,” McGonagall greeted, her lips pursed and her voice strained with
emotion he knew she didn’t like to show. “Know that you have my full support,”
she assured him firmly. “Hogwarts is at your disposal, within reason. But
you’re hardly the most dangerous thing it’s harboured.”
“And don’t worry about the Ministry,” Kingsley added confidently, giving him an
encouraging nod. “Arthur and I will keep them off your back until we decide how
we want to handle the situation.”
“The only thing you have to concern yourself with tonight, Harry, is yourself,”
Remus said warmly, walking over to lay a hand on his shoulder. “Your friends
are here to support you.”
Harry nodded his thanks to them all, his mood swings making him embarrassingly
reactive. But he refused to cry so easily in front of everyone. With effort, he
buried the impulse beneath a lifetime of ingrained British stoicism. “Let’s get
on with it then,” he said, straightening with as much dignity as he could
muster in a wheelchair and sweatpants. With no further discussion, they queued
before the floo and made their way toward the site of Harry’s first true test
as the world’s first bloodsucking werewolf.
***** He Foams at Mouth and By and By Breaks Out to Savage Madness *****
The Shrieking Shack hadn’t changed in all the years since Harry had last been
inside it. He doubted it had changed since Remus had last used it for this same
purpose while attending Hogwarts. Despite that it started as a lie to
discourage the curious, the place was indeed haunted in its own way. The pale
spectres of past violence were not buried, but were instead outlined, by the
chalky dust of decades. There were deep gouge marks on walls and in floors,
unmistakably made by clawed hands. Black splatters of blood stood out on the
faded fabric that rotted to tatters on the mouldy bed. Its mattress bled its
own contents through rents in its casing. A large, splintered mirror in a
broken frame multiplied the horror of the scene a dozen times over as the crisp
night air howled like a banshee through the gaps in the window panes. This is
what confronted Harry like a prophecy revealed, waiting to be fulfilled. He saw
exactly what he could look forward to on this night and on countless nights
hereafter. He shivered.
At least Remus was there. Remus had lived this horror, had made these very
marks, and he had survived it. He had not only survived it, but he was also
still such a man that Harry could hold love for him that rivalled his love for
Severus. It had not destroyed Remus and, gods willing, it would not destroy
Harry.
But the Remus who had silently carried him to the top floor of this precarious
structure was not quite the man with which Harry was familiar. This was a Remus
whom Harry had not been given the opportunity to meet until now. His father had
seen this version of him, though; and Sirius. The man who stood beside him now,
as he swayed on unsteady legs waiting anxiously for the moon to rise, possessed
a hard, solemn air of confidence born of familiarity with the darkness Harry
felt rising inside him. And that mastery in the face of the ugly inevitable was
a comfort.
“Will it hurt?” asked Harry softly, knowing the answer but asking anyway, his
back turned as he still surveyed the room.
“Yes.” The answer was plain, direct, with no qualifications or inadequate,
unrealistic attempts at comfort. Harry nodded. “We should take off our clothes
and put them somewhere we aren’t likely to reach them until we change back. No
sense in wasting them,” Remus reasoned, undoing his buttons. But Harry required
assistance with his own clothes and, after he’d undressed himself, Remus came
forward to lift Harry’s t-shirt over his head.
It wasn’t a routine, impersonal exercise. The man was not shy. Remus made no
effort to divert his gaze to preserve Harry’s modesty as he stripped the young
man. When he had finished, Remus locked eyes with him, and there was as much
hunger there as Harry had ever seen before--along with something keen,
something wild. Harry’s responding shiver had nothing to do with the chill air
on his now bare skin. He returned Remus’ bold stare with trepidation. The moon
would rise soon, Harry could sense it. He could feel himself sliding already.
The rational, ‘human’ part of him was fading and he could feel himself becoming
a creature of impulse and instinct, wild and ravenous for something he couldn’t
identify. It felt a bit like mania, and he could see a reflection of it in
Remus’ face. He recognised it in the way Remus’ hands skated slowly over his
naked body as Harry stood, unflinching, and allowed it.
“I’m going to finally be selfish, Harry,” Remus warned gently. The young man
was confused. The moon would rise any minute. They couldn’t. Not now. Though,
despite his terror of the oncoming trial, Harry would have been willing. There
was something exceptionally sensual in the way Remus was carrying himself.
Everything about him screamed Wolf: the calculation in his intelligent but
untamed expression. the resting potential in his muscles which were taut
despite the ease of his posture as if he were ready to spring but knew how to
avoid betraying the moment when he might.
“Remus,” Harry objected, shaking his head, “we can’t-”
“Don’t contradict me,” Remus said firmly, startling the young man. It was
practically a bark but a restrained one, authoritative but confident enough not
to be loud or overbearing. Something deep within Harry responded. He felt
hackles he didn’t yet have rise. He felt himself subdued and was discontent
with it. “I know you love Severus,” Remus went on, cocking his head to the side
as he considered Harry. “And I’ll allow you to go on loving him,” he assured,
seeing the apprehension that crept into Harry’s expression. “I’m not heartless.
But I am going to Claim you, Harry,” he said simply.
The young man scowled in confusion. “Remus, what are you talking about?” Harry
whispered nervously, taking a small, unsteady step back even as he sensed the
first sliver of the moon breach the horizon. It wouldn’t be long now and
Harry’s anxiety was cresting, not helped at all by Remus’ unfamiliar manner.
“Establishing myself as Alpha may not be enough to keep you in check,” Remus
explained, eyeing Harry covetously. “I warned Severus this might be necessary
in order to contain you, and it very well might be. It doesn’t matter. We’ll
never know for certain. I’m going to do it anyway,” he said plainly. “Not
because I have to, but because I want to. I’m goingto Mate with you. And
werewolves mate for life, my Darling. So there’s the extent of my nobility,” he
said, cocking an eyebrow, his tone and expression completely unapologetic.
“I’ll let you wander, I’m not that selfish. But after tonight, I intend for
nothing to permanently rip you away from me ever again. You told me you love me
but don’t know what to do about it. I’m taking the problem out of your hands.
After this, you can claim truthfully, even to yourself, that you have no power
over your actions with me. You will be faultless in your indiscretion. And I
can only hope you can trust me not to abuse my control over you. For I will
control you, Darling. Though I promise to do so gently. Most of the time,” he
added in a rugged purr, sweeping his eyes the length of Harry’s body.
Harry’s heart tripped and he trembled. So little of the man he knew was left in
the beast he observed now stalking him, pacing back and forth with those lupine
strides that were both lazy and energetic, eager but controlled. And while a
part of Harry rebelled against the idea of any surrender of his sovereignty of
self, another part--a larger part, if he were honest--thrilled at the thought
of belongingto this man. If he could still have Severus, if his leash was not
too short, Harry could see himself tethered to Remus. Though, not without
reservation. Not without some sort of fight. And surprisingly enough, Harry
looked forward to the struggle. And so too, it seemed, did Remus.
Harry appreciated the man’s honesty. He could easily have said nothing, could
have claimed afterwards that there had been no choice and been found faultless.
But he didn’t. He owned the decision completely. And that choice, not the one
Remus had just explained without contrition, was proof of the extent of Remus’
nobility. He had confessed his weakness and the young man respected him for it.
Harry felt himself strengthening along with the brightness of the
moonglow behind the broken window panes. The two men circled one another, their
expressions hard, determined. It was an odd courtship with odd stakes.
Everything Harry felt now was visceral, not cerebral. His human self was
falling away rapidly, but it was Remus who changed first. It wasn’t triggered
by the moonlight. Remus initiated it intentionally, needing to be at the ready
before confronting whatever unknown thing Harry would become. Harry heard
Remus’ bones snap as they changed, breaking and reforming, and he refused to
deafen himself to the clear anguish of Remus’ cries as they did so; cries which
gradually turned to whimpers and howls as the transformation completed.
Harry could still see the man in the wolf standing aggressively before him. It
had the same sandy-coloured hair Harry had stroked his fingers through just
days before. The eyes were still the same amber and the same shape, though
perhaps bigger than before. Harry had forgotten how large Remus was in wolf-
form. He stood almost as tall as Harry. The power he must possess was
undeniable, but so was his reason, his presence. The Wolfsbane allowed Remus to
retain much of his inner-self, and he would need it in order to deal rationally
with the irrational beast Harry would soon become.
When the moonlight finally fell through the window at his back, Harry felt it
like a physical force. It pushed at him like a current, as if he’d stepped into
a gently flowing stream. And where it touched him it penetrated, finding its
way into his very cells and triggering a chain-reaction that rippled down the
length of Harry's body. He collapsed to the floor as he felt the stabbing pain
of bones suddenly growing and breaking, stretching him in places so quickly he
felt certain his skin should have burst, but by some miracle, it did not. He
felt his flesh tear deep within him, felt his muscles ripped from their anchors
to reattach to his changing skeleton in new ways. And his skin crawled, itched
unbearably, as he sprouted fur over every inch of him. He was half-mad with the
need to claw at it, but he was helpless to do so. His body was no longer under
his command. It was still changing in a hundred small ways as he continued to
twitch on the floor, screaming in agony all the while. Remus whimpered in
empathy but did not relax his ready stance, his posture growing even more
assertive as Harry’s cries turned to throaty howls.
The pain did not stop when the transformation was finished. Harry had no idea
how long it had taken him to change, but it felt far longer than it must have
been. Even after the last muscle stitched into place, the last hair sprouted,
and the last tooth tapered to a point, Harry ached as if he’d been beaten
thoroughly. His first instinct, though, after regaining the ability to move of
his own volition, was to rise to his feet as quickly as possible. But he didn’t
know how to use this new body. He heard the high-pitched, canine whine pour
from his throat as he scrambled to make sense of his new shape, as he tried and
failed to pick himself off the floor. It was confusing and upsetting, and the
effort was completely overwhelming. He managed it though, eventually, and found
himself, panting, standing upright on strange, unsteady feet.
His brain was cloudy and his thoughts were fragmented, but he couldstill think,
after a fashion. He knew who he was and what had happened to him, but he felt
drugged and unable to focus. He glanced around him for Remus, looking for
reassurance, trying to shake off his shock and confusion, and was startled by
his own reflection in the broken mirror hanging crooked on the nearby wall. His
monstrosity was reflected back at him several times over, in each individual
shard of the shattered glass, compounding the horror of it.
He looked nothing like Remus. The only things that really distinguished Remus
from a real wolf were his eyes and tufted tail. He was beautiful and graceful.
Harry was hideous, at least to his own eyes. He looked as if the transformation
had been interrupted before it was completed. His face had lengthened, but his
almost-snout was stunted, only half as long as Remus’, which was already
shorter than a typical wolf's. His face looked more or less human, simply
deformed and fur-covered. He had the ears of a wolf, but they were too far down
on his head to look properly lupine. His neck had thickened to at least the
width of his head, but it sat on human shoulders. His arms were simply longer,
and his hands were still hands. However, his fingers had thickened and were
padded and clawed. He was only truly wolfish from his waist down, but his legs
were far longer than his arms so that he still stood upright on them. Though,
he was hunched forward with the impulse to stand on all fours, and he suspected
he would run using his hands if he had the opportunity and the space. 
All in all, Harry was monstrous. The cry that escaped him was an inhuman whine,
and it was hard to accept it was made by him. He stumbled, finding it difficult
to keep his balance on these unfamiliar limbs as he desperately tried to escape
his reflection. Harry staggered back from the mirror, looking down at the coal-
black fur that covered his body, and it seemed he tried to escape that, as
well. He hated it. He hatedwhat he was, and he tripped over himself, falling to
the floor again and again, tearing about the room in a panic. He careened off
walls, further splintering the rotten boards. He tumbled over broken furniture
and scored the wooden floor as he scrambled back to his feet, clawing at this
new, unwelcome form with hands that seemed good for nothing but destruction,
accruing the first of many new scars that would mirror Remus’ own.
But in his frenzy, he had forgotten about Remus until he heard the low,
challenging growl from behind him. Harry’s human mind short-circuited at the
sound and he felt the beast in him take control. His balance instinctively
corrected itself as he spun to face the threat with a deep growl of his own. He
felt his lips peel back from his sharp, lengthened fangs as he did so, and the
hair down his spine stood on end.
The sandy-furred animal that confronted him was aggressive, bold. And though
the hybrid felt like lashing out at it, he intuited it would not be wise. He
growled even louder than before and drew himself up on his hind legs, bowing
his arms to make himself appear larger, trying to intimidate the other creature
into backing off...when he was distracted.
The hybrid lifted his nose to sniff the breeze that tore through the broken
window. He turned to approach it. The beast behind him yipped and growled in
warning, but the hybrid merely glanced back at it, too preoccupied with the
delicious scent he’d picked up to focus on the threat. Somewhere outside there
was human blood, human flesh. The hybrid drank in the smell of it, his hunger
whetted so keenly he tipped back his head and howled longingly before falling
forward on all fours to investigate the room, frantically trying to find a way
out of it and down to the feast that awaited him.
The hybrid dug at the door with its massive claws, tearing chunks from the
wood, but the sandy-haired creature nipped sharply at his flank, interrupting
his progress. He turned to it, snarling, but still backed around the room
looking for another exit. His adversary would have none of it. It lunged at him
and the two met in a flurry of teeth and claws. The hybrid was strong but
clumsy, unable to fend off the other creature’s snapping jaws. Finally, with a
blind swipe of his paw, he knocked the blonde beast away, sending it rolling
across the floor to collide with the far wall. The hybrid roared after it to
warn it to stay away, but despite the fearsome display, it didn’t stay down
long. It quickly found its feet, shaking off the attack, and instantly pounced
again. The hybrid had nowhere to retreat to and the two collided savagely,
chest to chest, each trying to reach the other’s throat with gaping jaws.
The hybrid’s muzzle was far too small to find purchase, though. They parted and
clashed a couple of times more, their snarls and the scrape of their claws on
the floorboards echoing clamorously off the walls, deafening even over the
howling shriek of the wind. But eventually, the hybrid was subdued, wrestled to
the floor with his neck held firmly in other animal’s jaw.
They both panted heavily, but when Harry relaxed in surrender, pulling his ears
back and baring his stomach in a show of submission, Remus released him and
carefully stepped back. And Harry recognised him now. Remus had established
himself as Alpha and the monster in Harry’s blood acknowledged him as such and
was quieted, allowing Harry to regain some sense of himself. Though, he was
still flooded with violent impulse. Harry curled on the floor and shivered,
licking at his wounds with a whimper. He was frustrated by his inability to
speak but was slowly coming to terms with his situation. He could still smell
Kingsley and McGonagall outside, and the scent beckoned to him, threatening
Harry’s tenuous hold on reason and self-control. Remus padded over and lay next
to him, filling Harry’s senses with something other than human blood.
Remus smelled wonderful in ways Harry would not understand in the least once he
changed back. Now, though, the two investigated one another cautiously, and
Harry found the nuances of Remus’ scent heady and addictive. The cocktail of
pheromones he released was intoxicating. Harry surprised himself by suddenly
licking the side of Remus’ face, and he found he tasted wonderful, too. Remus
returned the favour, raking his tongue between Harry’s eyes and up his
forehead, and Harry shivered to his toes. He was amazed that such a simple
action could be so simultaneously soothing and exciting. Harry pawed gently at
Remus’ chest and they nuzzled each other’s necks, but Remus was the only one
allowed to nip. And as he moved closer, Remus’ nips became more aggressive
until he had thrown his front leg over Harry’s back, grasping Harry’s shoulder
firmly in his teeth.
Harry realised, suddenly and too late, what was happening and panicked. He
stiffened and attempted to rise, but Remus’ jaws were like iron. Harry growled,
tried to turn his head to snap at Remus, but it was no use. Remus simply
growled back, around Harry’s shoulder, as he mounted him.
Harry whimpered plaintively as he struggled to crawl from beneath him, but
Remus was undeterred and escape was impossible. Their wolf-forms were
different, disproportionate, and Remus really was too large for him. Though
Harry realised, with a shiver of fear and dread, that nothing would stop this.
He finally simply lay still as Remus hunched atop him, feeling the invisible
bond between them strengthening despite the pain of it.
Though it was forced, it didn’t seem as much a violation as Harry expected it
might. It wasn’t that he enjoyed or disliked it. It was simply what it was.
This was not intended to be pleasurable, neither was it intended to harm. It
was a ritual, and what might have been abhorrent to Harry in human form seemed
perfectly acceptable to him in this one. Though Harry might technically be
stronger, he was ungainly and inexperienced. Remus was clearly his superior.
Harry had been subdued before, but now he surrendered, willingly and
completely, to the dominance of his Alpha.
To his Mate.
And when the deed was finally done, Harry felt proud to have been bonded with
Remus. Once he finished and released his grip, Remus tenderly licked the place
where his fangs had pinched as he waited for the tie to dissolve and release
their union. Harry lay still and content, allowing it. He was rather surprised
to find the process had ultimately been profoundly calming. Though he still
occasionally slipped back into the bestial, was still intermittently overcome
with the impulse to fight his way from the Shack and seek out human flesh,
Remus was always right there to rein him back, to remind him who he was, and
Harry felt certain the effort would not have been nearly so effective if Remus
hadn’t Claimed him first.
When the moon set, the two of them transformed at the same time. Harry found it
just as painful as the first change. Perhaps more so since he felt he hadn’t
recovered yet from the last one. When it was over, though, they found
themselves laying side-by-side, naked, on the cold wooden floor. They reached
for each other with weak, trembling arms.
“You did sowell, my Darling,” Remus praised, stroking Harry’s face and neck,
his voice a ragged whisper as if his vocal chords were not accustomed to being
functional again yet. Harry shivered. The pride he felt at Remus’ approval now
was ridiculous, actually triggering tears. The ordeal had been as exhausting
emotionally as it had been physically. As they lay, Harry felt himself grow
steadily weaker while Remus seemed to recover ever so slowly. Finally, the man
managed to stagger to his feet and retrieve their clothing. It took a short
eternity, but Remus dressed Harry’s shivering form first as the young man
struggled, rather unsuccessfully, to assist. Remus then dressed himself and
collapsed back onto the floor beside Harry, wand in hand, and from there cast a
signal through the window alerting the others it was safe to come collect them
both.
They held each other as they waited, and Harry didn’t need to feel the
tenacious new possessiveness in Remus’ embrace to recognise the profound shift
that had occurred in their relationship. He knew in his very bones that Remus
now owned him, commanded him, and though he trusted the man, it was
frightening. Harry still chafed at the concept, and the most stubborn parts of
him were already determined to test his new boundaries. But not that morning.
Harry was far too tired to rebel just yet.
***** Let Him Command, And to Obey Shall Be in Me Remorse *****
“Severus?” Harry called weakly, his eyes not yet even open. He felt an arm wrap
around him, but it was too robust to belong to his estranged lover. Harry pried
open his eyelids and turned his head to find Remus lying in bed beside him. He
stiffened.
“Darling? Are you alright?” Remus croaked, clearly still recovering from the
night before. His voice had regained its gentle kindness. His look and touch
had softened. Which somehow made Harry resent them more. It seemed tainted now.
It was difficult to hold on to the feeling, though. The night had been
difficult for both of them. Remus was bruised and scraped. The tender flesh
beneath one of his eyes was blacked, and he wore bandages on the arm that
draped across Harry. No doubt, if Harry were to peel back the sheets, he’d find
more of them. He could feel that he wore a few himself. He was sore and weak,
but not as weak as he might have expected. Harry was healing, despite the
ordeal. Which made him increasingly dangerous, as Remus was surely aware. It
evidenced a profound level of trust that he lay, so weakened himself, this
close to Harry. Still, the young man gave him a hard look and turned away.
“You’re angry with me,” Remus sighed, reluctantly withdrawing his arm. Despite
his bitterness, Harry mourned its loss.
“Where’s Severus?” Harry asked softly, in truth feeling more pouty than truly
angry.
“He’s in the lab, working on your remedy,” said Remus. Now that the trial of
the Full had been passed, there was time enough to devote to it. Harry wondered
if Severus would use it as an excuse to stay away, and he suddenly missed him
terribly. He was still angry with that man, as well, but the events of the
previous night did not lessen his need for him. They simply complicated it.
“I need to talk to him,” Harry rasped. The impulse was so urgent he would have
risen and gone to him if he’d been able. “I need to tell him…” Harry’s voice
broke, became elusive. He needed to explain this thing that had happened, and
that he hadn’t reallyconsented, and that he still loved the man, regardless.
“He knows,” Remus said quietly. Harry looked at him, wondering how much of what
Harry’d just been thinking the man was referring to. Probably all of it,
knowing Remus. He knew Harry so well. Harry often suspected Remus knew him
better than Harry knew himself. He returned the younger man’s terse gaze
mildly, perhaps waiting for condemnation, though Harry still saw no apology in
Remus. Harry’s scowl deepened even as he fought the impulse to reach for him.
He wanted to be held by Remus, to be petted. He wanted to hear the sound of his
voice. He wanted to please him and to be praised by him. Really, none of these
impulses were new, but Harry couldn’t help doubting them, wondering if they
were natural or if it was all simply the result of the magical fetters he now
wore. In the end, he reached for him anyway, unable to fight the urge any
longer, though his frown didn’t budge. Remus drew him close, kissed his temple,
and sighed into his hair.
“Why would you do this, Remus?” Harry asked, though he squeezed him tighter.
“Why would you want something you couldn’t be sure was genuine?”
“You’ll be able to tell the difference, eventually,” Remus assured him. “It’s
hard at first, but you’ll learn to sift the impulse from the compulsion.” Harry
drew back to look at him, verifying in Remus’ expression the sadness he’d heard
in his voice. “It wasn’t entirely selfish, you know, Darling,” he whispered,
stroking the young man’s hair. If Harry had been a cat, he would have purred.
And then perhaps bitten him. “This thing you are is ferocious. Even after the
Claiming, you were a challenge to contain,” Remus explained. “I’m not trying to
justify it away. I admit I took liberties. I made decisions on your behalf and
without your consent. And I do not deny that my biggest motivation for doing
what I did was simply that I wished to. But...I know how much you love
Severus,” Remus finished, and Harry thought that his love for another man was a
strange explanation for Remus’ creating a lifelong bond with him.
Remus noted Harry’s confusion and sighed. “You are young and strong, Harry. And
willful. My position as Alpha is not written in stone. It can change. Possibly
it will change, as you master your new powers, and we don’t know if or when
that might happen. Mating, however, is inviolable. You will hear my command as
my Mate even if you do not respect it as Beta.”
“What does that have to do with Severus?”
“The Dark of the Moon is a dangerous time for new vampires,” Remus said,
stroking Harry’s arm as he spoke as if unable to stop himself, drinking in the
nearness of him. Harry was just as intoxicated with Remus and it was difficult
to really focus on his words. “Your blood has not yet settled. You’re still
emotional and volatile. The bloodlust will peak on the Dark. Your strength will
spike. It is a night of madness, as overwhelming as the wolf on the Full. At
least, it is in the very beginning. You will be locked alone in the dungeons
with Severus at that time, and it is possible that my command alone will
prevent you from killing him.” Harry sobered, shivered. “That is assuming the
bloodlust does not eclipse our bond. We aren’t certain yet how effective it
might be. But I had to make a decision quickly, as last night would have been
the only opportunity to add that safeguard before the Dark. The Claiming only
really works when in wolf-form.”
Remus swept his gaze over the young man’s face, fondly brushing the stray hair
from it with his fingertips. “I had many purposes for doing it, Harry, but it
was never a question, really. I made up my mind as soon as the necessity
occurred to me. Ultimately, I took you because I wanted you,” Remus said,
tightening his grip on Harry’s upper arms. His usual, mild-mannered tone faded
away, became a dusky whisper, more the Alpha from the night before. And Harry
trembled, melted against the man, surrendered as Remus drifted closer and
claimed Harry’s lips as his rightful property.
The reasons for it stopped mattering to Harry for a moment. He was overwhelmed
with the simple need to submit. Harry opened himself to the man who devoured
him slowly and thoroughly. Harry felt a passing urge to sink his teeth into the
tongue that filled his mouth, but he fought it. He was surprised at how much
easier it was to resist the urge now. He was reluctant to cause any harm to
this man for any reason, which was heartening. Not that he’d been eager to harm
him before, he was just better able to control himself as one magical impulse
negated the other.
Remus’ hunger seemed to trump his weariness, and he pushed Harry onto his back
and slipped atop him. Harry was set alight. His desire, not Remus’ weight,
stole his breath. “Shall we consummate it, Darling?” he purred, nipping at
Harry’s neck. “Or are you still too sore?”
Harry was still bruised and torn from the night before, but he didn’t mind.
He’d always preferred a certain amount of pain with his pleasure, which was
probably why he and Severus had been so compatible in the bedroom. It wasn’t
that the man was abusive or sadistic, he simply wasn’t inclined to be gentle,
and Harry could always persuade him to a certain measure of aggression that he
suspected most others would shy from.
Thinking of Severus dampened his enthusiasm. Harry was still yielding, but less
eager. He knew Remus was asking out of courtesy. Harry could feel that,
especially so soon after the Full, he could deny the man nothing.
Though, deep down, Harry knew that the Claiming would not have been necessary
in the least for Remus to seduce him now. He had been wanting to get the man
into his bed since he woke there after the attack, despite his lingering love
for Severus, despite all he had learned about the Potions Master's motivations
for pushing Harry away. As Remus had said the night before, Harry was already
predisposed to this indiscretion. Remus had simply given Harry an excuse to
indulge it.
“Bind me,” Harry whispered. He had not yet reconciled himself with the fact
that he did not simply accept the situation, he embraced it. He wanted a bit
more theatre, a little more help with the illusion that he still fought this.
Remus smiled down at him and kissed the end of his nose, reaching to the
bedside table to retrieve his wand.
The Incarcerous spell bit into Harry’s wrists just enough as it bound them
together and pulled them over his head, securing him to the headboard, setting
his heart beating faster. This kind of thing required absolute trust in his
partner, and Severus had bound him on several occasions. But Harry still liked
the thrill of pretending that anything could happen now and he would be
powerless to stop it. It seemed an odd thing for him to crave, considering his
past. He’d read once that indulging in such a fantasy was empowering for those
who had often been made to feel powerless. Something about rewiring the
subconscious. Harry didn’t really care about the psychological justification,
he just knew he liked to be tied up and fucked. And he could tell by the fierce
look on Remus’ face that that was exactly what was about to happen. This
wouldn’t be tender and gentle. One day, Harry might like to reverse their
roles. In fact, the mental image of Remus, naked, bound and sweaty, made his
mouth veritably water. But not today.
Remus balled up their sheets, tossed them to the floor, and then rose to his
knees to survey his conquest. He gingerly tested a bruise on Harry’s side then
bent to kiss it when the young man winced, choosing the virgin skin next to it
to bite, just hard enough to make Harry gasp, before licking away the hurt and
admiring the new blemish he’d made. It felt unmistakably as if Remus were
marking his territory as he continued to systematically nip and suck, coaxing
new stains to the surface of the young man’s pale flesh which were distinct
from the ones he’d accrued the night before. Harry writhed, his head pressed
back into his pillow as his neck arched, tugging against the magical ropes that
held him, thankful they were there to prevent him from hindering the process.
When he reached it finally, Remus treated Harry’s cock with much more
gentleness, and the contrast made Harry’s head swim. He was aching. Aching. And
Remus soothed that ache with a talent that had gone unpracticed for too long.
There was no doubt he was enjoying the exercise as much as Harry was. Each time
the young man vocalised his approval, voluntarily or not, Remus paused until
Harry was near to begging before applying himself enthusiastically to whatever
trick had elicited the noise in the first place.
“Remus,” Harry panted. “May I? Please?”
“No,” Remus replied firmly. And Harry whimpered, obeyed his Alpha, and held off
his orgasm, despite that Remus seemed determined to bring him off anyway. When
Harry’s whine became truly pitiful, Remus chuckled and took mercy on him. He
dipped lowered, applying himself elsewhere.
This was something else Severus had been unwilling to venture. And Harry held
his breath as Remus’ tongue first made contact with his still-sore opening.
Each lap of it seemed an apology for the damage done there. And Harry’s every
responding gasp was an acceptance of that apology. It was mindblowing, so
different from anything Harry’d experienced before, wonderful and not enough.
With wet, probing strokes, Remus stretched Harry gently. But it would never
stretch him sufficiently, and Harry was too impatient for fingers.
“Take me, Remus,” Harry panted. “I’m going to tear, regardless. Just...I’m
ready.”
“You’re certain?” came the eager response from between his legs. Harry couldn’t
even look down at him any longer for fear the sight would finish him, and he’d
been commanded not to come.
“For mercy’s sake, just fuck me, will you?” Harry barked. Remus growled, so
dangerously Harry did look at him, almost fearful.
“You do not command me, Darling,” Remus firmly, nonetheless rising to his hands
and knees, bringing Harry’s legs up sharply to hook over his shoulders as he
did. “Is that understood?” Harry could not even respond. He just nodded his
acquiescence as his heart hammered in his chest. Remus’ look softened even as
he grasped Harry’s hips roughly and moved the young man into position.
What Harry had said was true. As gently as Remus pressed, Harry still felt
himself tear. He smelled his own blood. But far from lessening his desire, the
scent drove him to higher reaches of arousal. Thankfully, he was bound and
Remus was too far from him to be in any danger but, for the first time, Harry
was aware of his fangs lengthening as his appetite for blood was whetted.
Fangs. Gods. He had fangs now.
He was mercifully distracted from the realisation as Remus’ head breached
fully, drawing a grimace from the young man. Remus paused.
“You’re hurting,” he said, concerned.
“Yes. No. Gods,” Harry stammered. “Please, Remus. Don’t stop.”
Remus grinned and continued to press inside. “I might have known,” he said,
panting with the effort of controlling his plunge. “I just didn’t realise how
far you liked to take it.” Harry whimpered and Remus groaned as he sank true
and held himself there, trembling. “Are you ready, then, Darling?” Harry moaned
in response and Remus held back nothing.
There were no kisses. They were too dangerous right now and this was not that
kind of encounter. This was all grunting and moaning as Harry grasped at the
ropes that held him as if for dear life. This was the steady slap of flesh on
flesh as the pain transmuted into something sublime and overwhelming.
“Remus," Harry keened, gasping.
“No,” the man growled, answering the unvoiced question, “not yet.” He increased
his assault, and Harry cried out in response. Despite the prohibition, Harry
would not last much longer.
Somehow, over the complaints of the bed frame and his own throaty moans, Harry
heard the whoosh of the floo downstairs. He instantly attempted to quiet
himself, biting his lip to stifle his moans to muted grunts and whimpers.
“Remus, stop,” he managed to whisper. “Severus.”
“Yes?” Remus replied, never slowing, obviously unconcerned.
“He...He’s here,” Harry gasped, the comment allowing a moan to escape unbidden.
He could hear Severus on the stair now.
“I know,” Remus panted, thrusting harder so that the resulting clap would have
been unmistakable even to someone without vampiric hearing.
“Remus, please,” Harry begged, his face reddening even further with
embarrassment.
“Perhaps he’ll join us,” Remus rasped, and Harry tried and failed to prevent
the moan that rose at that suggestion.
“H-he...he’d never…” Harry muttered, near senseless as Remus continued to drill
him relentlessly, knowing Severus was still there, that Severus was just
outside the door, listening.
“You don’t think he could be persuaded? You know, I’ve had a lot of time to
contemplate your attraction to Severus. And it may be an acquired taste, but I
understand it. He has a manner about him, doesn’t he?” Remus said, speaking
almost conversationally despite his need to pause occasionally to gasp.
“Oh gods,” was all Harry could manage to sigh, his head falling back on his
pillow. He closed his eyes and imagined the other man. Harry had had to touch
him to really see him, and he could still clearly remember the dark of the
dungeon where Harry had first mapped the contours of Severus’ face with his
fingertips. He’d mapped and memorised much, much more since. A part of him
bristled at the idea of anyone else daring touch his Severus. But things were
different now. Remus was different. And the thought of his Mate caressing his
Lover sent Harry over the edge.
“Fuck. Severus,” Harry shuddered, spilling over his own stomach. He gasped when
he realised what he’d said, was almost afraid of what Remus’ reaction might be.
But the man atop him, who still fucked him steadily, simply chuckled.
“Yes, I’m sure you will, Darling. But me first,” he growled, adjusting his
position, rising to his knees with Harry’s draped over the crooks of his arms.
Harry heard Severus retreat down the stairs, but he could not concentrate on
it.
Remus made short work of it, coming with a moan that Harry couldn’t help but
answer with one of his own, despite being spent. Remus’ weariness caught up
with him then, and he dropped Harry’s legs to dangle on either side of his
waist as he straightened, pressing his hips forward and using Harry to prop
himself upright as he threw his head back with a satisfied sigh, still deeply
anchored in the young man. Harry couldn’t pull his eyes from the sight of
Remus’ long, exposed neck, the contour of the underside of his jaw, his heaving
chest. He glistened, looked wanton and sated and gorgeous. His scars and wounds
did not mar him but instead seemed to perfect him. Remus was so gloriously him,
and unapologetically so. Harry shivered knowing he could have this man forever
if he wanted him. And he couldn’t imagine ever not. Remus picked his head up
and tipped it forward, his sandy hair falling in haphazard, sweat-soaked pieces
to frame his face, almost like a lion’s mane. He studied Harry through his
fringe, all of the young man, his gaze sharp and his expression fierce. Harry
loved that sex brought out this wildness in Remus. As endearing as his meek
kindness was at other times, thislook is what made a lover. It was addictive.
Harry wanted Remus to look at him this way always.
“Magnificent,” Remus whispered with a sigh, cocking his head to the side. He
made no move to withdraw himself as he reached down to stroke the skin of
Harry’s stomach, fingering the marks he’d made with loving fingers. Harry was
putty, was contentedly possessed...until he heard Severus stirring downstairs.
Harry blushed thinking about what the man had overheard, wondering what he
thought of it. He was conflicted knowing Severus had heard Harry call out his
name as another man had fucked him. Remus read the discomfort on Harry’s face.
He glanced to the door and gave a disgruntled sigh, carefully removing himself
at last and lowering Harry gently back to the mattress, still bound. Harry knew
he looked thoroughly debauched and Remus drank in the sight wistfully. Though
they had technically finished, Remus surely felt Severus’ continued presence
was an interruption. There was cuddling to be done, and now it would have to
wait.
“He’s waiting for me,” he told Harry apologetically, climbing off the bed to
find his pyjamas and dressing gown. He moved slowly and stiffly now that there
was no lust left to smooth his actions. He did not, however, cover the young
man or remove his bonds, which Harry secretly loved. Remus simply bent to kiss
him gently before turning to the door and stepping quietly through it.
He did not go to the sitting room, where Harry could hear Severus pacing. He
went instead to the kitchen, and within minutes Harry could smell the familiar
scent of tea steeping. It wasn’t long before Severus became impatient and met
Remus there.
“I’d offer you a cup, but…” Remus said off-handedly. Their voices still carried
easily through the walls to Harry’s now hyper-sensitive ears.
“You are a beast,” Severus answered scathingly.
“As you are so fond of reminding me,” Remus sighed.
“He could not possibly be recovered. You clearly took advantage of your sway
over him,” Severus accused, his voice low and angry.
“I didn’t hear him complaining, did you? Since you were listening, that is.”
“Well, aren’t you smug? Tell me, was it even necessary? Or did you simply see
your opportunity and seize it?” Severus spat.
“Can’t it be both?” Remus asked wearily. Harry heard a tea cup being set on the
tabletop and the sound of a chair being pulled out. Remus had to be exhausted.
It showed in his voice and the slow sounds of his movements. “Let me tell you,
Severus,” he said sincerely, “it was more than necessary. It almost was not
enough. But that doesn’t mean you’ll wring any remorse from me for what
happened. A tragedy has occurred and this is the new truth of our situation,
and the sooner you accept that, the happier you’ll make Harry.”
“Make Harry happy?” Severus said, incredulous. “As if you even care. I pushed
him out of my arms and into those of a predator,” he muttered ruefully.
“Harry’s feelings for me are genuine,” Remus insisted, sounding angry now
himself, “whether you like it or not. They existed before, and he won’t always
be bound by the magic. He’s strong enough to resist it. Eventually. And you are
well aware of that. This hold I have over him is temporary. He may feel the
pull all his life, but that by no means guarantees he’ll heed it.” Remus
sounded almost bitter. “His feelings for you are genuine, as well, Severus. It
doesn’t matter that you’ve decided they aren’t in his best interest. That is a
bond he forged himself, of his own choosing. Your reticence hurts him. You
cannot slink away to sulk over me being in his bed. Harry needs you. And even
when he does no longer, you will never, ever be rid of him, Severus. He will
never let you go. Even if you manage to subdue his symptoms, even if you give
him a real chance at a different life, he won’t take it. He’ll forever come
back to you. I’ve made peace with that. It’s time you attempted to, as well.”
“So, what? We’re meant to be One Big Happy now, are we?” Severus said
sardonically.
“Would that really be so terrible?” Remus asked, plaintively. “Severus. Have
you ever truly examined why you hate me? Or have you let your condition make
your mind up for you? I overcame my magical aversion to you long ago.”
“Even if I had no other reason before, you’ve given me plenty of new ones.”
“You know perfectly well that if Harry had not been attacked, this would never
have happened. If there had been another way, I would never have considered it.
If he were still healthy and unsullied, I’d call up that Conners bastard myself
and arrange a date for the two of them tomorrow. But that is not the reality we
live in any longer,” Remus said, his voice rising in frustration. “I did what I
had to, and it just so happens that it was not a hardship for me. You might
remind yourself that, in a couple of weeks' time, my actions may very well save
your life.”
“I’d almost rather be drained on the Dark than see the love of my life ‘mated’
to another,” Severus hissed bitterly, so quietly Harry almost could not catch
it despite his supernatural hearing.
The love of my life.
Harry allowed himself to savour the comment. He let it echo in his mind,
memorising every nuance of inflexion. He had known, but hearing the words was
healing. Still, they had not yet been spoken to Harry, and until they were, he
could not forgive the man. But this would make it so much easier when the time
came. If it came.
“You’d really curse him with that guilt?” Remus demanded, waking Harry from his
meditation. “You would really rather let him kill you, force him to carry that
weight for the rest of his life, just because you’re being made to share him at
the moment? Now who’s being selfish, Severus?” Remus admonished.
“Well, it seems you’ve potentially saved us all from that misery, then. Hail
the conquering hero,” Severus spat. Harry heard the flap of his robes, could
imagine the man spinning on his heel to sweep from the room as Harry had seen
him do countless times before. Severus’ boots clicked to the sitting room where
he flooed away. Harry was sad that the situation had to be left at that for the
moment, but it could have been much worse, and Harry wasn’t yet ready to face
him after all this.
Harry heard Remus sigh heavily, then a moment later he heard the sound of an
empty tea cup being set smartly on the table before Remus made his way back to
him. He stood in Harry’s doorway appearing far less confident or content as
when he’d left. He looked at Harry, still bound and cum-slicked, and the man
looked almost sorry. Harry didn’t want him to be. He wouldn’t have taken it
back for anything. Severus’ arrival had been unfortunate, but it didn’t really
sully the experience for Harry.
Still, Remus looked abashed as he waved his wand, scouring the young man and
removing his bonds with the same stroke, before retrieving their blankets.
Gratifyingly, the man still shed his pyjamas before climbing back into bed
where Harry reached for him with hungry arms.
“I forgive you, Remus,” he whispered when the man’s remorseful scowl did not
fade.
“I know, my Darling,” he said softly as Harry tucked his head beneath Remus’
chin. “I had thought I’d forgiven myself. But that might take more time, after
all.”
***** But That Our Loves and Comforts Should Increase *****
Harry sat up in bed; woken, ironically, by the quiet of his room. He looked to
Remus’ side of the mattress and found it empty and cold. He was alone.
For some reason, it made him anxious. He hadn’t been left alone since before
the attack. Harry listened but could hear nothing. Though, it was difficult to
hear anything above the pounding of his own heart. He realised he was
dangerously close to hyperventilating and made an effort to quiet his
breathing, beating down his strange and unexpected panic. He tested the air.
He smelled Remus. But then, Remus’ scent was everywhere, including on him and
the sheets. That realisation that made him suddenly feel even more lonely. But
he also smelled tea. Not freshly made, though. And he did smell Remus, not the
ghost of Remus’ presence, somewhere downstairs. Then he heard it: the turning
of a page, the quiet whisper of fingertips on parchment. And there was also the
barely detectable pulse of Remus’ heartbeat, calling to him, as it did always
now. Harry heaved a sigh of relief.
He felt a sudden and urgent need to get out of bed. He didn’t entirely trust
his legs to carry him, but he swung them out over the edge of the mattress
anyway and reached for the desk in the corner, staggering like a newborn calf,
to retrieve the dressing gown tossed carelessly across it. He’d have preferred
real clothes, but he was not up for that challenge on his own yet.
Once on the landing, Harry noticed that the drapes had been drawn throughout
the house and that all the lights were dimmed. It was sombre, almost as
oppressively dark as before they had started redecorating. It was a relief to
his sensitive eyes, though, and a clear indication that he was expected to move
about the house. He considered the stairs for a long moment, cursing that he’d
chosen a bedroom on the third floor, daunted by the seemingly endless, twisting
stretch of them. But Remus was downstairs, and Harry was alone, and he found it
unbearable.
Each step was exhausting, though Harry carefully struggled down them largely
without complaint. Still, he heard Remus hear him, heard him pause and set his
book aside. But this was clearly a test, and Harry was determined to pass it. A
short eternity later, he cleared the last step, winded and unable yet to let go
of the bannister. He looked to the sitting room to find Remus reading and
pretending not to notice Harry’s presence as he sipped his long-cold tea.
The pretence annoyed Harry a bit, but he wasn’t sure what he wanted or had
expected. That Remus would clap him on, telling him he’s a good boy? Actually,
the thought made him embarrassingly giddy, as if he wanted to wag a tail he
didn’t have; one he would never have, despite his canine alter-ego. And the
ease with which even such childish praise would please him annoyed Harry even
more. Better this way, with Remus pretending, else Harry would be forced to
discover he had no dignity left at all.
Remus did not look up until Harry had shuffled all the way into the room to
lean against the sofa. “Harry! You’re up and about,” he smiled, sounding so
delighted it was almost as patronising as clapping would have been. Harry
rolled his eyes but returned the smile despite himself, and Remus grinned,
knowing he’d been seen through. “Come sit down and rest, Darling,” he said,
speaking to Harry in a more mature manner. “I’m impressed. Really. I expected
you to call for me halfway down.”
He was spent but, instead of the sofa, Harry sank to the floor in front of
Remus, working his way between the man’s feet to curl there and rest his head
on Remus’ knee. He heard his mate chuckle fondly, then felt Remus’ hand
stroking his hair. Harry hugged the man’s leg and sighed happily, was content.
The journey from the bedroom had been worth every step to find himself here
now, being petted, with Remus’ fresh scent all around him. They sat quietly
like that for a long while, with Remus idly raking his fingers through Harry’s
hair as he continued to read, occasionally nursing his tea. Eventually, Remus
set down his book and applied both hands to the task of lazily combing through
Harry’s unruly locks.
Harry almost drifted off to sleep. He was so relaxed he hardly noticed the
sound of the floo. It was Severus’ spicy scent that woke him. The man marinated
in the combined smells of all the various potions ingredients he worked with, a
cologne Harry was well accustomed to. It clung to him even after he bathed. And
now with Harry’s enhanced sense of smell, the scent was fascinating; as was the
exercise of identifying and excluding each individual ingredient to try and
pinpoint that one subtle, elusive scent that was Severus himself. Harry was
distracted with doing just that, and with the continued, sedative sensation of
Remus’ fingers at his scalp, when Severus stepped up behind the sofa and
sputtered his indignation.
“For fuck’s sake. You knew I was coming,” he hissed. “On the bloody sofa? Have
you no sense of decenc-”
Harry sat up and gave Severus a questioning look as the man angrily rounded the
end of the couch and stopped cold. He looked flustered, a rare blush tinting
his ashen cheeks. From the hearth, all Severus had been able to discern was
that Harry’s head was in Remus’ lap, and Harry blushed when he realised what
the man had assumed he had been doing.
“Severus,” Remus greeted mildly with a polite smile, ignoring the outburst.
“You’re early.” Despite the courtesy shown him, Severus gave the man a nasty
look.
“What is he doing out of bed?” he demanded, still flustered, pointing at Harry
but not looking at him, which annoyed the young man.
Remus sighed and looked down at Harry and then back to Severus. “It appears
he’s sitting on the floor, Severus.” It was just shy of deadpan.
“Don’t be obtuse,” Severus sneered, already generally irritated. “Why is he out
of bed?”
“I assume because he felt like getting out of it,” Remus replied with just a
touch of exasperation.
“You assume?” Severus said testily. “Are you implying you had nothing to do
with-”
“You two do realise I’m sitting right here,” Harry interjected, drawing both
their attentions. “And that I’m an adult, and not mute, and that I can speak
for myself, right?” Both of them had the decency to look slightly shamefaced.
“I’m sorry, Darling,” Remus murmured.
Severus scowled at the pet name. “I’m here to supervise your feeding, Harry,”
he explained quietly. His tone was impersonal and he had a hard time meeting
the young man’s eyes.
Harry was saddened by Severus’ behaviour but nodded his understanding. “Bedroom
then?” Severus nodded as well, blushing again. Harry sighed, not knowing what
to do about this awkwardness that insisted on growing between them. Everything
was so unbearably complicated. “I’ll need help,” Harry admitted. “The stairs
have spent me.”
Severus shot Remus a dirty look, apparently for having allowed the stairs to
spend the young man, but Remus took no notice as he helped Harry to his feet.
Once there, however, Harry politely shrugged the man off and reached for the
Potions Master instead. “Severus?” he asked timidly. “May I?” Even as he said
it, Harry felt his stomach sink, hating that he now felt the need to ask for
permission before touching this man. At least he didn’t feel the need to ask
that permission from Remus, as he was half afraid he might, considering he was
now tethered.
Severus looked surprised but he shook it off quickly. His manner was somewhere
between reverent and restive as he stepped forward to offer Harry one arm to
hold as he wrapped the other around the young man’s shoulder to gently guide
him. Harry leaned into the man, and it seemed forever since Severus had really
touched him, or since he had touched Severus. Harry sighed, allowing himself to
savour the embrace for just a moment before setting his sights on the
staircase. Harry did not look to see Remus’ reaction. He reminded himself it
didn’t matter, that he was not actually owned by the man, though the bond was
too fresh for him to quite believe it yet.
Severus had not treated Harry so delicately since their escape from the
Malfoys’ dungeons, but he had held Harry in exactly this way then. Though, at
the time he had been just as weak as Harry was now. They didn’t speak as
Severus patiently helped him up each step, and Harry would have been unable to
maintain a conversation anyway. Remus hovered behind, anxious at their slow
progress, clearly wanting to help in some way, but there was nothing for him to
do. Harry could tell that Severus wanted to simply scoop him up and sweep him
up the stair, but the young man was stubbornly determined to make it back to
his room on his own feet. Besides, at the end of their journey, there would be
blood, and Harry was frightened by his eagerness for it. It would replenish
him, but he wanted to wear himself out as thoroughly as he could before he took
it, afraid of his growing strength and what it might mean for all three of
them.
By the time they reached his bed, Harry was sweating, had vowed to himself
never to leave the messy nest of sheets and blankets ever again. The atmosphere
was tense, but he was almost too drained to care. Neither man spoke as Severus
unsheathed the bloodletting knife and Remus rolled back his sleeve. Harry’s
mouth watered in anticipation as he watched them.
Remus, more accustomed to the ritual now, took the knife from Severus and
carefully opened his finger, not even wincing any longer. The cut was tiny,
barely a puncture, but Harry caught the scent and stretched his mouth toward
the wound. Remus, however, made no move to approach him. He regarded Harry for
a moment as the young man writhed, his hunger almost overwhelming. Then Remus
looked down at the knife he held and polished it on his trouser leg before
holding it up for Harry, as Severus had done before.
“Were you aware they did that when you scent blood?” he asked Harry curiously.
The young man glanced at his reflection in the knife blade and saw what Remus
was referring to. Harry’s pupils were so dilated that his eyes were practically
completely black. Severus’ did much the same thing when he fed, but his eyes
were already so dark that the change was more subtle. Harry didn’t care about
that, though. All he cared about was the red beading on the tip of the finger
Remus still held close to his own body. Harry fixed his sight on it again and
moaned.
“Lupin,” Severus said, slightly annoyed, as confused as Harry was by the man’s
toying.
“He must learn discipline,” Remus commented calmly over his shoulder. He licked
away the blood on his finger himself, which almost brought Harry to tears,
before sealing the cut with balm.
“It isn’t strictly a matter of self-control,” Severus argued mildly. His own
eyes were dilated but were quickly returning to normal now that Remus’ wound
was healed.
“In that case, you don’t have much hope on the Dark, now do you?” Remus said
plainly, turning to him. “We have to try to condition him as soon as possible,
Severus.” The other man looked uncomfortable but nodded, and Remus took a seat
on the bed by Harry, giving him a stern but trusting look.
The young man was already exhausted by the ordeal. His head swam. He knew Remus
was not teasing him out of cruelty, but that didn’t make it any less taxing.
Finally, Remus took the knife and made a real, significant cut to his wrist and
lowered it to Harry’s lips. His body responded immediately. The rapture was
instantaneous. He tried to stop them, but his lust consumed him and all Harry
could focus on was the blood. His hands rose of their own volition. Severus
pulled out his wand to cast Incarcerous.
“No,” Remus said quietly, shaking his head at the man. Reluctantly, Severus
lowered his wand, clearly apprehensive, and Remus turned back to Harry. “Put
your hands down,” he ordered the young man. Harry whimpered, his chest heaving
with the effort of obeying, or of attempting to. His hands hovered in the air
inches from Remus’ arm, wanting to seize it. “Harry, put your arms at your
sides. Now,” Remus said, even more firmly. Harry felt the command in his very
bones. Despite the liquid fire pouring down his throat, Harry’s head cleared by
degrees. He forced his arms to his side, though they trembled.
“Such a good boy,” Remus whispered, his tone purely praising with no hint of
condescension. Neither was there any in his touch as he stroked Harry’s head.
Finally, Harry relaxed. He nursed the wound calmly, feeling himself
strengthening but no longer afraid if it. He didn’t allow himself to break eye
contact with Remus the entire time he fed, drawing most of his willpower from
the strength of the man’s gaze.
When Remus moved to reclaim his arm, Harry had a momentary lapse in control,
but all it took was a sharp look from Remus to send Harry’s hands slowly back
to his sides. Remus nodded approvingly, quickly sealing his cut, and finally,
blessedly, the need for self-restraint evaporated. Even his arousal, which
Harry had hardly noticed, faded with no need of further attention. Harry melted
into his mattress, physically rejuvenated but spent entirely in every other
way.
Remus turned to Severus with an expression that seemed to say: ‘You see now?’
And Severus did look impressed. His bitterness appeared to have dissolved.
“Well,” he said quietly, clearing his throat, “I’ll let you get some rest now,
Harry.”
“Don’t go,” Harry begged as the man made his way to the door. Severus paused,
looking slightly stricken, and glanced uneasily at Remus.
“Harry, I have to work on your serum. And I still have other responsibilities,”
he explained apologetically. Harry understood the urgency of Severus’ work, but
that didn’t make him any less disappointed. He wished he were well enough to
follow him. It wouldn’t be the first time Harry’d lazed on Severus’ cot as the
man worked, not needing to interact, just wanting to be near him.
“Will you come back?” he asked hopefully.
Severus’ expression softened into something like longing. “As soon as I can,”
he promised softly. And then he was gone, and Harry’s heart went with him.
Harry felt tears well in his eyes, his emotions still and increasingly
unstable. Then he felt Remus take his hand, and he was almost surprised to find
the man was still there. But Remus’ look held no judgement or condemnation,
only sympathy. Harry allowed Remus to stretch out beside him. His touch was
comforting and in no way sexual.
“It won’t be like this forever, Harry,” Remus whispered. “We’ll work it all
out. You’ll see.” Harry nodded, letting his tears flow as they pleased. He
pulled the man closer and, in moments, Harry fell asleep again, snug in Remus’
arms.
***** With Such Things Else of Quality and Respect *****
Harry’s eyes shot open at the sound of the floo. He knew instantly that Remus
was gone again, downstairs. Harry could smell the evidence of supper: bangers
and mash, Harry’s favourite. Or rather, his previous favourite. To his immense
chagrin, the smell soured his stomach now. The meal seemed to have been
finished for a while, though Harry listened as Severus’ weary step carried him
to the kitchen where Remus apparently still lingered.
“How is he?” he asked, remarkably devoid of venom.
“Sleeping,” Remus replied, even-toned as well. “Have a seat, Severus,” he
offered politely. It was more than polite, it was friendly. To Harry’s
surprise, he heard the man do just that, but he couldn’t tell if Severus was
reluctant or simply tired. “Pity you don’t take Firewhiskey,” Remus went on,
accompanied by the clink of glass and the thunk of a bottle being set on the
table. “You look like you could use one.” Severus grunted in concession of the
fact as Remus apparently poured a glass of it for himself. They were silent
long enough for Remus to finish his drink and pour another. And then when they
did speak, somehow, they managed to speak at the same time.
“I’m sorry, Severus,” Remus whispered, just as the other man muttered, “I’d
like to apologise.”
Harry abruptly sat up in bed, straining his ear, unable yet to believe what
he’d just heard. They had shocked one another back into silence, which was
broken when Remus let slip a short, surprised chuckle a moment later. “No, no,”
he went on, a poorly repressed smile in his voice. “You first.” Mr. Manners,
Harry thought wryly, grinning to himself.
Harry heard Severus grumble under his breath, but the man managed to screw up
his resolve once more. “I may have misjudged the necessity and the
effectiveness of...what happened on the Full,” he murmured unenthusiastically.
Harry was amazed. Perhaps he should have given Severus more credit, but he
really never thought he’d ever hear the man apologise to Remus Lupin for
anything, much less this. Harry couldn’t prevent himself from rolling out of
bed and creeping to the landing to listen more closely. “It’s clear to me now
that it is as much to Harry’s advantage as it is to yours or mine,” he went on,
less grudgingly. “When Loraina and I were infected, nothing on Earth could have
calmed our bloodlust that way in the first week, though such a thing was
fervently prayed for at the time. So, for that, thank you,” he said softly.
Harry very nearly fell over the railing. Though it was undoubtedly galling,
Severus had just thanked Remus for fucking Harry on the Full. But of course, it
was much, much more than that. It was Severus valuing Harry’s well-being beyond
his own peace of mind, his placing Harry’s comfort above Severus’ inclination
for possessiveness, and the young man was terribly moved. He could hear his own
awe matched in Remus’ voice when the man responded, along with ample amounts of
respect and sincerity.
“I’d like to apologise as well, Severus. I’ve been insensitive of your
feelings. And of Harry’s. Our new situation is complicated in the extreme and
requires more delicacy than I’ve treated it with thus far. And for that, I’m
truly sorry. Though I won’t promise such a thing will never happen between
Harry and me again,” he admitted, “I do promise more discretion on my part.”
Harry knew Severus couldn’t possibly be satisfied with the apology, but he
seemed to accept it graciously enough. Truly, though, it was the circumstances
that were unsatisfactory, and they could not now be changed. Harry imagined
they were all three reflecting on what the future might hold.
“In lieu of a drink, how about a game of chess?” Remus proposed cautiously,
perhaps hoping to build on their recent truce. Severus scoffed dismissively.
“Too messy.”
“Muggle chess?” Remus amended. “Much quieter, more relaxing.”
“Less juvenile?” Severus proposed wryly.
“Something like that,” Remus said with a soft laugh. Severus, however,
apparently declined, as Harry heard no evidence of the board being set up. They
were silent for so long that Harry was about to succumb to the tempting but
equally intimidating urge to make his way downstairs to them. Before he could
work up the gumption, Remus spoke, and so Harry seated himself on the landing
and leaned back against the bannister to continue to eavesdrop.
“So, explain something to me,” he started curiously. “Harry can take my blood
but not yours?”
“He could take it,” Severus explained quietly, “but it would not abate his
thirst. The same magic robs both our blood of vitality, making us crave it from
others. There’s none in mine to sate his. Not that he wouldn’t enjoy the
taste,” he added.
“Makes sense. Could you take his?”
“I don’t know,” Severus sighed, sounding decidedly dejected. Harry knew they
would both miss the ritual and the intimacy it involved. “There are so many
things we don’t yet know about his condition. But there are several aspects to
consider,” he said, settling into the voluntary lecture voice Harry knew so
well. The young man was, perhaps, the only one familiar with it. “We are not
toxic to him because his infections have been engineered to bypass the
reaction. But whether that works both ways is something we will only discover
with experimentation,” he said, warming up to the subject.
Harry had learned years ago that the best way to get Severus to relax and
actually conversate was to bring up his work. The man loved an excuse to
elaborate on the intricacies of what he did. Harry wondered if Remus realised
this and had brought it up purposefully for that reason, or if he really was
interested in all the details. Quite possibly it was both. But Harry knew
better than Severus that Remus was wilier than he seemed at first glance. If
Severus suspected the subtle, well-meaning manipulation, he didn’t let on.
“It could be that the immunity is one-sided and he is toxic to us both. Or if
he is not toxic to us, then the concern is whether he is contagious. If he
bites you, will you contract vampirism? A modified version adapted to co-exist
with your condition as it does with his? Or if he attacks me, will I contract
lycanthropy? I didn’t treat you,” Severus said, sounding as if he shuddered at
the thought, “but I gather that there is ample reason to suspect that he did,
indeed, bite you during the Full.”
“Oh. He bit me alright,” Remus confirmed. Though the man chuckled
lightheartedly, Harry’s face burned with shame. “I’d show you the wound, but we
aren’t that familiar yet.”
It was the ‘yet’ that broke through Harry’s guilt and forced him to stifle a
laugh. It was just shy of flirtatious. He could tell Severus caught it as well
because he sounded subtly flustered when he answered. “But still, that’s no
guarantee of immunity,” he went on, ignoring the insinuation. “Because, as you
know, not every bite results in infection. It is encouraging, however. I
strongly suspect he is not a danger to us beyond his physical strength and
volatility. The problem is,” he sighed, “this was not my serum. My formula was
infectious only to those who consumed the potion. The hybrid I designed would
not be able to reproduce, not transmit their infections in any way. But I do
not know what these monsters have engineered. I do not know exactly how it
works or what methods were used. Pinpointing the particulars will take time and
testing, though I have made progress.”
Remus didn’t respond right away, apparently mulling over what Severus had just
told him. He posed another question but seemed to have trouble gathering his
thoughts. “Severus, I’ve been thinking. Your original formula…”
“What?” Severus asked as if impatient with Remus’ hesitation.
“Well. How did you manage to work it out so quickly? It sounds to me as if you
were on the verge of something. Something far more important than making
monsters. But research like this takes a lifetime.”
“I’d been working on it for years,” Severus confirmed.
“Not the hybrid potion,” Remus clarified.
“No,” Severus said. “A vaccine.”
“For vampirism.”
“For both, really,” he admitted. “After I began brewing Wolfsbane for you when
you were first appointed at Hogwarts, I saw similarities in the mechanisms of
the infections and it illuminated my research into my own condition in some
ways.”
“You had to have made real progress,” Remus pressed.
“It still eludes me,” Severus lamented. “I’m nowhere near a cure, and I highly
doubt such a thing is even possible. But both the Wolfsbane and the
Substisanguinus potions can be further perfected. Both provide clues to
mitigating the expression of their respective infections, and I believe there
might even be a way to inoculate the uninfected. More work needs to be done. Is
being done. Harry’s serum may help to unlock it. Or vise versa.”
“Think of the lives you could save, Severus,” Remus whispered, clearly
impressed and sounding overwhelmed by the possibilities. “The lives you could
change for the better.”
“It has occurred to me,” Severus muttered drolly, but Harry could hear the
gratification in his voice. Severus was not modest about his talent, but praise
for it was rare and hard won, simply because so few understood the skill
involved. Most people thought Potions Making was simply a matter of following
recipes, and that thinking up new ones was a triviality. Harry knew better, but
it had taken years of watching the man work to appreciate it fully. Remus,
however, grasped enough that his respect, too, could be valued by the Potions
Master.
“You’d go down in history, Severus,” Remus went on.
“We already have,” Severus pointed out, his voice laced with dark humour. Remus
sighed, almost as if the concept was beyond him.
“Bit weird, isn’t it?” he mused confidentially, “Knowing they’re printing your
name in history books. Harry’s, no doubt, had time to get used to the idea. I
still haven’t quite internalized it yet, though.”
“Well,” Severus sighed ruefully. “Unless I succeed in this breakthrough, I feel
those books will treat you far more kindly than me.”
“The world will come around in time,” Remus assured him, quietly but
confidently. “The contribution you made to the war cannot go unsung forever,
Severus. But for you, Harry would never have succeeded. Our resistance would
not have managed to leave the ground. And deeds like that have a way of coming
to light. It may still be too close for most to see objectively but, in time,
people will come to appreciate the fullness of your valour.”
It was said offhandedly as if it were unequivocal. Severus did not reply. Harry
could imagine that his expression was likely as stunned as Harry’s own, and
probably accompanied by a healthy blush. But it was true. Harry may have killed
Voldemort, but Severus won the war. Which was why Harry had always been
uncomfortable with the recognition he received and bitter at the criticism
Severus endured. More than anyone could possibly know, if not for Severus,
Harry would have failed and the world would have fallen with him. Severus,
however, had never sought any validation, had never cared to politely point out
the importance of his contribution. Those whose opinion mattered to him already
understood, and he had never bothered to set the record straight for anyone
else. Which Remus gently brought to his attention.
“You could write a memoir, you know,” he suggested encouragingly. Severus
dismissed the idea out-of-hand.
“I think I’d rather be remembered for my contributions to science and medicine
than for my skills in espionage,” he sighed. “Wouldn’t you?”
“You know, Severus,” Remus said thoughtfully after a pause. “I think I finally
appreciate why Harry is in love with you.”
The comment was surprising, and surprisingly gratifying to Harry. And it was
just like Remus to voice such a thing, as well. Plainly. Boldly. It was one of
the traits that distinguished him as a Gryffindor, as deceptively unassuming as
he seemed most of the time. Others might have thought it, reflected on it, but
Remus simply spoke it, throwing it out to let others make of it what they
would.
“I, uh, think I’ll just...go and check on him,” Severus murmured hesitantly,
clearly discomfited, obviously unsure how to respond to such a comment. And
Harry had no doubt Remus was highly amused.
But Harry wasn’t prepared to admit his own bit of espionage. He preferred to
hold the conversation he’d just overheard close, not wanting Severus to worry
over Harry’s opinion of it in order to allow the man the opportunity to develop
his own. And so when Harry heard Severus push back his chair, Harry struggled
to his feet, tip-toeing back to his bed as Severus climbed the stair.
He was tucked back in, feigning sleep, when Severus stepped softly into the
room. Harry heard his faint sigh, felt his presence at the side of the bed, and
savoured Severus’ light touch as he brushed the hair from Harry’s forehead to
lay a feathery kiss there. He lingered just a moment to watch Harry breathe
before slipping out again as quietly as he came.
***** If My Gentle Love Be Not Raised Up *****
Harry sat at the small table in his room and laid his hands flat on its
surface, feeling the raised pattern that decorated the top of it. He knew he
hadn’t used it since Ron died, but when he stopped to consider it, he realised
he hadn’t played chess at all in that time. He was never very good at it. He
was impulsive and impatient, had a hard time playing the long game, was truly
abysmal at foreseeing any consequence that was not immediate. But then, Ron had
been equally terrible, and so the games were relatively evenly matched. If
Harry were to ever challenge Severus or Remus, though, he knew he’d be
completely out of his depth.
He also knew this was a truth that extended far beyond the chessboard. And he
realised, as well, it was probably his exaggerated and tumultuous emotions that
were to blame for this particular reflection, but Harry suddenly couldn’t
fathom how he’d won such a deep and tenacious love from each of these men. He
felt unworthy of it.
How many times had Harry overheard Severus, unbeknownst to him, criticise
Dumbledore for clinging to a belief in Harry’s dubious exceptionalism? How many
times had the man enumerated examples of Harry’s ineptitude to his face before
they became lovers? What did he see in Harry beyond a youthful body and
willingness?
And Remus...did the man really see more in him than his mother’s eyes, his
father’s face, and their mutual loss? How was any of it enough for the two of
them that they would go to such lengths for the boy?
And he felt like a boy, scared and selfish and unseasoned. He felt like he was
finally old enough to recognise his youth, to recognise true maturity and know
he did not possess it. Yet here were these men, each remarkable in their own
way, who fought over and sacrificed for him. Surely their devotion was better
spent elsewhere? Perhaps, even, on each other. Harry knew they were far more
compatible than they realised or wanted to admit. All Harry knew about dealing
with Severus’ difficult moods he’d learned from Remus’ example. And who could
better appreciate the burdens Severus carried than Remus? Who better to check
Remus’ fatalistic pride with blunt realism than Severus?
Remus hadn’t shared Harry’s bed last night, and waking up without him had been
depressing, had undoubtedly triggered these insecurities that his rising
madness could not contain. Harry knew it was his irrational mood swings, the
particularly self-deprecating frame of mind he’d woken up in, that made him
wonder if they both wouldn’t be better off if Harry just disappeared. But
knowing it was irrational and convincing his emotions of the fact were two very
different things. His feelings didn’t care what his brain was telling him. They
seemed determined to smother him, to drown him in their shifting tides.
Surely Severus and Remus would seek succour in each other, Harry reasoned, if
he were suddenly absent. Their progress the night before was heartening. There
had to be a way to bring them closer together. And then, if Harry didn’t make
it through this after all, if he chose not to, they wouldn’t be alone after
he’d gone.
“Darling, you’re up,” Remus said brightly from the doorway, waking Harry from
his thoughts. He hadn’t even noticed the man’s approach, but now that he was
present, Harry heard his heartbeat like a subliminal summons and, for the first
time, he detected the faintest hint of his blood on the air despite that Remus'
skin was unbroken. Harry’s hunger stirred. He wondered if his eyes had
darkened. He wondered if his mild arousal was as evident in his expression as
it was elsewhere, out of sight.
Harry didn’t answer him right away. He simply regarded Remus, remarking to
himself on the inexplicable sureness that infused his every movement in quiet,
unobtrusive ways, the easy self-possession with which he carried himself. His
eyes were gentle and kind, but if one looked closer it was impossible not to
see the fire behind them. Harry knew he loved Remus for reasons that had
nothing to do with the Full. He knew he was tied to him in a fashion that
didn’t involve magic, desired him in ways that went beyond the thirst which
made his position in his chair suddenly uncomfortable.
“Darling, are you alright?” Remus asked, worried by Harry’s silence and his
sad, serious stare. He took a seat at the table across from him and draped a
hand over the one Harry had left lying on its surface, but Harry shied from his
touch. Remus looked down at the reticent hand and the crease in his brow
deepened. Despite Harry’s reluctance, he took it up in both of his.
“Harry, you’re hurt,” he remarked with concern, examining the angry red stripe
that coloured the top of Harry’s hand, highlighting the scar there that
reminded him he mustn’t tell lies. It wasn’t the reason Harry had shied, but
the young man allowed Remus to believe it anyway.
“There was a gap in the curtains,” Harry explained quietly. The soft sunlight
of dawn had found its way through Harry’s window that morning and fallen on him
as he slept, and he’d woken to a blistering pain, accompanied by a sense of
futility. He felt so fragile to be such a fearsome thing.
Remus retrieved the balm that stayed now on Harry’s bedside table and carefully
applied it to the burn, gently massaging away the pain and redness. While Remus
concentrated on his task, Harry concentrated on Remus.
“Severus was here last night,” Harry whispered, surprising the man into meeting
his eye.
“Yes. He came to visit as he promised,” Remus assured him, perhaps assuming
Harry’s melancholy was to do with Severus’ absence. He wasn’t entirely wrong.
“But he didn’t want to disturb you. And he had more work to do, what with end
of term and your serum. He’s very busy, but he promised to return again for our
feeding, at the very latest.” Remus smiled at him reassuringly.
“You like him.”
Harry’d said it plainly, with no jealousy or condemnation, no teasing or
judgement. Remus actually blushed. He gave a short laugh, grinning self-
consciously. “Despite myself,” he admitted.
“Despite him,” Harry corrected, with a small smile of his own. Remus laughed
outright. Harry loved the sound.
“I think you bring out the best in him,” Remus said, still holding Harry’s
hand. The young man scoffed.
“I bring out the worst in him for the best reasons,” he clarified.
“You make him a better man,” Remus whispered in agreement, smiling fondly at
Harry. But Harry shook his head.
“He’s always been that man,” he said softly. “I’m just the lens that allows you
to see it.”
Remus looked at the young man thoughtfully, considering either Harry’s words or
his philosophical mood, or both. “You seem to be feeling stronger,” he said
finally. “Would you like to go downstairs? I imagine you’re tired of this
room.” Harry shook his head again.
“Come to bed with me,” he sighed, squeezing Remus’ hand. The man’s own eyes
dilated. His breathing did not change but suddenly required careful control.
“The thirst...” Harry began shakily, his eyes darting away, wanting to explain
but not really knowing how and not wanting to offend the man. But Remus seemed
to understand and was not bothered. He rose and drew Harry gently to his feet,
leading him by the hand back to the bed.
He required some assistance, but Harry still enjoyed undressing Remus. He
enjoyed being allowed to try. It was thrilling, like unwrapping a long-awaited
gift. There was still a newness to the sight that was revealed as the fabric
was peeled away. Werewolves healed quickly, and Remus’ bandages were gone, as
were Harry’s, though, the man's most recent scars were still pink, looking raw
and sensitive. Harry kissed them each softly, apologising for their infliction,
paying special attention to the particular one which Severus was not yet
allowed to see.
Remus handled Harry gently as well, coaxing him to stretch out atop the man
instead of dragging him there. For the longest while, they simply kissed. It
was deep but unhurried. They fit together so comfortably, and the hour was
young. Their only obligations for the day were to each other. Their kisses
evolved slowly. Remus wrapped his legs around Harry one at a time, simply to
draw him closer, but finally he urged the young man to position himself. Harry
had feared that their hierarchy would mean the man would refuse to bottom
again. But this was not an act of dominance or control, only of love and
desire.
Remus required no preparation. Harry applied no force, he simply rested against
the man, the weight of his body eventually pressing him inside as Remus relaxed
to allow it. It was almost undetectable to Harry. And it was sweet until it was
more and Harry slowly began rocking his hips. The thirst stirred and his fangs
emerged, but he had no trouble resisting the urge to use them. Their movements
quickened by degrees but not by much, and their climax was understated and
unimportant in the scope of things. Harry’s lust was gently sated and all that
really mattered was this closeness.
Harry drew back and gazed down at Remus. “Severus could love you,” he told him
softly, wondering how much it might bother him that the other man intruded so
often on Harry’s thoughts when the two were together.
But Remus seemed to have no complaints. He smiled, clearly humouring the young
man. “You think so?” he asked with a quirk of his eyebrow. But Harry nodded
seriously.
“I’ve conditioned him to dealing with Gryffindors,” he added with a slow grin.
Remus tilted his head and regarded Harry, brushing at his forehead in his
seemly endless war with Harry’s unruly hair.
“You’d like that?” he asked, searching Harry’s strange new eyes.
The young man nodded. “Yeah,” he said honestly, “I would.” Remus sighed and
wrapped his arms around Harry, drawing him close.
“I think I would, too, Darling,” he said softly, sincerely.
And Harry smiled.
***** I Must Weep, But They are Cruel Tears *****
As the days passed, Harry grew stronger. But while his physical limitations
shrank, his emotional ones multiplied. His moods no longer shifted so much as
they overlapped, and his anger and sadness, his fear and frustration no longer
politely took turns but attempted to show up all at once. It was only the
darker emotions that bombarded him, too. The gentler, pleasant ones could no
longer compete and eventually faded.
Underlying it all was the lust. It was insatiable despite feeding, mild at
first but becoming more persistent, more ardent with each passing day. Remus
attempted to help alleviate it but could not keep up. Then it became too
torturous anyway, the thirst making it dangerous enough that even sex would
require supervision, like his feedings. And that was not going to happen. Harry
attempted to quiet his arousal on his own to little avail. The thirst was
relentless. All subtlety had left it, and Harry felt the slow, insidious creep
of the approaching Dark as surely as he’d felt the coming of the Full, but in
his blood this time instead of his bones.
Adding to this rising frenzy was the bond he and Remus shared. As the vampire
in him stirred to wakefulness, so did his instinctive distaste for the wolf.
Harry craved and reviled him. He hungered for his scent though it stung his
nose. He thirsted for his blood but was sickened by it. They had finally
resorted to contributions from Kingsley and the Headmistress, delivered in
flasks, cold and stale, which only contributed to Harry’s discontent. Even
without the inherent turmoil of his first approaching Dark, his confliction
over his Mate alone was almost enough to send Harry into complete madness.
It was little better with Severus. He was ever-present, but Harry rarely saw
him. He knew to keep his distance. Vampires were not the social creatures that
werewolves were, and the close proximity of another lone predator was galling
to him. As much as he missed him, Harry resented Severus’ presence in his
territory.
This was so much worse, in many ways, than the Full. As challenging and painful
as it had been, the onset of that transition was sudden and its passage quick,
the condition itself temporary. This slow build, this gradual descent, was far
more agonising. It was mental quicksand compared to the wolf’s sudden plunge.
He hated feeling his rationality slip away, knowing he was powerless to prevent
it as his grip slowly weakened. He was assured, over and over by both of them,
that once his blood settled, even as soon as next week, that this suffering
would wane, that he would master his thirst and his emotions would quiet. But
that was little comfort to him in the meantime.
He eventually requested that they bar his door, locking him inside, to ensure
their safety when his disposition shifted to its more dangerous incarnations
too suddenly for him to recognise and temper his impulses. For a while, they
had taken up a vigil outside his room, but he had finally begged them to clear
away. He was too unnerved by their presence. While the sun was high, he slept
like the dead. At night he wore his rug thin pacing, occasionally shredding his
sheets for no other reason than he felt destructive and they were easily
mended.
On the evening of the Dark, they came for him. Harry could feel the Peek
coming, that moment when the moon would be completely obscured. When he smelled
them on the landing, the Werewolf and the Rival, Harry rushed the door,
striking it with clawed hands, having been unable to catch and deflect the
impulse that sent him flying to engage his enemies. He still had difficulty
quieting the threatening hiss that escaped him or preventing his nails from
scoring the surface of the wood.
“Harry, stand away,” Remus demanded, his voice thick with authority. Harry felt
the command and resented it. He roared his frustration but removed himself from
the door. “Step back!” Remus shouted forcefully, and Harry’s bones responded,
carrying him back and to the centre of the room. After a short moment of
silence, during which Harry seethed, the lock clicked over and the door swung
open.
They stood in the doorway side-by-side, looking as if they were going into
battle. Their wands were drawn but at their sides. Their expressions were
intent and their posture poised for action. “Stay,” Remus ordered him firmly,
seeing in Harry’s eyes the impulse to pounce. There was no tenderness in his
Mate’s eyes, only dominance, which Harry reluctantly bowed to. The young man’s
chest heaved, his fists opened and closed. His eyes washed black as he scented
their blood through their skin like perfume wafting on the air. Harry lifted
his nose, testing it further, and his eyes fluttered closed with a moan.
“Harry,” Severus said quietly. Harry’s eyes snapped open and he cut them almost
violently toward the man. And there he saw the tenderness Remus was lacking,
but it had no effect on Harry’s mood. “Deflect it, if you can. Be here. Now.
Concentrate on your other senses: the shift of the rug beneath your feet, the
feel of the fabric of your clothes against your skin. Fix your eyes on
something and see only that.”
Harry bared his teeth at him but tried to do as he was told. And it helped. Not
by much, but enough to give him back some semblance of control. Harry wondered
if Severus wore such stiff, chafing clothes on purpose to help keep him
grounded. Harry was not subdued, but he was less a danger than he was a moment
ago.
“We’re going to bind you, Harry,” Severus warned, cautiously raising his wand.
Harry stiffened but gritted his teeth--his fangs--and allowed it. Feeling the
ropes slither across his skin, however, snapped the tenuous control Harry had
achieved and he dropped to the floor, snarling and struggling; so Remus pulled
out the garlic. Severus shied from it but not far. The rational part of Harry
understood the measure, but the Madness in him bristled, rinsing Harry with
feelings of betrayal and bitterness as nausea flushed him and he felt himself
weaken slightly. He stopped his struggle against his bonds.
“Good boy,” Remus soothed. Harry hung limp, panting, as they levitated him and
guided him to the floo. Severus had to hold him close to transport them, a
sharp command from Remus preventing him from sampling the man’s neck. Despite
Harry’s uncontrollable hostility, Severus held him gently.
“Minerva and Kingsley are waiting outside in the corridor,” Severus explained
when they arrived in the sitting room. Apparently, they wanted to save Harry
the indignity of their friends seeing him in such a state. Harry only hoped, as
he was sure they all did, that they did not see it anyway, under more dire
circumstances.
Harry watched uneasily as Severus handed his wand to Remus. The man was really
going to lock himself in with Harry unprotected. No doubt the idea was to keep
the wand from Harry, but handing one’s wand over is no easy thing, and the
seriousness of the situation began to sink in.
Remus turned to Harry then, his expression severe and unyielding. Even through
the haze of his thirst, feeling far more vampire than werewolf, Harry still
responded to it, shrinking from it slightly.
“Harry. I forbid you from killing this man, do you understand me? You will not
bite him. You will not drain his blood.” Harry felt the compulsion to obey and
fought it simply out of reflex. He snarled at the man. “Acknowledge it, Harry.
Acknowledge your Alpha,” Remus snarled back. “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Harry hissed, “Alpha.” And though he still sneered, inwardly Harry
sighed with relief. Remus seemed satisfied with his response and motioned for
Severus to continue on. Though, he caught the man’s arm as he passed to whisper
in Severus’ ear. Harry wasn’t sure why he bothered. Harry could hear him
perfectly and Remus had to know that.
“The command will fade, Severus,” he warned. “I will reinforce it periodically,
but I can give you no guarantees. He is too strong. Are you certain you wish to
do this?” Harry could hear in Remus’ voice his fear for the man and the subtle
hope that Severus would change his mind. Which made Harry panic slightly, not
only because Remus had so little confidence in his ability to control Harry,
but also because Severus might actually change his mind and leave Harry to face
the Dark alone. Severus heard Remus’ fear, as well, the unspoken request, and a
curious expression came over his face, but his only answer was to direct Harry
toward the stairwell.
The doorway to the lab was garlanded with garlic. Harry could tell Severus’
stomach turned as they approached it. To Harry, it was all but debilitating.
Even after they had crossed the threshold and closed the door, which Harry
heard being heavily locked and barred from the outside, Harry still felt the
effects of so much of the stuff in one place. It would surely be a sufficient
deterrent to him should he seek to escape. But Harry had no way of knowing what
he might do, really. He had no idea what he was capable of.
Severus secured the door from inside, and Harry trembled. If things went badly,
if Harry harmed the man, no one would be able to come to his rescue. At least,
not easily by any stretch. The pressure was almost more than Harry could bear.
He felt the urge to do Severus harm and hated it, could not control it, was
terrified of it, and Severus was completely vulnerable now.
The lab was utterly dark, but that did not prevent Harry from seeing it. It was
bare. All of Severus’ experiments had been moved, all his ingredients and
equipment stripped. There were only the tables left and one cauldron in the
corner. Though he could see the shape and edges of everything perfectly, this
world of complete darkness was washed of all colour. The surfaces were varying
shades of grey. Except for Severus. In contrast, the man blazed with colour.
Harry even saw it in the pale of his skin, which had always before seemed so
white to him. Now it was a warm cream, laced with pinks and reds. His eyes and
hair were clearly shot through with brown, so many variations of it. And his
blood: Harry could practically see Severus’ veins through the man’s skin. They
shone faintly, glowing brightest, through the man’s robes, at the place where
his heart beat. It made him a beacon. This must be how vampires hunted in even
the darkest of places. Morbid as it was, considering, it was all beautiful, and
the spectacle was somehow soothing.
“Is this really what you see, Severus?” Harry heard himself ask, his quiet awe
a fleeting but refreshing change from the turmoil he’d been steeped in for
days.
“My eyesight is no longer as keen as yours,” he explained patiently. “In order
to allow me to function in regular light, the Substisanguinus lessens my
sensitivity. Your eyesight, too, will fade some as your blood settles. But yes,
Harry,” he said softly. “This is what I see.”
Harry studied the man again. This is how Severus had seen Harry while they were
locked in the Malfoys’ dungeon, he realised. For days, Harry had been the
single burst of colour in a relentlessly grey world. Severus had watched his
heart beating, immersed in the scent of Harry’s virgin blood as his thirst
raged. And yet he had never touched him. Harry knew, once this was over and his
madness subsided enough to make room for it in him, he would respect the man
all the more because of it, knowing fully, now, the strength of that
temptation.
Severus guided him to the centre of the room and lowered him, still bound, to
the floor. Then he leaned against an empty table and waited. “Your bonds will
dissolve soon,” Severus informed Harry quietly.
“Why?” Harry asked, sounding far more belligerent than he intended. The
question had been an honest one. Why not simply keep him tied?
“They will not hold you, in any case, once the Peek hits. And besides, I do not
like to see you suffer.”
The comment sparked something ugly in Harry. This man had seen him suffer
before, had watched his heart break. And even before that terrible evening, he
had left Harry suffering for years. Harry beat back his bitterness with no
little effort and attempted to calm himself, to focus on the bite of the ropes
on his arms, the cool of the stone beneath his back. Though the bitterness
faded marginally, it left an immense sadness in its wake. Harry’s emotions
would not be still. Suppressing one simply gave rise to others. This particular
one was less hostile, though it was almost debilitating. It wouldn’t last
forever. The wave was rising, and Harry knew it would overtake him soon.
After his bonds evaporated, Harry tried to simply lie still but could not
manage it. The need to move, to stalk, to hunt, was overwhelming. As Harry
measured the length of the room, back and forth, over and over, he understood
Severus’ incessant pacing in the Malfoys’ dungeons, and how cruel it had been
to tease him. Harry could not fathom how he’d survived the ordeal. Even though
the man was not a virgin, Harry was new and Severus’ blood sang to him, fueling
his hostility as he fought his thirst.
“What will happen to me?” Harry whined, his emotions shifting suddenly. They
were exhaustingly erratic. Fear now reigned for the moment. He rubbed at the
backs of his arms, fighting the urge to claw at them.
“Simply what is happening now,” Severus said, his tone even, betraying no fear.
Was this how he spoke to Voldemort all those years? Cool and collected though
inwardly terrified? And he must be. Severus was wise enough to know, better
even than Harry, that the situation merited it. “Though, it will spike, will
hit you in fits and starts and grow in severity. There will be moments of pure
madness that rob you of your senses. You may not remember the episodes, only
wake to the aftermath.”
The man was far too calm. It angered Harry, suddenly, that he was so while
Harry fell to pieces in front of him. It reminded him of the last time they had
been alone in this room together. “Can you stop it? Can you soothe it?” he
asked desperately, his skin crawling, as if his emotions were physical things
that writhed just beneath his surface. Severus shook his head sadly, not
necessarily in negation but more in something like helplessness. “Then why are
you here!?” Harry bellowed.
“To ensure you do not harm yourself.”
“And how are you supposed to do that with no wand?” Harry spat, looking away in
disgust to continue walking the room.
“By giving you somewhere else to focus it,” Severus replied simply. Harry
abruptly stopped pacing and stared at him.
Severus was here to be a whipping boy. He was here to accept the brunt of
Harry’s madness. He was here to be harmed. Harry was horrified by the thought.
He gasped and backed away from Severus until he hit the wall behind him. Even
then he practically tried to climb it, desperate to distance himself from the
man. Panic overtook Harry entirely and he sobbed, tearing at his hair. Severus
approached him swiftly, even though his advance sent Harry whimpering and
scrambling to the corner. He took the young man by the arms and shook him,
forcing him to meet his eyes.
“Remember,” he told him firmly. “Remember who you are, Harry. Who I am. What we
are to each other.”
But it was the wrong thing to say. Harry’s panic turned instantly to a
resentment so deep and sharp it almost doubled him over. He threw the man off.
Now he was the one who advanced with Severus retreating steadily. “Oh, I
remember, Severus,” Harry hissed, his lip curling in disgust, clearly
displaying a fang. “I’m your plaything," he intoned, remembering the years of
one-sided affection, of passion only on Severus’ terms and only at the man’s
convenience. “I’m your possession,” he spat. “I’m your fucking pet.”
“You know better, Harry,” Severus admonished gently, unable to back any further
as his thighs collided with the table behind him. His voice trembled despite
his effort keep it neutral. “This is the Madness talking. Fight the Dark,
Harry!” 
But it wasn’t just Madness, the Madness simply magnified it. Harry growled. It
sounded inhuman even to his own ears. He had the impulse to strike Severus, to
take him by the neck. The ache in his bones reminded Harry of Remus’ command,
but this other pain was older. It ran deeper but was more keen for all of it.
“I have been fighting it, Severus!” Harry shouted angrily. “For years I’ve
fought the darkness that grew in me. Every time I told you I loved you and
received silence as a response; every time I tried to come anywhere nearyour
arsehole, only to be rebuffed and flipped over and taken; every time you
grunted at my hello; every night you chose some elixir over my company; every
time I tried turning up the lights and lookingat you just to have you snuff
them...the darkness in me grew and I foughtit. I don’t have any fight left,
Severus. Or rather, not the same kind,” he said, his voice a quiet rumble. He
advanced on the man until they met and pressed his whole body against him,
pinning him against the table. For the first time, Severus’ eyes betrayed a
glimmer of fear.
This close, the scent of Severus’ blood was intoxicating. Overwhelmingly so.
Harry breathed it in and his body responded. He knew his eyes must be pitch. He
felt his arousal stab at Severus’ leg. Harry leaned closer, though his hands
still hung at his sides as he struggled to obey Remus’ command. Harry's lips
were almost touching Severus' neck, and he could feel the heat of Severus'
blood buffeting their sensitive skin gently to the staccato beat of the
man's hammering heart. “Why did you never let me top you?” Harry asked in a
dangerous whisper.
Severus swallowed and struggled to find his voice, his fingers gripping the
edge of the table he was backed against. “I spent most of my life under the
thumb of one madman or another,” he muttered without conviction. “I resent
being compelled to submit.”
It was a poor excuse. So poor as to be insulting, and Harry felt his rage
overpower Remus’ edict as he seized Severus by the arms, his fingers biting.
“In that case, Severus, my love,” Harry softly purred into the man’s ear in a
mocking imitation of affection, incongruent to the aggression of his actions,
“you're going to fucking hate this.”
Harry turned Severus roughly--surprised at how easy it was despite that the man
resisted--and bent him over the table much as Severus had once done to Harry,
pinning the man down with a single hand between the shoulder blades. Severus
struggled but did not call out for help, though Harry waited for it. Surely the
man’s pride was worth only so much. Harry embraced his bitterness. He succumbed
to the vile impulse to abuse Severus, to return what he'd subjected the young
man to and then some. Harry had little choice, really, but he did not fight as
hard as he knew he should have. Having no wand, Harry simply tore Severus’
trousers from him, finding it surprisingly easy to shred them. He understood
the rags Severus had made of Harry’s shirt the first time they were together.
The band remained, but Harry made short work of the rest and divested the man
of his pants next. Severus muttered curses but did not raise his voice. He
struggled, but only to free himself and not to attack his attacker.
Harry felt dirty, ashamed, but it did not stop him from unfastening his own
trousers, it only fueled his discontent. He did so while his hips pressed
firmly against Severus’ bare arse, his hand shoved between them so there was no
question what Harry was doing. Once freed, Harry slipped the length of his cock
between Severus’ cheeks, biting his bottom lip as he slid it up and down the
hot crevice. The man beneath him had fallen completely still.
“Giving up already?” Harry asked, still working himself against him. He was
almost disappointed. “Surely there’s more spirit in you than that,” Harry
whispered through clenched teeth, yanking Severus’ head up by the hair in order
to hiss in his ear, causing the man to finally cry out. “Now you're mybitch.
And I'm Remus’. How does that make you feel, Love?”
The comment reignited the fight in Severus. He growled deeply, reminding Harry
he wasn’t the only Dark Creature in this room, and fought back. He turned,
dislodging the hand on his back, and twisted to face the young man, tackling
him to the floor where they grappled. Neither sought to harm, simply to
control. Harry enjoyed the struggle far more than was decent. But Harry wasn’t
Harry right now. Harry was an avatar of years of frustration. He had submitted
to this man again and again. Willingly, granted, but not always happily.
Harry toyed with him like a cat plays with a mouse, letting him gain the upper
hand only to snatch it away again. Finally, as Severus became more winded and
his struggles more frantic than effective, Harry pinned the man’s wrists to the
floor. He was breathing heavily, but it was nothing to the way Severus’ chest
heaved. Harry knew it was with defiance and frustration and anger as much as
with physical exertion. Harry gazed down at him, his expression hard and
loveless, until Severus surprised him by suddenly wrapping his legs around
Harry’s waist and yanking the young man’s hips to his own.
Harry was startled out of his blind rage. Some of it still lingered, though,
and his arousal was intense. “We always did like it rough, didn’t we, Severus?”
he whispered. Harry didn’t think he was imagining the way Severus’ eyes
darkened with his own desire. Harry ground his hips against the man and felt
the unmistakable evidence of it.
But he wasn’t ready to take him just yet. Harry opened his mouth, making sure
Severus could see as Harry carefully and deliberately tore his own tongue
across one of his fangs. It was dangerous to them both. Harry’s blood might be
harmful to Severus, and the scent, even of his own blood, set Harry’s limbs
trembling and threatened to give the Madness free reign. Harry cupped his
tongue, letting his blood pool there, waiting for Severus’ permission. Or
rather, for his submission.
Severus’ eyelids fluttered and he moaned, his pupils were huge, and he opened
his mouth as if he were already able to taste Harry’s blood. But before
stretching up to accept it, he sliced open his own tongue, causing Harry to
shiver with anticipation.
And then they met. No, they collided. Their tongues delved into each other’s
mouths and their bloods mingled. There was so much of it. They moaned into one
another. Severus’ blood tasted so different from Remus’. It lacked the fire,
but it was still transcendent. Remus was firewhiskey, but Severus was wine, the
finest Harry had ever tasted.
Harry still pinned Severus’ wrists, but his craving for violence had dissolved.
He melted against the man, and as their kiss became more fervent, as they
literally devoured one another, Harry adjusted his hips and Severus helped,
offering himself to the young man.
Harry was not gentle, but neither did he intentionally try to hurt the man. He
simply sank, as Severus had done countless times to him, steadily inside. He
was surprised at the ease of it. Severus grimaced, whimpered, but did not break
their kiss. Harry rested there, content for the moment to simply feel Severus
enveloping him. He had waited such a long time to know the sensation. It was
the other man who began to move finally, writhing beneath Harry. He was clearly
inexperienced but just as clearly willing, enthusiastic even. Harry smiled
against Severus’ lips before rising away from them. Both their mouths were
stained red and Severus’ fangs shined white from inside his, which had fallen
open as he struggled to find the right angle, the right motion. Harry wasn’t
sure why the sight of Severus’ fangs seemed so erotic, but he growled and took
control. As soon as Harry began to move, Severus ceased.
Harry pulled himself out of Severus slowly, far further than he should have
with one so unaccustomed to this act, and drove himself home again, sending
Severus arching off the floor. He tugged at Harry’s grip but it was unyielding.
Harry repeated the process, and this time Severus moaned. Harry grinned
wickedly. “Tell me you want it, Severus,” he whispered. Harry still felt
aggressive, was still angry, but he was controlling it better than expected. He
drove into Severus again, harder, but he still received no answer. It felt so
good, though, that he decided he didn’t need one. He picked up his pace,
fucking the man properly for the first time in their lives.
Harry found the way Severus writhed extremely gratifying. The cries he released
served to arouse Harry further. Though they sounded it, it was clear, at least
to Harry, that they were not cries of pain. Or if they were, they were equal
parts pleasure, as well. They were exactly the same as the ones Severus had
wrung from Harry for years. Apparently, the sound was not as well understood by
those guarding the stair. Remus’ voice sounded throughout the room suddenly
with the unmistakable echo of a Sonorus spell.
“Harry! Step back!”
Harry, so close to climax, flinched. He roared up the stairs at the other man,
desperately trying to ignore the command and maintain his rhythm. Severus
growled in frustration at the stuttering interruption of the cadence of Harry’s
trusts.
“Harry. Stand away. Do not touch Severus!”
“For fuck’s sake!” Severus bellowed, practically apoplectic at the intrusion.
“Mind your own bloody business!” But Harry had already stopped, releasing the
man to back on hands and knees to the wall and away from Severus, whining his
own frustration all the way. Severus rose to his knees and followed the young
man closely, but Harry warded him off with a snarl. He’d been ordered and had
heard, and now he obeyed, however reluctantly.
“You aren’t touching me,” Severus said urgently, chasing Harry’s flailing arms
with searching hands as the young man attempted to escape him. “Listen. You
aren’t touching me, Harry. I’m touching you,” he said soothingly.
Ah. A loophole. Harry’s lust had reached a fever pitch, and it was a relief
that the logic seemed compatible with the dictate in his bones. No longer in
any position of control, Harry allowed Severus to touch him. He allowed Severus
to rip away Harry’s shirt even as he moved to straddle the young man, taking
Harry fully inside himself once more. With a grateful moan, Harry let Severus
ride him.
“Your robes,” Harry gasped. “Take them off!”
Severus’ hips never slowed as he raced to shed the rest of his clothes. He was
beautiful, even more so to Harry’s new eyes. And it was torture that he could
not touch what he saw: the sweat-sheened stomach that undulated as Severus
hunched, the fullness of his erection as it bounced off Harry’s stomach. Since
Harry could not, Severus took himself in hand and pumped his cock furiously as
Harry watched, moaning at the sight. It didn’t take much to finish them both.
As soon as Harry felt the warm spill of Severus’ climax on his chest, Harry’s
fingers found it and brought it to his lips. And Severus was right. It was so
sweet. Almost as sweet as blood, but better, because it cost the donor nothing.
And abruptly Harry was finished, pumping into the man with a throaty cry.
Severus tumbled from atop Harry to lay, panting, on the floor. They were both
undone. Harry found he was momentarily sated. Both his thirst and his lust had
quieted. But they were close. Harry would savour the reprieve while he could.
He reached down to touch himself, to close his eyes and relish the memory of
Severus clenched around him. The scent that lingered on his fingers was
unexpectedly familiar. It was not Severus’ or Harry’s.
“Balm?” Harry asked, confused, struggling to sit up. He looked down at himself
and noticed no blood stained him, though the man could not have helped but tear
considering the manner in which Harry had breached him. He looked to Severus.
“You knew,” he said in a mortified whisper. “Severus, you’re full of healing
salve. You knewwhat I would do.” It was almost accusing, but Harry’s
condemnation was for himself.
Severus did not answer. He simply closed his eyes, still fighting to catch his
breath. Harry shot to his feet. His emotions, if not his lust, were still at
full broil. So many warred within him. It was shame that won in the end, shame
and sadness that coated him like thick mud.
“Why even be here?” Harry asked, shaking his head uncomprehendingly. “Why not
lock me in and go and stand guard with Remus? Severus, why!” he cried, his eyes
filling with tears, completely beside himself.
Severus rose to his feet as quickly as his condition would allow and reached
for Harry, but it was not his Alpha’s command that sent the young man shying
away. “I’ve been through what you are going through now, Harry,” Severus
explained soothingly, his expression exuding nothing but forgiveness and
understanding. “And I would not wish anyone to experience it alone. Least of
all you.” He cautiously reached for Harry again, and this time the young man
allowed it, though he cried even harder at the man’s gentle touch. “I had
Loraina to help guide me through my Madness. She was so much stronger than I
was. And now you have me,” Severus vowed.
Harry was not comforted. “But I’d rather you were safe!” he keened. “I’d
rather-”
“Harry, if I was not here, you would have driven yourself mad by now, clawing
at the walls, tearing your nails. And the scent of blood, even your own, with
nothing here to appease your lust, would have carried you over the edge. Not
all new vampires make their way back from that frenzy, and some even destroy
themselves in their desperation to escape it. That is why there is nothing in
this room except you, me, and a cauldron of healing salve.”
Harry looked to the cauldron. So that was what it was. There to seal away his
self-inflicted wounds, or the ones he might inflict on Severus, so that Harry’s
bloodlust could remain manageable.
Harry calmed gradually as Severus stroked his arms. And once his racing
thoughts slowed enough to allow measured reflection, something unspeakable
occurred to him. Harry's shame was embellished with a lancing pain, a
fathomless melancholy, as he studied his companion. “There’s more to it, isn’t
there, Severus?” he asked. The man looked patient but confused. “It’s not just
a distaste for submission. You've…” Harry swallowed, forced himself to speak it
though his voice trembled. “Someone hurt you once, didn’t they?”
Severus shrank slightly and his eyes fell to the floor, but not before Harry
saw the lingering pain there. He still stroked Harry’s arms, though, as he
spoke.
“It was a long time ago,” he admitted, his eyes closed momentarily as if
warding off the memory. “I was a fool to let it hold me back, to let it hold
usback. I had no right to expect you to do anything I was unwilling to do
myself, Harry,” he added apologetically.
“I’m sorry, Severus,” Harry gasped, gutted that he could have forced himself on
the man. “I’m so sorry,” he said, choking on his tears. Severus shushed him.
“It’s no matter now, Harry. This has nothing to do with that. I was willing. I
was eager. What happened in the past is not your fault.”
“Why not just tell me?” Harry asked desperately, but Severus had no answer
besides a despairing look. “We could have been happy, Severus,” he whispered
tearfully, grievingly, as if the opportunity had come and gone, was
irretrievable. “If you had just talked to me. If you had just letme love you.”
“Ah,” Severus sighed dejectedly. The sadness in his expression was the same
sadness he’d spied on Severus’ face that day as Harry had flooed away from him,
convinced of the man’s infidelity. “But at what cost, My Dearest Love?” he
asked, bringing a hand to gently cup the young man’s cheek. Harry was
devastated by the address. His pain spiked, his anger stirred. He moved to
shove the man from him, but Remus’ command prevented it, so he simply stumbled
away from him, sick with disappointment and incredulity.
“Really,Severus?” he finally managed to choke out around his hurt. “You choose
now?” he demanded angrily.
“I’m so sorry,” Severus whispered, respecting Harry’s unwillingness to be
touched. He hugged himself instead. Harry had never seen him so vulnerable,
standing naked as the tears in his eyes built and spilled. “It's not soon
enough, I know. Maybe, even, it is far too late. But I love you, Harry,” the
man vowed, with such sincerity and conviction it broke Harry’s heart afresh.
“And I regret not saying it all the many times that I could have. I regret not
voicing it each and every of the many times I thought it. It has been ever-
present on the tip of my tongue all this time,” he confessed. “But I
thought...I thought I was shielding you from something,” he said, shaking his
head helplessly. “I thought I was giving you a way out, making it easier for
you to leave me behind.” Severus wept freely now, something Harry had never
seen him do, could never have imagined him succumbing to, and it was almost
frightening. “And now, as it turns out, all that pain I caused the both of us
was for nothing. And I am sorry, Dearest. So sorry. And I love you. A thousand
times, Harry, I love you.”
Harry’s knees failed him and he sank to the floor, sobbing. He had expected
relief when the words finally came, and there was some, but mostly it was
simply sorrow that washed over him. Cautiously, Severus approached and slowly
sank to his knees beside the young man, giving Harry every opportunity to move
away. But Harry collapsed against the man instead, yielding as Severus sighed
gratefully and wrapped him in an embrace, rocking him gently as they wept.
“Severus. I want us,” Harry told him. “But...I can’t. Remus and I, now
we’re..." Gods, how to articulate the mess that teemed inside him? "I feel for
him, Severus. I want you both. I needyou both but…gods, it’s so complicated!”
he cried in frustration.
“He has Claimed you, Harry,” Severus whispered, stroking the young man’s hair.
“And I concede it was necessary. And I would give you to him,” Severus said,
hesitantly, “if you did not need me now. I may still when you need me no
longer.”
“Good gods, Severus,” Harry said, pulling away to give him an angry look. “That
was always part of the problem with us, don’t you understand? Can’t you see
that you can’t give me away like a trinket? That you don’t own me?”
Severus smiled softly but not mockingly. “But don’t I?” he asked with a quirk
of his eyebrow. “At least, I did,” he added mournfully.
It was true. Harry belonged to Severus. He had told him so that night when he
had forced himself into the man’s possession. Severus owned Harry heart and
soul. At least fully half of them, at any rate, still. Harry’s heart was torn,
but his body belonged now to another. His will was subject to Remus’. He felt
it in the very deepest parts of himself, and with a pang, he realised that if
Remus commanded him to never speak to Severus again, Harry would obey.
Remus wouldn’t, surely. Not unless he felt it was for Harry’s own good. There
was little Remus would not do for Harry’s own good. He would accept Harry’s
hatred and resentment and bear them without complaint all the rest of their
lives if it meant Harry was kept safe.
But Harry also knew Remus wanted them to all find a way to co-exist. To
cohabitate. What if Severus was unwilling? Unable?
Harry suddenly clung to Severus as if this were their last night together, his
frustration cresting unbearably. “Why won’t you ever fight for me?” Harry
demanded. “You act possessive, but when it comes to doing something about it,
you’d just give me away. You push me away, Severus! Hold on to me," Harry
begged. “I want you to try. I want you to try to keep me. I want you to hold
on.”
Severus touched Harry’s face tentatively, gazing at his imploring expression as
if trying to resist it. Then he snatched the young man to him, squeezing him
almost too tightly. “Alright, Dearest,” he whispered into Harry’s hair. “I
promise. I won't let go.”
***** He Holds Me Well *****
The rest of the night was a blur. It was so much worse than Harry could have
imagined. He had disjointed memories of weeping and aggression, of shouting and
pleading. He remembered, clearly, begging Severus to kill him at one point,
which had earned him a sharp backhand before the man regained possession of
himself. It was easy to forget that the Dark effected Severus as well. Harry
recalled splintered wood and flashes of blood and teeth. He remembered beating
on the door, tearing many of the locks from their anchors despite the roil of
garlic-sickness, before Remus ordered him back and Severus wrapped a bleeding
arm around him from behind. But he also recalled Severus’ infinite patience as
he talked Harry through the Madness, cradling him, both of them slathered with
healing salve tinged pink with blood. And there was sex...so many fragmented
memories of sex as the lust overwhelmed him again and again. Memories of him in
Severus and Severus in him, and both of them in mouths and hands. There were
more blood-kisses, as well. And even though it was not without incident, they
both managed to survive the ordeal somehow. By morning Harry was spent. He did
not recall how he made it back to his room and did not particularly care, but
he was grateful, ultimately, that he remembered so little. It made it easier to
bear the guilt of knowing he had hurt Severus, intentionally or not.
It took four days more for his blood to settle. Four more days locked in his
room as if the Dark had never ended, just had diminished and cemented.
Then on the fifth day, though his drapes were tightly drawn, Harry felt the sun
dip below the horizon and woke instinctively, feeling surprisingly level-
headed. There was a lingering melancholy, a deep one, but he determined it was
not bloodborne. His emotions were no longer restless and shifting, he was
simply unbearably lonely.
He called for Remus, and the response was immediate. The man raced up the
stairs, speaking to him through the door. “Harry? Are you alright? Do you need
something?” he asked, sounding worried and a little winded. For the first time
in several days, the sound of Remus’ voice was welcome, comforting.
“Will you sit with me?” Harry asked timidly.
“Oh, Harry,” Remus sighed with relief, throwing back the lock and quickly
opening the door to peek through it as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d
just heard. Harry still felt a mild aversion to his Mate, but his longing was
far stronger now. He still couldn’t understand how two such dichotomous
impulses could exist in him at the same time. Harry beckoned to him and Remus
approached the bed cautiously, searching Harry’s face hopefully to assure
himself there was no lingering volatility. He seated himself carefully on
Harry’s bed and took up the hand offered to him, giving it a grateful squeeze.
“How are you feeling?” he ventured.
“Where’s Severus? How is he?” Harry asked instead, squeezing Remus’ fingers,
almost afraid to hear the answer. Remus grinned and shook his head fondly at
the young man and his one-track mind.
“Severus is fine, Darling,” Remus assured him. “Rainey took him hunting
immediately after, brought him down some large prey. He’s gone out nightly
since. He’s good as new.” Harry’s stomach soured knowing he’d left Severus in
any state that needed to be recovered from, but he was glad to know there was
no lasting harm. He wasn’t certain yet, though, how he felt about Cobbleshot
knowing his secret. But it really was only a matter of time. Besides, he knew
she cared enough for Severus to tend to him closely and that she was, perhaps,
the only one who could do so properly. “If you have indeed settled, I’m sure
he’ll take you hunting soon, as well,” Remus added brightly.
Harry baulked. He detested the thought of harming another living thing in order
to sustain himself. But, he reflected, sadly, that was his reality now, wasn’t
it? Without Substisanguinus, Remus alone could not support him as Harry had
done Severus, even with contributions from their friends.
“It’s not as if it’s for sport, Harry,” Remus pointed out, reading the distaste
in Harry’s expression. “And it isn’t as if you were a vegetarian before,” he
added with half a smile. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Harry nodded, tried
to accept it. Remus gave him an encouraging smile and reached up to brush
Harry’s hair from his face, looking grateful that such a small, familiar
gesture was finally possible again. “I really think the storm has passed,”
Remus whispered. “Now we can get back to living, eh?” Harry returned his smile
weakly but was not as optimistic. He hadn’t yet allowed himself to consider
life in general, day-to-day living. Now, the worst was supposed to be over, and
Harry cautiously allowed himself a small piece of hope. His nightmare had been
long, and he felt as if he had finally woken from it. He knew too well, though,
that sometimes waking life was just as bad in its own ways.
“Would you like to try feeding?” Remus offered, bothered by Harry’s quiet,
persistent melancholy. “Just us? I believe you’re strong enough not to be a
danger anymore. Besides, Severus won’t be able to oversee them all.” Harry
wrinkled his nose and declined with a shake of his head. The Dark was still too
close for Remus’ blood to be palatable. “Alright,” Remus said, unoffended.
“You’ll need something soon, though,” he told him. “We’ll arrange it.”
Harry nodded gratefully. “Where is Severus? Can I see him? I’d like to come
down now, if I may.”
“Of course you may, Harry,” Remus said, pleased. “How about we get you
dressed?”
“I can do it myself,” Harry told him, relieved that it was finally true. At the
very least, Harry was no longer that dependent.
Remus nodded approvingly, “I’ll be downstairs, then.”
After he’d gone, Harry climbed out of bed, his body feeling strong and steady.
Dressing himself was surprisingly gratifying. He put on Severus’ favourite
shirt, the one the man had once mentioned, off-handedly, brought out the colour
of Harry’s eyes. He hoped it did still. Harry drifted toward the mirror to look
at them properly for the first time.
They were beautiful, but they were unsettling, staring at him from otherwise
familiar features. They were clearly unnatural and made him look wild, inhuman,
which he supposed he was now. Harry studied the rest of him. He was
exceptionally pale. Not as pale as Severus yet but unhealthily so. He knew it
was the result of long illness as much as a lack of sunlight, and he realised
it would be quite some time still before he could tolerate the sun at all. If
ever. With a sigh, Harry bid a silent farewell to afternoon Quidditch matches.
That was assuming he could go out in public again, period. He was far from
unrecognisable, and the changes in him would cause alarm. Maybe he could blame
them on a drug habit and contact lenses, he thought cynically. Doesn’t every
childhood celebrity hit a rebellious stage? Some things, however, might not be
so easily explained. Harry peeled back his lip but his fangs were resting. He
wondered if they only showed themselves when he thirsted or if he could call
them forth. If he could call them forth, surely he could force them back. He
concentrated on their reflection, willing them to lengthen, but he had no
success.
Harry knew some werewolves called forth their wolf forms on command, and while
that was more intriguing, it seemed so daunting; to go through the pain of the
transformation willingly and unnecessarily. Though, the necessity might be
determined by the situation. It undoubtedly required a strong will. Remus, he
knew, never transformed except on the Full, and he suspected it had nothing to
do with the pain and certainly not with his resolve. Harry thought he might at
least like to know how it was done, though, just in case. He would have to
discuss these things with the man later.
Harry grew bored of his reflection and remembered why he’d been so eager to get
out of bed. He padded lightly down the stairs, comforted by his newfound
strength and energy. It was still precarious. He would need blood, and soon,
but not right now.
Remus waited for him in the sitting room, standing before the hearth with the
jar of floo powder already in hand, knowing where Harry was heading. The young
man smiled sheepishly and took a handful of the stuff, leaning over as he did
to peck Remus softly on the cheek. “I’ll just be a minute,” he promised.
“Take your time,” Remus said with an indulgent smile. “He doesn’t know you’re
up. I thought it might make for a nice surprise.” Harry’s own smile became
genuine.
He flooed into the sitting room–-the other sitting room-–and looked
affectionately at the matching chairs facing the hearth. They were arranged
just close enough that two could hold hands across the gap if they reached,
though he and Severus never had. Perhaps they would now, Harry thought
hopefully. He felt nostalgic, even though he’d only really left this place a
few weeks ago. A month? It seemed a lifetime. And everything was so different
now.
He could smell the lab from where he stood. He often could before, but now the
scent was stronger and more complex. Though it had never been a pleasant smell,
it was comforting. It smelled like home. Harry descended the spiral stairs
slowly, his hands trailing across the time-smoothed stones as he went,
absorbing the familiar through the filter of his new senses.
And then there was Severus. He did indeed look whole, though he was thinner
than he should be. Harry’s heart swelled in his chest watching him, bent over a
cauldron, concentrating hard, obviously counting his strokes as he stirred the
concoction first one direction and then the other. Harry simply stood and
observed, as he had on countless occasions, loving the man’s skill and focus,
that particular posture and expression he adopted only while at work. Once he
set aside his stirrer, however, Severus stiffened, finally sensing Harry’s
presence, and looked quickly to the stairs.
He seemed surprised but pleasantly so. Harry wanted to say something: maybe
apologise, maybe pour out his profound gratitude, maybe profess his love in
some way that he hadn’t yet a thousand times before. After struggling for words
himself for a moment, Severus simply opened his arms and Harry rushed into
them. He returned the younger man’s fierce embrace. “Is it truly over?” he
whispered, as if not daring to believe it.
Over. It seemed it was just beginning. While it should have been a relief
finally being able to resume living, as it was to Remus, to Harry it simply
felt like the start of a host of new trials. He didn’t want to think of that
now, though. He drew back to look at Severus.
Harry had been too preoccupied with illness and mania to truly appreciate his
new eyesight, but he gloried in it now. He’d never seen Severus so clearly
before. Harry saw every care line and hollow, every variation in the black-
brown of his irises. He saw the exact border where his lips changed hue and
texture, and the silky thinness of the skin beneath his eyes which always
looked slightly bruised. Severus looked older than Harry ever remembered him
being, but there was nothing about him that was not beautiful. Harry cherished
these new details, as well as the music he now heard in the man’s voice when he
spoke and the spiky scent of his skin. It was almost as if he were learning the
man all over, and who is ever fortunate enough to have the opportunity to
rediscover a lover in this way after four years of careful attention? Harry
could not keep his eyes and hands off him.
“Lupin did not mention you were…” Severus began distractedly, almost as
engrossed with Harry as the younger man was with him. Did not mention he was
what? Not crazy anymore? Harry smiled softly at him. He wondered what changes
Severus’ vampire eyes saw in Harry and how he felt about them.
“Remus,” Harry corrected quietly. “His name is Remus, Severus. Just call him by
his name. He calls you by yours,” he pointed out. Severus didn’t seem very
comfortable with the request but perhaps did not want to spoil their reunion by
arguing and so simply drew the young man closer without comment. “Is that...?”
Harry scowled, spying a ghostly vein of raised skin peeking out from behind the
neck of Severus’ shirt. The man did not stop him when he reached up to push
aside the tall, stiff collar, revealing a row of three long but neatly healed
scratch marks that disappeared further down Severus’ chest. Harry sighed
dejectedly. At least they weren’t teeth marks. Severus’ hand rose to gently
capture Harry’s fingers and bring them to his lips where he could lightly kiss
the palm of Harry’s hand.
“It’s only a scar, Harry. We all have them,” he shrugged, “inside and out.”
Harry looked into the man’s eyes, and Severus had never seemed so open, so
honest and unencumbered. “I love you,” Harry whispered. It was meant to be ‘I’m
sorry’, but it didn’t matter, really. They were both true.
“And I love you, Dearest,” Severus returned with no hesitation. Harry wasn’t
accustomed to hearing those words from those lips, and he shivered. He leaned
forward to kiss the man and was kissed back tenderly. All the world fell away.
Harry forgot his depression, his anxiety about the future, his heartache for
all he had lost and endured. Nothing else mattered but this: his Severus, just
as he’d always hoped to have him, completely and unapologetically; a Severus
who loved him with no barriers or hesitations, no limitations or conditions.
The man was no longer shackled by the past or aspirations for Harry’s future.
Severus was finally--finally--his as much as Harry was Severus’, and Harry
never wanted the moment to end. He realised it wouldn’t. They were forever
changed. Harry rested his forehead against Severus’ with a contented sigh.
“Dusk has well and truly fallen,” Severus said softly. Harry gave the man a
questioning look. “You need blood, Harry,” he explained. “You may not feel it
yet, but then, you should never allow yourself to become hungry. When you are
hungry you could be dangerous. We’ll hunt tonight, together.” Harry was
apprehensive, but he nodded, trusting the man entirely. “Just let me finish
with this potion and we’ll go out,” he said, releasing him. “Though, you may
want to change your shirt,” Severus added, giving it a concerned glance. Harry
grinned, glad he'd worn it even if it was just to take it off again, and
bounded back up the steps to put on something more appropriate.
He was nearing the top of the stair when he felt the hairs on his arms and neck
stand on end. He slowed and stepped cautiously from the stairwell to find
Professor Cobbleshot leaning against the hearth with her arms crossed, a sly
half-smile on her lips. She looked for all the world as if she were waiting for
him. Harry was wary of her, but it went beyond his usual reaction. He’d felt
this before when his blood was unsettled still, whenever Severus was in the
house. He hadn’t consciously noticed her presence, but his body had sensed it
and had reacted. He filed this away for future reference. Perhaps he was too
comfortable with and trusting of Severus to react this way to him now. Not that
he really distrusted Loraina, he just apparently, instinctively, recognised his
own kind.
His own kind. The concept was still alien to him: having a ‘kind’, kindred,
belonging to a group of ‘others’. He wondered if he would be as sensitive to
other werewolves, as well. If he was sensitive to both of these creatures, then
surely they were to him, too, and that was worrisome.
Cobbleshot allowed him to process all this. She also allowed him to pad lightly
into the room and kind of circle her, observing her from a safe distance as he
finally came to a stop behind Severus’ rarely used wingback chair. The
encounter had the distinct feel of two creatures meeting for the first time
rather than two old, human acquaintances. Harry felt his ‘otherness’, his
slightly animalistic mannerisms when faced with this other vampire. She was
just the same as always, but Harry now had a context for her strange behaviour.
He understood them both, her and Severus, so much better now.
“So, you’ve settled, have you, Harry?” she said quietly in that unique way that
made it impossible to know her feelings on the matter.
“So it would seem,” Harry answered, equally noncommittal. She slipped into a
grin, her eyes glinting with either madness or delight, or some combination of
the two.
“And so our coven has grown.” She pushed off the wall, and now she circled him,
looking him up and down with obvious curiosity. “What a wondrous thing you are,
Harry,” she said approvingly, settling her gaze on his eyes and examining them
extra closely. There was no longer any ‘Our’ or ‘Little’ attached to her
addresses, and Harry thought he sensed a subtle new respect from the woman.
“You never do anything by halves, for certain.”
“I didn’t do this,” Harry objected quietly, the insinuation angering him
slightly.
“No,” she agreed, “but what a spectacular victim of circumstance you always
make.” She drifted closer, closer than Harry was comfortable with, and smelled
him subtly. Her nose crimped in slight disgust. “You do smell a bit of dog,
though,” she sighed, disappointed. Harry couldn’t resist the impulse to return
the gesture, stretching his neck and sampling her scent as well, an action
which seemed to please her. He cocked his head, analysing what he found. She
smelled of nothing, really. Must and cold stone, old leather and faintly of
stale leaflitter.
“So, Severus is going to try to teach you how to be a vampire tonight?” she
asked with a hint of cynicism.
“We’re hunting, if that’s what you mean,” he answered warily. She smirked.
“You should let me take you out soon, Harry, if you’d like to be taught
properly. You could be such a marvellous vampire.”
Harry was annoyed by her seemingly constant small digs toward Severus. “But I’m
not a vampire,” he pointed out, to which she broke into silent glee.
“No, you’re so much more. But they won’t let you be what you are, Harry. You
realise that, don’t you?” He scowled at her. “They’ll try to keep you human.
They want so desperately to be human themselves. What a pitiful waste of
potential,” she sighed.
“We arehuman,” he argued, not quite believing it, even as he said it. She
smirked, clearly saw through him, and he couldn’t deny that he was intrigued by
what she was saying.
She took her thumbnail, which was long and sharpish, and sliced it quickly
across the tip of her index finger, drawing just the faintest amount of blood.
Harry felt his eyes change in response, felt his mouth water as he struggled to
pull his eyes away from the tiny wound. She laughed at him softly. “And just
how human do you feel right now, Harry?” she purred, licking her injured
fingertip in a highly suggestive manner. “Let me show you how to be what you
could be, what you were meant to be.”
“And why would I want that?” he asked her. Severus had told Remus he didn’t
want to be ‘that kind of vampire'. Remus disdained werewolves like Greyback who
revelled in their condition. Why should Harry embrace what they two actively
avoided?
“Because,” she whispered, backing toward the door, “you’re owed some debts, my
love. And just how else do you expect to extract payment, hmm?”
Harry didn’t answer, simply watched as she opened the door and threw an almost
flirtatious glance back over her shoulder at him before disappearing into the
Castle dungeons.
 
***** To Give Satiety A Fresh Appetite *****
Harry stared at the door long after it clicked to a close behind the woman, all
of his enthusiasm having gone with her.
He had been so focused on making it through, on surviving until his blood
settled, he hadn’t given much thought to what came after. But Cobbleshot was
right. What had been done to him--what had been done to them--could not go
unanswered. Harry had thought he was done with vengeance when he’d killed
Voldemort. But something even more insidious had been done to him now than
anything Voldemort ever conceived, something more personal and premeditated in
the extreme that had ripped away everything Harry had worked so hard to attain,
that had rendered his many sacrifices meaningless. The villains who had visited
this fate on him were indeed owed a response, one just as well-formed and
bloody.
But they weren’t the only ones Harry owed, he realised. “You haven’t changed
yet,” he heard Severus say from behind him.
“Oh. No. I got distracted,” Harry stammered, turning just in time to be
enveloped in the man’s arms. His mind was still whirring and the embrace made
Harry feel uncomfortable. He returned it loosely. Once again, he studied the
man who held him and the kind question in his tired eyes. Harry couldn’t help
but wonder how many of the carelines he’d noted just before had simply gone
unnoticed by him over the years and how many might be new. How many were the
result of this past month’s ordeal?
Harry eyed Severus’ fresh scar again. He had hurt this man, and also the one
waiting for him back at Grimmauld Place. The both of them had endured sleepless
nights and bloody battles, all for him. And again, Harry had a hard time
understanding why. He didn’t feel worthy of their sacrifice or their devotion.
He felt selfish and wrong to have burdened them, to continue burdening them.
“Is something wrong, Dearest?” Severus asked, his brow delicately furrowed, his
hand rising to Harry’s face. Harry sighed, overwhelmed by the ease with which
the pet name fell from the man’s lips now. It was as if he had always said it,
as if he had always wanted to voice it and had simply been waiting for
permission. It soothed and cut at the same time. The sudden insecurities that
assailed him made him wonder if perhaps his blood hadn’t settled after all, and
Harry found he couldn’t reply.
So much was wrong, and would always be wrong, and there was no way to
articulate it to Severus right now. His thoughts and feelings were too
amorphous for words. Severus studied Harry’s conflicted expression and didn’t
press. He simply released Harry hesitantly and disappeared into the bedroom,
returning a short time later bearing an armful of clothes.
“You have some things here, still,” Severus said quietly, holding them as if
they were precious. “You took nothing with you when…” He left the thought
unfinished. It was too painful to speak aloud. Harry’s anguish was stoked and
shared as they both recalled that terrible night when Harry had fled in tears
with only the clothes on his back, the night Harry had broken them with his
infidelity; an act that was selfish and unearned, driven by unfounded
suspicion. Harry reached out and took the shirt offered him without a word, his
movements almost apologetic, but he made no move to put it on.
“You will feel better after we’ve hunted,” Severus assured him quietly, laying
a gentle hand on Harry’s shoulder. “It isn’t as terrible as you might imagine.
I’ll guide you,” he promised, apparently thinking Harry’s reticence was in
response to what they were about to go do. “The blood does not quiet completely
or all at once. Give it time. These moods will pass.”
Harry nodded and moved to change into the t-shirt he held, but he wasn’t
convinced this melancholy was bloodborne. He couldn’t shake the feeling that
Cobbleshot was right. Harry would have to answer this wrong done to them, and
it would take her guidance to accomplish it. Severus and Remus would not
understand. They would not want him doing anything dangerous and would not help
him hone the gifts given him for the purpose. And so once honed, Harry would
have to leave them, and there was no guarantee he’d be coming back. In his
heart, he felt it would be unkind to do so. Untamed by potion, his condition
would simply be a drain on them all. As he slipped the old t-shirt over his
head, Harry knew he’d made a decision, one that broke his heart but that he
felt he’d made the instant Cobbleshot had shown herself out.
Harry would let the woman show him what he needed. And in the meantime, he’d
find a way to bring his two lovers together. There was no better consolation he
could imagine than that which they two provided. They could provide it to each
other after he’d gone.
“And also, perhaps, this,” Severus said, pulling Harry from his thoughts. He
held up one of his own robes in offering. “It will help you blend with the
darkness.”
Despite himself, Harry smiled at him as he accepted it. “So, you’re saying I
should dress the part?” he asked.
“I like your clothes,” the man said. “They suit you,” he added, giving Harry a
sweeping, appreciative look. “Though, I admit to often wondering how you’d look
in something more traditional,” he said with a contemplative lift of his
eyebrow.
Harry slipped on the robe and ran his hands down the crisp linen. He realised,
with satisfaction, it wasn’t really too long for him anymore. Severus didn’t
know, perhaps not even Remus knew, that Harry had a robe exactly like this one
stored away in the top of his closet at Grimmauld Place. It was the robe
Severus had wrapped him in before they’d escaped the Malfoys’ dungeon. To this
day it was still covered in dirt and blood and semen. It was a bit gross if
Harry stopped to think about it, so he just didn’t. At the time he’d put it
away, he hadn’t known if Severus would return his affections. And in the event
he didn’t, Harry had wanted something to always remember the night by,
something that might, for a while anyways, still smell like the man and like
their time together. Though, it would likely just have smelled of dank stone
and brackish water. Harry pulled the fabric he now wore to his face and
breathed it in. It was satisfyingly steeped in Severus’ scent.
Even after he’d managed to win the man, Harry never had been brave enough to
wear his robe around Hogwarts, though he’d had every intention the first time
he put it on. Harry took it out and looked at it occasionally with fondness.
The memory should have been traumatic. But all the pain and the hunger had been
worth it in the end. Even though Harry realised, after the fact, that he’d
started to develop feelings for the Potions Master long before their captivity,
if it hadn’t actually occurred, they would never, ever have been together. And
then how very different Harry’s world, and the world in general, might look
now.
Harry decided he would wear this one. Severus wasn’t getting it back. He
grinned at the man and could tell Severus was pleased as he stepped forward to
fasten it. When he was done, Harry shuffled back and modelled it for him. “What
do you think?”
“Promising. Of course, you don’t pull it off as well as I do,” Severus said
dismissively but with a playful twist of his lips. “But that will come with
practice. Are you ready, then?” he asked, and Harry could have sworn he caught
a sparkle in the man’s eye. As much as Severus hated his condition, he could
now share things with Harry he never could before, could introduce the young
man to his world which they now shared.
Harry was ready. He was heartened. The time would come that he would leave this
man behind, but that time was not yet upon him. Severus loved him, the night
was young, and it awaited them.     
They flooed to Severus’ offices and from there walked out of the Castle and to
the Forest, their hands drifting toward one another to brush fingers as they
went. Harry hadn’t been properly outside in weeks, and his first steps into the
wide world were a shock to his senses. The wealth of information carried on the
wind was overwhelming. He smelled everything: the soil disturbed by his shoe
and the green gasp of the grass as it broke beneath his heel. Harry smelled the
bark of the nearby trees and the deep mouldy bite of their droppings, the scent
being stirred to the wind by the creatures who burrowed beneath them. There
were smells Harry could not identify but knew he would come to; animal smells,
sharp and bitter and warm. Harry smelled the sweet of the last of the spring
flowers and the deep woody musk of flowing sap. He breathed in the perfume of
so many living things. The world teemed with smell. And that was only one of
his senses. The scenery was not grey as it had been in the lab. It was silver,
shimmering with the barely detectable moonlight that spilled from behind the
clouds from the sickle hanging high overhead.
Harry turned an awestruck look to Severus who grinned back at him, delighting
in Harry’s delight. The man did so so seldomly, and the sight of it filled
Harry’s already burgeoning heart almost to capacity. He took Severus’ hand
properly in his own and laughed. He felt like flying. He settled for running.
Severus ran with him, their hands still tangled. Harry loved it. He had not
thought the man would even keep pace but he did, in fact, seem to be racing
him. Severus had always seemed so reserved, but this was not Hogwarts Castle
and he was not, at this moment, its Potions Master. They were two vampires,
swift and strong and sure-footed and free. The uneven terrain was no obstacle.
They leapt fallen trunks easily, darted through the trees as if dancing with
them. Harry was given goosebumps by the way his laughter echoed off them as he
passed, making a kind of music. It was better than being on his broomstick, and
Harry never thought anything could top that.       
And scattered throughout the shining, silvered landscape were hearts, glowing
bright and vibrant against the monochrome of their surroundings like warm
jewels twinkling from cold stone. Harry saw birds and squirrels dotting the
trees. There were owls sitting sentry. Even lizards and snakes peeked from
rotted boles. The ground was no less overrun. Harry slowed as he spotted a
field mouse close at hand and snatched it up with only half a thought.
He stopped dead with it held in his hand. He wasn’t even winded. Harry stared
at it, loving the creature’s soft rainbow glow and the warmth it radiated, the
fluttering beacon of its fear-fueled heartbeat. It wasn’t until the thing was
halfway to his mouth that Harry realised what he was doing, noticed his fangs
were extended. The realisation startled him. He had been moments away from
consuming the poor thing. Suddenly bewildered, he turned his questioning look
to Severus.
But the sight of Severus startled him further. The man looked wilder than Harry
had ever seen him. He was once again luminous, his brown hair ravaged by wind,
his eyes wide and his pupils large. His gaze held a flash of something Harry
had never seen before in the man, something Severus repressed. Harry had often
seen the same savage glint resting somewhere close in Cobbleshot’s expression.
Even Severus' fangs peeked from between his lips which were parted slightly as
in readiness. The man had never looked less human. Harry could only imagine the
picture he made himself at the moment.
Severus’ voice, however, was as steady and reasoned as ever. “Well done,” he
praised. “But you realise it is too small to sate you.” Harry looked down at
the struggling creature he held, still fascinated but now slightly sickened.
When he’d snagged it, he’d had no other thought than it was close and beautiful
and he had wanted it. His body, however, had had other motivations. Severus
seemed to understand his confusion. “Your instinct is to hunt, Harry. Those
instincts, without discipline, seek out anything which pumps the vitality your
body craves. This creature will indeed nourish you, but not enough. This is the
question you’re faced with, Dearest. You could collect more, but that means
more killing. Or you could decide to bring down one larger thing. Something
larger, perhaps, than we need, but which results in only a single death. The
question is, Harry, how do you prioritise a life? Is this field mouse somehow
worth less than that stag?” he asked, nodding toward a copse of trees nearby
and the gorgeous, gleaming buck that peeked, unafraid, between the trunks at
them. “How many hearts are you willing to stop to quench your thirst?”
Harry looked at him thoughtfully, then back down at the mouse squirming in his
fingers. His recent joy was extinguished as he recalled the purpose of their
outing, which had been driven momentarily from mind by wind and moonlight.
“Which do you prefer?” he asked Severus tremulously, finding it surprisingly
difficult to speak around his fangs.
Severus shook his head patiently. “This is not a question I can answer for you,
Harry. Tonight, you determine what constitutes a monster. Or rather, you
determine what kind of monster you prefer to be.”
Harry considered it. He considered killing and was repulsed by it. How many of
these beautiful little creatures would it take to slake his thirst? How many
was he willing to dispatch? Harry had a feeling it was a thing he could only do
once, if at all. After another moment’s deliberation, he carefully set the
field mouse back on the forest floor and watched it scamper away before
straightening to look at Severus, giving him his answer. The man looked
pleased. He placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder.
“The kitchens always appreciate the venison, anyway,” Severus confided. That
was good, Harry thought. Nothing gone to waste. “Though, I think not the stag,”
Severus added. The thing had wandered off regardless. “A doe, or a smaller
buck, perhaps?” he proposed. Harry nodded his agreement.
Then the actual hunting began. Severus had him test the air where the stag had
been, urging him to seek something similar, directing his sight to disturbances
in the mud and leaf litter, to evidence of grazing along slender paths. It was
a consuming exercise and strangely stimulating. Still, as he searched he
caught, from the corner of his eye, a familiar shape shadowing them at a
distance.
“Loraina is following us,” Harry whispered.  
“I know,” Severus sighed, more mildly exasperated than truly annoyed. “She has
no confidence in my teaching abilities on this particular subject,” he smirked.
“Ignore her.” Harry looked back at her one more time. She was close enough that
he could not fail to catch her wink. Then he did as he was told and devoted all
his attention to locating their quarry.
It wasn’t long before they crept up on a young buck. It was much smaller than
the princely stag they spied earlier though was still large. But Harry was at a
loss. He knew he could catch the thing, but what then? He recoiled imagining
the violence necessary to bring down such a big animal.
Severus removed the concern by drawing his wand and whispering a sleep spell at
the creature, causing it to drift easily to the ground in deep slumber.
Somewhere nearby Harry heard the unseen Cobbleshot scoff. Severus rolled his
eyes as he stowed his wand.
“Loraina finds it laughable that I use magic to subdue my prey,” Severus
explained as they strolled easily over to the sleeping deer. “But we are
wizards, Harry. Only Muggle vampires are resigned to violence. I find this much
more humane. Don’t let her convince you the only way to bring down a beast is
to rip out its throat. Some Muggle vampires will indeed use guns or arrows to
down prey, but magic also allows us to take advantage of a beating heart, which
will always provide you with more nourishment than a still one,” Severus
advised as they reached the animal and knelt beside it. Harry had no problems
imaging Cobbleshot leaping at the beast as it fled, fingers like claws and
fangs bared seeking its throat. Harry shivered. It may be a lesson he would
need to learn from the woman, but it was not one he’d enjoy. He understood
entirely when Severus said he didn’t want to be that kind of vampire.
“You see the vein where it shines brightest here in the neck?”
Harry took a shaking breath and nodded. He saw it, glowing faintly beneath the
riot of browns and tans and reds of the creature’s fur. He lay a gentle hand
over it, feeling the pulse, and followed the shining trail with his eyes to
where it met the glowing heart, large and slowly beating in sleep. Harry lay
his other hand there and felt the gentle rise and fall of the buck’s chest. It
was such a majestic creature, so beautiful and so personal to Harry.
The young man suddenly wondered if his Patronus would remain a stag. Severus’
had changed, he’d said. Had Harry’s, as well? And if it had, was this act
symbolic of something? Was he letting that life go by taking this one?
“He sleeps deeply,” Severus comforted. “And the knife is sharp. He will never
feel his death, Harry. This is not something you do with malice or even
indifference. He dies so that you may live. It is the most natural thing in the
world.”
Harry nodded and reluctantly accepted the knife from Severus. He’d held the
thing many times before, but it was always his own veins he’d opened, and his
hand trembled using it for this new purpose. Waiting would not make it easier,
though. At a gesture from Severus, Harry took a deep breath to steel
himself and then applied the razor edge of the blade to the bright vein in the
buck’s neck.
It was easy after that. Once his body scented the blood that sprang from the
cut, it moved itself. Harry latched his mouth to the wound, catching the fount.
He tasted the dust and oil and musk of the buck’s fur, but mostly and most
importantly, Harry tasted its blood. It was different than human blood, more
savoury than sweet, but it burned just the same. Harry was vaguely aware of
Severus taking the knife from him and making his own cut, bending to feed as
well. Harry felt the deer’s heart weaken so that the blood was no longer pushed
into his mouth and had to be drawn. And eventually the heart stopped altogether
and Harry felt Severus’ fingers on his shoulder, gently drawing him back.
Harry was not reluctant to do so. He’d never consumed so much blood at once and
was a little sick with it. His whole body seemed to thrum with vitality. The
swoon reminded Harry of drunkenness, and he fell back to lay on the forest
floor, waiting for the world to be still. Harry looked over at the buck, but it
was as silver as the trees and bushes that surrounded it. All its light had
been transferred to Harry and Severus.
Severus.
Harry gasped softly at the sight of him. His light almost hurt Harry’s eyes. He
looked ruddy and robust, sated and slightly ecstatic. He looked wanton and
gorgeous. Harry reached for him and the man’s black eyes found Harry’s green
ones, perhaps seeing in the young man the same erotic glow. No wonder Severus
always wanted to have sex in the dark. Who wouldn’t rather make love to this
spectacle? This ravishing creature whose inherent luminosity was obscured by
the light? Dark Creature seemed a very poor descriptor for what they were.
Severus fell on him, his red-slicked lips seeking Harry’s own, and they spent
long moments tangled on the forest floor carefully cleaning the blood from each
other’s mouths. It was glorious; more personal, more intimate by far than sex.
And Harry realised this was theirs and theirs alone for as long as he wanted
it.
“My gods, how I love you,” Severus whispered, beating Harry to the confession
by a fraction of a second. Harry answered by kissing him again, clinging to him
with a moan.
Mine, he thought. This man is mine, and I am his. Harry had never felt more
satiated in his life. The moment seemed eternal, and the future and whatever it
contained seemed distant and wholly unimportant.    
***** Turn the Key and Keep Our Counsel *****
Harry didn’t recall much of the journey back to the dungeons. All he could
focus on was Severus: his shine from the corner of Harry’s eye; his constant
touch on Harry’s arms, neck, and back as they drifted; his frequent,
spontaneous kisses that found Harry pinned against various tree trunks, easily
ignoring the bite of bark on his back. Each was a promise, and Harry couldn’t
wait to get back to their rooms to call them all in.
They were barely through the hearth when Harry found himself tugged sharply
into Severus’ arms, his collar ripped to the side so that Severus might taste
his shoulder, his neck. Harry gave himself over to it. Tonight, the bloodlust
hadn’t been the intense, painfully arousing experience Harry had known it to be
before. It had simply been an aphrodisiac, and now they were both drunk on it
and each other. So much so that Harry barely heard the clearing of a throat
close behind them, and though he caught it, he was incapable of paying it any
mind. He had no concentration to spare for anything beyond Severus’ tongue in
his mouth and his skin beneath Harry’s hand.
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Severus. I know you see me,” came a perturbed voice
echoing from the grate. Finally, Harry snapped out of his lustful haze and
tried to extricate himself, his cheeks burning, from Severus’ arms. Severus,
however, seemed disinclined to allow it. “You know how I hate crouching in the
damned hearth! It’s murder on my back,” McGonagall groused further.
“I’ll send you a tonic,” Severus tossed over Harry’s shoulder before pressing
his lips to it again. Harry was surprised, and surprisingly aroused despite
their audience. Severus was intensely private. That the Headmistress’ presence
did not send him hurriedly dropping the young man and coolly straightening his
robes was a testament to the extent of his present passion. “Did you need
something, Minerva? And before you ask: yes, you are interrupting,” he
said before continuing his assault on the juncture where Harry’s neck and
shoulder met, knowing full well how the spot made Harry writhe.
“Severus Tobias Snape, do not make me step through this floo,” she warned
sternly.
Severus sighed, shot the hearth a dirty look, and finally released Harry. He
stumbled back, breathless and blushing painfully, finding it very difficult to
face the Headmistress. He turned his back instead and fumbled to unfasten his
dirty, torn robes.
“Potter,” McGonagall said kindly, forgivingly, refusing to be ignored. That, or
she was intent on killing the young man with embarrassment. “It’s so nice to
see you looking more yourself.”
“Er. Thank you, Professor,” Harry mumbled, clearing his throat. He turned in
her direction but was unable to meet her eye.
“Kingsley is in my office, Potter. Now that you are feeling better, perhaps we
should all talk?”
“I’ve just taken Harry to the Forest for the first time,” Severus explained,
heaving an exasperated sigh. “Mightn’t we have a moment?”
“That’s a euphemism I haven’t heard before,” the Headmistress muttered under
her breath. Harry felt a sudden urge to disappear. He settled for further
blushing and stared holes in the upholstery of his armchair. “Kingsley is here
on borrowed time, Severus. He’s meant to be at the Ministry as we speak. So no,
you mightn’t have a moment. Kindly find yourselves in my office as soon as
possible.” And with that, she was gone, and Harry’s impulse to hide beneath the
coffee table subsided slightly. Severus seemed resigned but still in no hurry.
He took Harry’s chin between his fingers and tilted his head back for one final
kiss, reaching for the hem of Harry’s shirt.
“Blood on it,” he mumbled in explanation against Harry’s lips before peeling
the thing over the young man’s head. Harry tried to put back on the shirt he’d
donned on waking, but Severus made the task most difficult by refusing to
remove his palms from Harry’s bare torso. Harry would have liked nothing more
than to say bugger Kingsley and the meeting with the Headmistress and drag
Severus to the bedroom. But it would have been disrespectful of their efforts
for him these past weeks. Besides, he was rather keen to hear what Kingsley had
to say.
Severus seemed to be thinking the same and eventually pulled away with a sigh,
planting a petite kiss on the tip of Harry’s nose before reaching grudgingly
for the floo powder. “Later,” he promised firmly. Harry took a calming breath,
preparing himself to meet the others, but was still tingling with anticipation
as he stepped through the hearth behind the man.
Severus swept over to claim one of the two armchairs before McGonagall's desk,
but Harry was met almost immediately by Kingsley and found himself shaking
hands with him before he really realised what was happening.
“Good to see you, Harry,” Kingsley said warmly, patting their linked hands with
his unoccupied one. “Gor, she wasn’t kidding. They really are noticeable,” he
added. Harry blushed crimson and would have reached up to hide his neck, which
no doubt sported a number of fresh love bites, if both his hands were not
captured in Kingsley’s own. Then Harry realised the man was studying his eyes.
“Room was a bit dim the last time I saw you. No matter. We’ll simply have to
find a way to hide them. Anyway. Good to see you up and about. Have a seat,” he
urged, finally releasing the young man and directing him to the empty chair
beside Severus.
Harry looked over at the Potions Master and could see his impatience reflected
in the man’s expression. They shared a glance of mutual frustration, then
turned their attention to the Headmistress.
“Thank you, Kingsley,” Harry rushed to say, sincerely, once they were settled.
“Thanks to both of you, for...your help.” Yes, that sounded much less awkward
than ‘your blood’.
“Little for us to do, really,” McGonagall sniffed archly. “Your guardians are
quite efficient. And rather secretive, if I may say so.”
“‘Cautious’ may be the word you’re looking for, Minerva,” Remus offered with a
friendly smile as he stepped from the hearth. “Or ‘experienced’.”
“Remus, good. You’re here,” McGonagall said by way of greeting. “Kingsley?”
The Auror wasted no time getting down to business as Remus stationed himself
behind Harry’s chair. “The media are having a field day,” he informed them
ruefully. “Have either of you been watching the papers?”
“We were a bit preoccupied,” Severus pointed out. In response, Kingsley dropped
a stack of Daily Prophets on McGonagall’s desk and fanned them out so that
their headlines were visible. Potter Poisoned! one read. The Boy Who Died?
Possible Ministry Cover-Up and What’s Happened to Harry? Boy Hero Disappears
From St. Mungo’s queried others. Harry sighed and leaned back in his chair. He
was already weary and they hadn’t even really begun.
“It was impossible that the incident go unnoticed, but it was noticed a bit
more quickly than anticipated and in more detail than it should have been.
Someone in the department leaked the story to the Prophet,” Kingsley insisted,
tapping the array of papers for emphasis. “There’s no other explanation.
Possibly, but not necessarily, it was the same someone who tipped off your
attackers about the location of your first assignment. I’m doing all I can to
determine the culprit, but it’s been difficult with the frenzy surrounding your
disappearance. The Ministry has been in constant damage control. Statements
have been released saying you are recuperating in private. However, no one in
the Ministry besides myself, Arthur, and the Minister himself know where you
are. And I’m the only one who knows the details about what has happened.
Despite assurances, though, the public is convinced you’re dead. And so it is
imperative you make an appearance soon.”
“Why in bloody hell do we give a damn what the public thinks?” Severus asked
irritably. “They don’t own him.” Harry could see the unvoiced ‘I do’ spoken in
the furrow of his brow and smiled to himself.
“Severus,” McGonagall huffed, “he may simply be Harry to all of us, but this
young man is, and will remain, one of the most important figures in Wizarding
history. Like it or not, the public is owed, if not an explanation, at least
proof that he still lives. To ignore that will only lead to trouble, namely
constant scrutiny. Public curiosity will only continue to grow and if we do not
give them something, they will come find it for themselves. If we take the
initiative, then we control what the public learns. If we leave the snoops to
dig, they may discover far more than we can allow. Or do you want the world to
figure out exactly why you ripped Potter from his hospital bed? Because it will
come out if we do not act wisely.”
Harry sighed, rubbing the heels of his hands against his eyes as they bickered.
He felt Remus’ hand settle lightly on his shoulder and reached one of his own
up to give it a grateful squeeze. Harry saw Severus notice, but despite their
recent exchange, Harry refused to hide his affection for Remus. The two were
Mated for life. It was something the Potions Master would simply have to learn
to accept and to come to understand that it did not in any way lessen Harry’s
feeling for Severus.
“He does need a wand,” came a low, rough voice from behind them. Harry twisted
in his seat to find that Cobbleshot had joined them. No one besides Severus
seemed unaffected by her presence, but she did have a place here, and she took
it now, strolling up leisurely but confidently to stand between Harry and
Severus’ chairs. “I took the liberty of cleaning up your mess, boys,” she
whispered, bending down to their level with a hand on each of their armrests.
“I noticed you seemed preoccupied,” she added, looking up at Remus with a wink.
Remus gave her an unconcerned glance, but his fingers subtly tightened on
Harry’s shoulder. “The kitchen sends its thanks,” she finished, straightening
and crossing her arms, ready to be included in the meeting.
Harry had completely forgotten about their buck, had indeed been thoroughly
distracted. He had also completely forgotten about his wand and the fact that
he’d been without one for almost a month. “Where is my wand?” he asked, but not
hopefully. McGonagall sighed, clearly reluctant to produce it. Nonetheless, she
pulled it from her desk drawer and laid it in front of Harry. It was obviously
ruined, snapped and splintered, bearing unmistakable teeth marks. The phoenix
feather at its core peeked, shredded, from several cracks in the shaft. Harry
had to bite back the impulse to weep.
“It may be repairable,” Remus said softly at his shoulder, “but we would have
to consult Ollivander to be sure. Though, you know Harry. You’ve changed
considerably since you last held it. Perhaps a new wand would be more
appropriate?” Harry stared at the mess of wood and feather before him as Remus
spoke. His wand, likely his Patronus, even his very cells were changed. He
wondered how much of him was left. How much had his attackers left him and how
much more would he find they’d ripped away?
“Either way, a trip to Diagon Alley would not be amiss,” McGonagall agreed.
“And not alone,” Kingsley said, nodding. “But not with bodyguards, either. Or
the two of you,” he added, heading Remus and Severus off before they could
volunteer. “It should be something casual that calms the public.”
“Miss Granger?” McGonagall proposed, giving Harry a sympathetic look. “I
understand your reluctance to tell her, Harry. But don’t you think she deserves
to know?” she ventured carefully.
“No one deserves to know, for gods’ sake,” Severus grumped. “Why can’t our
business simply be our own?” he demanded. He was clearly not keen on the idea
of Harry going anywhere without him. “In as high a regard as I hold Miss
Granger, do you really think she is sufficient safeguard against the unique
circumstances that might arise from Harry’s condition?”
“Unique circumstances?” McGonagall asked, eyebrow arched.
“Do you really think she can control him?” Severus clarified irritably.
“Do you really think he still requires control?” the Headmistress challenged.
“Or are you simply anxious at the thought of being separated from him? Harry
seems to be in perfect possession of himself at the moment. I think you
disrespect him by insinuating he cannot look after himself for an hour in
Diagon Alley," she exclaimed, ruffled and scowling. “He is no longer a child,
Severus. In fact, I sometimes wonder if he ever was one,” she snipped,
surprising Harry with her vehemence.
“They would not be alone,” Kingsley interjected in a conciliatory tone, trying
to diffuse the sudden tension as the Headmistress and the Potions Master seemed
to be glaring murder at one another. “Of course they would be shadowed by
agents. You and Remus, however, carry a much higher profile and a less than
savoury reputation. Your presence would only fuel rumours, not quiet them.”
Severus looked demandingly to Remus as if wondering why he wasn’t jumping to
his defence. But the werewolf shrugged apologetically, “I think it would be
alright. It’s a short trip. The Full is weeks away and Harry has settled. We
don’t have much choice, Severus.”
The Potions Master looked betrayed and disappointed. He turned his hard look to
each of them in turn but was clearly on his own in his objections. “Well,” he
said finally, abruptly rising to his feet. “I really don’t know why I was
invited to this little meeting if my advice was to be so disregarded. Since I’m
clearly not needed, I have other things to attend to. If you will excuse me.”
“Severus,” Remus admonished as he swept past, but the man ignored him. After
half a moment’s deliberation, he cursed softly under his breath and started
after the fleeing Potions Master. He threw the gathering an apologetic look but
nonetheless turned to disappear through the hearth moments after Severus.
Harry watched them go with a sigh, not looking forward the scene he’d be
flooing into when the meeting was over. He turned reluctantly back to Kingsley
and McGonagall and nodded. “Yeah. Hermione," he agreed unenthusiastically. It
wasn’t that he hadn’t intended to tell her, it was that he dreaded it. And
really, this was the first chance since his infection that he’d had time to
consider it. “That’s fine.”
Kingsley nodded. “We’ll have to do something about your skin and eyes,” he
said. “But that’s easily done. I’ll make the arrangements. There’s more to
discuss, Harry, but it will have to wait until next time.” And with that he
excused himself with a parting clap to Harry’s shoulder, obviously having been
late to something before they’d even begun.
“Rainey, did you have anything to add?” McGonagall asked, looking as though she
didn’t care to hear it if she did.
“Only that I wish to be of more assistance,” she said with a shrug. Harry
hadn’t had an opportunity to witness it before, but apparently the woman was
capable of dialling down her oddity when necessary. Her posture was respectful
and her tone polite. “Severus cannot always be taking Harry hunting, not if
he’s to work out Harry’s reprieve. If I were to accompany him, however, Severus
would have more time in the lab.”
“Harry? What say you?” McGonagall asked, far more open to the suggestion than
Harry might have imagined.
“That’d be brilliant, actually,” he agreed haltingly, sharing a conspiratorial
glance with Cobbleshot who gave him a subtle, sly smile.
“Feel free to work it out amongst yourselves, then,” McGonagall said with a
wave of her hand, clearly dismissing them. Cobbleshot turned and drifted off
without another word as Harry rose wearily from his seat. But before he could
disappear as well, McGonagall rose too and came around her desk to meet him.
“It really is good to see you looking so well, Harry,” she said with a
surprising amount of feeling, reaching down to take his hand and pat it. Harry
was taken aback but moved. The two had been as close as anyone could be with
the stern professor, and Harry knew her fondness stretched to something almost
maternal. For his own part, Harry had always appreciated the steady, reliable
presence she’d provided. He surprised them both by releasing her hand and
wrapping her, instead, in a brief but firm hug. She seemed flustered by the
unexpected show of affection but was undoubtedly pleased.
“Thank you, Professor,” Harry said adamantly. “For everything.” Then he smiled
one last time and turned toward the hearth, steeling himself to face Severus’
undoubtedly thunderous mood on the other side.
***** I Confess it is My Shame to Be So Fond *****
“Why do you keep following me?” Harry heard Severus snip irritably from the
kitchen. Harry had searched the lab and found no sign of the two and so had
flooed to Grimmauld Place where the first thing he heard was a flurry of steps
and disturbed chairs scraping against the hardwood floor.
“Because you are clearly upset, Severus, and it’s a matter that concerns us
all,” Remus said evenly. “I thought it would be more productive for us to talk
about it than for you to run away and sulk.”
Harry cringed. He’d never had the courage to be quite so forthright with
Severus about his moodiness. Remus was rarely so forthright with Harry about
his, either, and he was rather surprised by the man’s boldness. Harry crept
closer to the closed kitchen door and waited for the fallout.
“Oh, yes. Let’s talk about our feelings,” Severus sneered mockingly. “I’m well
aware that you and Harry do a considerable amount of that, but I am not
Harry.” 
“It’s what adults do,” Remus pointed out calmly.
“You are intentionally provoking me,” Severus said in a low, dangerous voice.
“You would do well to stop. Immediately.”
Remus sighed. “I’m not trying to make you angry, Severus,” he insisted. “I
simply thought we could communicate more. You always try to shoulder things on
your own. I wanted you to understand you don’t have to. We don’t always have to
be at odds, you and I.”
“I am civil,” Severus spat, not sounding very civil at all. “What more do you
want from me?”
“Life has tossed us together for the foreseeable future, Severus,” Remus said,
his cool slipping even further, “and it seems like this could be a very long
and arduous ordeal if we aren’t, at the very least, friends.”
“Friends?” Severus scoffed. “At the very least? As if we might ever be more,”
he sneered. “Besides, why in hell would I want to be your friend?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Severus,” Remus said wearily. Harry heard a chair being
pulled out as Remus took a heavy seat. Noticing a gap between the door and its
frame, Harry peeked through the crack. He saw Remus rake a hand over his face,
looking surprisingly bitter. “I’m told I’m a fairly likeable guy,” he shrugged.
“Why the hell not?”
“Why not?” Severus scowled, indignation washing over him, causing him to shrink
subtly from the man sitting before him. “Since you want to talk about feelings
so badly, I’ll tell you why not,” he hissed through gritted teeth. He lay a
hand on the table beside him to loom over Remus who sighed and sat back to look
up at him bemusedly. “Perhaps it’s because you regularly sat by and did nothing
while your fellow bullies publically humiliated me, admittedly for no other
reason than I existed,” Severus growled, decades of unresolved bitterness
twisting his features. “Or do you even remember that?” he demanded with a
sneer. “Was I just one forgettable detail in a series of reprehensible acts
perpetrated by you and your little gang of thugs?” Remus hung his head and took
a steadying breath. His cheeks coloured slightly. “I assure you I certainly
have never forgotten,” Severus went on sourly, turning away from Remus as if to
avoid seeing his contrition. “You may not have been the one holding the wand,
Lupin,” he hissed over his shoulder, “but you did absolutely nothing to come to
my defence. Almost worse, you ignored it. You always sat reading as if my
suffering did not even warrant your attention. The rancour I still nurse for
you is far older and harder to suppress than magical aversion,” he said, with
an ugly curl of his thin lip. “And you dared to hold up this shining example of
Harry’s father for him,” Severus muttered acidly. “You allowed your mutt
boyfriend to play role model, all the while knowing they had both had just as
much hate and prejudice in their hearts as I did when I took my Mark. What,
exactly, do you think drove me to seek it in the first place?!” he demanded
angrily, making Remus flinch.
“Look,” Remus said sheepishly after a tense, silent moment, during which
Severus seemed to be trying, and failing, to calm himself. “I am sorry,
Severus,” he whispered, turning a doleful look in the man’s direction. “I know
those words are insufficient. But I am truly sorry. I do remember, and I regret
it. Not my friendship with Sirius or Harry’s father,” he clarified, “but that I
did not do what I knew to be right. That I did not stop what I knew to be
wrong.”
“Of course you do now,” Severus said disdainfully, “now that you’ve been called
on it.”
“No, Severus,” Remus insisted, rising from his seat. “I regretted it then. I’ve
thought of it often since,” he admitted, “and with shame. But try to
understand, Severus,” he pleaded, attempting to make the man meet his eye.
“James, Sirius, Peter. They were all I had. They were only ones who knew, the
only ones who made my condition bearable. And while I was admittedly disgusted
by what they did to you, I was a coward. I was afraid of alienating them. I was
afraid…” Remus shook his head, searching for words. “I was afraid if I pushed
too hard I’d push them away, and then it would just be me and the moon in a
cold and lonely shack again,” he confessed, clearly remembering a time before
Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. “Of course, it’s not an excuse,” he said,
shaking his head at himself. “And I’ve endured enough lonely moons since to
know that my integrity and that your dignity merited the risk, that I should
have said something even if it drove them from me. I know now that it was
foolish to have had so little faith in their friendship that I could believe
such a thing were even possible. But I didn’t know it then, Severus,” Remus
explained desperately, willing the man he’d wronged to understand. Severus was
stubborn but softening, glancing back at Remus, his expression no longer quite
so harsh. “Then, I was a scared, insecure young werewolf terrified of losing
the only friends I’d ever known. And I was wrong, Severus. I admit it. I accept
your bitterness. I earned it. But I also ask your forgiveness,” he said softly,
imploringly. “I ask it knowing I may never receive it, that perhaps I do not
deserve it. But, for Harry’s sake-” he went on haltingly.
“Don’t you dare to bring Harry into this,” Severus cut him off with a fierce
whisper, all of his severity returning in an instant. “Of all the insults I’ve
endured at your hands, that was the greatest by far.” Harry could see him
shaking slightly, trying to contain his sudden anger. “I am well aware that he
has some hope that we will all live together Happily Ever After. And I have
tried, for his sake, to overcome my distaste for you. But I don’t think either
of you quite know how much you’re asking of me by expecting me to absolve you
completely, to accept you as anything other than the bastard who stole my
innocence and then my lover.”
Remus hardened slightly, was clearly not ready to abandon his effort to get
through to the man. “Severus, neither of us are, any longer, the naive children
we were then,” he said tersely. “We’re adults. We understand the world and each
other. My gods, Severus,” he added with a frustrated huff, “we have shared
experiences no others have shared, known burdens others couldn’t even imagine.
We’ve gone to war together, for fuck’s sake! And you begrudge me my old mates?”
he scowled, becoming properly angry himself. “Severus, the ‘lord’ you swore
fealty to ripped away everything in this world that was ever precious to me,”
he hissed accusingly through teeth clenched against the pain of the memory.
Severus’ scowl dissolved into instant embarrassment, though his jaw tightened
stubbornly. “He condemned me totwelve years of grief and poverty and utter
isolation. And still, I forgive you. Hell, I embrace you,” Remus said with a
helpless, reaching look which Severus would not meet. “Yet you cannot forgive
me a single lapse in judgement over twenty years old because James showed your
arse to a bunch of school children you likely don’t even remember?” he
demanded. “You are better than this, Severus,” Remus insisted, stepping in
front of the man, refusing to be avoided any longer. And Severus sighed, could
no longer hold onto his bitterness in the face of Remus’ pained, hopeful
expression. “It may have taken Harry to allow me to appreciate it so fully, but
I saw through your surly facade a long time ago,” Remus confessed softly. “You
try so hard to hide it,” he said, shaking his head almost fondly at the man’s
irrationality. “But I see your integrity and your conscience, Severus,” he
said, looking at though he wanted to draw closer to the man as he confessed but
did not dare. “I recognise my own struggle in yours. I acknowledge to myself
that I do not possess half the strength and bravery you refuse to admit to. And
I accept that I admire it,” he whispered. “The only thing you lack is grace,
and even that I could overlook if-” Remus abruptly bit off the thought with a
wince as if realising he’d gone too far, said too much. His gaze drifted from
Severus’ and he looked suddenly defeated.
Severus eyed him with gentle suspicion, clearly surprised and slightly
bewildered. “What are you saying to me?” he asked, shaking his head as if to
deny the revelation. “That you have feelings for-?”
“I don’t know what I’m saying, Severus,” Remus said quickly, turning his back
to hide the sadness he could not seem to banish from his expression. He seemed
angry, but not at Severus. “Let’s just leave it there, shall we?” he sighed.
Severus seemed unsure what to do. He looked as if he wanted to comfort the man
somehow but was still trying to come to terms with the situation himself.
“Lupin,” he began, not unkindly, “you understand that I‘m not exactly...”
Remus shook his head and chuckled wryly as the man spoke, angered by the lie
and refusing to hear it finished. “Oh come off it, Severus!” he blurted,
rounding on the man and startling him. “You’ve been sticking your dick a boy
for four years, and you suck cock like a goddamned champion,” he spat. “Get
over this hang up you have with semantics and just accept that you are, if
nothing else, not fucking straight.”
Severus was taken aback, his mouth open as if to reply but no words would come.
Remus watched him struggle for a moment, scowling expectantly. But when it was
clear no response was forthcoming, he apparently decided he’d had enough of the
conversation. “Sod it,” he muttered under his breath, shoving his chair roughly
out of the way as he made his way for the door. Harry scrambled back away from
it to avoid being struck.
Remus stopped just short of colliding with the young man, his expression
shocked, then embarrassed upon realising they’d had an audience. Harry felt the
impulse to explain, to apologise for eavesdropping, but he too was too
overwhelmed by what he’d heard to utter an acceptable response. In the end,
Remus’s anger returned and he stepped past Harry, stomping up the stairs with
both Harry and Severus looking after him, anguished and abashed.
***** To Vent That Poor Desire *****
Harry turned back to Severus, who still appeared confused, and gave him an
apologetic look. Though Harry felt his lingering need like a dull ache, what
they’d started would have to wait. Severus seemed too preoccupied now to pursue
it, besides. Harry knew the man would not tolerate any discussion of what had
just happened, and he sensed his Mate might be in need of comfort. Still, he
asked silent permission of Severus before turning to follow Remus, which
Severus gave by way of bowing his head and sweeping past Harry and to the floo.
Harry sighed and stared after him for a moment. At least this might distract
Severus from his discontent at the meeting’s outcome. Harry hadn’t been ready
to wrestle with that issue yet, anyway. He looked up the stairwell toward
Remus’ room, but the man was silent. Harry did not even hear the groan of his
weight on the floorboards. He trudged his way toward the werewolf, announcing
his approach with a heavy step.
“Not now, Harry,” Remus called wearily when the young man tapped lightly on his
door. The command made Harry pause but was half-hearted and easy enough to
ignore after a moment, though Harry's bones were still reluctant. He opened the
door and peeked in at the man, lying on his bed, knuckles to his lips in a
deeply pensive position. Harry let himself in and quietly shut the door behind
him.
Remus still stayed in Sirius’ old room, though it had changed drastically since
the time when they two had shared it. More shelves lined its borders, filled
with a haphazard collection of well-read books. Many of Remus’ sketches adorned
the walls in plain but tasteful frames, and loose ones lay scattered on various
surfaces with nubs of charcoal and the random bits of nature the man seemed to
enjoy collecting. In sharp contrast to Severus’ quarters, the room possessed an
air of disarray. It was homey, comfortable, slightly dishevelled but almost
artfully so. In absolute resemblance to Severus’ quarters, the room was a
perfect reflection of the man who inhabited it.
The one thing that hadn’t changed in the last four years was Kreacher. The
House Elf’s mangled visage still hung over the cluttered writing desk. It was
this that Remus stared at as he brooded. It was this that Harry couldn’t pull
his eyes from himself. He hated seeing it there. He hated knowing its origin
and function. Surely its purpose had been served, the promise Remus made duly
fulfilled. Harry saw no reason for the man to continue his penance of being
constantly faced with the thing.
“Molly isn’t in charge of the place anymore,” Harry pointed out quietly. “We
could move him,” he proposed. “Not removehim, just place him somewhere else.”
“No,” Remus replied softly, still staring at it. “He reminds me: of who I don’t
wish to be, of the mistakes I’ve made for which I must accept responsibility.
Apparently, I still need reminding, I seem to keep making them.”
Harry regarded the man thoughtfully for a moment before walking over and
crawling onto Remus’ bed with him. Without a word, Remus reached out an arm for
Harry to tuck himself under, but his attention didn’t stray from the morbid
physical representation of his tortured conscience. “Are you alright?” Harry
whispered, toying with the buttons of Remus’ shirt. The man chuckled
mirthlessly.
“You mean, considering I just made a fool of myself?” he asked with a wry twist
of his lips.
“You didn’t,” Harry assured him. “You’re smitten, is all. There’s no shame in
that. And I really can’t blame you,” he shrugged with a small smile. “So am I.”
Remus sighed and squeezed Harry closer. “I thought I’d outgrown this kind of
thing ages ago,” he said with an embarrassed smile, finally allowing his eyes
to drift from Kreacher but still not pulling them to Harry. “Butterflies and
longing and awkward exchanges. It’s harder to accept when you can’t blame it on
loneliness or grief or hormones. It’s easy to forget how helpless it makes you
feel. You think, when you reach a certain age, you’re impervious to such
irrational behaviour, such inexplicable emotion. But I feel just like a
goddamned teenager again,” he admitted with a groan.
Harry chuckled and grinned at him. “It’s endearing,” he told him
confidentially, laying his head on Remus’ chest and listening to his heart
which still thumped a little faster than usual.
“It’s obnoxious,” Remus replied emphatically, looking thoroughly miserable.
“It will work out,” Harry said, equally emphatic. “Give him some time to think
about it. About you, about the three of us. He’ll come around. He’s only half
as stubborn as he seems. Well,” he amended with a smile. "Maybe three-
quarters."
“I’m not so sure,” Remus sighed, glancing back up at Kreacher. “The damage
might already be too great.”
“You mean letting on that you have a crush? No harm in that, really,” Harry
said dismissively, snuggling closer to the man. “It could have been worse.
You’ve certainly handled it more gracefully than I ever have. Now, if you’d
showed up to his rooms practically naked in the middle of the night, then there
might have been damage,” he joked. “That only works about half the time, by the
way.”
But Remus’ mood wasn’t lifted. “I was referring to what Sirius and your father
did at Hogwarts,” he said somberly.
Harry shifted uncomfortably, his cheeks burning as he recalled the abuse
revealed by his voyeurism in the Pensieve all those years ago. “Youdidn’t do
those things,” Harry insisted firmly.
“I might as well have, Darling,” Remus said dejectedly. “I did absolutely
nothing to stop them. I didn’t even complain to the boys after. Though, I did
refuse to speak to them for a day or so,” he reflected. Remus sighed, regret
etched in his expression. “Severus is right to hold a grudge, Harry. What was
done to him was excessive and cruel. Remembering it still turns my stomach. And
well besides that, I flaunted my relationship with you in front of him,” he
added with a wince, “which was almost equally cruel. And I can’t say why,
exactly, I did it,” he admitted. “It was spiteful. I suppose I just didn’t
recognise, then, where my spite came from.”
Harry propped himself on his elbow and studied the man. “But you recognise it
now?”
Remus shrugged, seemed unsure. “I suppose it was from wanting him and being
unable to have him,” he proposed, as if to himself. “Being enamoured and
knowing he hated me still and wanting to return a little of that hurt.”
Despite himself, Harry scowled at the man, tucking his head when he was unable
to hide the hurt in his expression, feeling a bit like a pawn. “Oh, Darling,”
Remus whispered, finally giving Harry his full attention, reaching to gently
turn the young man’s face to his own. “Please, don’t look so wounded. What we
did--what we do--is not misplaced affection. My feelings for you are true,” he
promised, stroking his thumb across Harry’s cheek. “But you should know as well
as anyone that you can care for more than one person at the same time.”
Harry’s umbrage melted under Remus’ warm look and gentle touch. Hemelted
against the man again. “I know,” Harry admitted with a sigh, wrapping an arm
around Remus’ chest which the man stroked idly. “I think perhaps I’m just
surprised. I’d supposed you were thinking of me when you suggested Severus join
us. I didn’t realise you’d really wanted it, too.”
Remus shook his head. “Oh, no. I’ve been contemplating Severus Snape for a long
while,” he confessed with a lopsided smile and a small, self-deprecating laugh.
“Well, I promise he’s contemplating you now, too.”
Remus twisted to throw a curious look down at the young man tucked against his
chest. “You think so?”
Harry nodded. “And a good many other things besides. Granted, I don’t know what
conclusions he’ll arrive at, but you certainly got his attention,” he said with
a cheeky grin.
“Well, there is that, at least,” Remus said, looking resigned but a shade more
hopeful. “By the way, weren’t the two of you...preoccupied before Minerva
dragged you away?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Perhaps you should be with
him now.” Harry shook his head.
“I think I’ll give him some time to mull things over.”
Remus nodded slowly, mulling himself. “And you’re sure I didn’t make an arse of
myself?” he asked finally, nervously. Harry smiled, gave him the reassurance he
was seeking.
“Positive,” he told him, as if the matter were settled and Remus should be too.
But Harry had something on his own mind that would not stop nagging. “So,” he
ventured. “How long?”
“How long?” Remus asked, still distracted.
“For how long have you been contemplating Severus Snape?” Harry clarified with
mock severity.
Remus looked suddenly sheepish, as though this was not something he should be
discussing with Harry. It had to be daunting, explaining to a person for how
long and in what way one had been eyeing their lover. “Well, it helped my
opinion of him immensely when he started brewing me Wolfsbane,” Remus admitted
with a small chuckle. “And he undoubtedly earned my respect when I discovered
what he was doing for the Order,” he added more seriously. “But I have to
admit,” he went on reluctantly, his features thoughtful, “the expression on
your face as you looked at him when I found you in the dungeon that night, as
you helped him to his feet…” Remus sighed and shook his head. “I spent plenty
of sleepless nights afterward wondering what about him could elicit it from
you, wondering what stole that shine in your eyes when you looked at me and
granted it to him. It wasn’t really that I felt I had a right to it,” he rushed
to explain, “just that I knew it was something special, something you didn’t
bestow lightly.” Remus paused, staring hard at Kreacher and then down at Harry.
“I assumed you had to have seen something extraordinary in him in those few
days that I had somehow missed in all the many years I’d known him, and I felt
rather dense for not having seen it myself. And so I started paying more
attention,” he shrugged.
“And you liked what you saw?” Harry prodded.
Remus gave a barely perceptible nod. “Very much so,” he sighed, almost
dreamily. “There is something about him when he’s with you,” he explained,
struggling to find the words. “You break down his facade. You force him to
betray his humanity. It’s hard not to be jealous of the ferocity with which he
loves you,” Remus admitted softly, “and to not wonder what it would be like to
be the object of it.”
Harry could understand Remus’ longing. Being the object of Severus’ intensity
was heady. Exhausting but glorious. Harry recalled the man’s wanton expression
in the Forest, the urgency and insistence of his touch afterwards, and he
blushed. Ardent as Remus often was, there was something so single-minded about
Severus’ passion. It was all-consuming. And it was definitely something to
envy.
While Harry mused, Remus sighed again. The man was full of sighs, it seemed.
Though, Harry supposed infatuation could do that to a person. “I don’t delude
myself with thinking the full force of Severus’ attentions might ever actually
be directed at me,” Remus said, resigned. “That is yours and yours alone. As
well it should be,” he added unequivocally. “Knowing that doesn’t make one want
it any less, though,” he said sadly. “And these last few weeks, with their
certain amount of forced intimacy, have admittedly been a little torturous” he
finished in a whisper.
Remus was pained, and Harry ached with him, for him. Harry ached that he alone
couldn’t be enough for Remus. But then, how could he be when so much of him
belonged to the man who enamoured them both? Harry held Remus tighter and felt
Remus’ hand descend on his head to idly pet the young man, an exercise that
soothed them both.
“Anyway. Enough of this melancholic nonsense,” Remus muttered, laying it to
rest. “What did you all work out? Are you going to Diagon Alley with Hermione?”
Harry had almost forgotten. He nodded, chagrined. “It seems so. You know,” he
brooded, “I was a little surprised that Hermione hasn’t shown up before now.
I’d have thought as soon as she saw the first headline she’d be beating down
our door.”
Remus shrugged. “Well, she is busy with school,” he said, as if that explained
it all. Which really, Harry realised, it did. “I imagine she’s simply buried
herself in books. You saw how she was when she came back to finish at Hogwarts.
Once there were no more crises to worry about or imminent attempts on your
life, she let herself get lost in her studies. We wouldn’t hear from her for
weeks sometimes. Now that she’s at University, it’s got to be even worse.”
“I suppose,” Harry conceded, still bothered.
“You’re worried about telling her,” Remus divined.
“Wouldn’t you be?” Harry asked, unwinding himself from Remus and sitting
upright. “How does one even go about it? ‘Hey, Hermione. Long time no see. By
the way, I’m a freak of nature now. An entirely different kind from before.
It’s totally okay, though. I’m fairly sure I won’t kill you.’”
Remus chuckled and reached for him, pulling Harry down on top of him and
reaching up to tuck Harry’s dangling fringe behind one of the young man’s ears.
“That’s not what worries you.”
“It isn’t?” Harry asked sceptically.
Remus shook his head. “You’re afraid she’ll obsess, want to analyse you. She
will, you know,” he shrugged. “Probably open a brand new area of study, be the
world’s first expert in Harry Hybridism.” He grinned and Harry returned it.
“You’re the ultimate minority. She’ll be raising support for your legal rights
before they even have a chance to be infringed.”
Harry laughed outright. “Society for the Promotion of Hybrid Welfare?”
“Oh, I’m sure she’s able to manage something more catchy than that by now,”
Remus argued once his own chuckle subsided. “Lobby for Bloodwolf Benefits?”
Harry settled against the man, laying his head on his chest. “I like that
term,” he said approvingly. “Bloodwolf,” he repeated, enjoying the taste of the
word on his tongue. “I was wondering what I could be called, you know. A hybrid
could be almost anything. Let’s hope Bloodwolves don’t need lobbyists,” he
sighed. “Let’s hope that I’m the only one ever. I can drop out of society
easily enough,” he shrugged, “and I’ll just take you and Severus with me.”
“And what, move to Romania?” Remus proposed, his sigh now more content than the
ones before it.
“You’d never survive Romania,” Harry said flatly, thinking of the unavoidable,
instinctual enmity of the vampire population there toward werewolves. There was
no guarantee Harry himself would be spared it. Cobbleshot said he smelled of
dog. “Let’s go somewhere tropical,” Harry suggested. “How much do you suppose
I’m worth? Maybe we could buy an island.”
“So you could soak up some sun?” Remus needled.
“You have a point.” Harry gave a small laugh, but the subject was still sore
for him. As magical as the moon could be, as enchanting as the night was, he
missed the sun. And unless Severus could unlock his remedy, Harry might very
well never see it again. Not without cost.
Remus detected Harry’s sudden change of mood and held him tighter. “You’ll be
alright, you know,” he said more seriously. “Severus and I will be with you
every step of the way, no matter where we are. We’ll get through this together.
You’ll see.”
Harry wasn’t nearly so certain, but he didn’t want to think about it just then.
Those thoughts in him were far darker than Remus realised. Harry’d just escaped
the Madness, he wasn’t ready to slip into another of his own making. He
suddenly needed a distraction.
“You know, I started something earlier,” he said, lifting himself to look Remus
in the eye, to show the man his intention. They were both suddenly aware, it
seemed, of how much contact their bodies were achieving. “Want to help me
finish it?” he whispered, stretching toward Remus’ lips. The man did not answer
in words. Harry would have to make it up to Severus later, but he didn’t think
that would necessarily be a hardship.
***** It Is Too True An Evil *****
Harry made his way back to the lab with a slight spring in his step, feeling
more hopeful than ever about his situation. He really did want what he’d
mentioned to Remus, to just disappear somewhere with the two of them and leave
all this mess behind them. Though the injustice of his predicament chafed,
Harry had never really been one for revenge. At least, not for wrongs done to
him. When he’d fought, he’d done so for others. But his conscience would not
allow him to subject Severus and Remus to his condition forever. If it seemed
unlikely Severus would succeed in finding a remedy for it, then Harry would do
them all a favour and, at the very least, see to it that the perpetrators of
this crime against them all were punished. However, if Severus did unlock the
riddle, then nothing was stopping them from removing themselves from a society
that misunderstood and mistreated them. Severus would likely be reluctant to
leave the resources and convenience of Hogwarts, but Remus was untethered, as
was Harry, and surely they could work something out. How expensive could their
potions be that Harry could not set Severus up in a new lab somewhere else?
In the existing one, Harry found the man carefully combining the contents of
two phials. While it might not have been evident to others, Harry could tell
Severus was troubled. His pour was more hurried than usual, his movements just
a shade less measured. The Potions Master’s mind was not on what he was doing.
Which meant he must have been agitated in the extreme, because no one could
practice mindfulness like Severus Snape, especially when potions were involved.
Harry’s unencumbered mood turned slightly heavier, and he approached the man
cautiously, slipping his arms slowly around Severus’ waist from behind and
laying his cheek against his back. Severus’ attention, however, seemed never to
stray from his work.
“Well,” he said tightly after a long moment, still eying the colouring of the
liquid in the vial he held to the torchlight, “was that therapeutic?” His tone
was caustic. Harry sighed inwardly and disentangled himself to step back and
fold his arms across his chest. He hadn’t wanted this to be an argument, but
there seemed no avoiding it. If anything, Severus’ mood had only worsened.
Obviously, instead of taking the time alone to calm and reflect, he’d used it
to brood, as Harry really should have predicted he would. The young man knew
better than to answer him. “I assume, then, you aren’t interested in continuing
what we started earlier?” Severus went on, glaring at the phial now. Harry
doubted he saw the thing at all.
“We can,” Harry answered carefully. “I’d like to.”
“Oh, so you did save some scraps for me?” Severus said sardonically, turning
finally to scowl at the young man, the glass tube dangling, near-forgotten,
from his fingers. “How very considerate of the two of you,” he sneered.
Harry scowled back at Severus, trying not to rise to his bait. He knew the
man’s ill-temper wasn’t from Harry’s being with Remus. Or at least, he
suspected it wasn’t the driving force. It had simply been an unfortunately
eventful night. “I didn’t come down here to fight with you, Severus,” he said
evenly. “Besides, we both know you’re just upset because of what happened
earlier.”
“Oh, go prance about Diagon Alley all you bloody want if you think you can
handle it,” Severus muttered with a dismissive wave of his hand, turning his
back on Harry to return the phial to its stand. “What do I care? Bear in mind,
though, you’ve only been freed from your cell this evening. But then what do I
know of vampirism and bloodlust?” he spat sourly.
Harry knew that conversation would have to be continued later, as well. But
another was more pressing. He sighed and toed the ground, his arms still locked
across his chest. Severus would not want to talk about it, but if the man’s
mood was any indication, it was something they needed to address as soon as
possible so they could move on, regardless of Severus’ decision on the matter.
“I was talking about what happened in the kitchen, Severus,” he clarified.
“Oh, were you?” Severus drawled, turning a withering look to his young lover.
“So glad you were there for that, by the way,” he deadpanned. “But which part
were you referring to exactly? My enumerating your boyfriend’s many crimes
against humanity?” he asked, voice rising. “Or his throwing a bloody tantrum
over it?”
“You know what I’m talking about, Severus,” Harry said, his voice rising as
well despite his resolution to remain calm. “And I suspect you’ve started
having thoughts you’d rather not entertain,” he added sharply, giving the man a
piercing, critical look, “and you’re taking it out on me. I think you’re just
upset now because maybe you’re realising Remus’ affection might not be one-
sided after all, and it bothers you to even consider it.” Severus might deny
it, even to himself, but Harry had heard their bedside conversations, he’d
heard Severus’ grudging respect, at the very least. Harry and Severus’ start
had been even more contentious. Surely Severus and Remus could bridge their
divide, as well.
“One-sided?” Severus said incredulously. “Oh, no,” he said, shaking his head in
disgust, “Lupin’s love life is multi-bloody-faceted. Am I correct in assuming
he fucked you on the same mattress on which he used to sodomise your late
godfather?” he demanded, his scowl deepening. It was a low blow, and Harry
almost gasped at the man’s audacity. “Tell me, does he have any male
acquaintances he doesn’t want to bed?”
Harry was shaking already. As irascible as Severus could often be, he was
rarely so personally and intentionally offensive. “Severus, you’re being an
arsehole,” Harry warned quietly through a clenched jaw. He was determined,
though, not to be the one to start shouting. The two glared at each other for a
long, tense moment pregnant with violent potential. But then, instead of his
spitting back more abuse as Harry had expected, Severus’ face seemed to
crumple, and Harry was thrown off guard by the sudden shift.
“How could you do this to me?” Severus asked with a quiet desperation. “After
everything I’ve endured. For you. This is how you repay me?”
It was a rare, honest display. The man made no attempt to mask his sorrow, and
Harry’s heart broke and his face burned with shame even without understanding
yet why it should. “What are you even talking about?” he stammered helplessly,
trying and failing to hold on to his hard feelings, suddenly near tears himself
but too confused to reach for the man. Harry hugged himself instead.
Severus’ pain shifted to indignation. “You come here, still smelling of him,
and you have to ask? I knew,” he muttered sadly, “when I saw your face after,
that you would not side with me, would not choose me. Am I just too prickly to
love?” he pressed. “My temper too inconvenient? What is it that wins your
sympathy for him? His soft-spoken manner? Is that all it takes to claim you
fickle affection?”
Harry shook his head, at a loss still, and his crossed arms dropped to his
sides. “Severus, you know that Remus and I…” he began haltingly. But he
couldn’t articulate the thought, not when facing the man’s fierce, wounded
expression. He wondered suddenly if Severus didn’t know, didn’t understand or
accept the situation as Harry had thought he had, despite the man’s previous
assurances of the necessity of Harry’s Mating to Remus. It quite obviously
still bothered him, but Harry wasn’t sure what he was meant to do about it.
There was no breaking the bond at this point. Harry was uncomfortable, knowing
he’d had no say in the matter but also that he hadn’t really objected. Almost
without thinking, Harry tried to deflect this sudden insecurity, to turn his
offense back on Severus. “Besides,” he sputtered, “you tried to throw me away!”
Really, what right did Severus have to criticise Harry’s sex life when he had
already admitted to trying to drive the young man off?
“I had only your best interest in mind,” Severus said tightly, his outrage
rising in response to Harry’s. “I have always only had your best interest in
mind. I thought you’d run off with some empty-headed nymph. How was I to know
you’d betray me with that mongrel?”
Harry didn’t have to force his anger any longer. “Remus is a good man,
Severus,” he insisted, his voice shaking, hands clenched in fists at his sides.
He took a small step toward him, the threat of anguished tears replaced now
with the threat of furious ones. “Why is that so hard for you to accept?”
“Good?” Severus asked with a grimace. “How can you be so blind, Harry? Nobility
has never ruled his kind.”
“His kind?” Harry demanded, face burning. “Do you mean werewolves? Because I’m
one of those now, too, remember?”
“As if that wasn’t enough,” Severus shot back, lip curled in disgust. “But no,
I meant bloody Gryffindors. Or at least the ones I’ve known. They prattle on
about bravery and honour,” he sniped, “but it is almost always just a
justification for their selfishness and spite.”
“Really, Severus? Because I’m one of those, too,” Harry said, his voice dipping
instead of rising, a sure sign that his anger had reached a new level of
intensity. He could feel a prickling on his skin and a peculiar ache in his
bones but paid them no mind. He couldn’t recall ever being so purely angry with
the man before. But then, Harry’s emotions were still raw, almost fatigued, and
so highly sensitive. “And that, at least, is not a new fucking development.” He
veritably growled this, as Severus was wont to do, ragged, deep and low in his
throat.
Severus noted the change but was undeterred by the dangerous tone. “And yet the
description is still rather fair, is it not?” Severus shouted back, returning
Harry’s glare but redoubling it. “But you aren’t really one of them,” he
muttered dismissively, letting his rancour slip. “You told me yourself the
Sorting Hat wanted to put you in Slytherin. You chose the lions’ den out of
naivety. And I honestly think you chose poorly.”
“Oh. really?” Harry demanded. “You think I should have been in the ‘honorable’
House of Slytherin? With Draco? Like Lucius and Tom Riddle before him?”
The comment further curdled Severus’ already sour expression. “At least we
Slytherins don’t try to camouflage our ambition or our vengeance. We’re honest
in our contempt. But it doesn’t matter really,” he murmured, more to himself
than to Harry, shaking his head. Morosity seemed to bleed into his expression,
dousing the animosity there. He turned away from the young man, suddenly
dispirited. “You could have cheated on me with the Dark Lord himself and the
betrayal would have been no more callous.” Then he turned his back on Harry’s
scowl completely and rested his hands on the workbench, his head hung between
his shoulders, the very picture of defeat.
Harry was unsettled. He was still too angry to comfort him but concerned enough
that he had to actively fight the urge to do so. The tingling he experienced
earlier abruptly ceased as uncertainty cooled his temper. The Dark was still
too close for Harry to trust the whiplash shift in his emotions, or in
Severus’.
“Do you know how many hours I’ve spent in this room since Exams ended,” Severus
said then wearily, casting a lazy gesture at the assembled equipment
surrounding him, “trying to force a breakthrough that should take years into a
few weeks? Trying to make some progress before the hellions come back from
holiday, just so that you might walk in the sodding sunlight again?” he asked
peevishly. “All the while longing to be at your side instead but knowing I’m
your only hope of relief. Can you imagine how it felt being forced to allow him
to ‘administer your care’,” he termed sardonically, his temper quickly
returning, “so that I could be here, trying to give you back your life?”
Severus turned back to him, hurt and accusation playing in equal measure over
his face, both so potent they caused Harry to step back. The young man was
already disconcerted by Severus’ words and now, confronted with the intensity
of the man’s discontent, Harry’s anger failed him entirely and he felt suddenly
small and chastised. “Do you not understand the danger I placed myself in to
further the Order’s cause?” Severus went on severely, unrelenting despite the
helpless apology in Harry’s eyes; or perhaps all the more harsh in response to
it. “Do you not realize that there was a point I’d have said ‘sod it all’ and
simply left the Death Eaters for the relative safety of Grimmauld Place? But I
stayed.By Voldemort’s side. At my mortal peril. For you,” he intoned, his voice
dripping with scorn. “In order to keep you safe, to be in a position to know
what threats might seek you so that I might protect you from them!”
Harry was silent as Severus attempted to swallow his anger, though the effort
appeared to make the man feel ill. He shook his head, still stewing, and sagged
back against the table behind him. “I should have known--did know--that you
would be my undoing,” he muttered ruefully. “When you forced your way into my
quarters that night I should have booted you straight through the bloody
hearth." The bitter anger he could not seem to banish was clearly swelling in
him again, evidenced by his stirring posture. “You have ruined me!” he exploded
as it finally crested, startling Harry into backing further from him. Because
it wasn’t just anger Harry saw in him. There was a desolation in his eyes that
would haunt Harry, perhaps for the rest of his life. “I am ruined,” Severus
repeated, each word struggling separately to fight its way past the man’s
choking emotion. “You rule my every thought, my every impulse,” he confessed.
He grimaced as if he loathed the condition, was pained by it. “I was content to
be the cold, lonely, miserable bastard holed up in his potions lab, until you
came along and forced me to accept your love. And for what?” he demanded,
anguished. “So you could withhold it now? Dangle it in front of me? So you
could feed it to me piecemeal,” he spat, “while doling it out to others in
spades? And all this after forcing me to declare my own love, even though I’d
held that secret inside me for so long.” Severus seethed. “Damn you!” he
bellowed, rising to his feet, his savage expression driving Harry against the
wall behind him. “Damn you for following me into that bloody forest four years
ago! Damn you for being a fool who got us locked away where I could not deny my
desires any longer. Damn you for making me love you!” he shouted, causing Harry
to flinch. “I am consumed with you,” he moaned. He gave Harry a look as if
imploring him to understand the cost of his affection, then seemed to despair
that Harry could not. Severus’s legs seemed to fail him then, and Harry
watched, speechless, as the man sank to his knees.
Harry was beyond shaken. He had never before witnessed this level of emotion
from Severus. At least, not outside the extreme circumstances of that First
Dark, which Harry felt didn’t really count somehow. That night did not seem
part of the real world. It sat outside of regular time and reality and belonged
exclusively to the nightmare of his unsettled blood. And perhaps that was the
barrier to his understanding. Because Severus’ blood had been settled, and
everything he’d said and done then had been genuine, given at cost and not
stripped bare involuntarily by a merciless moon. Harry had known Severus was
capable of this depth of feeling but never suspected him capable of expressing
it, and certainly not in the presence of others. But their time on the Dark
seemed to have opened Pandora’s box, and Severus could not now slam back closed
that door to his deepest self. Harry felt lost, not knowing how to handle the
display, not knowing how to feel about what he was hearing. He only knew he
had to stave off the heartbreak that waited, just behind his shock, to fell
him.
“And you’d rather pretend House with your damned pet lap dog,” Severus went on.
He seemed exhausted and defeated but unable to stem the flood now that the dam
had finally broken. Real tears spilled in turns down his cheeks. “And it’s me
who’s the arsehole because I don’t feel like joining in your little game.”
Severus bowed his head, his shoulders shaking in such a way that Harry could
not determine if the man were laughing or weeping. “You should have simply let
the Dark Lord dispose of me,” he muttered finally with a dark, humourless
chuckle that died in a sob. “No torture he could have devised could have
matched this. Nothing compares to the pain of being in love with The Chosen
One," he sneered tearfully. “Of loving a Claimed lover,” he added bitterly. “Of
bloody worshipping a damned selfish brat like yourself.” He finished
disconsolately, not even looking at the young man as he cursed him.
Wide-eyed, Harry watched Severus slump forward to give over to silent weeping.
Harry felt ill, afflicted by Severus’ rancour. He was horrified. He’d had no
idea the man felt this way, would never have wanted to cause him this kind of
anguish. Harry would have, in that moment, sacrificed any part of himself to
erase that pain in Severus. Harry would have given anything to erase the sight
of it from his memory. He grieved that he could not, that no knife could carve
their hurt from him, no matter how he longed for the cut. He would have shed
limbs. He would have dug out his own heart and served it to the man on a
platter as he prostrated himself before him.
The world seemed to swim in front of him, confusing him slightly before Harry
realised he was crying. Crying but not breathing because he was unable to do so
through the ache that had seized his chest. Severus loved him but hated it.
Harry had forced himself on the man, just as he was trying to force Remus on
him now, and the effort was resented. Severus regretted him.
It was this that played over and over in Harry’s head as he stared at the man
weeping on the floor in front of him. It was this thought that prevented him
from rushing to Severus’ side to comfort him, this thought that robbed Harry of
breath: Severus regretted him.
It was his eventual, involuntary gasp to replenish his starving lungs that drew
Severus’ attention. And it was the next that seemed to snap the man out of his
own anguish and awaken him to Harry’s. In fact, Harry could not stop gasping.
Each one renewed the pain that had blossomed around his heart. It was self-
perpetuating, and Harry thought he might die of it.
Severus took half a moment to take in the sight of him and then swept to his
feet. All thought of his own hurt was instantly turned to concern over his
lover’s, and he seemed unconscious now of the tears that still dripped from his
chin as Harry’s eyes welled with them to the point they finally, haltingly,
tremblingly spilled. Harry could not hide the extremity of the hurt Severus’
words had caused him. And Severus looked suddenly horrified, looking back down
to the spot on the floor where he had collapsed as if he could not believe it
had actually happened. He seemed unable to accept that he was the cause of the
Harry’s present and continuing suffering, and he was panicking because he could
not now take back his words.
“Harry,” he gasped, reaching for the young man, but Harry flinched at the
gesture, despite that Severus was much too far away to touch him. “Dearest, I
didn’t mean…” Severus said helplessly. He appeared lost. They both knew he’d
meant every frothing syllable. He hadn’t meant to voice them is what he meant.
But he had, and Harry could never unhear them.
Harry had known his condition would be a burden to them all, but he hadn’t
realised he’d been a poison all along, that he had been eating away at Severus
long before being accosted in that warehouse and turned into what he was now.
And realising it, he felt he had to leave, even if it wasn’t forever yet. He
felt toxic, corrosive, as if he couldn’t dare allow Severus to touch him,
though the man approached him now with his hand outstretched. Besides, Harry
felt he had to breathe open air. The weight of his blame in Severus’ suffering
was suffocating him. Harry scrambled for the stair, but the floor seemed to
roll beneath his feet. He was lightheaded, hyperventilating, and Severus caught
him by the wrist before he reached it. “Harry, please,” Severus whispered
urgently, desperately, reaching to gather the young man to him.
Harry twisted in his grasp. “Sorry,” he gasped. He did not have the breath for
anything more elaborate. “So sorry, Severus,” he sobbed, prying the man’s
stubborn fingers from his wrist, wrenching his eyes from Severus’ wretched,
imploring expression. “I’m so, so...” But then he was free, and he was gone,
with Severus cursing and calling his name after him up the stairwell. Even
after he left the man behind him and had thrown himself through the floo, Harry
continued to utter it, unable to stop: “Sorry, Severus. So sorry.”
Harry didn’t want to go to Grimmauld Place. He didn’t have it in him to explain
himself to Remus. Harry needed to breathe, and he needed to run, as far away
from this as he could.
He was halfway to the Forest before his sobs truly found their voice, before
they stopped choking him with their impotent struggles to burst, clawing, from
his throat as he stumbled blindly for the cover of the trees. Harry mourned
that the world was no longer dark, that he would never again know the solace of
shadow under the cloak of night. He felt exposed. He knew it wasn’t true. He
knew it was the world that was naked to him and not the other way around. But
Harry couldn’t internalise it, not when he could see the world--all of it--in
such sharp and shimmering detail as he staggered, grasping, through it.
Harry did not recognise the place where he finally collapsed. He didn’t make a
conscious decision to stop, he simply ceased getting up at some point after
stumbling to the forest floor for perhaps the dozenth time. All he knew for
certain was that he was deeper in the forest than he ever remembered being. And
also that he wasn’t alone.
But Harry didn’t care what Cobbleshot saw or what she thought. He hadn’t asked
her to follow him. He would not apologise for the state she saw him in now. He
wept because he had no choice in the matter. And he wept pitifully because he
fucking felt like it, audience or no. He hoped she did not try to comfort him.
He’d seen the woman’s efforts at comfort before. He remembered her taking
Hermione’s hand on the Hogwart’s Express and the dislike that had woken in him
for the woman then. They both knew she wasn’t moved by the same emotions that
ruled mere mortals, neither was she able to imitate them.
She did not, however, leave him alone. She approached him and crouched some
feet away, watching him blankly as he sobbed into his arms, despite that he
took up a handful of moulding leaves and threw them at her, too shattered even
to shout obscenities. She paid them no mind. She didn’t even flinch. She simply
let the dead bits settle on her hair and clothes like flakes of rotting black
snow.
Harry ignored her. His pain had blunted and blossomed, had broken off its sharp
edges in his psyche which seeped cold despair now like pooling blood, and Harry
struggled not to drown in it.
His choice was clear, having been revealed not to be a choice at all. He felt
foolish and naive, wallowing as he had in self-pity over the decision to leave,
when truthfully he’d simply entertained the idea and hadn’t accepted it or its
implications. Now that the course was unavoidable, Harry was forced to admit to
himself he’d never really intended to go. Seeing now that he must was breaking
him. Harry had faced certain death with less dread and regret than he felt at
the prospect of living without Severus. He was rather surprised at how shallow
his feelings toward Remus seemed in comparison. There was pain there, deep and
keen, but it was nothing compared to the soul-swallowing desperation evoked by
the possible loss of his Potions Master. Harry felt physically ill, each sob
threatening to turn him inside out. He felt flayed, utterly. With the last of
his strength he rolled his his back, too devastated even to cry any longer. He
merely lay looking up through the tangle of tree limbs above him to the distant
wink of stars overhead and waited, it seemed, to simply expire. Surely a heart
could not contain so much pain and continue to beat for much longer.
“Are you done?” Cobbleshot asked curiously after a moment. It wasn't snide, she
seemed to simply want to know.
Harry cut her a sideward glance. He had almost forgotten the vile woman was
still present. He resented her even more now for distracting him from his
attempt to will himself dead. "Fuck you," he managed to mutter, too bled dry to
convey the venom he felt.
“It’s such a pity that you hate me," she sighed with a shrug. "I’m so very fond
of you.”
“What do you want?” Harry asked wearily, knowing he wouldn't be rid of her
until their odd bit of theatre was concluded and that he may as well go ahead
and play his part.
“To help you," she said plainly. She had sounded so sincere that Harry couldn't
help but laugh, hollow and tired though it was.
"Why? How could you possibly help me?” he asked dismissively. Why couldn't she
just go away and let him be miserable?
“I spent over a decade eeking out a living in the wilds of Eastern Europe. Do
you think Animus Secretum was the only thing I learned?" she chided softly,
giving him a sly, scolding look. "I can help you with what you want.” Her voice
was like fine grain sandpaper and chafed just as smoothly.
“What in hell makes you think you know what I want?” Harry was becoming
annoyed, not least because he was also becoming intrigued. And he didn't want
to be intrigued, he wanted to be depressed. He wasn't finished with his pain
yet. It was like an itch not properly scratched.
“Well, perhaps not with what you want but with what you intend to do, at any
rate," Cobbleshot conceded. "You can’t leave yet, though, Lovely," she said,
rising to her feet and reaching down a hand to help him to his. Harry ignored
it. "You aren’t ready. You’re too new. But you have potential. Let’s explore
it, you and me. To fight the monsters who’ve done this, you must become a
proper monster yourself.” She still held out her hand, not out of patience but
more as a refusal to be denied. Harry eyed both her and it with reluctant
interest.
“And you know how to make me this monster?” he asked cynically, cocking his
head to look at her properly. Her bland expression cracked into a slow Cheshire
grin.
“I have some ideas.”
Harry stared at the woman for a long while, taking in the mad glint in her eye
and contemplating the stubborn, unmoving hand. Finally, and not without
trepidation, Harry reached up and accepted it.
***** Not With Vain Thanks, But With Acceptance *****
                                  [spartan] 
 
 
                           Part Three: O Spartan Dog
Harry let Cobbleshot haul him to his feet, releasing her hand as soon as his
legs were under him. He lifted his face then to offer a reluctant
acknowledgement her assistance, but before he could manage the words, her fist
connected firmly with his jaw. Harry staggered back, tasting blood, but he was
too startled to respond right away. He still felt heartbroken and sluggish, and
he held his face and scowled at the woman. What kind of person hits someone in
obvious emotional ruin?
“Did that make you angry?” she asked almost cheerfully, and Harry’s confusion
shifted to affront. Her demeanour was almost as infuriating to him as
unexpectedly being punched in the face. He gritted his teeth, sending fresh
shards of pain shooting through his bruised and rapidly swelling jaw. It was
clear she’d held back. He knew she likely could have broken it. That didn’t
make him any less aggravated.
“For fuck’s sake!” he sputtered, sucking on his cut cheek, the blood thrilling
him even though it was his own. “Of course, it made me bloody ang-”
“Good,” she interrupted, spinning then with preternatural swiftness to knock
his legs from under him with a sweeping, outstretched leg. Harry, still dazed
by the first assault, did nothing despite that he saw the move coming. He
landed painfully hard, backside first, onto the rocky, twig-strewn ground. “And
now?” she asked mildly as she straightened.
“Goddamn it, Loraina!” he spat, red-faced, and started to rise. But she reached
out a toe and effortlessly sent him back to the forest floor where he sprawled,
cutting his hand.
“Angrier?” she chirped.
Harry was angry alright. It flared in him, and his shock and confusion
scrambled to make way for it as a flood of adrenaline swept away all his
questions along with all his aches and pains, and he was on his feet again so
suddenly he did not mark actually picking himself up from the ground. Harry
felt his lips peel back and his hands curl to claws, a definitely inhuman
rumble coming from deep in his throat. But he held himself back, barely,
despite that his skin prickled with the urge to strike. Harry felt the Madness
he’d just lay to bed that evening start to stir. And though somewhere in the
back of his mind a silent alarm sounded the danger, Harry did little to quiet
it or his outrage.
“What game are you playing at, Cobs?” he growled, teeth clenched in the effort
to subdue the impulse to rip out her throat.
“My favourite kind,” she said, completely unconcerned, looking almost giddy.
Harry could swear he saw the tip of her tongue peek from between her teeth as
she grinned at him now. “Werewolf-baiting.” Harry reminded himself that the
woman was mad and took a calming breath, attempting to rein in his temper, and
she scowled at him. “What are you doing?” she demanded, slapping him smartly
across his uninjured cheek. Despite his efforts otherwise, Harry’s restraint
suddenly snapped and he lunged at her, pinning her to a nearby tree with his
fingers around her throat.
Harry was not interested in dealing with this woman’s insanity at the moment.
He was still trying to come to terms with the situation with Severus and Remus
and what it meant, what he had to do to ensure he didn’t continue to make them
all suffer. The implications left him grieving and heartsore, reawakening the
turmoil he’d only just seemed to escape. Which made him dangerous. And if Harry
recognized this, he knew Cobbleshot must, as well. So why on earth was she
provoking him?
A frustrated growl bubbled from his throat and Harry felt his fingers tighten
almost involuntarily, but she simply laughed at him. He could feel the rattle
of it beneath his palm. “Not long now, Lovely,” she said in a strangled purr.
Her tone was so incongruous to the situation, Harry was thrown off guard enough
that she easily escaped him with a solid blow to his chest that sent him
staggering.
Harry howled in anger. Literally. And his bones began to ache. The itch of his
skin intensified. Harry suddenly recognized the familiarity of these sensations
and, livid as he was, he panicked. Cobbleshot seemed to note it and swiftly
came within arm’s reach but did not touch him, though she crouched to catch his
eye.
“We can’t practice putting you back until we manage to bring you out,” she said
rapidly, her giddiness now turned almost manic. Harry understood, belatedly,
what she was saying, what she was doing. But he was frightened. “The Full is a
long way off,” she explained. “If we are to do this exercise, we should do it
now. The sooner the better. Closer to the Full, we may not can bring you back
so easily. But all the children are gone home now. You are settled. Dawn isn’t
for hours, and the Dark was only days ago. Do you really want to leave?” she
demanded sternly when he whimpered his reluctance, scratching at his arm where
he already felt the promising prickle of fur. “Or do you only want an excuse to
weep in the dirt?” she sneered. “An excuse to have your boyfriend pace and your
lover to pet you later? Hmm?” Her words pissed him off, not least because she
seemed more perceptive than he was about his motivations. But Harry thought she
was properly angry now herself. She shoved him hard on the chest again,
knocking him back several more steps. “Well!? Are you going to go home now and
toy with other people’s hearts like a little girl playing dollies? Or are you
going to grow up and follow through?” she spat. “Are you going to be a man and
stand up for yourself? Or are you going to let some invisible stranger get away
with ruining all of our lives?”
As she shouted at him, Harry’s anger grew, as did his resolve. Because it was
not only Cobbleshot he was angry with. It was himself, too, more and more with
each passing moment. And also the bastard who had orchestrated their plight.
She was right. He’d recognized it before but had not allowed himself to think
on it, claiming to himself that his condition excused his behaviour somehow.
But even if she’d let him, which she seemed intent not to, he could no longer
deny the truth. He hadn’t behaved so selfishly and immaturely since he was
sixteen as he had since he first suspected Severus of infidelity. He had
succeeded, in that time, in thoroughly complicating--thoroughly spoiling--very
good thing in his life. And he was recently helped in that undertaking by the
bastards who had forced this condition on him. He couldn’t blame it all on his
ordeal, but his condition had magnified the results of his poor decisions
several fold.
Harry didn’t force it, but he allowed the change to overcome him. The pain of
the transformation was intense, but the sense that it was intentional made it
easier to bear than it had been before, like opening his veins for Severus had
been easier than being cut by others.
Cobbleshot’s chest heaved, whether from anger or excitement Harry couldn’t
tell, but she stepped slowly back from him, her gaze intense and impossible to
decipher, watching his change closely. It was slower this time, and Harry
wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse. It seemed he felt each individual
hair sprout, each bone snap, each muscle tear in a process that seemed never-
ending. Just as slowly came the change over his mind. Without the milky light
of the moon to inundate his senses, he felt much more in control this time. But
he still felt the sudden and instinctive distaste for the creature before him.
His hatred of the woman was now almost completely visceral. The scent of her
infection was acidic. It burned his nose and he tasted it like copper on his
tongue, and his bones insistently moaned violence to him. He was so distracted
by it, he almost did not notice when the change completed, marking it only
because he was mildly surprised to still be standing. The form was less alien
to him now and it screamed, from the tips of his long, pointed ears to the
bottoms of his padded toes, for Cobbleshot’s blood. Not to devour, simply to
spill.
Cobbleshot’s mirth had evaporated, and her concentration never wavered as she
slowly and cautiously began to circle the tense, panting creature he had
become. Her nose scrunched as if scenting something foul, but her eyes still
shone with excitement as they caught their first glimpse of this unique
monster. Her movements were unsettling to Harry, triggering his animalistic
instincts. He followed her progress, but when his neck could twist no further
and she moved to his peripheral, his hold on human reason turned dangerously
tenuous.
The next few minutes were a blur. Harry seemed to sense the shift within him
settle firmly into place, but after that, all he could recall was the
satisfying spring of his muscles as he launched himself in the direction of his
mortal enemy, and a fleeting sense of confusion as she easily evaded the
advance. He recalled snarls and hisses, and then a burning and the smell of
singed fur. It was the pain that helped pull him back to partial reason. He
woke from the episode to find himself whimpering and licking at his blistered
arm. He was not cowering, but he was not advancing on the blonde witch as she
held an open and half-empty phial of liquid defensively at arm’s length in
front of her.
“Do what Dear Severus taught you,” she said in an even, soothing tone, despite
that she was bleeding and near breathless. “Don’t slip away on me again,
Lovely. It’s been marvellous fun, but now it’s time for you to come back to us,
yes?” Harry snarled then whimpered again, struggling to remember this Severus
she mentioned. He was having difficulty but knew somehow that such a thing
should be unthinkable. The witch relaxed her guard and held her palms up to
him. “Harry Potter,” she said very deliberately. The address triggered
memories, helped to lift his foggy thinking. “Focus. Do you feel that pain?
Hold on to it. Follow it back to yourself. That’s it, Harry. That’s right. Oh,
that’s right, My Beauty!” she beamed at him even as Harry loosed the first in a
series of pained yelps. He felt his emotions cool and settle, causing his body
to respond by recompressing itself into his human form. He did not manage to
keep his feet this time, and Cobbleshot dropped to his side and pulled his head
into her lap to pet and comfort him as the last of his bones snapped and
reformed. She was almost like a mother with a cholicy babe, tutting and
shushing the last of his now very human whimpers with gentle strokes to his
hair. Harry looked up at her through his lashes, through his lingering pain,
and thought that, indeed, no mother could have looked prouder.
“You always carry an Aconite solution?” he croaked, eyes scrunched shut now
against the waves of cramps that assailed his abused muscles. They caused him
to writhe against her in a way that felt far too intimate, but he was really
beyond caring at that point.
She barked out a laugh, “Doesn’t everyone?” Then she ran her hands across him
in a way he was very much able to object to despite his pain but was too weak
still to prevent. “I wonder what your blood tastes like,” she mused aloud,
running a fingertip languidly down the pulsing vein in his neck that was
exposed by the way his head was thrown helplessly back across her thigh. The
excitement she’d stifled while he was in wolf-form returned tenfold. “Does the
Wolf make it bitter, I wonder?” she said with a small, crazed titter. “Does it
change flavour with the phase of the moon? Oh, let me taste you, Harry,” she
practically moaned, her busy hand sweeping down across his chest, sending an
unwelcome shiver through him. “I’ll let you taste me,” she offered, her tone
dripping with insinuation. “I’d let you taste me wherever you like. Have you
ever tasted a woman, Harry?” she asked, head cocked and dipping slowly toward
him as though she were about to either kiss him or sink her teeth into his
throat. “We’re sweeter than men,” she purred, close enough now that Harry could
feel her odourless breath on his skin. “Smoother,” she added, pouting her lips
in a mimed kiss. “We could taste each other. The boys never have to know.”
That was more than Harry could tolerate and he finally, clumsily, extricated
himself from her. She made no move to stop him, only cocked a wily half-smile
as he scrambled a short distance away and laboriously propped himself against a
nearby tree.
“You’re completely mad,” he panted, spent from the effort of escape.
“Ha! Not completely, or they’d never have let me near the children,” she
smirked, draping her arm over one knee, looking keen still but unapologetic and
completely at ease. “But I don’t deny it. Some of us, Lovely, the First Dark
never releases entirely,” she conceded with a shrug. “This, however,” she said,
her eyes thoroughly brushing the length of his form with the tickling gaze he
remembered so well from the first time he ever laid sight on the woman. “This
is not madness. This is simply enthusiasm. You do inspire it, you know,” she
confided, a bit awestruck. “You’re quite the specimen.”
Harry wasn’t sure what to think. The woman unnerved him, and he disliked her
touch, but he wasn’t entirely certain he could say he disliked her or the
challenge she represented. His lingering pain, though, snuffed the thrill he
felt at the success of their experiment. Harry suddenly felt grounded, as if
he’d been suffering some strange fit he was now waking from to find himself
tremblingly weak and aching while being ogled by one of the oddest persons he’d
ever met. He shivered. The entire situation seemed absurdly lunatic.
“We cannot continue this,” he said, shaking his head. “They’ll know. I cannot
hide this, Cobs.” He had no idea how he was going to explain the aftermath of
the night’s clandestine activities, much less continue them without raising
suspicion.
“Nonsense,” she said, waving off the comment as she rose effortlessly to her
feet. Harry wondered, vaguely, if it was vampirism or practised athleticism
that made the motion seem so graceful. “Werewolves heal remarkably quickly. A
process you can expedite further by drinking blood. Fresh vitality heals a
vampire almost as quickly as the wolf’s metabolism, and when you combine the
two, well...you might not be indestructible, Lovely,” she said in a low, sultry
voice, sauntering closer to him with swinging arms and swaying hips, “but you
are remarkably resilient.” She crouched down to his level but did not attempt
to touch him, as if knowing that game was concluded for the moment. “If you can
handle the pain,” she said more seriously, more sanely, “there isn’t much else
for you to fear, Harry.” They locked eyes, and hers seemed to persuade him to
accept what they both knew. He could handle it. In fact, some small, abused
part of him actually enjoyed it in a twisted way. “Wait here.”
She moved then so quickly that Harry had difficulty following it as she
streaked past him and into the forest. She moved so silently, even in the leaf
litter, that it was almost as if she had vanished. Harry took the opportunity
to breathe. He groaned and melted back into the tree behind him, which was
almost comfortable in his state of extreme exhaustion.
What in hell was he doing? He’d been a Bloodwolf for barely a month, had had
control of all of his own facilities for a matter of mere hours, and he was
already considering allowing this madwoman to shape him into some sort of
weapon? He had other things to be worried about. He had to visit Diagon Alley
and replace his wand and calm the public. He had to do so with Hermione, whom
he had yet to acquaint with this new version of himself. He had to go home soon
and throw himself at Severus’ feet and beg his mercy and forgiveness for being
an insufferable, insensitive bloody prat. He had to try and break to Remus that
the complexity of their situation would never allow their mutual hope to be
fulfilled.
And yet...Harry had just succeeded in calling forth his wolf-form outside of
the Full, and in driving it back again with comparative ease, which he could
not deny was exciting. And part of him found it far less painful to contemplate
this insane and reckless plan, almost certain to end in death and carnage, than
to face the mess of reality in the castle just outside these trees. It was true
that Harry wanted to lay waste to every soul who had had a hand in his
downfall. He was actually surprised at his eagerness to visit such devastation
on complete strangers considering his difficulty in casting the Killing Curse
on perhaps the most despicable fiend to ever walk the Earth. Maybe there was
something intrinsically violent about his condition, something doubled in
strength along with his doubled abilities. Cobbleshot’s proposal was seductive.
Not least because he was beginning to feel he’d damaged what was left of his
life beyond repair and the only real choice he had was to cut his losses and do
his damnedest to avenge the happiness that might have been.
Without warning, Harry was startled from these thoughts as something warm,
bright, and furry dropped, wriggling, into his lap. He was too surprised to
even consider preventing its escape, and Cobbleshot strode swiftly to recapture
the thing with a shake of her head.
“We’ve clearly got a long road ahead, despite your wondrous potential,” she
tsked, paying no mind to the weasel writhing frantically but helplessly in her
hand. Harry curled his lip at it in disgust even as the breeze carried the
scent of its blood to his nostrils, making his mouth water. “Don’t turn up your
nose, Lovely. This is your life now,” she chided, tossing it carelessly back in
his direction. He managed to keep hold of it this time, but he held it away
from him.
“Close enough, isn’t it?” she asked. Harry gave her an annoyed, quizzical look.
“Here, might this make it easier?” she said, waving her wand. The colour in the
small animal’s fur slowly faded, leaving it white as snow. “Like I said, close
enough. Weasel, ferret. Essentially the same,” she shrugged. Harry shook his
head at her in appal, pointedly not looking at his intended snack as he
understood her insinuation.
“Come now,” she cajoled, dropping to a crouch where she stood. “It will make
you feel better. And it might also make you feel better if you know what I
mean. Who do you really think might have engineered this? Hmm? Who could hold
such a deep and abiding grudge against The Boy Who Lived?”
Harry stared at her, almost forgetting the pitiful little creature he held. It
wasn’t as if it hadn’t occurred to him. But he’d not been able to really
contemplate it, had not allowed himself to. So long as the villain in their
tale remained a mystery, it could remain a tale. One cannot exact retribution
from an intangible. The thought was unwelcome still but unavoidable, and it
started to cement his resolve.
“You know something Severus does not?” he asked her flatly. She shook her head
and shrugged.
“Only conjecture,” she admitted. “Just eat the damned weasel, Harry. Otherwise,
you’ll never be able to explain away the state of you, and dawn is coming fast.
Unless you’d like to dig yourself a hole? But good luck with that, weak as you
are. I’m not doing it for you.” And with that she rose and walked away without
another word, not even a parting glance, making her way back to Hogwarts.
Harry stared at the space in the trees where she had disappeared for a long
while. He wasn’t debating, he was simply making peace. Harry looked down at the
weasel he still held. Its natural colouring had returned, and it seemed to the
young man that it had made peace with its own fate, as it was lying exhausted
and docile in his grasp.
Harry endeavoured serial murder but baulked at killing a weasel to heal
himself?
But then, he found he didn’t anymore. With almost no compunction whatsoever,
Harry brought the flaccid thing to his mouth, feeling his fangs extend
automatically, ready by the time they were needed, and sank them into the
ribbon of vitality glowing beneath the creature’s black-brown fur.
His damnation tasted refreshingly savoury.
***** Or, Naked As I Am, I Will Assault Thee *****
Harry shuffled through the floo at Grimmauld Place. His clothes were torn
nearly to rags from his transformation and flight through the forest, and they
were still covered in dirt and leaves, but he was largely unconscious of it. He
looked forlornly to the kitchen where he could hear subdued voices. He could
still understand them if he focused, but it was not effortless. It seemed that
with the settling of his blood his hearing and eyesight, while still several
times stronger than before his infection, were dulling a bit, as well. But
Harry didn’t have the heart to eavesdrop, anyway. Before long, their business
would no longer be his, and it was time he started growing accustomed to that
reality.
Harry took his pain and dread at that thought and tucked it away in a newly
created compartment in his soul reserved for fueling his vengeance. He kept it
now like a creature in a cage, starved of gentler fare and fed only on the
worst cuttings of his thoughts and feelings to toughen it, to turn it into the
crazed and ravenous beast he would need to eventually turn loose on their
enemies...that he would need to eventually become himself.
He knew they had to have heard him floo in, but they continued to chat as Harry
trudged resignedly to the threshold of the open kitchen door. Remus was on his
feet, refilling his tea cup from the pot on the stove. Though, Harry detected
the lingering scent of Firewhiskey in the air. Severus sat with his fingers
twined together on the table in front of him. They both paused to take in the
sorry sight of him and Severus, looking concerned, made a move to rise. But
Remus, giving Harry a cautious, considerate appraisal, laid a hand lightly on
the man’s shoulder. Severus collected himself and settled back into his seat.
Harry was confused by the exchange and by the ease of the contact. He didn’t
think he was imagining the disappointment he saw in Remus’ expression. Neither
did he blame the man. It reflected Harry’s disappointment in himself. He
regretted that he would have to disappoint them both further. The young man
pulled his sight from the werewolf and turned it to Severus, who was no longer
looking at him. Though Harry could not, for the life of him, interpret the
man’s expression.
Harry wondered for a moment on what had passed between the two men while he had
been gone, on how unlikely it was to find them together and so civil, but he
didn’t dwell on it. All he had the right or capacity to consider at the moment
was Severus. Not for the first time that night, Harry was lost in looking. He
cared deeply for Remus, it was true. But thiswas love. He felt it even for the
individual lines and contours of Severus’ face, for everything inside and about
the man that Harry, perhaps alone, could see expressed in subtle ways in his
expression. Harry owed him an apology, and so much more besides, especially
considering the pain Harry’s exodus would eventually cause. But mending that
bridge just to burn it later seemed abhorrently wrong to Harry.
This was the moment of truth, he realised. It came much sooner than he'd
expected it. He could do as he’d considered in the forest while waiting for
Cobbleshot’s return and make amends, causing his inevitable departure to be
that much more painful. Or he could turn around now and walk away, lessening
the coming betrayal, if only by some small measure. Perhaps tonight’s blunder
had been for the best. Perhaps Harry should leave things as they were, though
it killed him to do it. Severus’ tears had dried, but the redness and puffiness
around his eyes spoke of their recent presence. He sat straight in his chair,
appeared to be trying to cling to his dignity, but Harry spied an unsettling
frailty in the man, and it broke Harry’s heart knowing he was the cause of it.
Severus had always exuded fortitude, unbending will, had been the very picture
of the Immovable. Harry had once thrilled in knowing that heinspired the man to
reveal his passions, a peculiar weakness for Harry alone. Now it simply made
Harry feel wretched. Severus had waited their entire relationship for Harry to
be his undoing, and it seemed his prediction had finally come true.
Harry gave the man an apologetic look, which Severus refused to meet. He turned
it then to Remus as he slowly backed away from the kitchen. Remus seemed
shocked by Harry’s withdrawal, then openly critical, but it didn’t sway the
young man. Harry turned his back on them both. He turned his back on Severus’
last second, disappointed glance and Remus’ affronted incredulity and made his
way heavily up the stairs to his room.   
“Harry. ”
“No,” Harry heard Severus tell Remus softly. “Leave him.” The defeat in
Severus’ voice hit Harry like a blow to the stomach. Clearly, Severus felt that
this was his fault. That he had lost his temper, had misspoken and driven Harry
away. It was cruel to allow the belief to endure, but it was the lesser of
evils by far. Harry knew it seemed like he was simply being a petulant child
not finished with his tantrum. It had to appear to them that Harry had come
home looking for an apology from Severus, which Remus seemed determined the man
not offer, and now Harry was leaving to sulk. Harry hated the knowledge that
they were disappointed in him. But still, he climbed, one step at a time,
forcing his feet to keep moving upward and not carry him, flying, into Severus’
arms instead.
“Severus,” Harry whispered to himself, because he could not stop the words from
spilling, along with the tears already forming in his eyes, though he did not
want them overheard. “I am so sorry. For so many things.” He concentrated hard.
One foot in front of the other. Voice low so they would not hear. “For so long,
I wanted you to show me more of yourself, to open up. I asked you to fight for
me. But then, when you did everything I asked, I took it for granted. And...I
ran away.” The confession would not be contained. Severus deserved to hear it
but must not. Let him think Harry was this selfish, this immature. Let him hate
Harry. Harry would endure it. He would endure any pain in order to lessen
Severus’. If only the man knew. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered tearfully,
determined not to give over to sobbing. Not until he’d reached his room, at any
rate. “Perhaps I’ve said it so often it’s lost some of its meaning, but I do
trulylove you, Severus. And that is why...that is why...”
Harry managed his room only just in time, locking the door behind him and
stumbling to his bed to bury his face in his pillow to muffle his anguish. He
curled in on himself, still fighting the almost unbearable urge to race back
downstairs, to pull them both into an embrace and tell them all that was in his
heart and on his mind.
But he could not. They would caution him. Forbid him. Worse, Remus might
shackle him with a command. And what if they decided to face this enemy in his
stead? He’d heard the murder in their voices as they had chatted at his
bedside. If they attempted it, he’d lose them both then, anyway. That they
might come to harm was unacceptable. But he could not stay. Harry’s
relationship with Remus was killing Severus and would continue to. No matter
how much progress they made or how Severus denied it, Harry knew Severus would
never make peace with the arrangement. And Harry could not bear to be near
either of them for long without being with them. He could not forfeit one for
the other. It had to be both or nothing.
And it could not be both.
Harry tossed this sorrow into the pit of vitriol he was cultivating within him.
It was surprisingly mature to be so newborn. Harry had so much to feed it. His
vengeance would not be a starved and desperate thing. It would be robust,
swollen and heavy-footed. Harry wondered if his enemies realised what they had
done. Did they know him at all? Did they really think such a thing would
destroy him? Did they have so little understanding of how and why this Boy
still Lived?
Harry went cold. The beast within him seemed suddenly thirsty, had swallowed
his tears so that he had none left to spill. The hardest decision had
undoubtedly been made already and all Harry had to do now was stay the course.
He wouldn’t have to feign offence. He would simply let Severus and Remus
continue to misunderstand its origin. He would interact with them only as was
necessary, and only as warmly or as coldly as he could get away with without
causing complication.
The house seemed to quiet. Remus knocked on his door once. He even tried the
handle, but when Harry gave no answer, the man continued on to his own room.
When he knew Remus to be sleeping, Harry crept to the bathroom. He still had no
wand and had to go about tidying himself manually with a bath, but it was not
nearly as comforting as he might have hoped. His bedclothes were now covered in
the remains of his excursion and had to be removed, though Harry did not
trouble with replacing them. It didn’t bother him. Dawn had practically arrived
and Harry felt his vitality waning in proportion to the waxing light outside
his window. He would have liked to have understood that, how the force that
gave life to every other being on Earth could so drain his. No doubt Severus
knew, but Harry could not ask. So the young man simply accepted the fact and
let sleep overtake him as he lay on his bare mattress, stripped in every sense.
        
***** Dost Thou Hear, My Honest Friend? *****
Harry heard the front door slam downstairs and drifted from his room to see
what the commotion was about. Remus was in the house already, Harry had heard
him moving about the kitchen, and Severus almost never came by any way but
floo. The front door, however, was rarely locked. After Dumbledore fell, Remus
had been made Secretkeeper, and anyone who had knowledge of or who could access
the door was generally welcome to simply come in. There were precious few left
to whom Remus had given the address.
“Harry. James. Potter!”
Harry scowled down the stairwell. Hermione’s chestnut curls bounced into view
from the anteroom even as her voice still bounced off the walls. She glanced at
the kitchen, but when there was no response from there, she turned her sights
above her, storming over to square her feet at the bottom of the steps with
both fists planted on her hips as she glared up at Harry demandingly.
Harry was disconcerted. This was not how he’d envisioned this encounter. His
scowl deepened. “Hermione Jean Granger,” he returned irritably, though he was
somehow relieved to be bickering. Of course, they were bickering. They hadn’t
spoken in weeks. Her tone was both grating and comforting in its familiarity.
It instantly quieted most of Harry’s nervousness. Her expression was fierce but
not frightened, despite that he had no doubt he looked frightening, even in the
dim light, even to such a dear old friend. Perhaps especially.
“Kingsley contacted me and said you needed me to accompany you to Diagon
Alley,” she said, huffing when Harry didn’t respond to the declaration with
anything but a slightly baffled look. “To get a new wand? Because yours had
been destroyed when you were attacked?” Still, Harry supplied nothing. He knew
she knew this was not new information for him. “And the public needed to know
you were still alive?” she finished, livid, with a small stamp of her foot.
“Yeah?” he shouted back with a shrug, matching her tone. Her anger left him off
kilter. But he was disoriented, as well, by how casual the exchange seemed,
even if it was confusing and irksome. It was as if he were still waiting for
her to snap out of her tirade and finally realize she was speaking to a
monster, to become awkward and unsettled.
“Well?” she demanded with another tap of her foot when no reply was
forthcoming. “You could have owled!” she scolded.
So that was it. She wasn’t just angry. There was something like panic in her
expression, worry. It still didn’t excuse her yelling at him. Harry’s scowl
faded momentarily with understanding, then reemerged as he returned her
indignation.
“I was a bit preoccupied trying not to die,” he told her, exasperated. “It’s
been on the front page of every newspaper and magazine for weeks, Hermione.
Where the bloody hell have you been?”
Finally, her temper faltered and she blushed, as if only just realizing her
anger was misdirected. Her fists unfurled as her arms fell sheepishly to her
sides. “I’ve been on holiday since Exams,” she admitted with an apologetic
look. Her tone was much more even but her explanation came in a desperate
rapid-fire, as if she needed Harry to understand, as quickly as possible, why
she had not already rushed to his side in his time of need. “On a Muggle
holiday. Katie wouldn’t allow me to have the Prophet delivered. She said I
needed a break from everything. Some of the new legislation passing through the
Ministry was upsetting me, and the Prophet was covering it and so-”
“Katie?” Harry interrupted. He hadn’t heard much after that part and couldn’t
seem to prevent the question from falling from his thoughts and out his mouth.
The depth of Hermione’s blush was impressive. “She’s…it’s not important,” she
hedged, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, Harry.” She sounded sincerely apologetic
but undoubtedly was changing the subject. “I shouldn’t have shouted at you. The
news just made me a bit frantic, is all.”
Harry gave her a lopsided smile, his annoyance proving no match for his
affection. Sometimes he forgot how much he missed her. “I’m sorry, too,
Hermione,” he said, only sounding grudging. “Someone should have contacted you.
Why don’t we start again?” When she nodded, Harry began to descend the stair,
but Remus took that moment to emerge from the kitchen.
“There she is,” Remus said as if only just realizing Hermione had arrived,
though Harry had been aware of his attentive presence at the periphery since
she walked in. He seemed to have been waiting for an opportunity to safely
interject himself. Remus glanced up at Harry as he approached her, a lingering
disappointment clearly evident in his expression, before he transformed it into
a beaming smile for their company. “Good to see you, Hermione.”
“Remus,” she greeted warmly. Her cheeks coloured knowing he had overheard her,
but she reached to hug him nonetheless. It was long and solid, and it was
difficult for Harry to watch. He wanted nothing more than to embrace the man
himself. Nothing more except, perhaps, to embrace Severus.
“My fault, I’m afraid,” he told her, pulling back with a repentant expression.
“You’re right. I should have owled. Things were just so hectic." Of course, it
wasn’t true. Severus and Remus had made a decision not to include Hermione. It
never failed to amaze Harry how smoothly the man could lie when he felt it was
justified.
“Oh, no,” she said, waving off his apology. “Of course. It doesn’t matter. I’m
here now,” she said with a forgiving smile.
“And looking well,” he said, stepping back to give her a once over. “You’re
brown as a nut. I didn’t realise libraries got so much sun,” he needled with a
smile.
“Majorca,” she supplied. “Katie’s family always summers there.”
“Well, you’ll have to tell us all about it once you’ve settled,” he said. “I
warn you, some of the rooms are more habitable than others as restoration
was...interrupted. But you’re welcome to take your pick, dear.”
Hermione nodded her gratitude, pulling off her travelling scarf and turning
back to retrieve her things from the doorstep where she’d abandoned them in her
rush to shout at Harry. “And Severus? Where’s he hiding? In the lab, I expect,”
she said conversationally as she shrugged off Remus’ offer of assistance. Remus
gave her an indulgent smile and stepped back for her to make her way up the
stair; to Harry’s relief, as he’d prefer the man stay downstairs. When Hermione
had made sufficient progress, however, Harry slipped down to take her bags from
her whether she liked it or not, hoping to expedite things.
“I think he might actually have made an outing for potions ingredients,” Remus
answered up at the retreating Witch, not really looking at the young woman, but
at Harry, as he spoke. A fact that was not lost on Hermione and Harry knew the
questions were already brewing. “Lord knows why he waited until Midday, but
then who really understands the man?” he shrugged.
Harry felt certain he understood, and that Remus did as well and was trying to
guilt him. Severus left when he did because, without Substisanguinus, this
close to the Dark, Harry was still largely nocturnal. And leaving at Midday was
the best way to avoid seeing him at the moment. Harry and Remus regarded each
other with subtle tension until Harry turned his back. He was ready to have
them behind closed doors and away from the sting of Remus’ presence. He
breathed through his ache, grasped for his resolve. But he was visibly
struggling when he showed Hermione into his room.
“Are you going to explain that?” she asked softly as he moved to quickly but
gently push the door closed behind them.
“Which part?” he sighed, weary already.
“The bit with Remus just now,” she clarified, giving him one of those mild,
analytical looks Remus was so fond of. Hermione, however, bothered less with
disguising hers.
“I expect I will eventually. But first,” he said, turning to her with a smile
that was only slightly forced, “it’s really good to see you, Hermione,” he
confessed. He wanted to hug her but, considering, he kept his arms at his sides
and allowed her to be the one to step forward and initiate it. Once he had
permission, though, he crushed her to him, and he felt the same level of
tenacity in her grip.
He’d smelled her when she walked in, but now, with his nose buried in her hair,
he inhaled her scent hungrily. Despite weeks of wind and sun in tropical
climes, she obviously had recently found a library to steep in. He was not
disappointed to find she smelled of aging parchment and old binding glue and
flaking leather, with a whiff of the metallic bite of surely fading ink. She
smelled as Hermione should smell. But he also caught the warm, unsullied scent
of her blood. No infection marred its perfume. It pumped thick and strong just
inches from his nose, his lips. It seemed they both stiffened.
“What is it?” he asked almost guiltily as they pulled apart, still trying not
to contemplate the taste of her. He was fearful, was sure it had finally
happened: she had felt his hunger, recognised his otherness, and decided she
wasn’t comfortable with it.
“Nothing,” she said distractedly, giving him a close look and, to his surprise,
lifting a hand to touch his face with her fingertips. “I just expected…” Harry
gave her a questioning look that Hermione seemed to momentarily get lost in.
“Well, Remus is always so warm,” she said, blinking as she blushed slightly
upon realizing that she had perhaps been too bold. “To the touch,” she
explained. “Werewolves have high metabolisms and tend to run hot. But your skin
is cool,” she said, considering it with her gaze again. “And I know vampires
are often icy.”
“They are,” Harry confirmed, thinking wistfully of the sometimes cold bite of
Severus’ touch. “It’s closer to the Dark than the Full. I suppose my skin might
change in a couple of weeks’ time.”
“Fascinating,” she whispered as if to herself, wide-eyed. The spell had broken
and she studied him now as he had known she would, her mind whirring, her
analysis scientific. Harry rolled his eyes, relieved. “Sorry,” she said with a
small shrug, not really sounding it. “But you are, you realize.”
“I know you, Hermione,” he said, looking at her askance. Not because she was
curious but because she seemed completely unbothered by the changes in him.
Finally, he allowed himself to accept that she accepted him, and he began to
relax. “I knew what to expect.” He smiled teasingly at her, “I assume now
you’ll want blood samples and hair samples and stool samples-”
“Oh, you!” she interrupted, scandalized but grinning. Then, “Do you?” she
ventured after a short silence as if unable to help herself. Harry gave her a
confused look and she elaborated, though she blushed furiously as she did so.
“Can you provide those...types of samples? The last one you mentioned.”
“Hermione, did you just ask me if I still shit?” he asked, equal parts critical
and amused.
“Well...” she sputtered.
“I’m only teasing,” he chuckled, feeling more and more at ease. He turned and
dropped into a chair and gestured an invitation for her to take the other. “I
don’t, actually. Liquid diet. I do piss like a racehorse after feeding,
though,” he reflected. They both seemed to then contemplate the fact that he
now ‘fed’. “That look in your eye,” Harry said, shaking his head at her. He
sighed. “I’m sure you’ll see all you could want of my condition and more if you
stick around.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said quickly but adamantly, as if there might
have been some doubt. The last of the tension in the room dissolved as they
smiled at each other.
“So who’s Katie?” Harry asked, settling back into a more comfortable position.
It was Hermione’s turn to shake her head at him. “We haven’t spoken in over two
months, during which time you became an Auror, were attacked by terrorists,
almost died, and contracted a one-of-a-kind hybridized infection. But the first
thing you want to discuss is my love life?” she said with a raised eyebrow.
Harry just grinned at her until finally, lips pursed in a half smile, she dug
through her purse until she could produce a photograph.
Harry took it from her, eager to see this Katie person. The photo showed
Hermione with a pretty, round-faced girl wearing fetching cat-eye glasses and
an excess of lip gloss. Both young women smiled self-consciously at him from
the picture, drifting shy, smitten looks to each other between blushes. It did
his heart good to see the unmistakeable look of fresh love in their
expressions. Harry grinned at them, then up at Hermione as he returned the
photo to her. “So, you started playing for the other team, after all.” He
wasn’t teasing. He was just happy for her having found someone who suited her,
regardless of who it was.
“I simply don’t believe in teams anymore,” she said matter-of-factly, tucking
the photo carefully back into her bag. “If I’ve learned anything from being
friends with you, it’s that no one has a choice in with whom they fall in
love,” she said in a way that clearly implied that if the Boy Who Lived could
fall for the dreaded Potions Master, anything was possible. The L-word seemed
to make her blush slightly, but she quickly shrugged it off. “I dated a boy,
Eoin, at the beginning of term,” she went on. “I liked him. But I was always
busy and we rarely saw each other. Katie was in so many of my classes. We
started working on projects together and...you know, these things just happen.”
“I do know,” he said softly. “So, have you finally forgiven me for dating older
men who used to be my professors?” he asked, grinning incorrigibly.
“You, I forgave a long time ago,” she said with a small twitch of her eyebrow.
“Him, not so much yet.”
“Them,” Harry corrected. He’d said it plainly but watched for her reaction.
“Remus did the right thing in the end, though,” she said dismissively, settling
back in her own chair and brushing some lint from her skirt. Harry chewed the
inside of his lip and simply stared at her for so long that she finally turned
a puzzled, apprehensive look at him.
“We really haven’t talked in a long while, Hermione,” he said with a small,
apologetic wince.
Hermione gasped. “What? You and Remus?” she whispered, leaning forward. “But
what of Severus?” she asked, suddenly concerned. “Did you two…?”
Harry’s good humour failed him and he sighed heavily. He might have known
Hermione’s happiness couldn’t stave off his own misery forever. “Yes and no.
It’s complicated.” He gave her an anguished look. “I had probably better start
from the beginning.”
Hermione, suddenly sympathetic, reached over and squeezed his hand, whether to
reassure him or herself Harry wasn’t sure, but the gesture was nonetheless
appreciated. Harry turned his hand in hers to twine their fingers together,
gathering the strength he would need to force his painful tale into words.
It was a cleansing experience. He made no equivocations about the extent of his
responsibility for what had happened. Neither did he bother to check his
occasional tears. He admitted his weaknesses and his folly. He poured out all
his thoughts and feelings about both men, his confliction and his fondness. He
was utterly and completely honest in his recounting of the past month’s events.
Until it came to Cobbleshot and their intentions. He realized it was a rather
large omission, but Hermione would have reacted no differently than Severus or
Remus. She would never agree to secrecy and would more than likely walk
immediately out the door to demand the men reason with Harry. And so he left
off his narrative after recounting his flight to the Forest and mentioned only
that there was tension now in the house between all of them.
“And don’t tell me what I should do now,” he cut her off, seeing her
sympathetic but critical scowl. “I know. I just can’t yet,” he said, keeping
the reason to himself. “I just need some space.” It was an outright lie. His
bones ached for the closeness of his Mate, and his heart ached for his
estranged lover. He felt he could veritably crawl inside one or the both of
them, not content to simply touch but wanting to be carried within them, never
to be parted. The outward expression of the strain of bearing this longing was
easily and conveniently misunderstood, and Harry allowed Hermione to believe he
was simply soul-weary after his long ordeal.
She sighed and sat back to mull over the unexpected confessional. “You’re all
three fools, you know,” she said offhandedly, still chewing on the tale. “I’ve
half a mind to smack you all soundly with a broomstick until you come to your
senses and play nice,” she huffed. Harry grinned despite himself. “I’ll need to
go down later and have a word so as not to seem rude,” she sighed, relenting.
“But then you and I could hole up here as often or for as long as you like.
Until you’re ready to resolve things. Though, it is a sticky situation. And
tomorrow, of course, we’ll be going to Diagon Alley. Unless you’d rather to be
clear of me, as well?” she added understandingly. Harry quickly shook his head.
“No. Actually you’d be saving my sanity, Hermione. Thank you,” he smiled
weakly. “But I will be leaving in the evenings to hunt. With Loraina.” It still
felt strange speaking it aloud, just casually mentioning in polite conversation
that he would be stalking through the trees to suck a living heart dry.
Hermione, however, didn’t bat an eyelash at the mention of hunting.
“Cobbleshot?” she said, nose wrinkled in distaste. The two had come to an
uneasy truce during the war, but Loraina was no one’s favourite person.
Harry shrugged. “Well, quite besides our current difficulties, Severus seems to
still be busy working on my potion,” he pointed out. “I’m not yet ready to go
on my own, and there isn’t exactly a large selection of available vampires.”
Hermione was immediately interested. Not in vampires but in the mention of
Harry’s potion. Despite her lingering disapproval of his romantic proclivities,
Severus and Hermione shared a passion for research that few others could match
or fathom. “Do you suppose I might be of some assistance?”
Harry grinned. “In helping me hunt?” he teased. But Hermione wasn’t having it
and Harry no longer felt as jovial as might have liked. “I have absolutely no
doubt you’d be a godsend, Hermione,” he said seriously. “Whether he wants to
admit it or not, Severus could use your help. Just try to avoid the subject
of...me,” he requested, unsure of how else to put it. “He’d very likely throw
you out, and I know he needs an extra hand right now. If you could just help
keep his mind off things.”
“No, no. I understand. Though I didn’t rush here from the Mediterranean just to
be Snape’s distraction,” she clarified. “I suppose working out this riddle will
occupy us both sufficiently by default.” Harry could see by her small, restless
gestures that she was itching already to try her hand at it. It was endearing.
He was so glad she was here.
“Why don’t you go on down and see if he’s made it back, if you like?” Harry
proposed. “I’m expected to be in bed at the moment, anyway,” he explained.
Hermione, though clearly eager to do just that, hesitated.
“Actually, Kingsley briefed me on some things I was meant to share when I
arrived. I had expected to sit down with all three of you, but since that
doesn’t seem to be an option…”
“What is it?” 
“It seems they apprehended a couple of the men who attacked you,” she
explained, looking livid again that such a thing dared to occur, especially in
her absence. “Though apparently, they didn’t have much to tell. They were Mut
addicts, and made about as much sense as you’d expect, considering.”
“Mut?” Harry asked. He was unfamiliar but vaguely recalled Severus’ mention of
using junkies as guinea pigs. He’d not had an opportunity to reflect on that
and it unsettled him to remember it now. Hermione, not usually one to hesitate
when offered an opportunity to demonstrate her vast knowledge, paused and gave
Harry a cautious look.
“Harry, did Severus never discuss any of his activities as a Death Eater with
you?” she asked as if she wasn’t keen to be the one to break bad news. Harry’s
stomach did a small somersault. He knew she wasn’t referring to Severus’ hybrid
experiments, but he still dreaded the topic.
“He…” Harry began, his voice fickle. He cleared his throat. “No, not really. He
felt it was his cross to bear, not mine.”
“And perhaps he was afraid he’d drive you away if you knew what he was capable
of,” Hermione muttered quietly, as if to herself, angering Harry.
“I didn’t want to know anyway, alright, Hermione?” he said firmly, hating that
this was happening already, that they were finding themselves at odds.
Hermione’s attitude toward Severus had long been a source of tension between
them, making their friendship often uneasy. Harry wanted things to be easy now.
He needed Hermione and resented this complication to their earlier accord. “I
knew he didn’t have a choice,” Harry said, trying to calm himself but refusing
to back down from this attack on Severus’ character. “It didn’t change who he
was when he took off that mask, when he came home to me.” In fact, Harry had
purposely never considered anything Severus might be doing when he was away. It
was too difficult to even contemplate, was too easy to imagine what could go
wrong. That he did, in fact, come home was all Harry had ever concerned himself
with. “You knew he didn’t have a choice, too. Not if we wanted enough inside
intelligence to win the war. He did what was necessary to keep Voldemort’s
trust. And no more.” Hermione didn’t even really know about Severus’
experiments. She hadn’t see his guilt as he confessed them to Remus, how the
lesser evil still pained him.
“He committed war crimes, Harry,” she persisted, but not angrily. She seemed to
almost pity him.
“At Dumbledore’s behest!” Harry snapped back, having difficulty checking his
emotions. Perhaps she didn’t understand how volatile he still was so close to
the Dark. But even before his infection, Harry’s threshold on this subject was
almost concerningly low, and that she knew. He took a few deep breaths and she
remained silent, allowing him to collect himself.
Harry found he resented her moral condescension. Hermione simply didn’t
understand. She thought she did, but she couldn’t. She had spent so much of the
war away from the fighting, in the strategy room where her cleverness was most
effective. She didn’t see Bill, hit by a spell like cloying lava, die slowly by
her side while she was unable to help, while she was still casting frantically
to save her own life. Hermione never heard his tapering screams. They didn’t
still haunt her nightmares. Her ideas of the horrors of war, and of the line
between right and wrong, were more abstract and absolute. She wanted to
convince him that Severus was some kind of singular monster, as if war hadn’t
made monsters of the best of them. Perhaps it was fitting that he was what he
was now, Harry thought. Perhaps his attackers had simply made outwardly
manifest the savagery that had already been cultivated within him. Perhaps his
bloodlust was not born of infection.
Her light touch on the back of his hand startled him but was not unwelcome. He
hated getting lost in those kinds of memories, and he appreciated anything that
anchored him in the here and now. “There’s nothing you could tell me about
Severus that would turn me against him, Hermione, so you might as well just say
what you need to,” he said, calmly but still defiant. Hermione sighed but was
careful not to let her own frustration show.
“Severus was Voldemort’s Potions Master,” she began. “And as such oversaw the
large-scale production of a potion called Audentia. It’s long been outlawed in
most of the world. The name literally means liquid courage. Death Eaters, those
personally marked by Voldemort, took it as they chose before battle. But it was
provided daily to Voldemort’s lesser troops. It made them more aggressive,
enhanced their strength, made them tireless and cruel and overrode whatever
conscience they might have had left. Voldemort’s foot soldiers and supporters,
his street-level agitators and propagandists, Snatchers and the like, became
quickly addicted to it. But most of them were too poor to sustain their habit
once the war was over. Voldemort preyed on penniless purebloods, or those who
at least believed themselves to be pureblood, to build his base of support. It
was a simple thing to turn their economic frustration into unquestioning
allegiance by convincing them that their circumstances were there result of
Muggle oppression, that they were suffering at the hands of Muggles despite
that Wizards were ‘biologically superior’.” Hermione paused. She could tell
Harry was wearying. He already understood the dynamics of Voldemort’s
ideological faux-crusade. “The point is, he made sure the worst of our world
were hooked on an expensive and illegal potion, and once it was unavailable,
they turned to a cheaper, equally illegal alternative. It’s called Mut, a
muddied Nordic translation of Courage, based on where it originated. It’s even
worse than Audentia. It’s truly awful, with several toxic but easily obtainable
ingredients. And it’s used almost exclusively by former Voldemort supporters.”
“So. We follow the drugs, we find our enemies,” Harry distilled. As Hermione
had spoken he’d become more and more galvanised in purpose. His anger was
stirred, along with his thirst for blood. He wasn’t sure how these cretins were
connected to Draco, (or even that Draco was really involved) but it was an
excellent place to start. Most, like the ones the Ministry had apprehended,
obviously, were likely too low on the food chain to know anything of use. But
Harry knew who might.
The bastard who’d attended his release ceremony would know enough to be getting
on with, for one. Harry just needed to find him. And before the Ministry did.
He’d discuss it with Loraina. She had more freedom to move about than he did.
“Did you realise you do that?”
Harry had almost forgotten Hermione was there and started at the sound of her
voice. “Do what?” he answered distractedly.
“Go all still,” she said softly, her clinical, analytical look returning.
“Absolutely still. And when you do move it’s precise and efficient. You don’t
blink much anymore, either. It’s almost unsettling.”
“Sorry,” Harry said sincerely, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.
“Wasn’t being critical, just observant,” she assured him. “What does it mean
when your eyes go dark like that?”
Harry realised, in imagining what he’d do to the bastards once he got his hands
on them, the bloodiness of his daydreams had been helped by the warm, close
scent of Hermione’s blood rushing through her veins just across the table. He
looked at her with a mildly horrified expression, for a moment truly fearful
for her safety. “Nothing good,” he said shakily, recognising the strength of
his thirst almost dangerously late. “Actually, I’m not sure you should be here,
Hermione,” he warned, standing and putting some distance between them.
“Alright,” she said calmly. Harry wasn’t sure whether she wasn’t afraid, wasn’t
fully aware of the threat he posed, or was simply trying not to escalate the
situation. She rose slowly from her chair and regarded him for a moment. “I’ll
go down now and see if Severus has returned.”
Harry sneered, his back turned to her. The promise of scientific discovery was
enough for her to set aside her scruples over Severus’ supposed war crimes, but
true love shouldn’t be enough for Harry to set aside his own? He didn’t bother
answering her. He didn’t trust himself to. She exited quietly, leaving Harry
alone and as wretched as before she’d arrived.
***** With Lust’s Blood Be Spotted *****
Harry was able to keep the worst of his anguish contained, whittled to a
manageable size by carving off bits of it throughout the afternoon and feeding
the scraps to the pet abomination within him. It felt as if pieces of his soul
inadvertently went with some of them. Though, Harry found this collateral
damage acceptable. The less of it he retained, the easier it would be to do
what he had to do. He had not named the beast, but he visualised it. His
revenge looked much as he remembered himself from the mirror in the Shack but
somehow more monstrous, less human despite its form being far more
anthropomorphic than a typical werewolf.
Hermione did not return. He wondered if he had frightened her or if she was
simply distracted by her new puzzle and had forgotten about him. More than
likely it was the latter. It made Harry sad. Not that she had neglected him but
that he found he didn’t really mind that she had. Of course, it was equally
possible she simply expected him to be sleeping and then to hunt and would find
him later.
He managed to floo to Severus’ quarters that evening without encountering Remus
on his way downstairs. This wasn’t an accident, but Harry was relieved
nonetheless. He hadn’t meant to linger in the rooms he’d shared with Severus
for the past few years, either, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. The newly
familiar scents clouded his senses and invoked a heady rush of memories. His
longing to descend the spiral steps to the lab was almost a physical thing,
tugging at his feet like a stiff current, urging him toward the man whose
perfume clung to every surface in the room.
Harry resisted, though he still paused for a moment to listen to the muted
sounds of earnest conversation stumbling up the stairwell as Severus and
Hermione discussed the project at hand. Harry closed his eyes, not searching
for the words, simply enjoying hearing them spoken. The tone Severus adopted
when he explained his craft to those he considered peers was almost musical.
There was a sober enthusiasm in it that seemed to stroke the listener, arousing
a similar passion whether they truly understood the subject matter or not. He
was in no way pedantic when he did this, simply knowledgeable and in his
element. If only he could learn to adopt that same tone when speaking to his
students, he might find them more receptive. No doubt he found an apt pupil in
Hermione, who seemed to be posing an intelligent and insightful question even
then.
And then the conversation paused. Harry imagined Severus had sensed his
presence in the sitting room. Quickly but reluctantly, Harry seized the floo
powder and continued on to Severus’ office and from there made his way out to
the forest.
Harry found he was still in love with the outdoors. Troubled though he was, he
was not yet inured to its magic. He allowed it to soothe him, concentrating on
‘here’ and ‘now’ by separating and cataloguing each scent and sound. He had not
penetrated very far into the trees, was still working on his mental tally, when
Cobbleshot appeared as if from thin air and fell into step beside him. It was a
long while, filled only with the carefully noted crunch of leaves and snap of
twigs, before either of them spoke.
“Do you live here?” Harry asked finally, his eyes closed, half preoccupied with
determining the direction from which he scented a nearby, as of yet
unidentified animal. Cobbleshot simply gave a short laugh.
“I hear there is still trouble in paradise,” she said instead of answering.
Harry stopped walking. He gave up on locating the mystery creature, opened his
eyes, and stared stone-faced at Cobbleshot, wondering just how much she knew
and how she came to know it. Her expression, though, was equally difficult to
read. “Better you’re here with me, anyway, Lovely,” she said, once again
striding forward with Harry following hesitantly. “You won’t be singing
lullabies to our enemies,” she sneered. “It’s time someone showed you how real
vampires hunt.”
Harry didn’t answer straight away. He regarded her quietly. She seemed so
offended by Severus’ methods, and he couldn’t imagine why she was so bothered,
why it mattered one way or the other. “Why are you always so critical of
Severus?” he asked mildly. She didn’t slow or turn to him, making it even
harder for Harry to interpret her answer.
“Severus is formidable in his own right when he wishes to be,” she admitted.
“He held his own against you on the Dark. That was no small feat. You are far
stronger than any mere vampire, Harry,” she said, stopping abruptly to give him
a brief, appraising look before continuing on. “Or any werewolf, for that
matter,” she added in the casual tone of someone too familiar with such things.
“He should have allowed me to help then. But no doubt he did not want to share
the intimacy, even if it would have meant sharing the scars, as well. Not that
I blame him, really,” she said slyly, looking at Harry lingeringly from the
corner of her eye. He was growing used to this and ignored it. “Have you told
them yet?” she asked as if intrigued by his lack of response. “What it is you
plan?”
Harry didn’t answer. She knew he hadn’t. Wouldn’t. She stopped and turned to
him, blocking his path.
“Then what else will you have when you go to do the bloody deed, hmm? We should
make ourselves more...familiar,” she said with a slow half-smile. Harry’s non-
expression didn’t change. She couldn’t be serious. It was just more compulsive
flirting. Still, he looked at her closely.
The years had not been kind to the woman. But traces of the beauty Severus had
fallen in love with, both in her appearance and her manner, were still evident.
Harry could see lingering hints of gold in the dull straw-yellow of her hair.
Her thin, pale skin was contoured almost completely in hair-fine wrinkles, and
yet there was an undeniable grace to the bone structure beneath. Madness had
carved permanent evidence of itself in the form of crow’s feet at both the
outer and inner corners of her eyes, making even her most benign expression
disquieting. But those eyes were still finely shaped and were the muted beryl-
blue of a stormy sea, just as Severus had described. It was as if they were not
eyes at all but instead windows through which to glimpse the tempest that
roiled within her, and it was enchanting, even if that storm made them dance in
a way that unsettled.
He thought he saw, too, that her madness was simply a veneer for her
bitterness, like Severus’ stony cynicism; sincere but superficial. Unlike
Severus’ sardonics, though, which veiled a reluctant stoicism, her derangement
masked a restless discontent, an aggressive disregard. Her whims were only mad
on the surface, and Harry was slowly realising the woman’s impulses were far
less arbitrary than meets the eye. This woman thirsted for more than just
blood. Though what that other thing was, he wasn’t yet sure.
Though her charm was soured, turned sinister by acrimony like vinegar in cream,
Harry saw very clearly the wit and vivacity that had drawn Severus to her a
lifetime ago. And he saw even more clearly what it had become, and how the
contrast would most understandably have driven Severus to defy his sworn lord.
What a fine tragedy she was. What an immaculate disaster. Too unnerving to
embrace, too fascinating to ignore, like a flower whose fragrance was so heady
it had to be appreciated from a distance or else one would be sickened by it.
And this is what he’d thrown himself in with, he reflected with a turn of his
stomach, forsaking the unlikely but sublime and undeniable love of two
extraordinary men to chase the base impulse for vengeance.
But this woman. This woman made the choice seem not mad, but obvious.
Inevitable. As Harry looked at her, it was as if he saw so much more than an
arrangement of bones and flesh and sinew bound in weathered, lily-white skin.
She had an aura of persuasion, almost of seduction. Harry identified his own
terminal discontent in her crooked smile and in the crazed gleam of her eye.
She somehow managed to make damnation tempting, to make savagery a siren song.
They were the same virtues which had perfected this creature that she was. This
thing that, despite himself, Harry could neither hate nor dismiss.
He saw then, as well, that her flirtations were not hollow. She threw them at
him carelessly not because they were insincere, but because they were
inexhaustible and her patience was deep. For the first time that night, her
unabashed gaze made him uncomfortable. Though really, that had only been a
matter of time. “What about your feelings for Severus?” he asked, judgment
gently creasing his brow. Her expression soured but recovered so quickly Harry
might have missed it entirely if he hadn’t been so actively observant at the
time.
“My feelings for Severus?” she asked as if baffled by the insinuation.
Harry smirked. Now she was just being obvious. “You were close before,” he
pointed out. “Have been ever since you came out of hiding. I can tell you care
about him still.” She met the accusation with a slightly incredulous look but
also with discomfort. “You seem awfully fickle,” he pressed further, “pursuing
him one day and then tossing him aside the next, whenever and as often as it
suits you.” In fact, Harry hadn’t realised it until just then, but it seemed
he’d been harbouring some resentment for the woman over that. He had been
helping in hating her by it since Severus had recounted their story for him so
long ago. And suddenly his own hypocrisy burned like swallowed acid.
“Fickle?” she scoffed, bitterly amused. “Me? What has he been telling you?” she
muttered with a shake of her head, turning and continuing on into the trees.
“You ran off,” Harry reminded her, jogging to keep up. “You left him behind.”
Much as Harry was doing now. He still felt critical of them, but perhaps if she
could satisfactorily explain her actions, it would help him to forgive his own.
“I tried to kill the Dark Lord, Harry,” she said, sounding bored. “Tried to
tear out his jugular with my teeth. What choice do you suppose I had in
leaving? Severus would not come with me,” she added. Her voice was still
dismissive, but her expression was sad. “One can hardly blame him,” she
shrugged as if trying to convince herself, as much as Harry, that she was not
bothered by it. “But no. It was not me who stopped loving him,” she said, her
voice flat. “It was him who stopped loving me." She suddenly stopped and stared
down at the skeletal leaves at her feet without seeing them. It was as if all
emotion had momentarily vanished from her. "When the China Doll broke,” she
said, looking back up at Harry with an expression of mild, well-matured
cynicism, “he mourned its lost loveliness rather than try to piece it back
together. He preferred to grieve for us instead. Our love was cold long before
we managed to stumble our way back to the Dark Lord. Murdered and wept for, all
for a madman’s ambition. And not even a serious ambition, at that. Did you
think I tried to kill the bastard simply because my diet and sleeping habits
changed?” she said with a small mirthless chuckle. “You might have noticed, I
don’t lament what I am, unlike your eternally tortured bedfellows.”
Harry wasn’t sure what to say to that revelation. He wasn’t sure, even, how he
felt about it, and so he simply remained silent. She was still for a long
while, clearly lost in memories, and Harry didn’t dare disturb them.
“Severus was gentler, you understand,” she said softly, almost anxiously. “Had
always been, though most could never see it. Most never bothered to look. When
they turned us loose in the woods after the deed was done, we had only
ourselves to see us through the Madness. But it almost defeated Severus. And I
spent so much of myself in helping him fight, I did not save enough of me to
quite win my own battle. Apparently, whatever Severus loved most about me was
lost to it. I admit I am broken, Harry. We all are, really. But you’re
different,” she said after a quiet moment, giving Harry a gently scrutinising
look, as if the reason for it might be tattooed somewhere on his person. “The
Madness damaged but didn’t shatter you.”
Harry couldn’t help wondering what she saw, and if she resented him for
possessing whatever had allowed him to emerge more intact. She had a will to
match his and more. But Harry knew, as he suspected she did too, that he
commanded no special strength. It had been Severus who had saved him. And
failed her. Though, she seemed to have no intention of acknowledging it.
“Could be that you’re just too simple to shatter,” she concluded with a shrug.
“Oh, don’t give me that look,” she said, her melancholy falling away to be
replaced by deranged irreverence once again. She continued walking, as if to
leave her pain on the forest floor behind her. “Lucky for you to be so sturdy.
Fewer intricacies, fewer things there are to snap. Besides, there’s a beauty in
simple things,” she went on, “and only the beautiful can get away with being
damaged, Harry. And even then, only if the cracks are superficial. Otherwise,
you stop being beautiful.” She smiled in a wry, darkly musing way. “It’s always
been funny to me how so many can laud the poem that extols the aesthetic of a
person’s jagged edges, but so few are willing to risk cutting themselves on the
actual pieces of another. People want to read about broken individuals, Harry,”
she confided with a smirk. “They don’t really want to know any.”
Harry was slightly shaken. She’d never spoken to him so intelligibly or for so
long in all the time he’d known her. She was still odd, still off-putting, but
he was coming to understand the origins of it. Her fractured coherence was
becoming more comprehensible. “That isn’t true,” he argued still, but gently.
“I fell in love with Severus. Because he was broken.”
“Like I said, you're simple,” she shrugged. “Oh, I’m only teasing,” she added
in response to his scowl. Though, it wasn’t the gibe that galled him. “But look
at how long that lasted, Lovely. Only four years and you’re already running off
into the arms of someone more whole. But don’t feel bad. It isn’t easy to love
something so damaged. You were cut,” she said understandingly, “and it bled you
slowly. Your cracks widen daily. Soon you’ll be the one doing the cutting. But
then,” she said, stopping to regard him thoughtfully, knowingly, “you see that
already. That’s why you’re leaving. That’s why we chase your vengeance instead
of setting up house, despite how it will hurt him. It would never have worked
anyway, you know,” she said, waving away the notion like a pesky gnat. “Your
bond with the wolf eats at Severus. Best to leave him to figure out why you
forged it and let him forge one of his own. They will be good for one another,”
she reasoned, nodding to herself. “It is as it should be.”
“And you suppose you’re good for me?” Harry asked sceptically.
“Oh heavens, no!” she said, a bit of her unpredictable, crazed mirth returning.
“I’m going to get you killed. But we both know that’s what you really want
anyway, Lovely. Though before it’s managed, we’ll send some of the bastards to
Hell ahead of us. It will be glorious,” she finished with disturbing relish.
She turned and carried on walking, but Harry did not move to follow. If she
noticed, she didn’t seem to care. “Why are you doing this?” he asked. It
occurred to him that Voldemort might not be the only one she blamed for her
heartache. Perhaps this was her revenge on Severus: dragging his lover off on a
suicide mission, misleadingly under the guise of a quest for retribution.
Finally, she paused and turned back to him, seeming weary of his continued
objections. “Why help me? Why come with me? This was done to me, not to you.
Your demon is dead,” he said, suspicion tinting his voice. She was quiet for a
long while, a number of emotions clearly fighting for supremacy within her.
“That is why,” she said. There was flint in it. “What else do you suppose
sustained me? Let me carve out a living in the wilderness at the edges of the
Coven? Life here is easier,” she conceded, “but you extinguished my fire,
Harry.” She sighed as if she mourned it. “Don’t get me wrong, I thank you for
it,” she rushed to add. “But I lived only to see the fiend die, and now that he
has, I don’t see much point to me any longer,” she shrugged. “I don’t intend to
simply fade away, though,” she said, almost combatively, as if Harry has
suggested otherwise. “After a lifetime thirsting for revenge, I’d rather taste
some worthy of my sacrifice before I go. I prefer to go out fighting. And yet
again, you’ve offered me my salvation, My Lovely,” she said more softly,
turning to him with a lascivious smile as if only just remembering her
interest. As if that interest was predicated on this opportunity he presented,
a concept he found he understood more clearly with each passing moment. “This
is a fight worth dying for,” she said, sidling closer but not reaching out with
anything more than her bright, hungry gaze. “A challenge worth accepting. I
happen to think they perfected you,” she said, giving him a long, approving
look. “But I’m more than familiar with the betrayal you must feel. You were
robbed of life hard-won and well-deserved. And for that,” she said, her
seduction hardening to something more sinister but equally ardent, “we’ll make
the bastards pay.” The intensity in her look forced Harry to step back
involuntarily, but it didn’t abate even as he moved further and further away.
“Now. Do you remember how to call the beast, Lovely? Or do I have to punch you
again?”
Harry didn’t answer. He accepted her explanation, but he was still overwhelmed
by it and by the sudden realness of the situation, by the settling in his mind
of the realisation that this was actually happening. He was learning,
practising, with a purpose; a bloody, immoral, despicable purpose he now saw he
had every intention of pursuing, regardless of her motivations.
She seemed to grow impatient with his lack of response and stepped toward him,
her hand already fisted at her side. Harry threw a hand up to halt her. “No. I
think I can do it. Just give me a moment.” She nodded but didn’t relax, making
herself ready for his transformation, her hand going to her belt and the
Aconite solution tucked there.
Harry closed his eyes. He easily found the beast within him, but then he’d been
concentrating on it all day and hadn’t yet spontaneously sprouted fur. He
imagined the way that felt, remembered as clearly as possible the itch and
tingle. With slightly more reluctance, he brought to mind the pain of breaking
bones and tearing flesh, but still, nothing actually shifted in him.
“Remember our secret, Harry?” she asked, noticing his struggle. “Invite it to
come, just like Animus Secretum. Give it permission. Or why not simply try the
spell? What is your inner self now but the slavering thirst for vengeance?”
Harry cracked an eye to check that she was not mocking him. It was difficult to
tell with her. She seemed to be suggesting it in earnest, however. Harry had
not cast Animus Secretum since his scar fell dormant. She had taught them that
the spell changed over time as they changed within, and Harry hadn’t wanted to
confront who he might be after the war. But he was familiar with the method,
still. He’d only ever cast it once with his wand. He knew better than most how
to channel without one. Harry took a deep breath, closed his eyes again, and
reached. As she had said, instead of the shadow-wreathed sun he knew, Harry
found a creature, dark and ravenous. It seemed he met it on some mental plane
floating freely in the void within him, as when he had spoken to Voldemort
before. He and the beast regarded one another. Then cautiously, Harry reached
for the thing’s collar. It bared its teeth at him, causing Harry to hesitate.
But then the young man realised it had not been a threat. The creature was
eager for release. Harry unfastened the tether and was instantly flooded with
blinding pain.
But he had been ready for it. He’d felt it often enough before that it afforded
a hardened familiarity instead of dread, the same kind he’d seen in Remus’
expression on the Full. He had done it intentionally once already and so knew
to welcome it instead of fighting it, expediting the process severalfold. He
did not concentrate on any one part of it, he simply allowed it to happen, all
at once and as quickly as possible.
He was actually surprised at the ease of it and by the self-possession he felt
after he emerged. He and the Beast were working in accord, by permission, and
Harry only felt a change in the shape of the shell that carried his
consciousness, and in the understanding of how much savagery he was now capable
of. He felt strong. Animalistic. Not entirely clear-headed but enough.
He regarded Cobbleshot. He was relieved to find he knew her this time. Her
scent offended him, but then her person offended him in human form, so the
transference and management of the aversion were not beyond him. She peered
into his eyes for a long moment, smiling when she recognised the man in the
wolf.
“Well done,” she beamed. Her whole body was on guard, still. She took a careful
step to the side, as she had done before. And then another. Harry watched her
closely, but she did not circle him this time. She came to a stop at his side
but several feet away. Unlike before, the movement did not unnerve him. This
thing within him understood that they were allied, that she was the one helping
them sate their bloodlust. “Are you ready to hunt, then, Lovely?” she asked
with familiar, manic anticipation.
Harry fell forward onto his hands--his paws--and curled back his lips with a
low, consenting growl. Cobbleshot’s grin split even wider and, eyes dancing
with crazed delight, she leapt forward. Harry tore after her, quickly adjusting
to his awkward, loping, uneven gait until he was streaking through the trees at
her side, finding a strange satisfaction in the way the pads of his fingers and
toes spread as they struck the ground, muting the drum of his steps. He liked
the way the wind slicked his fur as he ran, the way his claws clutched the dirt
and helped propel him forward. It was as exhilarating as his race with Severus
had been but in a much different way. It lacked joy but it more than made up
for that in sheer adrenaline.
They caught scent of their prey at the same time, pivoting in tandem to follow
the trail of its musk. The fragrance seemed to unlock instincts in him he could
not have previously imagined. He somehow just knew how to follow the scent,
anticipated where it might turn to one side or the other. He did so without
thought so that his concentration was free to sweep the wood before him,
searching for the mighty heart that had marked this path. As vivid as smells
had been to him before, now they were so distinct he could practically see
them. They shined to his sense of smell like blood glowed to his night-vision.
The great stag sensed them surprisingly early, but then they were not relying
on stealth at the moment, though Harry could feel himself capable of it. It
bolted through the trees, changing direction several times in a truly
impressive display of agility for a creature so large. But it was no match for
the both of them. Its heart pumped all the harder in its attempted escape,
stoking the beacon they followed effortlessly through the dark. They peeled off
to either side of the animal in unspoken synchronicity, but Cobbleshot allowed
Harry to make the final bound. He cut across the forest prince, turning his
head as he passed to catch its throat in his maw, coming away with a mouthful
of flesh. The part within him that was still human cringed, but that part was
not in control now. The stag crashed to the ground and, in an instant, Harry
had turned back to clamp his muzzle like a vise over the rent in its neck,
holding the struggling stag in place as he swallowed the gushing fount of its
blood.
He growled an instinctual warning to Cobbleshot as she descended on the feast
soon after, but he quickly recovered himself. The woman did not flinch. She
looked at him almost lovingly as she bent to the dying animal as well, avoiding
its still kicking legs to attach herself to a bright vein.
Though violent, the stag’s death was relatively quick, and Harry lost himself
in the glutting of blood until he fell away from the newly silvered carcass,
still panting. At some point, as he fed, he had shifted back to human form and
he hadn’t even noticed. It seemed the blood had masked the pain of it as it had
flooded him with vitality, healing his muscles even as they tore.
Cobbleshot sat back on her feet and threw her head back, sated and grinning. He
saw in her the same wanton fire he had seen in Severus the night before. She
didn’t touch him, though he could tell she sorely wanted to. He was relieved,
because he was so aroused by blood himself, he might not have pushed her away.
“You may not be clever, My Lovely,” she sighed happily. “But you are
undoubtedly talented. I wonder how far that extends,” she said, narrowing her
eyes and staring pointedly where she should not be.
Harry felt his face burn. “I knew who I was,” he muttered groggily as he sat
up, mostly attempting to redirect her train of thought. “And I could think,
after a fashion. It’s never been like that before.”
Cobbleshot nodded, seeming unsurprised as she rose to her feet. “Vampires
become hyper-aware when they hunt. Laser-focused. Which is something you had
yet to experience as Severus merely strolls through the wood until he runs
across something to put to sleep,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I suspect that
grounds the wolf. They may be enemies, but vampires and werewolves compliment
each other quite well. I wonder if the Dark Lord realised the genius of
combining the two when he commissioned Severus to make a hybrid, or if he
simply thought it sounded novel and enjoyed testing his Potions Master,” she
spat bitterly. Harry thought he understood her offence. Voldemort had been
arbitrary and cruel, and his mistreatment of their mutual estranged lover was
not easily forgiven, even with the bastard’s death.
Harry staggered to his feet and looked down at himself with dismay to realise
he was practically naked and also covered in blood. Transforming was not
friendly to clothing. He made a mental note to remove it next time. And then he
realised what that would mean and his cheeks coloured. Cobbleshot noticed him
notice the state of himself and gave him a taunting smile as if she’d been
wondering when he’d get around to it. She was not shy in her appreciation, but
there was nothing really to be done about it, and so Harry decided against
becoming embarrassingly self-conscious. He met her gaze, pretending to be
unconcerned and, as if inspired by his confidence, she moved closer.
“I like you like this,” she purred. “Have you given any more thought to what I
suggested earlier?” she asked coquettishly. Harry was frustrated by the
constant battle against her advances. He gave her a fierce look, warning her to
keep her distance.
“I haven’t left them yet,” he said firmly, clarifying his scowl.
“But you will,” she whispered, drawing closer despite it. He made no move to
stop her. He didn’t trust himself to. They could both clearly see he was still
affected by bloodlust. “No matter,” she told him breathily, staring at his lips
as she spoke. “I’ve waited for you long enough already. A while longer won’t
make a difference.”
“This is about justice, Loraina,” he hissed, angered at both her boldness and
at his own inability any longer to completely ignore her wiles. She scoffed at
the term. They both knew this was nothing so righteous as justice. “It’s not
about you and me. I never implied-”
“Not with your words, no, My Lovely,” she interrupted, closing the distance
between them. “But your eyes speak volumes. When you leave the spring behind,
we’ll slake each other’s thirst, you and I,” she said with the authority of an
Oracle. “When you’ve outgrown sweeties and crave something more bracing, when
there is nothing more delicate to sustain you, I’ll put the fire in your
belly.” She reached out then and laid a palm on his bare stomach, spreading her
fingers across it possessively without breaking eye contact. “You’ll need it
once your blood turns cold,” she whispered in a low, dark voice. “Trust me.
I’ve been where you’re going.”
Her gaze was mesmeric. Harry wasn’t certain if it was a vampiric trait or
something unique to the woman, but he finally managed to break the spell and
snatch her wrist, peeling her hand from his skin and thrusting it away from
him. She still didn’t back down. “Loraina. Listen to me,” he said quietly but
sternly. “I’m not interested. And it’s not just because I don’t tend to prefer
your particular bits. We are never going to be whatever it is you are trying to
make us. If that means you won’t help me anymore, so be it,” he spat. “I’m not
going to whore myself to you for a little training and a helping hand. Are we
clear?”
She smirked at him but eventually seemed to decide this was not the time for
this battle and backed away. “Well. Seems Little Harry has finally grown his
own ‘bits’,” she sneered. “We shall see, Lovely,” she said nonchalantly,
seemingly confident in her eventual victory. “We shall see.”
***** A Drop of Patience *****
It didn’t occur to him until after he’d already driven her off that Harry
needed Cobbleshot to cast a scouring spell for him. Blood coated his chin and
neck and had spilled liberally down his chest, and it was starting to dry,
becoming sticky and unpleasant. Drying made it smell different as well, much
more metallic, less like blood and more like rust. Though, if he hadn’t still
been sated almost to sickness, the smell would have driven him half-mad
regardless. The need to wash up became urgent. He discarded what was left of
his clothing, as the shreds were serving no purpose. Something about his
infection made him less modest, as if that were a human condition he no longer
suffered from. Despite Remus’ adamant objections to the contrary, Harry knew he
was no longer human. Not really. And like Cobbleshot, Harry saw less and less
reason to deny that fact. Embracing his nature was freeing. Though, he was
still human enough to want a bath.  
Now that he was up and about he was reminded more and more often not only that
he lacked a wand but also that he missed having one. The loss of his own caused
him less melancholy than it might have, though. The same could be said of the
stag. Harry looked down at it, expecting to feel sorrow. But this creature and
its significance, as well as his old wand, belonged to another life. Another
Harry.
He would not be taking it to the kitchens, naked and blood-splattered as he
was, but he resolved to carry it at least to the castle. The dirt-seeded,
short, stiff fur chafed the back of his neck. It felt strange, carrying the
massive, rapidly cooling thing across his shoulders. It felt strange being able
to do so. He had no doubt he made quite a savage picture. Still, he didn’t feel
savage, especially now that he’d shed his wolf form. He simply felt different.
Indifferent.
Harry left the stag just beyond the arch in the same place Hagrid had been
discovered and then made his way quickly to Severus' office and through the
floo. He was in their dungeon quarters long enough to discern that Severus
still toiled in the lab, but he dared not linger lest the overwhelming scent of
blood brought the man upstairs. As he tossed in another handful of floo powder,
he reflected that he would have been unable to even begin to explain the state
of him. He was still thinking on this as he stepped out the hearth at Grimmauld
Place and looked up to find himself face to face with Remus, who appeared to
have been waiting on him.
Surprise rendered Harry mute. Even if he’d had an idea of what to say to the
man he could not have managed it. Remus was shocked by the sight of him, then
understandably horrified. Before the man’s expression decided whether to settle
on concern or anger or some combination of the two, Harry ducked his head and
moved to leave, tracking still moist dirt on the rug on his way to the stair.
“What have you been doing?” Remus demanded to know. Harry heard confusion,
criticism, and a touch of desperation in his voice. Harry’s bones gave a
splintering ache but he ignored it and kept walking, though it slowed him. He
knew it wasn’t the blood, necessarily, but his nakedness that caused the most
alarm. Remus no doubt had his suspicions as to the reason for it. “You came
home yesterday with your clothes filthy and shredded,” Remus persisted,
following him, “and now you turn up with none at all? This isn’t merely
hunting, Harry. Not the way it should be. There is no reason for you to let
yourself go that deeply. This is not what Severus taught you. Harry,” Remus
implored, standing at the bottom of the stair as Harry proceeded to climb them,
becoming more and more frantic at the young man’s refusal to respond, “what is
going on with you? Is it the situation with Severus?”
It was as hard on Harry as it was on Remus. He’d spent all his time since
making the decision to leave trying to numb himself to both men. But he hadn’t
been at it long enough to not feel the pull of Remus’ presence. He could not
respond, though, without baring his soul, so he bit his lips and trudged on.
     
“Damn it, Harry!” Remus shouted finally. “Stop and talk to me!”
Harry froze. The direct, forceful command from his Mate locked his limbs in
mid-step. His tongue threatened to confess despite him, but Harry resisted. It
was difficult enough that, when he answered, he sounded angrier than he was.
“Is that an order…Alpha?” he asked, turning his head just enough to look down
at Remus from the corner of his eye.
Remus seemed shocked by the question. The order had been accidental, but they
both knew Remus could force an explanation from him now. Remus hadn’t wanted
their bond to work that way. He hadn’t wanted it to but seemed to be thinking
Harry’s behaviour was worrying enough to cross that line. Harry waited quietly
as Remus warred with himself, until finally, the man stomped off to the
kitchen, hurt and fuming. Released from his command, Harry found he could now
move again, and he heaved a sigh of relief, attempted to slow the pounding of
his heart. But glancing above him, he realised there was another battle
awaiting him.
Harry bypassed his room and went to the bathroom instead. Hermione would just
have to wait until he was done. She would thank him for it. Though, he found
himself still naked after his quick wash, and with no wand, no clothes could be
summoned. Harry decided it didn’t particularly matter anyway and, ignoring
Hermione’s surprised gasp, stepped inside his room and walked casually to his
wardrobe. Hermione didn’t look away as he dressed, though she didn’t ogle him
as Cobbleshot might. Mostly she sat and gave him an unfading, scolding look as
he struggled to force his wet skin into his clothing. He carried his t-shirt
with him, waiting until he’d plunked down on his bed across from her before
wrestling it over his dripping hair.
“Hermione,” he greeted finally. She didn’t speak for a long while. She simply
stared at him, as if wondering how much she dared say. Harry sighed and
shrugged, and then he stretched out on his bed with his hands behind his head,
waiting for her to chide him about the way he was treating Remus. And likely
Severus, too, if the two did any real talking, which Harry couldn’t really
imagine having happened. But Hermione was clever and no doubt read between the
lines.  
“But whyare you leaving?” she asked him, her voice small but angry. Harry’s
eyes flew open and he stared at her. She was clever. Too clever.
“What makes you think I’m going anywhere?” he said carefully.
“Please, Harry, don’t insult me,” she said with a sharp shake of her head. “You
know how many times I was with you when you decided to tear off to do something
daft. If I don’t know what that looks like, no one does.”
Harry swung his feet over the side of the bed and sat up again. “Hermione,” he
began cautiously.
“Harry, there are other ways,” she pleaded angrily, anticipating his excuses
and refusing any part of them. So be it. If the jig was up, Harry wouldn’t
bother pretending.
“What ways, Hermione?” he asked, exasperated. “To leave them be? Let them get
away with it?” he said, standing to pace the floor.
“Well. No,” she said, her temper slipping, “but-”
“Because we can’t leave it to the Ministry,” he went on. “If we do, then it
will come out what I am. And as I’ve been told all my life, I am more than
myself.” He levelled a sober look at her. “Everything we fought for will be
tarnished, Hermione.” Surely that was something she could understand. They had
both sacrificed. And not just them. “History will be less kind. That’s exactly
what they wanted. To derail the narrative, to sully my ‘legend’. And while I
couldn’t give less of a damn, I’m not giving them what they want, Hermione. I
am not letting them win.”  
“Of course,” she said more softly, trying for conciliation as he continued to
pace, becoming more and more agitated. “I’m not saying this shouldn’t be
answered. But, let Remus and Severus help.”
"No!” he shouted, rounding on her. The thought was inconceivable. It had
panicked him. He refused to even hear it spoken. It had been a violent
outburst, and she cowered in her chair but made no attempt to escape him. Harry
glanced to the door, certain Remus had heard, and reined himself in by taking a
deep breath. Hermione recovered herself as well, but Harry could see she was
frightened of him finally. As well she should be if they were honest. “You will
not breathe a word to them,” he said quietly, the threatening tone not wholly
accidental. “Do you understand me, Hermione? Not. One. Word. I don’t even know
what it is I’ve decided to do. I’m just making myself ready. In case. It’s
complicated, and I know you’re clever, and I know you’re worried. But you don’t
understand what’s going on. Not really. You have no right to interfere-”
“Alright,” she said, holding her hands up to beg peace. “You’re right, it’s not
my place to meddle. But Harry, if you’re asking me to trust you, please assure
me you aren’t just barreling into this. Promise me you’re not being hasty and
impulsive.”
“We both know I can’t say that,” he said, blasting out a sigh as sat heavily
back down on the bed. Hermione’s brow furrowed and they sat for a while in
mulish silence. Not that he would have allowed it, but he noted she did not
volunteer to come with him. The fate of the world no longer hung in the
balance. She loved him enough to come sit at his bedside and escort him to
Ollivander’s, but she had retired from deadly adventure. She had a life to look
forward to. Perhaps with Katie. Harry had looked forward to a life with
Severus. And then, when that seemed impossible, perhaps with Remus. Now he had
both men, but no life to speak of. The thought hardened his heart that much
more and he felt the Beast stir restlessly.     
“I need a wand, Hermione,” Harry said finally, weary before his ordeal had even
begun. “How are we doing that?” For a moment he thought she might not answer
until she’d wrung the promises she craved from him.
“Tomorrow is expected to be overcast,” she began, relenting. “Especially so,
and Diagon Alley will have some help in it from the Ministry. I think they
intend to make it rain a bit to justify an umbrella for you. It will still be
painful, Harry,” she warned anxiously. “The plan is to go in the late
afternoon, just before Ollivander’s closes. They’ll make sure it’s empty when
you arrive. By the time we come out, if not before we go in, there is likely to
be a swarm of cameras, which is as much the point of going as to fetch you a
wand. It should be dark enough then for you to linger. If pressed, you simply
say you are recovering well, the investigation is ongoing, etc. and we leave as
quickly as possible without seeming suspicious.”
“Are you certain you still want to do this, Hermione?” he asked, growing more
contrite as his temper cooled. “After all, I’ve not been very kind.”
“You’re dealing with a lot,” she shrugged understandingly. “Doesn’t mean we
aren’t still friends. I know you, Harry,” she teased mildly, using his words
from earlier. “I knew what to expect.”  He turned and looked at her for a long
moment, and she smiled back at him.
“I think you might be a better friend than I am, Hermione. A better person.”
She shook her head. “I’m just better at filtering my thoughts. Doesn’t mean I
don’t still have ugly ones.”
He grinned, wondering what ugly thoughts she’d left unvoiced just a moment ago.
“Thank you, Hermione,” he said, falling back on his bed so she wouldn’t see his
embarrassment.
“You’re welcome, Harry,” she replied. It was impossible to miss the fondness in
her voice.
***** How These Instruments Summon *****
Chapter Notes
     Wand info taken from the Potter wiki. And parts of Ollivander's
     description of Hornbeam were taken directly from the site. Yish. I
     confess. I stole a couple of sentences because there was no better
     way to reword them. FYI
“Don’t rub at them,” Hermione scolded as they stepped into Ollivander’s,
setting off the bell above the door.
“Have youever worn them?” Harry groused, still working at his eye with the heel
of his hand. “They itch. My eyes are going to be so red by the time we leave,
they’ll be more frightening than if I’d left the damned things out.”
“Because you keep rubbing at them!” she hissed in a whisper, collapsing their
damp umbrella as the door clicked to a close behind them, blocking out the
excited noise of the crowd that had begun to gather as they strolled down
Diagon Alley. Hermione turned quickly to lock it. In contrast, the shop was
eerily quiet.
“Remind me again why I’m wearing these tiny glass discs from Satan?” he said,
blinking rapidly behind his glasses in an effort not to rub. Even though
neither were prescription, looking through a double layer of glass was
bothersome to his sensitive eyesight.  
“You know already,” she tsked, peering over the counter to see if she could
spot the shop’s owner. But Hermione was never one to pass up an opportunity to
explain a thing, even when it was known. “If their aim really was to alienate
you from the public, once whoever did this knows you’re here, they’ll likely
try to out you somehow while all the cameras are on you. Enchantments are too
easily undone. Besides, they’d expect magic. Not as much they can do about
makeup and contact lenses.”
“Wrong,” Harry said peevishly. “The correct answer to my question is: because
youbloody suggested them, Hermione. They hadn’t even occurred to Kingsley.”
“Then it’s a good thing I was on hand to make the suggestion,” she snipped
back. “Which must have been a good one, as Kingsley took it. Oh, where is
Ollivander?” she asked impatiently.
Harry wasn’t sure why she was in such a hurry. They had time to kill. Even with
an overcast sky, fully covered and shaded with an umbrella, Harry still felt
half-cooked. The heavily shaded windows of the shop were a welcome relief, and
he resolved not to step foot back outside until the sun had well and properly
fucked off. Perhaps Hermione’d just already had enough of him that afternoon.
If so, Harry really couldn’t blame her. He was irritable. The ‘early’ hour, the
discomfort of the sun, Remus’ uncomfortable presence and Severus’ absence
before they left Grimmauld Place, the scrutiny of the agents that shadowed
them...it had all served to put Harry in a foul mood. It didn’t help that he’d
had gotten his first whiff of virgin blood on the way there, no doubt belonging
to some child in the thinning traffic on the Alley. His green contact lenses
had hidden the sudden dilation of his pupils, but his fangs sprouted almost as
if spring-loaded, and his mouth had watered despite that Hermione herself had
sacrificed a tumbler full of blood before they left to help ease his cravings.
“Mr. Potter. Miss Granger. Welcome,” Ollivander smiled, stepping from the
backroom with an armful of wand boxes as if he hadn’t been expecting them.
“Mr. Ollivander,” Hermione greeted politely. Harry simply nodded and, without
prompting, produced a handkerchief from his cloak containing the remains of his
wand. He laid it carefully on the counter and peeled the fabric back to reveal
the carnage. Ollivander seemed to take it much harder than Harry had.
“Ah! Such a special, such an historic, wand,” he lamented. “And how honoured I
was to have been the one to craft it. Most regretfully, Mr. Potter, it is
beyond repair,” he told him sadly. Harry simply nodded. He’d suspected as much.
“In that case, it looks like I’m in the market for a new one, sir,” he said,
trying to sound appropriately downtrodden, though secretly he was excited by
the prospect of a new wand.
“I took the liberty of pulling a few that might be interested in you,”
Ollivander said, depositing the boxes he still held at the end of the counter.
Once the remains of Harry’s old wand were reverently cleared by the old man, he
seemed almost as giddy as Harry about the whole enterprise. Harry stepped up
eagerly to examine the contents of the box Ollivander opened for him with a
flourish, but he felt no stirring at the sight of it. It was a handsome wand,
though.
“Is that Silver Lime?” Harry asked interestedly. Ollivander nodded, more
knowingly than Harry was comfortable with. “Severus’ wand is Silver Lime,”
Harry quickly explained to Hermione in response to her questioning expression.
“He’ll be showing me Cypress next, you watch,” Harry whispered from the corner
of his mouth, causing Hermione’s lips to twitch in a suppressed smile as she
lightly stepped on his toe in warning.
“Cypress? For you? Let us hope not. All too often the owners of Cypress wands
die heroic deaths. And with luck, you’re done with heroics and will die a
plain, long-delayed one, Mr. Potter,” Ollivander replied, clearly fond of the
young man. Harry and Hermione exchanged an uncomfortable glance. Though what
unsettled Harry most about the comment was thoughts of Remus. Harry hoped he
would play no part in the man’s possibly untimely but valiant end. Thankfully,
he was distracted from this worry as their host quickly presented him with a
different wand.
“Aspen and Dragon Heartstring, prized by duelist. Eleven inches,” he explained
as Harry lifted the wand from its silken bed. Before Harry could even shake his
head, Ollivander was presenting him with yet another prospect. “Rowen.
Excellent for defensive charms. Prefers pure-hearted bearers. Phoenix feather,
nine and a half inches,” he described, as if confident this was the one. Harry
knew before he’d finished it would not be. His heart was anything but pure
these days.
And so it went, one wand after another presented and passed on, until all the
enthusiasm left both the shopkeeper and his customers. Hermione took a seat by
the door as the pile of rejected wands grew higher and more unstable. Harry,
already unaccustomed to wearing glasses, reached beneath them to rub his weary
eyes. The world went green for a moment and, realising what had happened, Harry
blinked furiously to work the contact lens back into place.
But not soon enough. Harry glanced up to find Ollivander staring at him with a
curious expression. Harry returned it as neutrally as he could, but knew in his
heart he’d been caught. However, rather than comment, Ollivander narrowed his
eyes at Harry. His expression was momentarily excited, then doubtful, then
finally thoughtful. He abruptly turned and disappeared to the back of the store
for some time, and when he returned he was not bearing more individual
cardboard wand boxes, but instead held a large, long but shallow wooden case
with a brass fitting. Hermione was drawn by curiosity back to the counter as
Ollivander carefully unclasped and turned the case, opening it slowly to reveal
the contents to his guests.
“What are they?” Hermione asked a little nervously before Harry could manage
the question himself. He didn’t know what was so special about these wands.
They all seemed different from each other, but not especially so from the
dozens he’d held already. But he knew one of them was destined for him. He
could feel it sing to him, and his wand hand tingled.
“These,” the old man intoned in a way that indicated they were meant to be
impressed, “are Thestral hair wands.”
Harry felt a shiver. He’d never heard of Thestral hair being used as a magical
core, but then he was not versed in wandlore. Fleur’s wand contained one of her
grandmother’s hairs. And if a wand could contain Veela hair, it stood to reason
it could contain the hair from any number of magical creatures.
“I have created precious few,” Ollivander explained as they drew closer to
examine them. “Very powerful magical core, Thestral hair. But dangerous.” He
shuddered slightly, causing Harry to look back down at the wands with
trepidation, but also a thrill of excitement. “It is temperamental. Highly
unstable. I have more than one scar I can attribute to its handling. I have,
however, managed these seven. They were created as more an exercise of craft. I
hadn’t thought of selling any before, had not found anyone I felt worthy of
possessing them,” he said, looking steadily at Harry. “These are no ordinary
wands, Mr. Potter,” he warned softly. “But then, you are no ordinary wizard.”
It seemed they all held their breath as Harry raised a hand to hover over the
array. He closed his eyes, sweeping his palm back and forth until he could
determine which called to him most strongly. His fingers brushed across one,
went to pluck it, then stopped and, with more certainty, wrapped around its
neighbour instead.
Harry backed away from the counter with the thing rested in his palm. It was
plain, almost utterly so, with the exception of quite a few raised knots that
looked as though they actively defied the plain, elegant design. It felt heavy
but eager, and Harry supposed the wood must have been exceptionally dense. He
raised the thing and brought it down with a small, efficient flourish. But
rather than sparks, it emitted a beam of warm, ruddy light that seemed to sink,
dripping, from the air rather than immediately dissolving into it. It was a
strange reaction, but Harry still called it a success. The bond he felt was
unquestionable.
Despite Harry’s delight, Ollivander seemed grave as he watched him. “That is
not the one I might have predicted,” he said, almost disquieted. He approached
with an expression of cautious scrutiny. Harry felt stricken when the man took
the wand from his hand, but it seemed Ollivander was not denying it to him,
simply examining it for himself. “Hornbeam. Only eight inches,” the man
muttered, turning his study to Harry next. “Hornbeam produces a particularly
fine-tuned and sentient wand, and selects for its life mate the talented witch
or wizard with a single, pure passion. Obsession, some might call it,” he
explained in a weighty tone. “Or, more kindly: vision. My own wand is made from
Hornbeam,” he revealed, but in an offhanded way. “They adapt more quickly than
almost any other to their owner’s style of magic and will become so
personalised, so quickly, that other people will find them extremely difficult
to use even for the most simple of spells. They are hard, nigh unbreakable,
unimpressionable. And when crossed with Thestral hair? This is a very
dangerouswand, Mr. Potter,” he whispered ominously. “But then, you are now a
very dangerous man, are you not?” His look held so much understanding, Harry
was afraid he would not return his wand to him. But return it he did, though
almost reluctantly. “Whatever it is you are obsessed with, let us hope it is a
worthwhile endeavour.”  
***** I Might Do’t As Well i’ the Dark *****
“I just don’t understand how you can draw a crowd this size so quickly,”
Hermione said, peeking through a gap in the shade. “I mean --and don’t take
this the wrong way, Harry-- but you aren’t all thatspecial.”
“It’s a good thing you’re around to remind me how mediocre I am, then,” Harry
joked, milling restlessly as they waited for the all-clear. “Severus stopped
telling me years ago.”
“Maybe he doesn’t find you mediocre anymore,” she said with a shrug, still
studying the gathering outside.
“Well, I really think his opinion of me depends on which skills I’m practising
at a given moment.”
Hermione glanced back to roll her eyes at his innuendo and Harry grinned
cheekily, but it was insincere. He’d have given anything for a bit of Severus’
criticism right then. The man had been conspicuously absent since Harry had
turned his back on them that night in the kitchen. Which had made things both
easier and harder on Harry. As dangerous as his reaction was to Remus, Harry’s
greatest weakness was Severus. Harry knew he had no defences against the man
and that it was best they didn't speak, but he missed him terribly. Harry broke
off this ache and fed it to the Beast. It was almost automatic now, and his
wand was warm in his hand. He hadn’t relaxed his grip on it since Ollivander
had returned it to him, as if afraid the man might demand it back.
“Alright. The Ministry agents are in place,” Hermione informed as she
straightened to face him. She scowled. “You’ve made an absolute mess of your
makeup,” she tutted quietly, reaching into her purse to pull out a compact.
“You look like a racoon in negative.” She didn’t move to apply more, though.
Instead, she looked nervously in the direction of the still-present Ollivander.
 
“He knows, Hermione,” Harry told her, not bothering to lower his voice.  
“You’re sure?” she whispered, still anxious.
“Positive," he sighed. "Just do whatever it was you did before that made me not
look like a corpse and let’s get this over with.” They’d accomplished what they
came to do. He was ready to be done with this expedition.
“Okay,” she coached, dabbing new foundation around his eyes and blending it
with the rest. “Remember: You’re recovering well. The investigation is ongoing.
No comment on your Auror position. Thank you for your concern,” she recited in
sing-song, refreshing him on his lines as he tried to keep still under her
ministrations, though they tickled. “Be mindful of your fangs,” she added,
putting on the finishing touches. “And don’t forget to blink.”
As she fussed, Harry just looked at her, amazed still at her instant and
complete acceptance of the fact that he now had fangs and never blinked, amazed
that she had made no comment on the additional fact that he’d downed half a
pint of her blood earlier that afternoon. She acted as though he were the same
Harry she’d always known. Perhaps she even believed it, and that made him feel
guilty because he knew better. He took the compact from her hands despite her
objections and wrapped her in a spontaneous hug. She returned it, though she
seemed confused by the sudden affection and after a moment attempted to release
him, patting him awkwardly on the back when he didn’t take the hint. He only
held her tighter. “Thank you, Hermione,” he whispered shakily.
She sighed in surrender, wrapping her arms around him again and settling into
the embrace. “Whatever for?” she asked softly.
“For being you. For treating me like me.”
“How else would I treat you?” she asked with a small laugh as they parted.
“Like a monster,” he said plainly.
She shook her head at him. “A person’s actions make them a monster, Harry, not
their physical condition,” she said confidently. He wished he could believe
her. Though he didn’t disagree, exactly. If Harry was a monster, it was not
because he was a Bloodwolf. It was the result of the way he came to be one.
“Now, are you ready?” she asked, setting a hand on the door handle.
He nodded and, with a steadying breath and a practised smile, they opened the
door to an excited explosion of voices and flashbulbs which quickly settled
into an earsplitting, unintelligible chatter. The cameras fairly blinded Harry.
They would have before his infection, but now they burned that much brighter.
And the frenzy just did not seem to stop. People shouted his name, trying to
draw his attention. Hermione’s name was peppered in, as well. Some merely
waved, giddy at seeing him alive and in the flesh, but the vanguard all held
quills and parchment, ready to record his every word and gesture. Questions
came at him from all sides, and he had a hard time picking one from the other.
His sensitive hearing was being overwhelmed by the crack of the still bursting
lights, the jostle of bodies, and the shuffle of so many feet. He tried to
smile and appear calm, but the ceaseless commotion was pushing him quickly
toward sensory overload.
“Yes, alright!” Hermione attempted to shout above the noise. “One at a time, if
you please.” Gradually, the questions staggered themselves, but not enough to
allow him time to answer. Harry held up his hands to beg for quiet and,
miraculously, he got it. For the most part. Though flashbulbs still popped in
intermittent hiccups of distraction.
“Listen. I appreciate your concern,” he loudly told the assembly in general,
“but I’m doing fine. Still recovering but doing well, thanks. No, I’ll not go
into what happened. I’m not well acquainted with the Ministry’s investigation,
though I can say there is one. No, I’m no longer an Auror. No, I have no idea
what I’ll be doing…”
Harry’s announcement trailed off as he was sidetracked by the strong scent of
virgin blood nearby. He felt his fangs extend and sealed his lips at once,
though couldn’t help compulsively searching the crowd. Harry had smelled this
same scent earlier. He’d sampled enough blood from enough different people to
appreciate its nuance, or to at least recognise this blood as the same as
before. But he saw no children. The assembly began to murmur as his attention
continued to stray.
“Harry. Do they have any leads on the possible identities of the perpetrators
in your attack?” an impatient reporter asked, quickly followed by a chorus of
similar questions from his colleagues and competitors.
“No,” Harry started, still distracted. “Um...they…”
“Harry, what’s wrong,” Hermione asked in a concerned, anxious whisper, turning
her back to the crowd and stepping closer to shield their conversation from the
others. But Harry didn’t answer. The blood sang to him, overpowering his
reason. He closed his eyes and sifted and catalogued every scent he could,
trying to determine the location of his quarry. It seemed important, though he
wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as if it really mattered. What was he going to do?
Snatch the virgin up and drink their blood in front of the entire Wizarding
world? But something was wrong. Something was different. The scent was too
strong, but cold, as if the blood he smelled was not encased in veins at all,
and it was puzzling. “Harry, we need to go,” Hermione said in a low, urgent
tone. “We need to get you out of here. Now.” Both she and the crowd were
becoming increasingly resistive.
Harry shook his head to dispel the persistent desire. “You’re right, Hermione,”
he murmured, lifting his head to address everyone again, to bring things to a
close. And that’s when he found the source of his distraction.
The overpowering scent of virgin blood wasn’t coming from a person. Not
exactly. It was coming from a phial, made visible by a momentary gap in the
shifting crowd, held at waist-height by a scruffy looking vagrant with haunted,
bloodshot eyes. Harry could see panic ignite in those eyes when their owner
realised Harry had caught him. And Harry, incensed by the trick, communicated
as clearly as he could with only a look that the villain was right to be
frightened. The man immediately capped the phial and tried to discreetly remove
himself from the small sea of bodies surrounding him. Harry resolved he would
not get far.
He felt his senses shift into a predatory mode and, despite his effort to
contain it, a soft growl burbled from his throat, though no one but Hermione
seemed to be close enough to hear it. As Harry watched, a helpless captive of
the crowd and cameras, the man succeeded in escaping the throng, dropping the
phial behind him as he hurriedly shuffled down the street and into an alley.
The Ministry agents hadn't even noted him or, if they did, they didn't seem to
find him of any threat or interest. Harry wasn't sure what the damned point of
them even was. He had the man's scent but had to act fast.
Without warning or explanation, Harry grasped Hermione’s wrist and
Disapparated. From the shadowed doorway of a shop one street over, they heard
the sudden outcry their disappearance had caused. Hermione wrenched herself
free from his grip and stepped back from him, livid. “What on Earth! We’re
meant to calm people, not start more rumours,” she shouted fiercely but
quietly. “Harry, what have you-”
“Shut up, Hermione, and just listen,” he snapped, still sharpened for the
hunt. He was not even looking at her. He was staring intently toward the nearby
alley. “It’s them,” he explained through a clenched jaw. “One of them, anyway.
I’m going after him,” he said determinedly, peeling off his glasses and shoving
them into Hermione’s reluctant hand.  
“Harry, no,” she said commandingly. But she was not Remus and it was
effortlessly ignored. “Harry, just look at me for a moment,” she begged
frantically, unsure if he was even hearing her. “The agents will be here soon.
We’re not far from where we were. Surely they heard us Apparate. Just tell them
what you saw and let them-”
“No,” Harry said gruffly. “We’ve talked about this, Hermione.”
“But what am I to tell the others?” she asked, at a loss and increasingly
undone by his stubbornness.
“Don’t care,” Harry said, fishing the colored contacts from his eyes and
tossing them to the ground. And then he was gone. Hermione abandoned all effort
to remain inconspicuous and shouted after him, but Harry moved so quickly he
may as well have Apparated again. He was so inundated by instinct at that point
Hermione might as well not even have still existed.
Harry’s first impulse was to fall to all fours as he tracked his prey, but he
had not transformed, and he must not, though the urge was strong. Instead, he
hunted as a vampire hunts, and he now understood what Cobbleshot had meant
about becoming hyper-aware. Time seemed to slow, and the world and his
intention seemed to crystallise, as if he’d stumbled through a haze his entire
life and it was only now being lifted. Every movement was efficient,
purposeful. He felt sharp and receptive but no longer overwhelmed, despite that
he seemed to be taking in and processing far more information than usual, and
he seemed to be doing so instantaneously.
His hunt was helped, unwittingly so, by his victim’s naive plunge down the
shadowy lane. The darker the better for Harry, who seemed to see better now in
pitch, especially in this heightened state. If he hadn’t been so intensely
focused, Harry might have laughed at the fool. Surely he must have known what
Harry was. Why else did he think they had him waving blood around if not to
trigger Harry into giving his vampirism away? But fear and panic make for poor
decisions, and Harry found the job of tracking him almost too easy.
Harry could literally smell the man’s fear. The fight or flight processes in
his body had produced a distinct chemical cocktail that Harry followed as
easily as the stag’s musk in the forest. It led, winding from one shadow to
another, deep into the alley. It wasn’t long before Harry saw the blinking glow
of a pounding heart as its owner peeked fearfully around a corner. The vagrant
had tucked into a nook in the side of a building, occasionally glancing back
the way they had come. He watched the mouth of the alley intently even as Harry
passed him and re-approached from behind.
Harry stood silently at the man’s shoulder for a moment. The vagrant exuded the
pungent perfume of his fear through his pores with his panicked sweat. He
blasted it from his lungs with each shallow breath. The scent was almost
intoxicating, addictive. And, this close, it affected Harry like a drug. He
could have taken the man at any time, but Harry almost wanted him to run. He
wanted the man to realise how easy it was for Harry to capture him and snatch
him back. He wanted to see the hope drain from the man's bloodshot eyes. Harry
knew it would make the delicious fear waft even stronger, and recognising the
cruelty of it did not make him want to do it any less.
But Harry was also impatient. He still waited, but only until the man, slowly
becoming aware of a presence behind him, turned almost reluctantly to look into
Harry’s face and become startled to find it hovering only inches from his own.
He opened his mouth to scream, but no one in London heard it. Harry seized him
and Apparated to the Shrieking Shack before the man’s lungs had even finished
filling, and the scream now echoed off splintered, whistling, panelled walls
instead of bricks and cobblestones.
After exhausting the first, the man gasped to scream again, tugging fruitlessly
at Harry’s unyielding grip on his wrist as Harry stood staring at him almost
impassively. Once upon a time, the man’s terror might have touched Harry. It
might have disturbed him to the point he’d have snapped out of his cold rage
and released him. But no longer. Seeing the pathetic state of his enemy evoked
no sympathy in Harry. It was insulting, actually, that such a creature and his
companions had managed to inflict such a terrible blow, that these filthy, Mut-
addled junkies had succeeded in a way Voldemort never had. Harry felt his heart
harden. He felt the hackles rise eagerly on the Beast within him. If he’d ever
had any doubt he was capable of the atrocities he and Cobbleshot planned, that
doubt was now gone.     
Harry backhanded the man to silence him, checking himself at the last moment to
soften the blow. Harry’s full strength would have killed him and, to Harry's
annoyance, the force still almost knocked the man unconscious. He would have to
be more careful. The vagrant now hung dazed and quiet in Harry’s grasp, and
Harry had to shake him quite a bit before he was once again responsive.
Then Harry propped the man up in a rickety chair but kept a grip on him lest he
try to Apparate. Harry studied him more closely now that he was no longer
flailing about. His cheek was already swelling from the blow to his face, and
Harry guessed his eye would black soon. The man couldn’t be much older than
Harry, but life as an addict had taken its toll, and he looked at least another
decade older.   
“What is your name?” Harry asked in a low, dangerous voice.
“Ti-Timothy,” the man squeaked, trembling and snivelling already.
“You know what I am, don’t you, Tim?” Harry said, purposely punctuating the
question with a rumbling growl. His expression was completely devoid of
kindness, even as the scent of urine drifted to his nostrils. Timothy simply
nodded with a whimper. Harry looked down to the arm he clasped and pushed back
the dirty, sweat-stained fabric to reveal a badly executed Dark Mark knock-off.
Harry scowled at it. It wasn’t even drawn correctly. The snake twisted the
wrong direction and the skull’s eye sockets were incorrectly shaped. Harry
should know. He’d traced Severus’ Mark with the tip of his tongue more times
than he could count. It seemed these buffoons didn’t even have a proper Mark to
copy from. “Then you know why you’re here?”
“I don’t know nothing!” Timothy averred. “Honest. I just do what they tell me.”
Harry squinted at him. “Were you in the factory?”
“No!” he said, shaking his head adamantly. “I swear. I never was in no factory.
Honest!” he added shrilly, as though if he kept saying the word, perhaps one of
them might believe it of him. He was trembling even harder now and whimpered
softly. Harry remained calm despite Timothy’s returning panic.
“Do you know who wasin the factory?”
The man shook his head again. “Nobody does. Them that done it weren’t allowed
to talk about it. And word is they’re scared, ‘cause it didn’t go like
expected. Don’t know if...if they’re scared of you,” he said with a gulp. Harry
thought Timothy seemed plenty scared for the lot of them. “Or if they’re scared
of the Boss.”
“The Boss?” Harry demanded, eyes narrowing to angry slits. “Who is it?” he
hissed. Timothy grimaced and Harry realised belatedly that he’d tightened his
grip on the man’s wrist until the bones were grinding together beneath his
fingers. Harry loosened his grip again and repeated his question. Timothy,
though, seemed too afraid to answer.
“Don’t know that either,” he finally confessed in a small voice. “There’s not
many as do, and I don’t know which they are anyway.”
Harry took a deep, calming breath. “Okay. Let’s try something else,” he said.
The granite steadiness in his voice was unnerving even to himself. He pulled
out his new wand, and Timothy began to scream again at the sight of it,
twisting in Harry’s grasp.
“Don’t kill me,” he begged, breaking into tears. “Don’t Crucio me! Please. I
swear, I swear!”
“Shut up!” Harry barked. His skin tingled and his bones ached. Though he was
capable of this exercise in cruelty, he wasn’t enjoying it, and the tedium of
attempting to get useful information from his captive was wearing his patience
thin. “I’m not going to kill you,” he assured. Timothy stopped struggling and
gave Harry a wary look.
“Promise?” he asked, seemingly unaware of the snot making its way toward his
trembling lips.
“I promise I’ll do no more to you than your friends did to me,” Harry answered
coldly. That, however, did not serve to calm the man. Though really, Harry
hadn’t actually intended to. “I’m looking for a man,” Harry explained. “And
rather than describe him, I’m just going to show him to you. Then you can tell
me who he is and where to find him if you know.”
Timothy seemed confused, but he had enough sense still to dread what was about
to happen. His eyes widened almost comically when Harry placed the tip of his
wand to his own temple. “‘Ere. What you gonna do with that, now?” he asked
nervously, squirming as the memory dangling from the tip of Harry’s wand
drifted closer to him.
“I told you. I’m showing you someone. And then you are going to answer some
questions.”
Timothy tried to avoid the shimmering strand but buckled into stillness as
Harry increased the pressure around the man’s injured wrist. Harry allowed the
tail of his memory to sink into the man’s temple, and Timothy went rigid, his
eyes glazing over as he mentally lived a piece of Harry’s past.
Harry waited calmly for the memory to play itself out, carefully following the
man’s jerky movements in reaction to the events with his wand so that it would
not slip out of his mind before it was finished. He watched, almost bored, as
Timothy began to grind his teeth, guessing that it was at this point that
Harry’s wand had been ruined in prizing his jaw apart. Harry liked his new one
better anyway, he reflected. He suspected that a few of the man’s teeth would
end up broken before they were finished, but the yellow things were in such
terrible condition already, Harry wasn’t sure he’d notice. Harry knew that what
he had wanted to accomplish, showing Timothy the identity of the man from the
Release Ceremony, had been achieved at that point, but he made no move to end
the man’s suffering, and he didn’t bat an eye when Timothy began
screaming. They were the shrill, piercing screams of agonising pain, so unlike
the terrified shouts of earlier.
Having been removed, the memory was cloudy in Harry’s own mind now, but he
still remembered the anguish Timothy was feeling at the moment. Nothing would
ever be able to really dull its echo. Harry also recalled that he hadn’t been
able to scream at the time himself, his throat having been too damaged by the
potion he’d been fed. Tim would never realise how lucky he was to be able to
voice that suffering. And though this man had not personally forced that
experience on him, Harry was not bothered in the least by forcing the
experience on the other man now. Harry had little doubt that if the Boss had
requested it of him, Timothy would have eagerly accepted the job of ruining
Harry’s life.
Satisfied that he’d seen enough, Harry reclaimed the memory, carefully slipping
it back into his own head as Timothy slumped senselessly in his chair. At once,
the experience resolidified in Harry’s mind, but he did not begrudge it. Harry
needed to remember what he’d been through. He needed to know, fully, why he was
doing this.
Timothy seemed exhausted, completely undone and almost falling out of his seat.
Still grasping his wrist, Harry crouched to bring his face level to the other
man’s, drawing close enough for his whisper to be heard. “You know now what
I’ve lived through. Can you imagine, then, what I’m capable of?” Timothy did
not answer, seemed unable at the moment, but his eyes held a terror born of
understanding. “Now,” Harry said quietly. “Do you know that man? The one with
the potion. The one who shot my partner.” He waited patiently for an answer,
never easing his unblinking stare as a single tear preceded Timothy’s barely
perceptible nod. “That’s good, Tim,” he said encouragingly. “We’re making
progress. Do you know his name?” Again, the man nodded. Harry smiled at him to
indicate he should try to answer.
“Willy,” the man croaked softly, his voice still ravaged from his screams.
“Willy Royal. They calls him Prince William. Or His Highness.” Timothy paused
to swallow and cough, his throat clearly swollen and giving him trouble.
“They’re takin' the piss, but he thinks it’s a sign of respect, 'cause he runs
an ickle gang o’ pushers. Tosser,” he snorted. “Right poofter if you ask me.”
Then he gasped and gave Harry a frightened, apologetic look. “Sorry,” he
muttered.
Harry smirked. Apparently, he’d left the memory playing at least until Severus
arrived. But Harry had taken no offence. In fact, he thought he might be taking
a liking to this man. “Don’t worry about it, Tim. Where does one find His
Highness Prince William?”
“Has some mates on Tooly,” Tim rasped. “But one finds him pretty regular on
Knockturn outside Moribund’s.” Harry nodded, finally releasing the man’s
bruised wrist and standing. He doubted Timothy had the strength left to
Apparate anyway. “I don’t want to die,” the man whispered, crying gently again.
“I told you I wasn’t going to kill you,” Harry said, not kindly but sounding
more believable now that he’d gotten what he wanted and was feeling less
frustrated.
“They will,” Timothy whined, face screwing up with proper tears now.
Harry sighed. “Let’s ask our friend about it, shall we?” he proposed.
“Our friend?” Timothy asked, confused.
Harry turned to Cobbleshot, who was leaning against the broken door frame with
her arms crossed. Harry’d sensed her earlier, but since it was only her, and he
had been busy at the time, he'd ignored the intrusion. Timothy didn’t seem to
like the look of her, but then who did? She pushed away from the doorway and
sauntered over, planting her hands on her hips to consider the scene before
her. “Well done, Lovely,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Do we send him with a message and watch them scramble?” Harry asked, though he
was fairly certain Tim would be at least attempting to leave the country after
this. “Or do we take them by surprise?”
Cobs considered for a moment. “Surprise is always an advantage,” she shrugged.
Harry agreed. He lifted his wand, alarming both Tim and Cobs. “Harry!”
Cobbleshot cried, throwing up a hand to caution him, but Harry was already
sweeping his wand in Timothy’s direction.
“Obliviate,” he recited calmly. Timothy’s eyes clouded over and he went still.
Cobbleshot lowered her hand and slowly nodded. Harry narrowed his eyes at her.
“You thought I was going to kill him, didn't you?” he asked, slightly insulted.
Cobbleshot stared at him a moment, then simply shrugged. “It occurred to me you
might.”
“I told him I wouldn’t.”
“And he and I are Slytherin,” she said. “We are well aware how little an
enemy’s word is worth.”
“But I’m Gryffindor,” Harry objected.
She smirked as if she wasn’t so sure anymore. “Perhaps. But all that means,
really, is when you break your word, you actually think it’s justified.”
It was beside the point really, and Harry didn’t care one way or the other what
she thought of him. He checked on Tim and saw he was still vacant and
unresponsive, and so he put away his wand and turned to Cobbleshot. “They’ll
still know,” he said ruefully. “He was likely meant to report to someone by
now.”
“It had to be done,” Cobbleshot assured him. “They won’t know what he told us,
at any rate. They might suspect what you’re looking for, but they won’t be sure
of that either. They'll likely think he was simply sloppy and was caught. Which
is what happened. It will be fine.”
“So," Harry asked, dreading her answer but knowing it was time he was getting
back, "where is everyone?”
“They were in the Headmistress’ office," she reported, drifting over to examine
their captive. She seemed vaguely amused by the state of him. She prodded him
gently but Timothy didn't respond in any way and she seemed disappointed. "But
they’ve gone home," she said, turning back to Harry, suddenly
bored, "suspecting that’d be where you turn up.”
“How bad is it?” Harry asked with a wince.
Cobbleshot chuckled. “Well, no one is especially pleased, but they haven’t
filed a Missing Persons just yet.” She gave Harry a sly, appraising look. “I
was surprised you’d told the Granger girl.”
“She didn’t leave me much choice,” Harry confessed. He sighed, pinching the
bridge of his nose. “I suppose she told everyone I’d gone arsehole hunting?”
“No, actually,” Cobbleshot said as if she’d been pleasantly surprised by it.
“That’s how I knew what you might really be up to,” she explained. “You can
tell she isn’t comfortable with lying, but the others trust her more than I do
and didn’t seem to question her that you’d simply panicked and disappeared. But
then they don’t know about our little project, either," she added with a
wink. "They likely think you ran somewhere secluded to grieve over your
condition,” she sneered. “How refreshing to find them wrong.” She stepped
closer, giving Harry a look he felt he’d have to wash off later. “I suspected
you’d want privacy, whatever you were doing. And I eventually found you here.”
“I suppose I’d better go deal with all of that, then,” Harry said resignedly.
He was exhausted now that his temper had cooled. He’d hunted, and a few things
besides, but hadn’t fed. Without that payoff, the chase came at a high physical
price.
“I’ll take care of our friend here,” Cobbleshot offered, casually picking him
up and tossing him over her shoulder. “You go calm Mother,” she smirked. “We’ll
talk later, Lovely.”
Harry nodded his thanks. Then he prepared himself and Disapparated.
***** ’Tis Proper I Obey Him *****
Harry quickly hunted in the woods outside the Shack before Apparating to London
and the street outside his house.
It was a strange thought: His house. His property but never, really, his home.
Nor would it ever be, he reflected. He looked up at it, at the four floors
towering above him. It was too much house, really. Too many empty rooms, even
when friends were around. It was meant for a family.
Severus would never have wanted children. A cat, perhaps. Remus, on the other
hand, Harry could imagine welcoming children. More than one, even. Being with
Severus for so long, Harry had never given much thought to being a father. But
he imagined it now, almost against his will, and it warmed his heart.
He imagined the two of them, Remus and him, adopting some orphaned or abandoned
werewolf pup, ensuring the child had a loving and stable home --a family-
- unlike its fathers. Harry imagined them giving the child everything they
never had. He envisioned the love and the happy times they might share,
teaching their child that his or her affliction did not define them and that
with their support (and perhaps that of Auntie Hermione, who was working to
make the world a more friendly place for their kind) the child could do and be
anything he or she wished.
He imagined Severus, too, coming around despite himself and loving the child as
well. Harry smiled to himself. How easily he could see the man teaching the
child the wonder and magic of potion-making in that melodic and ardent way of
his with people he didn’t disdain. He could see the man treating scraped knees
with a scowl and an admonition, but also salve and a tender touch...and
probably a surprise lolly. Severus might laugh at the suggestion, but Harry
thought Severus would make a fine father. He would be the anchor, Remus the
affection, Harry the fun.
Though, Harry wasn’t sure where or when this daydream was meant to be set.
Before his infection, it would have been only Remus and Harry. And after, well,
Harry wouldn’t be much fun confined to the indoors and the nighttime, he
reflected sadly. He would never be able to coach their child’s youth Quidditch
team or take them for ice cream in the park on a Summer afternoon. Never see
them off at Platform 9¾. Never watch them graduate. Never attend their wedding.
In fact, without Substisanguinus, Harry might not even be able to tolerate
their presence, might struggle with the urge to sample them every time they
hugged. Or worse, gods forbid, be driven by the bloodlust to sexualize the
child in some way.
Harry’s stomach turned instantly sour. He actually tasted bile. And just like
that, his pleasant, hopeful vision withered and died. A small part of him, one
which he might have thought was too tender to still exist in him after what
he’d just done in the Shack, wept. It wept for this unexpected but initially
welcomed daydream. One that had never before occurred to him but that had, for
a moment, seemed so very real and so very wonderful. Harry almost wept
outwardly. He bitterly grieved the loss of a son or a daughter he had never
had, or might never have had, regardless of this turn in his fate. He grieved
the lost possibility. With all that he mourned already, why had he even allowed
himself to realise he possessed that desire?
Harry noticed he was shaking. He took a deep breath to settle his nerves. Then
he carved off his pain. It was actually harder to do than with the bits he’d
shed before. It was more tenacious. But he managed it eventually by carving
around it, deep into his soul, losing quite a bit of the latter in the process.
Then he served his hypothetical child to the Beast within him like some virgin
sacrifice to a dark, forbidden god.
With his heart comfortably hardened within him again, Harry stepped forward and
walked through his front door.
There were voices in the sitting room and in the kitchen. Through the open
kitchen door, Harry could see Hermione. She looked terrible. Her conscience was
clearly eating at her. She had been loyal to him but wasn’t sure of the cost.
No doubt she had been wondering if Harry had found his quarry, and what Harry
must have done with him if he had, and if she might now have blood on her hands
as a result. Harry should never have told her what he planned. He should have
denied it when she’d confronted him. But there wasn’t much he could do about it
now.
She’d looked up when she heard the front door and was the first to spot him,
though the others weren’t far behind. Before they spilled into the doorways,
blocking her from sight, Harry tried to apologise to her with his eyes.
Cobbleshot was right. They were all there...except for Severus. Harry could not
pretend that that did not hurt. And even though it might have been disastrous,
Harry was almost angry at the man for his absence. Kingsley was there and even
Arthur, in the kitchen with Hermione. Remus and McGonagall had been in the
sitting room. Everyone else rushed to the threshold of their respective rooms
and stopped. But not Remus.
“Oh, gods. Harry,” he cried, relieved, rushing down the hall to embrace him.
Harry found himself suddenly enveloped by the man. Not just by his arms, but
also by his scent and his presence, by the love he felt for Harry that at times
seemed like a physical force that wrapped around the young man like the warmest
of blankets. Harry surrendered to his longing for a moment and allowed himself
to listen to Remus’ heart, tripping loudly from the rush of Harry’s arrival. He
allowed himself to breathe in, beneath the call of Remus’ blood, the man’s
personal perfume of dust and wool and tea and soap. But though he yearned for
it, could taste it, Harry refused the kiss the man dipped his head to claim,
placing a hand firmly on Remus’ chest and parting them, though the effort
required drove a crack through Harry’s stony heart.
“I’m tired,” was all he said, refusing to look up and see the pain in Remus’
expression as he stepped past the man. The others, it seemed, had no intentions
of being so easily brushed off. They moved into the narrow hallway, barring his
escape. With them before and Remus behind, Harry found himself trapped, and he
instantly resented it. There was no questioning their relief or their concern,
but even stronger in their expressions was their disapproval and exasperation.
Harry glared at them, almost challengingly. And it seemed they accepted that
challenge.
“You cannot simply go off on your own without someone knowing where you are,”
Remus scolded from behind him. Though Harry heard his lingering panic, the
man’s voice carried too much command, spoke to Harry’s bones. And Harry was
glad Remus was behind him and could not see the bitter scowl the comment
produced.  
“So I’m a prisoner, is that it?” Harry asked the gathering, not caring how
combative he sounded.
“No, Harry,” McGonagall assured him, “but-”
“If I’m not free to come and go, that sounds an awful lot like captivity,”
Harry interrupted. He was certain he’d never spoken over the woman before, and
the disrespect seemed to wound her. Harry disliked it, but he didn’t dwell on
it. He tossed it to the Beast.
“You are new and unpredictable, Harry,” Remus reasoned in a measured voice,
clearly seeking to diffuse Harry’s hostility.   
“We aren’t familiar with your triggers or weaknesses,” Arthur added, equally as
careful with his tone.
“What if you pose a danger to the public?” Kingsley pointed out.
Harry scowled at each of them in turn. Only Hermione stood silently to the side
and said nothing.  “Isn’t that exactly what Severus said before and you shouted
him down?” Harry demanded, refusing to be placated. “But now you’re all losing
your minds because I needed a goddamned breather?” Harry and Hermione exchanged
a glance, and he hoped she could see the thanks in it. “Why don’t you all just
admit you’re afraid of me?” Some of them shook their heads, but their
expressions were as good as confessions. “Do you even hear yourselves? Do you
know how hypocritical you sound? All that liberal tripe about creatures’ rights
and fairness and equality, but you’re just trying to regulate me like all those
other part-humans,” he said, shaking his head. “Are you already drafting
legislation to bring me to heel? Oh ‘You’re human, Harry’,” he sneered. “‘Your
self-possession is unquestionable. No, you’re not chained like a dangerous
animal. You just have to have a handler, is all. All the time. For the rest of
your life’,” he spat angrily.
“Harry,” Remus said carefully, coming close behind him and gently laying a hand
on his shoulder, “no one is implying-”
“Yes, you are!” Harry shouted, rounding on him, unable to tolerate Remus’
touch. Harry’s desire to return the contact made Remus’ burn. “And I’m tired of
listening to it,” he muttered. “I’m going to bed.” And with that, he turned and
shouldered his way between Kingsley and Hermione to mount the stairs.
“Harry,” Remus said, sounding far too much as if he were speaking to a
disobedient child for Harry’s liking. “We aren’t finished discussing this.”
“I am,” Harry said plainly, not looking back at any of them, still climbing.
“Harry,” Remus repeated firmly, clearly frustrated, “come back here.”
Harry’s step stuttered, though he fought through it. But the next threatened to
falter completely, and Harry’s resentment of Remus’ control reached its peak.
He was angry and tired of this constant challenge to his self-sovereignty. He
growled, alarming those who’d never heard it, and turned to bellow down at the
man. “Who do you think you are to command me?” he demanded, so fiercely Remus
stumbled back a step. “Halt my step one more time, Remus,” Harry hissed,
shaking his head, “and I swear to all the gods…”
Harry left the threat unfinished, but the seriousness of it was clearly
conveyed by his glare, and Harry had never seen Remus so startled or so hurt.
It took the man’s breath away and Hermione rushed to his side. But rather than
carving out and serving up his own pain at the sight of it, Harry simply didn’t
allow himself to feel it in the first place. The hallway was silent as he
turned and made his way up the rest of the stairs. No doubt there would now be
some lengthy, whispered council about ‘What to do about Harry’. It wouldn’t be
the first, though Harry thought it might be one of the last.
Harry was so aggravated that he had stormed into his room and slammed and
locked the door firmly behind him before he realised he was not alone there.
Harry turned to find that Severus sat in the same chair he’d occupied the whole
while Harry had been ill, his expression severe. Harry gawked at the man, his
anger having been snuffed by the magnitude of his surprise, and he was grateful
even in his sudden panic. The man was breathtaking in his anger. He didn’t have
to loom or shout to be threatening. His presence filled the room, backing Harry
against the door and quickening his breath. Harry almost wished he possessed
the powers displayed by vampires in old Muggle movies, wished he could pass
through the solid wood at his back or trickle like smoke through the keyhole.
Harry had always been drawn to the danger Severus represented, addicted to his
ever-present, subtle threat. And his desire to reach out and touch the man
scowling at him was so great Harry had to actively, physically push against it,
further flattening himself against the door behind him. It had only been a few
days, but it seemed like an eternity since Harry had last seen Severus, and he
was almost giddy knowing he was about to hear his voice, regardless of how
painful what he had to say might be.
Severus stood without saying anything, though, and he approached Harry with a
slowness that spoke of inner battle, self-restraint at war with fury. Severus’
hand rose at his side as he came so that, by the time he reached him, it slid
perfectly into place around Harry’s throat. Harry had rarely been so genuinely
frightened of the man. And it wasn’t just his fear of the weakness he felt
around him. It was the hard, unyielding expression on the man’s face, the
frozen snarl, and the suppressed rage that made his long, rigid fingers tremble
against Harry’s neck. He didn’t exactly strangle Harry, but his grip was tight
enough to be uncomfortable, especially when Harry attempted to swallow his
apprehension. There would be bruising. Still, Harry had to fight not to press
into the touch.
“You will never do this again. Is that understood, Dearest?” Severus said,
teeth bared, his voice an almost inaudible rumble so incredibly erotic it made
Harry’s eyelids flutter and his knees weak. “You willnever disappear on me
again.” As he spoke, Severus’ face moved almost imperceptibly closer, which
Harry found torturous, being unable to decide if he wanted it to continue or
withdraw. “I can bear the pain of being parted from you only if I am secure in
the knowledge that you are safe,” he said, his expression betraying a fleeting
glimpse of anguish. “If I thought you were lost somewhere, hurting and alone,
wounded and stumbling…” They both trembled now, only inches apart, sharing the
same intoxicating breath. Harry had so missed this. He hadn’t seen this kind of
passion from the man since the war ended. It was not intended to be sexual, but
it was so reminiscent of what had caused Harry to fall in love with the man in
the first place that it could not help but be. Severus was commanding,
unquestionable, and Harry could not understand why he so resented Remus’
gentle, accidental control when he was so contentedly collared by the man who
now pinned him. “There is no length I would not go to to find you,” Severus
vowed. “No limit on how far I would travel. There is no danger I would not face
to bring you home, even if that danger were you. Do you understand?” he asked,
desperation tinting the harshness in his voice. “Do you?” he repeated, his
fingers tightening ever so slightly.
Harry did not answer, could not. Even if the man hadn’t been pinching off his
voice, Harry’s desire and Severus’ proximity after all that had happened
rendered him incapable of speech, incapable of thought. There was nothing left
of Harry at the moment, no will beyond the will to submit, no desire other than
to obey, to be touched, to be taken.  
“This. Is. Mine,” Severus growled, causing Harry’s breath to catch and his head
to swim as Severus’ hand slid from Harry’s throat to grasp his face now,
slightly contorting his features as Severus’ fingertips gently bit his flesh.
His other hand found Harry’s chest, tangling itself in his shirt with a clawed
grip. “Mine,” he repeated firmly. “Will always be mine, even if you give it to
someone else. Even if you deny it to me, it is still mine. And I will alway
come for what belongs to me.”
Only a hair’s breadth separated them, and Harry clawed at the door behind him,
adding still more scores to its surface in his effort to resist the urge to
reach up and embrace the man. His self-control had never faced such a test.
Still, though Harry had determined not to encourage him, he felt the schism in
his heart gape wider as Severus’ grip relaxed and his hands fell away, as he
stepped back, as the fire in his eyes subsided and he allowed them to slide
from Harry’s and to the floor.
Harry was stricken. Everything vital about the man seemed to dwindle, and he
reached for the handle of Harry’s door like one asleep. Severus turned it
resolutely but could not open the door with Harry still plastered to it. He
waited silently for the young man to move aside, fixing his limp gaze on a
point on the wainscoting, and Harry’s self-control dissolved completely. He
could not do this anymore. He would not allow Severus to drift out of this
room, a ghost of himself, back to his lab to toil over a potion Harry would
never use. And even though he knew it was wrong, that nothing, not even this,
would stop Harry’s going in the end, he pressed himself more firmly against the
door, his own eyes falling to Severus’ waistcoat as his hand crept across the
grain of the wood, up the brass of the handle, and over Severus’ fingers.
The contact made Severus’ eyes slide closed and he took a stuttering breath.
Harry left it to him. He closed his eyes and waited. He had given his
permission, and it was up to Severus whether he accepted it or not. Blindly,
they drifted together again, their lips knowing intuitively how to find each
other, as if being apart was not their natural state and the ones could only
know completion in being pressed to the others. The kiss was tentative at
first, almost skittish, but all at once Severus’ fire seemed to rekindle. It
ignited Harry’s own, turning his stony heart molten and so stitching it back
together. Severus opened his mouth, forced Harry’s to open as well so that he
might devour the young man. His hands quickly found purchase in Harry’s hair
and on the back of his neck. They cradled his jaw in a kiss so deep Harry swore
the man’s tongue lapped at his very soul.
He could feel Severus’ anger in the kiss, though, and Harry hoped Severus could
taste his apology in its return. The man’s offence was not easily soothed,
however, and the kiss soon became almost violent. Their teeth clashed as
Severus tore at his lips. Harry tasted blood, but it only pushed him to new
heights of desire and his hands buried themselves in the folds of Severus’
clothes, quickly turning them into rags as Harry tried desperately to pull the
man closer. Severus then returned the favour, and when no fabric remained to
tear, their nails raked each other’s skin. Harry’s easily received the rougher
treatment. He gasped into Severus’ open mouth as he felt his flesh open. The
smell of blood inundated them both, encouraging still more damage on both their
parts until Severus could stand the temptation no longer and abruptly turned
the young man to taste the stuff trickling in rivulets down Harry’s back.
The cold of the wood against his cheek and chest was a delicious contrast to
the trail of heat Severus marked across Harry’s back with his tongue,
connecting each of Harry’s burning lacerations. The abused door sustained even
more damage as Harry clawed at it, almost as if attempting to scale the thing.
His poorly stifled moans echoed off of the surface, ringing in his own ears,
though he doubted they were loud enough for even Severus to take real note of.
Harry slipped into a grateful, raptured paralysis when he finally felt Severus’
hands slide down and around his hips. He deftly divested Harry of his trousers,
leaving him naked and panting, his face and palms still pressed against the
door. The understanding that Harry wasn’t to move while Severus stepped away to
strip his own clothes did not need to be voiced. He made Harry wait, though.
The span was an infinitesimal fraction of Severus’ own lonely stay while Harry
had distanced himself, but the young man wasn’t sure it was any less torturous.
Which, of course, was the point entirely. Harry could practically feel Severus’
eyes on him, his gaze cutting through the cold air that separated them to warm
Harry’s bare skin. Harry’s cheeks flamed as he pictured what he must look like,
and his self-consciousness at his vulnerable and awkward position was the only
thing holding him still beyond an uncontrollable tremor of anticipation.
Finally, Severus pressed himself against the length of Harry’s body slowly but
firmly, not being gentle as he burrowed his hands between Harry and the door to
run his palms up the young man’s torso, coaxing a prolonged sigh from him that
built to a strangled moan as one of those hands once again stationed itself
possessively around Harry’s throat. It was as close to perfection as Harry
dared to imagine such a thing could be.
Severus’ arousal nestled itself in Harry’s cleft but shied away when the young
man attempted to press back against it until Harry’s hips held themselves
tremblingly but obediently still. Harry pressed his own erection into the
hardness of the door instead, actually appreciating its rough texture as
Severus stroked Harry’s opening with the underside of his cock. Despite how
Harry whimpered, Severus refused to alter the speed or angle of his strokes,
which were slow but adamant, until Harry, driven nearly mad, tipped his hips
defiantly at just the right moment to take the man in. Severus’ free hand
dropped to Harry’s waist, fingers biting deep to prevent further movement, but
the head of Severus’ cock planted itself firmly before the man was able to halt
his thrust. And though he spilled a low groan to accompany Harry’s grateful
gasp, the young man’s punishment seemed to be that Severus ceased moving his
hips altogether.
Instead, his mouth fell to the back of Harry’s neck. Harry felt himself bruise
beneath Severus’ lips, felt the man mark the expanse with slow, meticulous care
until Severus reached The Spot, the one they knew so well that buckled Harry’s
knees. But rather than merely showing it careful attention, the suction turned
piercing as Severus sank his fangs there.
Harry saw stars, very nearly came then and there. They’d exchanged blood
before, but neither had ever bitten the other, and it was unspeakably
fantastic. Harry was no longer able to keep still. He writhed, one hand
wrapping around the wrist of the hand clamped around his throat, the other
reaching back to claw at Severus’ hip, begging it to move. Severus released his
waist to wind his arm around Harry’s chest, restraining him as the fingers
round Harry's neck tugged him toward Severus’ mouth, bending his back as the
man still swallowed long draughts of Harry’s blood. And at the height of the
feeding swoon, Severus moaned, throwing them both forward into the door again
as he finished embedding himself in Harry with a single, swift thrust.
Harry’s moan caught in his throat, gurgled from him as he wilted in absolute
surrender. It usually took a significant amount of coaxing to entice Severus to
this level of aggression. But this was not a gift to Harry, it was recompense
for Severus, and Harry gave himself over to the man willingly and completely so
that he might claim his pound of flesh.
Severus released Harry, peeling back his torso to instead claim Harry’s wrists
and pin them as Harry allowed his forehead to fall forward to rest against the
door. “Tell me,” Severus panted, voice harder than usual. “Tell me you want it,
Harry.” He pulled back, returned. But his thrust was not rough, simply
deliberate. They both knew Harry was well beyond answering. Harry felt Severus’
forehead press against his kiss-bruised neck as Severus fucked him with a
cadence so steady and transcendent Harry could only voice his pleasure in
quiet, helpless sobs. It felt as if Harry would die, as if nothing that felt so
miraculous could be survived for long; and yet at the same time, it felt it
could last comfortably forever, and that it would, and that this must surely be
what Heaven was like. But eventually, Severus added his own throaty sighs to
Harry’s wept refrain and his tempo increased, as well as the force of his
thrusts, until Harry tasted blood again from biting his own lips to contain his
ravished shouts.
Severus abandoned Harry’s wrists in order to better brace himself and they fell
limply to the young man’s sides. One of Severus’ hands grasped Harry's
shoulder, pulling him down into the thrusts, as his other found its way into
Harry's hair, lifting his head from the door to rasp in his ear, “Cry out,
Harry. Let them hear you. Tellthem who you belong to.” And Harry did, but he
could not wrestle the strangled sounds into actual words. Though, he did let
his cries flow freely from his battered lips now, in increasing volume, not
caring who was still downstairs to hear them or what they thought of them. When
Severus, usually so reserved, responded with his own shouted moans, Harry felt
his pleasure flower into a shuddering, gasping release. Severus’ answered soon
after, and Harry loved the sensation of Severus' cock pumping out the warmth
spreading inside him, loved the knowledge that this thick gift was reserved for
him alone. Once the man’s tremors subsided, he wrapped his arms quickly around
Harry before the young man could sink to the floor and carried him over to pour
him gently onto the bed.
They were both smeared liberally with blood, and Harry knew his back must be
currently ruining his bedsheets. He hoped the stain would never come out.
Severus lay down beside him, but Harry was so blissfully shattered by the
experience he could not hold the man. In fact, he felt he might never move
again and could barely return Severus’ almost worshipful post-coital kiss.
Severus seemed to understand and was gratified. He went about removing the
blood from Harry’s skin with his tongue as Harry lay still and serene. It was
not rushed, nor was it overtly sexual. It was simply loving. He went on to
tenderly treat each scratch and puncture with healing salve retrieved from the
bedside table. But when he moved on to the bruises Harry whined, requested with
his eyes that Severus leave them untouched. The wish was granted, accompanied
by an indulgent, approving smile. Severus sported his own wounds but ignored
them to crawl back up and hold Harry delicately but close. Gazing into each
other’s eyes was not something they did often, and Harry managed the weakest
but most contented of smiles. For Severus’ part, his face was almost beatific.
“I love you, Harry,” he whispered, caressing the young man’s cheek with his
thumb. One could see it in his expression, feel it in his touch, but the man
had refused to voice it for so long that the statement, so softly and simply
uttered, was indescribably appreciated, especially after what they’d just
shared. Harry was so overcome he could not immediately reply.
“I love you, too, Severus,” he whimpered, voice thick with emotion. And he did.
He had loved the man so fiercely for so long, he could no longer lie to himself
and pretend it was something he could ignore, much less something he could
actually kill.
Severus smiled down at him, brushing away his tears. “Well, that’s settled,
then. No more of this foolishness, alright?”
Wordlessly, Harry nodded.
***** Tenderness Will Find Itself Abused *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
When he woke, Severus was gone. Harry was disappointed. For a moment he
wondered if he’d dreamed the whole thing. And then he moved. The breaks in his
skin might have been sealed, but they had left their sweet soreness. Harry
sighed and smiled to himself. Then he rolled over and saw the dried red stains
like a minimalist watercolour on the sheets he lay on, and his smile widened.
He considered framing them. Guilt threatened, but he could still smell blood
and Severus and himself, and before the memory could be tainted forever, Harry
decided to make peace with the situation. He was still leaving. But he could
make them all miserable until then, or he could create a handful more happy
memories to leave them with after he’d gone. He decided that perhaps the Beast
had had enough pain to be getting on with, that the feast he’d thrown it the
night before should sate it for a while. Harry’d proved to himself he had what
it took to see this through when he’d abducted Timothy. The rest might be
bittersweet, and his exit devastating, but Harry could not continue to actively
cause Severus pain.
Or Remus.  
Harry recalled his Mate’s expression in response to Harry’s outburst with
shame. He knew Remus only wanted what was best for him. He’d worried the man
sick and then shouted at him when he’d shown that he cared. Harry scrubbed his
eyes with the heels of his hands. Perhaps he wouldn’t act so much like a child
if Remus did not still treat him as one. It wasn’t an excuse, but it was a
frustration. He had a feeling that Remus would act fatherly to any lover. It
was just the way he was: nurturing, kind, considerate, responsible. No doubt
Sirius had needed some looking after, as well. But their history and age
difference made the behaviour galling, and Harry wished the man would trust him
a little more and scold him a little less.
Trust him. Harry chuckled ruefully at himself. They both obviously trusted him
far more than he deserved if they had not already sussed out what he was up to.
He decided it was time he went downstairs and made amends. Getting out of bed,
Harry noticed his floor was littered with scraps of fabric and flaked paint and
wood shavings. Sex as a vampire was difficult on clothes. And furniture and
fixtures, and really any breakable thing close at hand. If he wasn’t careful
he’d soon have no clothes left. Harry’s cheeks warmed again and he was caught
for a moment in memories of the night before, but he shook them off and dressed
quickly, fetching his wand from the textile carnage and casting a quick
scouring spell, mostly simply because he now could. Though, checking himself in
his mirror, Harry noticed the t-shirt he’d put on did nothing to hide the
evidence of his and Severus’ reunion.
Harry admired his bruises in the mirror --the five distinct grey dots on his
throat like a brand, the purple blossom peeking from the back of his neck, the
ring of yellow around each of his wrists-- and he smiled, remembering how each
was made. He ached all over in the most wonderful way. It was almost as if
Severus still held him. He had to stop this, though. He couldn’t keep getting
lost in it or he’d never make it downstairs, and he knew he must. And that it
wouldn’t be fitting to bounce happily into wherever Remus was keeping himself,
grinning like an idiot. Harry sobered himself and went to go search, but he
realised where Remus must be as soon as he passed through his bedroom door.
If Harry was sober, Remus certainly was not. Harry shuffled cautiously into the
kitchen, hands in his pockets, just as Remus was refilling his glass with
Firewhisky. The man finished his pour and set the bottle carefully back down on
the table before taking a deep breath and looking up to acknowledge Harry’s
presence. Harry knew, if no one else, Remus at least had heard him cry out the
night before, but he had absolutely no idea how the man might feel about it.
Remus was not the jealous type. But to hear such a thing so soon after Harry
had nearly taken his head off in front of a roomful of their friends? Harry
decided to let Remus speak first, to allow him the opportunity to throw any
condemnation at him he wanted.
Remus was silent for a moment, taking in each stain on Harry’s skin. He
smirked. “I assume, then, the two of you made up,” he said, eyeing his drink
before finishing it in one draw. Harry didn’t reply except to sigh
apologetically. Remus didn’t pay him much mind, though. His considering gaze
went back to the bottle of Firewhisky. Harry shuffled over and silently took
the bottle by the neck, removing it from Remus’ reach before walking over to
lean back against the counter. Remus raised his eyebrow but did not argue, he
simply stuck his tongue out and tipped his glass over it to claim the last drop
left in his empty tumbler before setting it back on the table with a soft bang
and shoving it away from him.  
“I’m sorry, Remus,” Harry said when it was clear the man had no intention of
speaking further. “I’ve handled things poorly,” he admitted. Remus looked over
at him with a humourless chuckle. He was concerningly drunk. Harry’s brow knit
with worry, but he went on. “I was overwhelmed. There was quite a lot to take
in. I’m better now.”
Remus stared at him as if trying to gauge his sincerity. “And all it took was a
little discipline," he said, looking pointedly at Harry's wrists, "and an epic
shag. Wish I’d known that days ago,” he muttered. Though, they both knew Remus
was not capable of what Severus had done the night before, nor would either of
them have wanted him to be. Remus liked to flirt with domination, but his heart
was not in it. He was entirely too gentle a soul. Finally, Remus shrugged,
looking much less offended than before. “Well, if nothing else, you ignoring
the both of us seems to have done wonders for mine and Severus’ relationship,”
he said, cocking an eyebrow almost playfully.
“You’re getting on, then?” Harry asked, pleasantly surprised.
“If by getting on you mean he calls me by my first name now,” Remus said,
leaning back in his chair and nodding, “then yes. He doesn’t even sneer or roll
his eyes when he does it anymore, either.” They shared a look and, slowly,
Harry grinned. It was contagious and eventually they shared a quiet chuckle as
well. “No really,” Remus added, his typical good humour restored, “we’re
getting on rather well. We’re not coordinating outfits or sharing grammar
school stories, but it’s been rather nice. So, thank you for being a brat, I
suppose.”
Harry scowled but reached out for Remus’ hand. Remus offered it readily but,
instead of merely holding it, Harry gently tugged Remus from his chair. The man
was a little unsteady but, once he was standing, Harry wrapped his arms around
his neck and Remus’ hands came automatically to Harry’s waist. His touch was
familiar, warm, comfortable. Harry wondered how much he could thank the
Firewhisky for Remus’ increasingly agreeable mood. Either way, it was nice. His
hands explored the contour of Harry’s waist and lower back as if they had a
mind of their own, and Harry hadn’t quite realised how badly his body had ached
for Remus until the man’s touch soothed it. He smiled softly as he leaned
forward to give Remus a light but lingering kiss, tasting the sweet bite of
alcohol on his lips and breath.
“I take it this means we’remaking up as well?” Remus asked hopefully, wrapping
his arms further around the young man and tickling the end of Harry’s nose with
the tip of his own. Harry grinned and nodded.
“If you’d like.”
“Oh, I’d like,” Remus sighed, holding him a bit closer.
“I love you, Remus,” Harry confessed. “I love you both in different ways and
for different reasons, but I still love you both. And for as long as I live.”
“I have no doubt whatsoever that the feeling is mutual, my Darling,” Remus
whispered, resting his forehead against Harry’s. “And I’m sorry,” he said
sincerely. “For the commands. I forget sometimes how strongly even casual ones
can affect you.”
“Thank you,” Harry said. It was nice that Remus understood. “But I don’t always
resent it,” he whispered, his lips hovering close to Remus’. “In fact,” he
added breathily, “my bones have rather missed your voice.” He smiled, teasing
the man with his nearness but not allowing Remus to close the distance. “Are
you certain you don’t have any commands for me right now? My Alpha?”  
Remus shivered and pulled back to look at him, his expression keen as lust cut
through the haze of alcohol. “Is this what I think it is?”
“That depends,” Harry said, grinning playfully. “What do you think it is?”
Remus’ embrace tightened enthusiastically, palms pressing more firmly to
Harry’s back. “What I think is,” he said, releasing Harry to take his hands and
pull him toward the door, “we should take this someplace more private.”
“Yours,” Harry said. “Mine is still a bit...damaged.” His cheeks coloured, but
not from embarrassment. Remus shook his head but didn’t comment as he turned
and led Harry to his room. Once the door was shut behind them, Remus cast a
sound dampening charm. Harry wondered if it was simply for discretion, or if he
intended them to make a considerable amount of noise.
Remus reached for him, combing his fingers through Harry’s hair as his eyes ran
over Harry’s face, his neck and shoulder. “I have a confession,” Remus said,
still drunk but not as. Harry hooked his fingers through the belt loops on
Remus’ trousers, pulling the man’s hips to his, and waited. “I’ve wanted you
since your sixteenth birthday,” Remus said, as if this was a previously unknown
piece of information. Harry smiled and shook his head at him fondly. “No. You
don’t understand,” Remus went on. “I’d loved you since I first saw you,” he
said. “I was there the day you were born, Harry. Loved you like a nephew. And
then when I came to Hogwarts and after, I loved you like a son. But when you
appeared in the anteroom downstairs on your sixteenth birthday...my gods,
Harry,” he said, inhaling sharply, his hands running across Harry’s body,
making the young man light-headed. “I could have taken you just there, just
then. And it was wrong. So wrong,” he said, sounding anguished.
“Just forget all of that,” Harry told him softly, hooking a hand around the
back of Remus’ neck. “Doesn’t matter any longer.”
“But it should,” Remus said, clearly upset. “Because I promised Sirius. And I
still feel-”
“Remus,” Harry interrupted him gently but firmly, pressing his hips forward
again and making the man shudder. “I am not a child. You are not my father,” he
said, forcing Remus to look him in the eye. “You are not my Godfather. You
aren’t even my guardian. You are my Mate. And my Alpha. And that’s all that
matters now.” Remus’ eyes narrowed hungrily. “Command me, Remus,” Harry
whispered, pressing his lips to the side of Remus’ neck, making him sigh. “Make
me do what you want me to.”
Remus’ grip tightened and then relaxed in surrender. “Take off your clothes,”
he said, lips close to Harry's ear, tickling it with his breath. His voice was
soft and rich, but the authority in his words was unmistakable. Now that their
wills no longer clashed, the compulsion Harry felt thrilled him. There was
something fulfilling in obeying his Alpha that was wholly different from his
submission to Severus.
Harry stepped back, willing the wolf to show in his eyes as he locked them to
Remus’. Harry knew he’d succeeded when he saw Remus’ lip twitch back in a
micro-snarl. It wasn’t exactly a striptease, but Harry took his time, pulling
his shirt over his head in a way that displayed his muscles well. He’d spent a
lot of time in bed, but he’d been plenty active since, and werewolves were
naturally fit. It was a fact that tugged Harry’s lips into a smile as he tossed
his shirt aside, knowing he would soon be seeing the proof of that in Remus. As
his hands fell to his trouser front, Remus began to circle him, allowing
himself to slip into instinct as his eyes surveyed his Mate. Harry wasn’t sure
why it so excited him when Remus seemed less than human during sexual
encounters. It wasn’t just the wolf in Harry. He’d loved it before he was
infected. It was simply sexy.
Harry stepped out of his pants just as Remus completed his circuit, still fully
dressed, his mild-mannered clothing at odds with his movements and his sharp
animalistic gaze. The contrast was entertaining, but Harry couldn’t wait for
the paradox to correct itself. Thankfully, Remus’ hands went to his buttons as
he appreciated Harry’s nakedness.
“Turn around,” he said. “Slowly.” Harry did as he was told, shifting his weight
from one foot to the other as Remus made several gratifying sounds behind him.
By the time Harry came to face him again, they were both naked and hard.     
“Lie down,” Remus told him, voice dusky, as he idly stroked himself. Harry
backed to the bed and hoisted himself to its centre, writhing just a little as
he lay there because it aroused Remus further, and arousing Remus aroused
Harry. Remus crawled onto the bed and over Harry, swiping his tongue along
every inch of the underside of Harry’s cock as he climbed. He did not linger,
much to Harry’s chagrin. Though, he did lick his lips as he hovered over the
young man, apparently savouring his brief taste of him. Remus settled to his
side and propped his head on his hand. “Roll over, Harry.”
Harry turned dutifully onto his stomach and Remus’ hand went to his back,
fingering the marks there. “These will scar,” he said absently, tracing their
length. Harry tried to hide his grin in the coverlet but did not hide it well
and Remus gave him a curious look. “Why didn’t he heal these?” he asked,
gingerly pressing on the deep purple bruise left by Severus’ feeding until
Harry winced.
“I asked him not to,” Harry explained. Remus gave him a shocked look, then
considered the marks again. His brow furrowed and he sat up to inspect them
properly, bent to kiss them and then to prod them with his tongue until Harry
reacted. Harry hadn’t realised he had so many until Remus tested each of them.
It was all he could do not to reach down and touch himself, but he hadn’t been
given permission, and he wasn’t sure what Remus had in mind. Though he could
tell the man definitely did have something in mind. Harry turned to allow
Remus’ tongue access to the bruises that wrapped around his waist where Severus
had held him still after his small rebellion. He had marks on his ribs as well
from Severus forcing his hands between Harry and the door.  
“And you like this?” Remus asked, seemingly still baffled as he fondled the
dots on Harry’s neck, lining his own fingertips with them. Harry was breathing
too hard to speak, so he simply nodded.
Harry couldn’t bear keeping still any longer, though. He had to dosomething, so
he reached up to pull Remus’ lips to his own. Remus returned his enthusiasm,
though Harry could tell he was placating him. After a moment Remus broke off,
stroking the arm wrapped around his neck, giving Harry a piercing, calculating
look. His manner was not nearly as hurried as Harry might have liked.
“What do you want, Remus?” he asked, hoping to move things along. “Anything you
want to do to me, just order it. Tell me what to do,” he begged.
“Oh, there are so manythings I want to do to you,” Remus said with a soft growl
that made it sound as if he were purring. “But not now,” he said, pausing for
just a moment as if making up his mind. “Now, I want you to fuck me, Harry,” he
said, his decision appealing to him more and more, it seemed, in speaking it
aloud. “I want you to fuck me the way Severus fucked you last night.”
Harry was surprised out of the greater part of his lust momentarily as the
statement slowly sank in. But once it had, it returned with force and Harry
moaned softly. “Are you certain?” he asked, shaking his head as if perhaps he’d
heard the man incorrectly. Remus smiled and nodded. Harry considered him for a
moment, both excited and apprehensive. “It will hurt,” he warned.
Remus smirked. “I’m aware.”
“If you’re sure...” Harry said, confident the man didn’t really know what he
was asking.
“Harry,” Remus said firmly. “Fuck me.”
The command was unquestionable. Not that Harry really was interested in
questioning it. He immediately rose, pulling on Remus’ shoulder to press him
stomach-down to the mattress as he slipped atop him. Remus seemed surprised by
the abruptness but was docile in Harry’s hands. Harry had manoeuvred him almost
too easily. Remus was larger than Harry but Harry was stronger than he had
been, and he realised he would need to keep that in mind if he was going to
attempt to do as Remus asked.
Harry was more than a little nervous. Severus had never --not ever-- been
submissive. But Remus allowed Harry to remember he hadn’t always been either.
Though Harry had relied on Eric’s expertise, Harry had been the one to steer
their encounter in the Alcove, and both boys had enjoyed it. Harry tried to
reconnect with that instinct as he straddled Remus’ thighs and applied his
nails to Remus’ shoulder blades. Harry could hardly breathe and hoped the
tremor in his hands did not injure Remus’ confidence in him. “Like Severus
fucked me last night, yes?” he confirmed one last time.
“Yes, Harry. Do it,” Remus said, and Harry could tell by his voice that he was
bracing himself. And so Harry stopped hesitating and pulled his fingernails
down the man’s skin, scoring it. The scratches were not as deep as the ones
Harry sported, though they did indeed bleed, arousing Harry’s bloodlust and
helping his aggression immensely.  
Remus groaned loudly as Harry marked him, panting when he was done, hissing as
Harry dipped his head to lap at the newly created wounds. He pressed his hips
rhythmically into the mattress as Harry traced the angry welts with his tongue.
Harry hadn’t enjoyed hurting Remus, but he enjoyed that Remus might enjoy it.
He knew he certainly had when Severus had done to him. There were so many
sensations Harry was excited to share with the man between his thighs. But he
had to remember to take his time, even though he wanted to do all of it at once
and as quickly as possible.
Harry pressed his chest to Remus’ back, noting how much warmer the man’s skin
was than either his or Severus’ and how it burned particularly hot where it was
damaged. He plunged his hands under Remus’ chest, not a gentle affair but much
less damaging on the bed than against the hard surface of the door. He felt his
fingers snag the man’s taut nipple, tearing across it without slowing as they
sought Remus’ neck. They were not long enough. Remus’ neck was too wonderfully
thick to grasp it properly. But Harry did his best, loving the way it arched
back, stretched to accommodate the width of Harry’s hand. He could feel the
man’s ragged breath against his palm and the soft vibration of the moan that
staggered out of him as Harry snugged his erection flush with Remus’ pucker.
The heat there was so intense, Harry’s fingers tightened unconsciously around
Remus’ throat, but the man did not object. In fact, it was just the opposite,
especially when Harry began working himself up and down against him, grasping
his hip roughly to stop him rutting against the coverlet.
“Do you like it, Remus?” he asked breathily in the man’s ear, drifting his lips
to his shoulder to let his teeth graze but not puncture the skin there. Remus
had requested Severus’ performance from before, and the feeding had been a
spectacular part of that blocking, but Harry was reluctant to feed, even though
his mouth watered at the thought of it. Feeding would heal all of Harry’s
lovely bruises, and he wasn’t ready to be parted from them yet.
“I haven’t decided,” Remus confessed once Harry relaxed his grip to allow it.
The man was undoubtedly stimulated, unquestionably aroused, but Harry
understood how distracting the pain could be before one learned to embrace it.
“How often does Severus do this?” he asked, perhaps thinking Harry could not
possibly endure this on a regular basis.
And all at once Harry understood. Perhaps part of this was Remus wishing to
understand Harry and Severus’ dynamic, and wanting as well to experiment with
new experiences. But Harry suspected that, more than anything, Remus was
wanting to know what to expect from the other man. Eventually. Harry smiled
into the space between Remus’ shoulder blades. It was good. Harry was
determined to get the two of them in bed together, as well.
“Not nearly as often as I’d like,” Harry said with a sigh, easing his
ministrations and rising back up to sit on the backs of Remus’ legs. Remus
seemed grateful for the reprieve and so Harry changed tact, abandoning the more
blatant abuse to simply tease instead. He continued rocking his hips, watching
his cock slide through Remus’ cheeks, brushing his opening instead of grinding
against it as he instructed the man in the proper seduction of Severus Snape.
“You have to either ask him nicely, or else really piss him off,” Harry
explained as Remus sighed and attempted to press back into him. “Though I don’t
recommend the latter. You should probably start off by just asking for a
spanking,” he said, punctuating the suggestion with a sharp slap to Remus’ arse
that made the man hiss.  “If he’s moody at you, that is,” he went on, “which he
often will be. Or request Incarcerous. He’s fond of that one. Perhaps we should
just tie you up and invite him over. Do you think you’d like that?” Harry
asked. Remus answered with a soft moan. “I would,” Harry said emphatically.
“Would you like me to tie you up now?”
“Do it,” Remus commanded, dislodging Harry to turn onto his back and look him
in the eye as if worried the authority in his voice would not be enough to
force the young man to act. But Harry needed no compulsion. He grinned at Remus
and fell off him to go retrieve his wand from their discarded clothing.
“You can’t order him ‘round, though,” Harry cautioned as the magical ropes
slithered from his wand. Harry hadn’t even needed to speak the spell. His new
wand was already so attuned to him, it seemed to react intuitively to Harry’s
desire, which Harry found rather wonderful. “Unless you want him to do exactly
the opposite of what you demanded.” He climbed back onto the bed and remounted
the man as the ropes cinched Remus’ wrists together over his head. He was
beyond beautiful, stretched out and vulnerable and so very in need. Harry was
almost too distracted to finish his lesson. “He’s stubborn as hell, and his
patience is deep,” Harry warned, tracing the muscles of Remus’ chest with the
tip of his wand. “But if you can be good, he’ll reward you. Would you like me
to show you how?” Harry asked, locking eyes with Remus, his own smouldering as
Remus’ nearly fluttered shut. “Do you want me to tell you about all the things
he does to me?” Harry asked, falling forward onto his hands to hover over
Remus’ face so that his whisper could be more easily heard. “How he touches me?
Hmm?” he asked, stroking the man’s neck. “How he holds me down?” he added,
abandoning his wand to place both palms on the man’s shoulders and pin him in
place as Remus’ back arched as if willing their bodies to come together. “Do
you want me to tell you, Remus,” he purred, dipping his head to dangle his
mouth just out of reach of Remus’ own, “how he fucks me?”
“Gods,” Remus shuddered, his head falling back onto the bed.
Harry re-positioned himself to slide between Remus’ legs and massage Remus’
perineum with the tip of his cock, occasionally letting it slip to rake across
his arsehole but taking care not to penetrate. “Mmm. This is his favourite,”
Harry groaned. “Drives me mad.” Apparently, it had much the same effect on
Remus, who was now gasping. “But sometimes…” Harry said, dropping to let his
body lie flush with Remus’ as he slid down to nip the hollow of Remus’ hip with
his teeth. He let his breath fall warm against the head of Remus’ cock as he
fondled the tight ring of muscle beneath it, pressing the tip of a single
finger past the barrier, but only to the first knuckle. Remus moaned,
whimpered, but no matter how he writhed and pulled at his bonds, Harry moved
with him to prevent Remus from claiming any more than what Harry’d already
given as his lips fell to play feathery kisses along Remus’ shaft. “Can you
picture it, Remus?” Harry murmured against the man’s cum-beaded slit, claiming
the small gift there with a quick swipe of his tongue. “Can you picture Severus
tugging my bollocks while he fingers my arse?”
Remus gurgled a moaned response as Harry continued to work him with shallow
thrusts and well-calculated licks. Not enough and too much, all at the same
time. “Harry. I think I’m going to-”
Harry immediately sat up, ceasing his attentions entirely and Remus almost
choked on his sob as he mourned his sudden absence. “You won’t be allowed,”
Harry tsked, but his own need had become urgent and he climbed back up the man,
sharing a brief kiss before pulling himself further up by use of the headboard.
“Can you picture him straddling my chest? Raking his cock across my cheek?”
Harry panted, enjoying the sight of his own caressing Remus’ face and the way
the man chased it with hungry lips. “Taking me by the hair to pull my mouth
over him, just like this?” Remus moaned loudly around him, threatening Harry’s
grip in Remus’ sandy waves. “Oh gods, Remus, that’s fantastic,” he groaned. “I
like it when he fucks my mouth,” Harry confessed through clenched teeth,
holding Remus’ head still to press himself momentarily into the back of the
man’s throat. “Can you picture Severus fucking my mouth, Remus?” Harry asked,
trying to be careful not to gag him but loving the way Remus’ tongue rose up in
the back to prevent it. Harry was close, but he was not done and with a whine
he forced himself to stop, falling back onto the bed, his leg still draped
across Remus’ chest as they both gasped for breath. “But you wanted me to fuck
you, didn’t you?” Harry asked, stroking his hand up the inside of Remus’ thigh.
  
“Oh, gods. Please, Harry,” Remus whined.
Harry grinned as he rose to his knees, hooking his hands beneath Remus’ legs.
“That’s good. He likes it when you beg. You should practice now. Beg for it,
Remus,” he growled, lifting the man’s hips and pressing himself against him.
“Tell me you want it.”
“Yes!” Remus gasped, and Harry pushed forward, breaching him, but stopped,
causing Remus to toss his head back in frustration.
“Tell me,” Harry intoned, circling his hips to stimulate him without impaling
him further, “what you want, Remus.”
Remus groaned. “I want you to fuck me, Harry,” he said urgently. "Please."  
“Good boy,” Harry whispered, sinking finally, forcing the man to accept his
length quickly and uninterrupted until, with a final shove, Harry’s cock was
completely sheathed by a grimacing, writhing Remus, who still seemed to be
wrestling with the combination of pain and pleasure, still struggling to come
to terms with the fact that something could hurt so deliciously. Or perhaps he
simply disliked it. It wasn’t for everyone.
“Do you want to stop?” Harry asked, holding himself still as Remus clenched
around him with a stuttering grip as he fought to relax into the pain. There
was no answer for a while and Harry, frightened he’d actually hurt the man,
started to withdraw, but Remus stopped him.
“No,” he said, authority in his voice once again. “Fuck me, Harry. I want it.
Like Severus fucks you.”  
Harry had no choice but to do as he was told, though it was sinfully glorious,
almost painful, the way the man still squeezed him. Harry pulled back slowly to
plunge roughly back in, just as Severus might, just as Harry'd been ordered to
do. But Harry was not Severus, did not have the man’s self-discipline, and
wasn’t sure he could hold off his own orgasm until assuring Remus of his. But
he tried anyway.
The slow pace of his thrusts was as much to prevent his climax as it was to
allow Remus to acclimate, something the man seemed to be having trouble with if
his now bite-swollen lip was any indication. “You have to give in to it,” Harry
explained, stroking Remus’ thigh soothingly as he continued to pump him.
“Remus, you have to surrender. You have to let it hurt. And then it won’t. And
then it will be bloody brilliant.”
Remus nodded, timed his breaths with Harry’s thrusts, and finally, Harry felt
him relax to accommodate him. Harry kept his rhythm steady and Remus’ muscles
loosened, his grimace evaporated, and before long a breathy moan escaped him.
Harry smiled down at him. “That’s it. Just take it, Remus,” he said, moaning
himself, picking up the pace. Remus’ moans became throatier, more frequent, and
Harry stopped holding back. He fucked the man in earnest, driving into him with
more force than he’d ever dared before, surprised by the continued
encouragement to plunge harder still by Remus’ now bucking hips and by his
shouted cries. It was one of the most intense rushes Harry’d ever experienced,
being the cause of such obvious pleasure, this unending chorus of satisfaction
that poured from the man’s lips in response to Harry’s actions. But though he
sincerely would have liked to, Harry could not test to see how long he could
stretch it. He was going to come, and soon. Which meant Remus needed to, and
now. Harry hoisted Remus’ leg to drape over his shoulder and used his newly
freed hand to wrap around Remus’ cock. The man shuddered, his moans interrupted
by gasping, and after only half a dozen rough pumps he came hard over Harry’s
fingers and down his own stomach and chest. The sight of it, and of the slack,
debauched expression on Remus’ face as he wilted, drove Harry over the edge.
With a final, reaching thrust, he allowed himself empty into the man, barely
managing to hold himself inside long enough to finish before collapsing onto
the bed.
They were both worthless after that, spending long moments in a tangle of
sweaty, exhausted limbs, attempting to catch their breath. Harry felt boneless,
utterly spent, and had to claw his hand across the mattress to retrieve his
wand to vanish Remus’ bonds. Remus let his arms fall limply, leaving them where
they landed. He looked gorgeous but overwhelmed, and Harry knew it was his job
to force himself up to go and pet him.
Harry scrambled to Remus’ side and lifted himself to kiss the man. Remus
returned it weakly but enthusiastically. “What did you think?” Harry asked,
snuggling close and pulling Remus’ arms around his neck. “Do you like the way
Severus fucks me?”
Remus shook his head and laughed breathlessly at the younger man. “No wonder
you’re in love,” he mumbled, cupping Harry’s cheek in his hand. Harry grinned
and kissed him again, a long, slow, thorough kiss that seemed to revive Remus.
“That was…” Remus looked to the ceiling as if the words to describe what he
felt might be written there.
Harry chuckled at him. He knew exactly what Remus meant, even if Remus still
didn’t quite understand it. “Just wait until you’ve been had by the man
himself,” Harry purred cheekily.
“I may not survive it,” Remus laughed, unable to stop grinning, rubbing the
still damp skin of Harry’s back.
“Don’t worry,” Harry whispered. “I’ll be there to protect you.” Remus’ eyes lit
and, miraculously, his hunger seemed to return. He attacked Harry’s mouth with
is own, rolling him to his back and slipping on top of him.
“You promise?” he asked, nibbling at Harry’s neck.
“I promise,” Harry gasped, savouring the man’s weight. “We’ll all be together
soon.”
And then, Harry thought, I can leave you both.
  
Chapter End Notes
     Y'all are starting to make me feel like I should apologize for this
     chapter, though I'm not sure why...(Okay, I suppose I realize it's
     because this is drifting into some 50 Shades faux-BDSM bullshit.
     Maybe I should just delete this chapter and try again...)
     It's okay to tell me when you hate stuff. It will ensure you get less
     hate-able stuff in future. Jus sayin'.
***** 'Tis a Shrewd Doubt *****
Stepping out of the bath after, Harry sadly noted his bruises were already
beginning to fade, and his soreness was gone almost entirely. Still, it seemed
the only downside to his new metabolism, and he had a feeling his healing
powers were going to be seriously tested soon. But he didn’t want to think
about that. His heart pulled him to the lab. Harry felt starved for Severus’
attention, despite their recent reunion. He almost felt bad for having been
with Remus, but it had seemed necessary. It had seemed right. Remus had as much
a place in his heart and his bed as Severus did now. They would simply have to
be careful not to be indiscreet, to be respectful of Severus and his claim on
Harry.
Regrettably, Severus’ favourite shirt had not been salvageable after Harry’s
experiment with Cobbleshot, but he dressed sharply otherwise, carefully combing
his hair in the hopes his work would be undone soon. In lieu of cologne, Harry
took their feeding knife from the bedside and pricked his finger, adding a dab
of blood behind each of his ears, hidden by his increasingly shaggy hair. He
was growing more accustomed to the eyes that stared back at him from the
mirror, and he was glad there were no longer any glasses to obscure them. Even
his scar was fading, it seemed. For all the trouble it had caused him, Harry
felt sad to see it going. It was so much a part of his identity. Though, it was
just as well. Harry wasn’t that person any longer. He put it from his mind,
straightened his clothes, and stopped into Remus’ room on his way to the floo.
“Look at you,” Remus said approvingly, reaching for him. He was still slightly
tipsy, but nothing like when Harry had found him. He pulled the young man down
to a seat on the mattress beside him.
“I’ve drawn a hot bath for you,” Harry told him, smiling down at the man, who
was still contentedly naked. “I’m going to go down and talk to Severus.”
Remus smiled knowingly as he reached up to brush Harry’s hair back from one of
his ears, his lupine senses having guessed what he’d find there. “Talk. Is that
what you’re calling it?” he teased. Harry returned his grin.
“Just making up for lost time,” he shrugged. And time not yet lost,he thought
sadly to himself, reaching impulsively to run his hand over Remus’ skin,
knowing he would never be able to fit enough contact with either of them into
the time they had left.
“Is that a new Bloodwolf superpower you’re testing?” Remus asked, sighing under
Harry’s touch. “Or just a trait of youth? Because I may be spent still if you
come knocking on my door again later tonight. Though, my stamina might be
encouraged if you skipped the bath after your trip downstairs,” he said in a
hungry purr. His stamina seemed to be recovering nicely already, Harry thought,
taking in the look in his eye.
“Not even a scouring spell?” Harry smiled, leaning in closer.
“Forbidden,” Remus whispered, reaching up into the kiss. “That’s an order. I
want to taste him on you.” Harry shivered but kept the kiss sweet.
“Yes, Alpha,” he answered breathily, then winked and slid off the bed. Remus
watched him go with a smile, looking uninclined to move for a while still, hot
bath waiting or no.   
Harry wasted no more time, practically jogging down the steps to the lab;
though as always, the sight of Severus at work brought him up short. Harry
stopped at the foot of the stair, watching the man check his equipment, knowing
half his mind was on the self-stirring cauldron in the corner and half on the
viscosity of the green liquid traveling through the tubes he squinted at; and
somehow still more would be contemplating brew times and prioritizing a dozen
other tasks. The man was a marvel, never so alive than when at work...except,
perhaps, when making love to Harry, which the young man hoped would be
happening soon. However, Harry noted with concern that Severus looked a bit
ragged, and he could tell by how the circles beneath his eyes were subtly
darker that he hadn’t slept since leaving the younger man.
Harry slipped up behind Severus and wrapped his arms around him, splaying his
hands over his chest as he lay his cheek against his back. Harry clearly
remembered the last time he’d done this, and he dearly hoped this encounter
ended on much better terms. It started more promisingly, certainly. Severus
still monitored his potion but brought a hand to one of Harry’s, working his
fingers between the younger man’s to hold him more tightly to him as his other
hand deftly adjusted a nozzle. After a few more tweaks Severus finally turned,
his eyes tired but bright, and greeted Harry with a kiss. And not just a peck,
but a full, luscious kiss that took Harry’s breath and made his head swim.
Harry loved it, loved Severus’ renewed passion. There was a time when he never
kissed Harry in any other way, and Harry hoped this was a sign of things to
come.
Severus drew back to smile at him, fondly admiring the lingering ghosts of the
bruises on Harry’s neck. “We’ve made a breakthrough, Dearest,” he whispered
excitedly.
“We?” Harry asked, confused. He finally surveyed the rest of the room,
supposing he must have been intoxicated by Severus in the extreme to have
failed to catch the perfume of Hermione’s blood drifting from the cot in the
corner where she sat cross-legged with a large book on her lap and several more
arranged at her sides.
“Hello, Harry,” she greeted him tiredly.
Harry looked back at Severus, who still held him tightly. The man must be tired
indeed to be so openly affectionate in front of company. But even after Harry
stepped back slightly out of courtesy to their guest, Severus did not
relinquish Harry’s hands, and his enthusiasm for his presence never flagged.
For her part, Hermione did an impressive job of tactfully not noticing, though
he thought he caught the hint of an endeared smile.
“How is Remus?” Severus asked quietly, surprising both Gryffindors. Harry
carefully extricated his hands from Severus’, feeling suddenly ashamed to allow
the man to so fondle them considering what Harry had recently been doing with
them. One would have had to be blind to miss the blush that rose to Harry’s
pale skin.
“He’s...he’s better,” Harry stammered softly, and Severus gave him a
considering look, glancing back to Hermione before drawing Harry back to the
foot of the stair and out of her line of sight.
“You’ve talked?” Severus asked. There was a note of suspicion and sadness in
his voice, but not of condemnation. Harry had a hard time holding his insistent
eye contact. “More than talked, then, I assume,” Severus asked with a slight,
wry smile.
“Severus, I’m sorry,” Harry said sincerely in a rushed whisper, the confidence
of his earlier reasoning leaving him entirely. “You know I love you more than
life, but I can’t control-”
Severus shushed him, running his hands down Harry’s arms to reclaim Harry’s
own, though his touch was just slightly stiffer than before. “I understand,
Harry,” he said softly, if not happily. Harry met his eyes with confused but
cautious hope. “We don’t have to hurt for one another, Dearest,” Severus
explained, bringing his hand again to Harry’s neck to lightly touch Harry’s
bruises, lining the pads of his fingers with them in a feathery caress, causing
Harry to sigh contentedly. “We all know who you belong to,” he whispered, his
hand moving to the back of Harry’s neck to gently pull the young man closer,
his tongue reaching behind Harry’s ear to claim the small gift left there as
Harry melted against him, “and in what share.”
But then he pulled back and took Harry’s face in his hands, giving him a
melancholy but stoic look. “You are right that Remus is no monster,” he said.
Harry stared at him, wondering if there might not be something worryingly wrong
with the man. But Severus seemed to understand Harry’s incredulous expression
and sighed, releasing his face to rest his hands on Harry's shoulders. “I’ve
let bitterness poison my judgement,” he confessed, “but how could I truly hate
anyone who loves you so dearly? I’ve missed you, but we both know I cannot keep
up with you,” he conceded. “Perhaps it is a good thing that your attentions are
divided,” he went on, absently tucking a rebellious strand of hair behind
Harry’s ear. “That way you do not feel neglected and I am not exhausted. My
feelings were hurt that you gave away what I’d earned the other night,” he
explained, fleetingly pained. “But it will take more than me to get you through
this. I understand that. I am, and will be, preoccupied. And Remus is lonely,
besides,” he added with a sigh. “Who do we Dark Creatures have if not each
other, hm? I will make peace with it,” he assured.  
Harry noted he had not said ‘I have made peace’ but ‘I will’. Still, it was far
more progress than Harry might have dared to hope for upon waking that evening.
He was still slightly shocked that those words in that combination still echoed
in his memory in Severus’ voice. But he was relieved. So relieved, and he
nodded gratefully, stepping closer to Severus to express it with an embrace.
They held each other until Severus intuited his project required attention and
he unwound himself, though his light touch on the back of Harry’s hand as he
moved away indicated the young man should follow.
“So, you said you’d made a breakthrough?” Harry asked, still swept up in their
recent exchange and finding it difficult to concentrate on the news.
“We believe so. Miss Granger really has been invaluable,” he said in a rare bit
of praise, nodding to the young woman. Hermione smiled at the acknowledgement,
holding up the book in her lap to display its title to Harry. It looked ancient
but well-kept. And it was in Spanish, but Harry thought it said something about
Catalan folklore.
“I thought you were familiar with all the books in the library at Grimmauld
Place,” Harry scowled, confused. “And the school library.”
“And those of a number of others scattered across our world,” Severus agreed.
“But this didn’t come from ourworld.”
“I brought these with me,” Hermione explained. “What?” she said in response to
Harry’s shaking head. “When Kingsley told me what had happened, you didn’t
think I would come empty-handed, did you?” Harry grinned fondly at her, but she
simply rolled her eyes and continued. “Katie’s family collects, you know. Ever
since she received her letter from Ilvermorny and they realised magic was real,
they’ve been fascinated by references to witchcraft in Muggle print. Sometimes
Wizards forget that wisdom can be found in the Muggle World, as well. Or at
least knowledge. You may be the only Bloodwolf currently in the world, Harry,
but apparently you weren’t the first to ever exist,” she said, turning the book
to show Harry the illustration she had opened to. It was of a vaguely humanoid
canine, but the medieval art was so stylised and unnatural-looking, it was
impossible for Harry to tell if there was any recognisable resemblance to his
reality. “There is an obscure Spanish legend here that references a blood
drinking dog which once plagued a village near the residence of a well-known
alchemist. The local villagers suspected that the alchemist’s ‘unholy’
experiments were summoning demons, or at least attracting evil. They burned the
alchemist at the stake and the dog sightings stopped. Which seemed to confirm
the villagers’ suspicions, but-”  
“But, you don’t think he was summoning anything. You think that he was the
dog,” Harry finished excitedly, looking to Severus for confirmation. The man
nodded.
“I happen to be familiar with the work of the referenced alchemist. Or who we
were eventually able to determine was the alchemist. He was brilliant but mad.
He left behind a number of unannotated formulas, the purpose of which potioners
have been arguing over for, frankly, centuries. He was reclusive and the
village was remote. Apparently, he did not share knowledge of his affliction
with anyone in the Wizarding World. And rumours and superstitions in rural
parts were so rampant at the time that, if they heard the story, most Wizards
would likely have suspected naive Muggles of mistaking either a Werewolf or
Vampire encounter or perhaps a combination of the two. But both in one person
was thought impossible, so it would have been dismissed as ignorance on the
Muggles' part.”
“And so…?” Harry encouraged, his heart racing. Severus smiled at him and took
his hand, squeezing it tightly as he continued his explanation.  
“And so, I reexamined those formulas and, knowing what to look for, recognised
the possible applications. No doubt he was searching for a cure for his
condition. I imagine he was also responsible for it in the first place, using
himself as a guinea pig in the experiment but destroying the formula after lest
it fall into someone else's hands. But as to its remedy, thanks to subsequent
advances in the field and my own many years of research on the subject, I was
able to recognise where his calculations had gone wrong,” he said, his weary
eyes sparkling in anticipation of Harry’s response. “The implications, Harry,”
he said breathlessly. “You have no idea what I might be able to do with this
development.”
But Harry did have an idea, and his pride in the man he loved had never been
more profound. “You’re brilliant. Both of you,” he whispered in awe of both
them and the news almost equally. “Does that mean you’ve solved it? You’ve
found a treatment?” he asked, finally understanding the excitement that might
have moved Severus to kiss him in front of Hermione, and even to forgive and
condone Harry’s transgressions with Remus. This was the culmination of a
lifetime of work for the man, and Harry couldn’t imagine anything that might
shake him from that high.
But here Severus became hesitant, his enthusiasm faltering slightly in the face
of the only thing that might challenge his love of potions. “We’ve made a
breakthrough,” he admitted carefully. “But…you’d have to test it, Harry. No one
else can. And I’m not certain I’m comfortable with putting you at that much
risk.”
“Of course, I will,” Harry agreed immediately, adamantly. Whether he planned on
staying to utilise the potion or not, he would not dream of depriving Severus
of this singular opportunity to validate his research, to possibly improve the
lives of thousands. Because this was about more than Harry walking in the sun.
Severus had told Remus at Harry’s bedside that understanding the mechanisms of
this potion might unlock the possibility for a cure or vaccination for one or
both of their conditions.
Severus shook his head, inner conflict pinching his expression. “You don’t
understand, Harry. The ingredients in use could be highly toxic to you. If I’ve
made even the slightest miscalculation-”
“You haven’t,” Harry said confidently. “You don’t. Severus, you don’t
miscalculate.” But the anguish did not leave Severus’ eyes, and he brought his
hand to Harry’s face.
“I wish that were true. But I think we both know it isn’t. Dearest,” he said
sadly.
Harry felt a pang recalling the first time Severus had called him that, but he
brought his hand to the one Severus used to cradle Harry’s cheek. “That was
different,” he whispered forgivingly. “In this, you don’t make mistakes,
Severus. There is nothing you are better at than potions, and no one is better
at them than you.”
Harry’s faith in him seemed to restore Severus' confidence and his good humour.
“Nothing?” he asked, almost inaudibly, leaning closer to Harry with a playful
twist of his lips. Harry blushed at the blatant flirtation and glanced at
Hermione self-consciously. It seemed the world had been turned on its head.
Despite himself, Harry laughed.
“Well,” he whispered, just as softly. “Maybe you’ve mastered a few other things
besides.” They lost themselves in each other’s smile and were seconds away from
another kiss when they heard the closing of a book. Harry looked over to see
Hermione blushing furiously and seeming very interested in the organisation of
Severus’ shelves. Harry grinned at Severus and gave him a quick, chaste kiss
before stepping back. “You look tired,” he said. “Why don’t you go and rest?”
Severus’ playfulness evaporated and he shook his head. “No, my love. The potion
must be watched.”
“Let me watch it.” Harry had helped the man so often over the years he was
confident in his ability to babysit a potion while Severus napped. He felt
guilty that Severus toiled so long for his benefit while Harry was at his
leisure upstairs.   
“This is not something I can leave with anyone else,” Severus said, allowing
for no further discussion on the matter. “But, Hermione,” he said, turning to
her. “Dear, you’ve been up for quite some time, as well. Why don’t you go
upstairs with Harry and leave this to me?” She nodded gratefully.
“You’re kicking me out?” Harry protested. He felt the least he could do is stay
at Severus’ side and assist.
“I wish I didn’t have to, but you are far too potent a distraction, my
Dearest.”
Hermione stood, stiff from sitting so long, and gathered up a few of the books
on the cot. She tugged at Harry’s sleeve as she passed, but Harry followed
hesitantly, concerned about his lover. “Promise me you will rest when you can,”
he begged the man. “I’m going hunting soon, would you like me to bring you
something?”
Severus seemed to debate for a moment but finally relented. “That might
actually be very helpful. Thank you, my love.”
Harry nodded. He was not quite satisfied but finally allowed Hermione to lead
him away, regardless. “He mustbe tired,” he commented as they climbed the
stair. “He’s never addressed me with so many pet names in one conversation
before in our lives. In fact, I don’t think he’s addressed me with so many
before even if you were to total them all together.”
Hermione turned to smile back at him when they reached the sitting room. She
looked almost as exhausted as the man downstairs. “He’s just relieved to
finally be able to help you,” she replied. “He cares for you a great deal,
Harry.” The young man did not need telling. He knew Severus cared for him far
more than he deserved, especially in light of what Harry planned. The inner
conflict he thought he’d laid to rest already was again rekindled, and his
vengeance was disturbingly silent. “Harry, I’m sorry about what I said before,”
Hermione said softly, waking him from his troubled thoughts. “I see it now,”
she admitted. “It’s…” She shook her head. “I don’t think it’s wrong anymore,
the two of you. And I don’t really think Severus is a criminal.” Harry could
tell, though, she was still struggling to internalise this change of opinion.
“He wants to do big things, Harry. Goodthings. He wants to help people. He’s
just very good at hiding it,” she observed with a small laugh. They shared a
smile, and Harry was relieved to not have to defend the man to her anymore. He
couldn’t really blame people for being surprised by the revelation that Severus
was a good man. Severus tried so hard to seem otherwise.   
“So, by the way,” Harry ventured awkwardly, toeing the ground. “How long were
you in Grimmauld Place last night after I went upstairs?”
Hermione rolled her eyes and turned toward the floo. “I could have lived
without that experience,” she replied over her shoulder. But Harry just
grinned, not really finding it in him to be as embarrassed as he knew he should
be. “Everyone else had left. That’s what you’re asking, isn’t it?”
“Partly. Sorry,” he said, almost sincerely.
She shrugged. “Don’t be. I don’t know that it sounded like fun exactly,” she
said, scrunching her nose, “but it was obviously very intense. Remus had to
persuade me you weren’t really being murdered. I’m not sure how he felt about
it, though,” she added more somberly. “Especially after the way you shouted at
him.” Harry could hear the disapproval in her voice and acknowledged it with a
repentant expression.
“I’ve sorted things with Remus,” he assured her. He wondered if they knew how
much he’d had to drink, or how long he’d been at it, though they had both
expressed concern, so he assumed they had had some idea that the man had been
struggling but were too busy to address it.
“Sorted things?” she asked, raising her eyebrow.
“I’ve just shagged the hell out of him,” Harry sighed. “How much detail do you
want, Hermione?”
“That’s plenty, thanks,” she said quickly, holding up her hand for emphasis.
“I’m sure I don’t know how any of you navigate this labyrinth of a
relationship,” she muttered, shaking her head. “So they just...what?” she
scowled. “They shareyou? And don’t have anything to do with each other?”
“Not yet,” Harry said, but with a determined expression, and he could tell
Hermione wished she hadn’t asked. Ruffling her feathers was so easy and so
entertaining. Harry wasn’t certain he would ever outgrow it.  
“Are you really going to hunt?” she asked, exasperated, changing the subject.
   
“Yes. I need to,” he said, deciding to lay off. “Without Substisanguinus I have
to go nightly to make sure I’m not a danger to any of you.”
She nodded. “I think I’m going to bed, then.” But she hesitated to reach for
the floo powder and seemed to brace herself. “Harry, what really happened last
night? Before you came home?”
Harry’s humour left him. The evening had been so eventful already, he almost
didn’t feel like the same person who had hunted down a man just the night
before and tortured him. He couldn’t bring himself to regret it, but he
certainly wasn’t going to talk about it with Hermione. Besides, she would only
beat herself up if she knew.
“I didn’t kill him,” he said, straight-faced, but left it at that. Hermione
looked as if she wasn’t sure if she was relieved or not. She was restless.
“I found this in the library at Grimmauld Place while we were waiting for you
to turn up,” she said, pulling a book from her stack and handing it to him.
“More information on your new wand,” she explained, but he knew that wasn’t
what she had on her mind. She sighed, still hesitating to go, and Harry knew
she wouldn’t until she had said what she was thinking, and so he waited
patiently for her to chose the words she wanted. “It’s just...things seem to be
mending, don’t you think?” she said, finally getting to it. “Settling. And
Severus might have found a solution to the problem with your potion.” She fixed
him with an entreating look. “Is it really worth throwing all of that away? And
all of us?”
Harry shuffled uncomfortably, trying to stave off his guilt but finding it
difficult when faced with her puppy dog expression. He wondered if she realised
how well she was reinforcing his own re-emerging doubts. “I’ll think about it,”
he promised finally.
Hermione nodded, somewhat relieved, and seemed to remember how tired she was.
“Goodnight, Harry,” she smiled, taking up her floo powder.
“Goodnight, Hermione.”
   
***** To Mourn a Mischief That is Past and Gone *****
“Those must have been impressive to still be showing,” Loraina remarked when he
met her in the forest. As always, she fell into step beside him as they moved,
unhurriedly, deeper into the trees. “I suspect Severus, but the werewolf may be
as savage, as well.” Harry did not answer. He was still thinking of Severus and
Remus, and all the reasons he had convinced himself he had to leave them. “I
thought you were going to stop toying with them,” she persisted critically.
“I’m not toying,” he objected without much conviction.
“But you areleaving,” she said, clearly suspicious. Again, Harry declined to
answer, and it did not seem to bode well with her. “So you are toying,” she
concluded as if he had confirmed his intention to escape. “You should not
encourage their affection if you plan on forsaking it,” she scolded.
“It really isn’t your business,” Harry muttered.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “If our roles were reversed, would you still
think so?”
Harry glanced at her uneasily. Even if Harry had not allowed it to be her
business, which he had, he suspected he would indeed still try to safeguard
Severus’ heart from a distance, as she was. At least, that’s what he thought
she was doing. She was such an oddity, he found it hard to imagine himself in
her shoes. Perhaps that wasn’t what she had meant at all. Perhaps she simply
still thought they would be together once Harry was away. “Are you certain you
aren’t just jealous?”
“Of whom?” she asked with a snicker. “And I’m not certain yet,” she added after
a moment, contemplating him. “You could show me what I have to be jealous of,”
she proposed in a sultry purr. But it was recognisably banter this time.
Despite himself, Harry cracked a smile.
“Back off, Loraina,” he warned lightheartedly.
“Tetchy brat,” she tsked, smirking. “And after all I’ve done for you,” she
sighed.
“And what haveyou done lately?” he asked. Though he wasn’t being a smartass,
and she seemed to understand he was asking seriously.
“I’ve found our wayward prince,” she reported. “I did some watching, while you
were off having fun,” she grumbled. “Visited him again today. Though he seems
about as fond of sunlight as we are.”
Harry thrilled at the news, was comforted by knowing where to find him when he
was ready for him. Even if Harry didn’t decide to follow the chain all the way
to the top, he’d seriously enjoy having a ‘chat’, at least, with the bastard
who had actually held the phial. His vengeance stirred in its sleep, not yet
roused but surfacing.
“And Timothy?”
“Taken care of,” she shrugged. She volunteered no details, and Harry decided he
didn’t want them anyway. Actually, he didn’t particularly care. He had been
nothing to Harry but a means to an end. But despite his sharpening bloodlust,
Harry’s thoughts were still on Severus. Even the nearness of his much-deserved
retribution could not touch him as dearly as the excitement he’d seen on the
man’s face tonight and the ease and ardence of his touch. She allowed Harry to
brood. They were fairly deep in the forest before Harry worked up the nerve to
ask a favour of her.
“Loraina, would you tell me about Severus?” he asked politely.
“What about him? I’d have thought you were well acquainted by now.”
“You know he doesn’t talk about the past,” Harry said glumly, shaking his head.
 “Not even our past.” With the exception of what the man had told him during
their time in the dungeon when he thought they were going to die, most of which
had been devoted to discussions of Cobbleshot, Harry’s knowledge of Severus’
life before him was largely conjecture. Harry was tired of wondering what
Severus must have been like. He wanted to know. “Besides, I want a different
perspective.” Loraina’s reference to Severus’ gentleness was something he’d
never heard before from anyone. Hermione’s recent struggle to acknowledge the
goodness Harry had seen for years reminded him how few people understood the
man. But Loraina understood, better than Harry did he suspected, and Harry
wanted to appreciate it more fully.    
She smiled in a way that made him nervous, like he’d just handed her a
bargaining chip and she intended to take full advantage of it. “Tell you what,
Lovely,” she said, stopping him so they could talk. “We’ll trade.”
Harry looked at her apprehensively. “Trade what?”
“Memories.”
Relieved, Harry scoffed. “I’m not much of a storyteller,” he admitted. “And
you’ve been around for as long as Severus and I have really been together.”
“You miss my meaning,” she said, her voice and look once again slick and
unsettling. “That was an interesting trick you used with Little Timmy. I wasn’t
aware a memory could be viewed without a Pensieve.”
So that was what she’d meant. Harry’s relief was short-lived. He’d forgotten it
wasn’t common knowledge. He shuffled uncomfortably, certain he would regret
initiating this line of conversation. “I found out by accident,” he explained.
“Severus’, not mine. But Severus says it’s dangerous,” he cautioned, “can make
a person go mad, which was why the Pensieve was created.”
“I like a little danger,” she shrugged. “Besides, I don’t have much sanity left
to preserve.” But Harry wasn’t sure he was necessarily prepared to risk his
own. “Don’t tell me your famous Gryffindor courage has failed you,” she
taunted, stepping closer. “Come on, Lovely. I’ll show you mine if you show me
yours,” she whispered, grinning, walking her fingers up the centre of his chest
until he brushed them away with an exasperated sigh.  
Harry wouldn’t say he wasn’t tempted. What he’d glimpsed in the Pensieve before
had been thrilling, even if it was upsetting. It had that forbidden quality
that Harry found hard to resist. Besides, Severus owned absolutely no pictures
of himself, and Harry had always wanted to see more of him as he was before;
before the world wore him down. “What do you want to see?” he asked cautiously.
Cobbleshot didn’t miss a beat. She’d obviously been considering it. “What
happened in the Malfoys’ dungeon.”
Harry scowled at her in disgust and turned to continue walking, shaking his
head as he went. She followed along beside him for a few steps with bouncing,
sideways strides, as tickled as he was irritated. Finally, when it was clear he
would not stop again, she turned to walk backwards so she could look him in the
face as she spoke.
“What?” she scoffed. “Did you think I wanted the two of you making Bubotuber
extract? I’m curious. Severus hated the very idea of homosexuality,” she said.
“And I know why,” she added meaningfully, causing Harry to stop walking after
all. She wasn’t smiling anymore. “I want to know how you overrode that,” she
said plainly. “I want to know what you did to make him-”
“Defy his nature?” Harry cut her off waspishly. It was a sensitive subject for
him, Severus’ long-lingering reluctance to admit their relationship to any but
those closest to them on a daily basis, and his insistence to himself that
Harry was a special exception.
She looked slightly shocked. “Oh no,” she said dismissively. “No, Severus
fancied boys in school.” It was Harry’s turn for surprise, and he scowled
doubtfully at her. “Oh, he didn’t realise it, of course,” she went on. “Or
would not allow himself to acknowledge it, because of what happened.” Then she
sighed, slipping into sombre reflection.
“What did happen?” Harry ventured.
She looked back up at him as if she’d momentarily forgotten he was there. But
she hesitated to answer. “I don’t think that is my story to tell.”
“But my losing my virginity in captivity to your homophobic ex-boyfriend is
fair game?” Harry sneered. Not that he didn’t respect her for respecting
Severus in that way, but it did strike him as a little unfair.
Her oily grin returned. “Oh, but he’s very open about that now, isn’t he?” she
pointed out. “He didn’t seem to mind who heard him ravage you last night.”
“You were there?” Harry asked. She chuckled at his discomfort.
“No, but I heard stories.”
“From whom?” he demanded. Hermione had told him everyone had left except her
and...
“Lupin,” she shrugged. “When I went to get him more Firewhisky. He’d run out.
Too drunk to get his own. I wanted to talk to you but was advised to wait. He
said you and Severus had had a rather enthusiasticreconciliation. I wouldn’t
mind that memory, too,” she added, “if you don’t mind.”
Harry gaped at her. There was so much wrong with what she’d just said. She
admitted to giving his Mate morealcohol...gave Firewhiskey to a person too
intoxicated to procure his own, and she had the audacity to ask to see what
drove that person to drink.    
“Of course I mind, Loraina!” he finally sputtered, as disconcerted by the
request as he was to realise how badly he’d upset Remus the night before.
Cobbleshot, however, seemed finished with playful banter. She glared at him,
then lunged. He was caught off guard, offering no resistance when she took him
by the shirtfront and pushed him back into the trunk of a nearby tree. “Do you
have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve known a friendly touch, you little
shit?” she hissed. “And how much I’d prefer it was Severus’? How long I’ve
lamented that such a thing was impossible? It doesn’t cost you anything. You
don’t lose it. You don’t even have to touch me,” she spat, releasing him. “I’d
say we both win.”
Harry stared at her, shaken by her aggression but wondering how long, in fact,
she’d gone without 'knowing a friendly touch’, as she put it. It wasn’t that he
was unsympathetic. It was just so...weird. “It’s private,” he hedged.
“I certainly hope so,” she said, stepping back. “But so is what you ask. Come
now, Harry,” she urged. “Haven’t you ever wondered what it felt like to have
tits?” she asked, caressing her own.  “And a twat?” she added, slapping her
crotch. Harry sneered at her vulgarity. “I’ve certainly always wanted a cock,”
she shrugged. “Let’s not be selfish, now.”
“What will you show me?” he asked, eyes narrowed.
“What do you want to see?”
Harry contemplated it. He knew what he wanted to see. He was wondering if he
really wanted to do this, to open a window into their most personal moments for
her in order to satisfy his craving for insight into the man he loved. “I want
to see how Severus was in school,” he said finally, “before-”
“Before your father ruined him and turned him onto the road to damnation?” she
offered with theatrical innocence. Harry glared at her for mocking him. “Don’t
shoot the messenger, Lovely,” she said, throwing up her hands. “You said you
wanted to see.”
“I think you know what I want,” he said, accepting that he was committing to
this. “Surprise me,” he smirked.
She smiled triumphantly. “And I know you know what I want, so pick some juicy
ones, Lovely,” she said, dropping to a sitting position where she was. Harry
sighed. Why did she have to be so strange and oblivious? He’d have much
preferred to settle in someplace more comfortable, like the moss bed a few
steps away. But he felt it would be more trouble than it was worth to suggest
it, and he stepped away from the tree to sit cross-legged beside her.
“This feels wrong,” Harry said anxiously.
“It is,” she confirmed flatly. “Shall we begin? I’ll even let you go first. I
think,” she said, eyes dancing with excitement, “I think I’ll show you the
first time I saw Severus.” She grinned remembering, but then her gaiety
faltered and she looked uncertain.
“What?” Harry asked to her lost expression.
“Nothing,” she said after a moment more, seeming confused by her own
sentimentality, but she shrugged it off. “I simply hope you understand what a
gift this is,” she told him, uncharacteristically mild as she placed the tip of
her wand to her temple and withdrew a slender, obviously prized, memory.
“I have a feeling I will after I’ve seen it,” Harry said quietly.
“You should probably lie down,” she suggested. Harry stretched out beside her,
watching the silvery tail dance closer with nervous anticipation. The last
thing Harry glimpsed before it took him was Cobbleshot, looking down on him
with a tender expression as if she were some ragged, dark saint bestowing a
blessing on him.
Harry found himself walking across the grounds of Hogwarts with his arms full
of books. But Harry was not Harry. Harry was Loraina. And Loraina had never
heard the name Harry Potter.
She has heard the name Severus Snape, but she has not spoken to the boy yet nor
really seen him. She knows his face well enough to recognise it belongs to his
name, but that is all. That afternoon, however, Loraina spies the boy sitting
beneath a tree near the lake, and for the first time, Loraina looks.
She slows to a stop, abruptly handing over her books to her friend and telling
her to go on and that Loraina will catch up later. Farrah doesn’t even comment.
She just rolls her eyes and trudges off with their combined texts, leaving
Loraina to her weird habit. Because Loraina is always doing this: getting
distracted by something and fixating on it. Chasing after it and playing with
it until she’s had her fill. Sometimes it is a butterfly that lights on her
hand for a moment before flitting away; and she has to flit after it, giggling
at its drunken progress across the open field, until she finally catches it and
crushes its wings between her fingertips to see its colors paint them,
delighting in the way it makes them sparkle in the sunlight. Other times, it is
that snotty Hufflepuff with the ridiculously yellow and overly-styled hair --
who all the boys hang on and who looked at Loraina rudely in the Great Hall
once-- tiptoeing around the corner like she is up to something; and Loraina has
to shadow her all the way to the Astronomy Tower to catch her with her hand up
the skirt of a homely Gryffindor girl Loraina doesn’t know, exposing the couple
to the ridicule of the Courtyard the next day. Not because she disapproves, but
because the saffron bitch annoys her and Loraina finds her disgrace
entertaining.
Today, though, it is Severus Snape.
He is an ugly boy. Not that that means she doesn’t enjoy looking at him. She
often spends long, contented moments admiring ugly things. Loraina does dislike
his nose, though. There is entirely too much of it. His eyes are too small, as
well, but...there is something about them. They seem so dark. She wonders if,
up close, they are deeply brown or if they really are as pitch black as they
seem from this distance. And the sharpness with which they focus on the fallen
leaf the boy holds in his long, slender fingers…
She slips up beside him quietly from behind until she can see his profile. She
wonders if she will be able to see what so fascinates him about the leaf, but
really, what most fascinates Loraina is his fascination. She watches his eyes
dart as they study the mottled green surface, perhaps following a fork of the
leaf’s veins. Loraina watches Severus’ veins. The one in his neck twitches with
his heartbeat and shows faintly blue beneath the boy’s unhealthily sallow skin.
The contrast of colours in his complexion is satisfying somehow.
It is a long moment before he notices her presence, but when he does he starts
and tosses the leaf aside as if trying to pretend he hasn’t been staring at it.
Neither of them speak. The look in his eyes is wary, suspicious. She knows that
the slowest and meanest of the trolls on the Slytherin Quidditch team bully him
sometimes, but she’s never seen it happen. Clearly, he expects some kind of
ridicule from her, but Loraina only wants to look at his eyes. She leans
forward, squinting.
They are brown after all. A warm, rich brown. But only where the sunlight
falling through the branches of the tree overhead spears his iris. She likes
them. They remind her of dark chocolate. But even after having satisfied her
curiosity, she sits down beside him, drawing her knees up to hug them as they
continue to stare at each other. Severus seems confused and uncomfortable as
the silence stretches, but eventually, she sees his own curiosity flare. His
caution doesn’t simply disappear, he becomes bold. He shifts to face her and
studies her as he studied his leaf, as she studied him.
Loraina has never been looked at this closely or in this way, and it makes her
tingle slightly. She wonders if this is what other people feel as she watches
them intently in class or in the Great Hall, staring openly even after they
notice her piercing attention. She is used to being looked at, but not like
this: like Severus wants nothing from her except to look, to see, to understand
how she works.
Loraina doesn’t really understand what she is feeling. She’s been attracted to
boys before, obviously, though it isn’t necessarily a prerequisite for playing
with them. And the boys are certainly attracted to her. She knows she is
pretty. Uncommonly so. But she also knows that what makes her most attractive
has nothing to do with her features. They merely enhance the effect. She isn’t
malicious, but she certainly isn’t kind. She isn’t particularly talented in any
traditional sense others might admire. Something else which Loraina has no
words for is responsible for the attention she draws. And now she is wondering
if maybe this boy possesses that quality as well so that, even though he is not
handsome, she finds him attractive. Maybe they are both magnets, and that was
why she is drawn to him so strongly now that she has finally come close.
Severus’ lips look sharp. She wonders if they would cut her if she pressed hers
to them. She decides to test it, rising to her hands and knees and crawling
closer. He doesn’t realise what she is doing until it is too late to escape
her; though he tries a bit, leaning away until he falls back onto his hands as
she reaches for his collar and pulls his face to hers. His lips don’t cut her,
but once they get over their shock, they do move nicely over hers. They aren’t
very familiar with this sport, she can tell. But some boys have an instinct for
it that cannot be taught. And what she tastes on them, beyond lunch’s pumpkin
juice, is potential.
***** It Comes O’er My Memory, As Doth the Raven O’er the Infected House *****
The experience ended painfully, but it was not a pain Harry could describe. The
memory had been an alien entity but had nonetheless carved room for itself
inside him, and having it removed left him raw and gaping. He sat up shakily,
trying to orient himself in...himself; to remember he wasn’t a fifteen-year-old
girl, though he could still feel echoes of the tightness of his blouse across
his front and the breeze in his skirt. His own parts seemed not to belong to
him still and felt awkward being suddenly there as he shifted to face Loraina.
He couldn’t do much other than stare at her for a moment, though. He’d had a
taste of her mind, and even though it had been from before it’d been shattered,
it was still overwhelming. And the experience had been addictive. He wanted to
fly to Severus right then and share the same intimacy with him. He might have
done if he didn’t already know the man would refuse and then lecture him on the
danger and irresponsibility of his actions.   
Loraina seemed unsurprised by his response, and Harry wondered if perhaps it
was this, as much as the other part of their bargain, that she had wanted. He
thought perhaps she had also wanted to be understood. Harry realised it was a
memory that could only have been lived. If he’d carried it to the Pensieve, all
he’d have seen was a girl walk up and stare at a boy, who then stared back
until the girl kissed him. It might have made a strange sense, but Harry would
not have understood it. Living it, he recognised it as the moment this
irreverent, suspectedly sociopathic girl fell in love for the first (and
perhaps only) time and why. He also understood why Severus had reciprocated.
Harry was mildly envious of the two. It had been so easy with them, almost
instantaneous. Nothing like the battle Harry and Severus had fought with
themselves.
She had been so wild even then, or at least untamed. Harry had thought hewas
impulsive, but he was a master of self-control compared to Loraina. And
Severus, so driven by the need to understand things, could not have resisted
the challenge the arbitrary young woman presented.
“I get why they say it can make you go mad,” Harry said quietly, still
unsettled. “Are you sure you want…?” But the look on her face withered the rest
of the question before it could pass his lips. She was not leaving this
exchange empty-handed.
“Are you saying you don’t want to see more?” she challenged.
Harry very much did, would have liked to just then, but he had to get back to
Severus with something to sustain him. Luckily, the memory she’d requested was
relatively short. “Lie down,” he told her softly.
Harry hoped as much context translated as it had with hers. The memory was easy
to gather. It was one of his fondest. He decided he would give her more than
just the act. He would include the conversation that led to it. Having lived a
moment of her life, and such a profound one, sharing this no longer seemed as
uncomfortable, and he was already contemplating what other things he might show
her later.
He didn’t ask if she was ready, he could tell she was, and he lowered the
strand deep into her temple. She was not as outwardly reactive as Timothy had
been, and Harry sat wondering when he should release her, not wanting to cut it
short. Memories were tricky things. The empty moments were skipped in
remembering, he figured, so surely it would not replay every step as Severus
had paced, just a sense of it happening. But Harry couldn’t be certain. He
decided to err on the side of caution, allowing more than enough time for it to
play out before gently lifting it out and away.
Loraina trembled, looked at Harry in confusion and lifted a hand to her own
breast, patting herself up and down as if to reacquaint herself with being her.
Then she sat up, and Harry saw her eyes clear. He knew he had looked just as
shaken.
“So,” she said softly. “That is how you knew.”
“Knew?”
“This trick,” she clarified. “Severus did this with the werewolf. No wonder he
could see you in that way after.”
Harry disliked her putting it that way, as if Severus’ feelings for him were
merely borrowed from Remus. But he was simply being insecure. Maybe they had
started that way, but there was no doubt that Severus’ feelings for him were
now his own.
“Was it what you wanted?” Harry asked.
She shrugged, unusually quiet. “Yes, thank you. Though we may need more
practice. I’m certain I saw more than intended.”
“More?”
“He really was that concerned for me when you emerged?” she asked timidly,
hugging her legs to her chest. Harry must have let the memory play much, much
longer than anticipated. She had to have been referring to the way Severus had
rushed to her side as she lay unconscious on the grass in the cemetery.
“He cares for you,” Harry assured her. Then he had a thought. “Lie down again.
Just for a moment.” Harry plucked another memory, trying to cut it neatly out
of its surroundings to avoid the trouble they’d just encountered, and eased it
into her mind. It was small, but he knew she’d appreciate it.
She recovered much more quickly this time, but she did not sit up right away.
“Like the sea,” she said dreamily. But there was a profound sadness in her eyes
as they stared at the starry sky overhead, and Harry wondered if he’d been wise
to share the conversation after all.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “if it upset you. I thought-”
“Oh no. Thank you, Harry,” she said, her eyes falling closed, releasing a
delicate tear. “That was perfection. I gave you a gift, and you gave one to
me.” She looked up at him, and Harry could see the genuine gratitude in her
eyes.
Harry nodded. “I have to find something to take back to Severus,” he said as
they rose unsteadily to their feet. The experience had undone them both and
they shuffled a bit, slightly lost.
“Why does he not just come hunt for himself?” she asked, as if exasperated by
his reluctance to be what he was.
“Oh, he can’t leave the potion. I’m meant to bring him something for stamina.
Apparently, it’s sensitive.”
“Which potion?”
Harry realised he had been so distracted by his newfound doubts that he had
failed to report the development. “Mine,” he explained with a smile, the news
surprising him again as he relayed it. It still hadn’t quite sunk in yet that
he might be given some relief from his affliction. “It seems he and Hermione
did some detective work after he left me last night, and they may have unlocked
a treatment for me.”
She did not share his enthusiasm. In fact, she looked slightly horrified.
“They’re fixing you?” she demanded, almost angrily.
“Perhaps,” he said, disconcerted by her reaction.
She sneered in disgust and turned without a word to walk away from him. After a
stunned moment, Harry moved to follow. “Loraina? What? Why are you so upset?”
“If they fix you, you won’t leave,” she explained shrilly, still stomping away
from him. “If you don’t leave, theywon’t die and neither will we. We’ll all
just go on and on,” she spat. “Endlessly, and nothing will be righted and
nothing will change. We’ll just steep in our injustices and grow older and
sourer. Or I will. And I’m bitter as it is.”
Harry caught her by the arm and forced her to face him, but her glare was so
caustic he almost instantly regretted having done so. “Why do you want so badly
to die, Rainey?” he asked, feeling the way Hermione had looked when she had
asked him if his vengeance would really be worthwhile.
Loraina shook her head at him. “If you have to ask, you wouldn’t understand if
I told you,” she sneered, jerking her arm from his grasp.
He let her go. It troubled him, but he didn’t have time to chase after her. He
didn’t know what he’d say to her if he did. And so he tried to put it from his
mind and finish his errand in the forest. It would have to work itself out some
other time.
***** I Remember a Mass of Things *****
Harry found Severus lying on the cot when he returned with the man’s meal. He
was reluctant to disturb him, but he knew Severus wasn’t really sleeping, just
resting, and that he could use the vitality Harry carried with him regardless.
He sat carefully on the edge of the thin mattress, and Severus reached for him
without opening his eyes, pulling Harry down to stretch out beside him. Harry
lay his satchel with its sleeping hare on the floor and tucked himself close to
the man.
“I’ll sleep properly once this phase is complete,” he promised Harry, though
the young man had not yet commented. “Will you join me?” he added. As if Harry
might decline.
“Of course, I will. I won’t even try to violate you in your sleep,” Harry
promised cheekily. “Unless you’d like me to.” The man actually chuckled
drowsily, drawing a happy sigh from Harry. Severus was unguarded, and it coaxed
a certain contentment from the young man. “We should arrange a bedroom for you
at Grimmauld Place,” Harry said, fondling the man’s shirt buttons. He loved it
when Severus shed his robes and waistcoat and rolled up his sleeves. Harry had
never understood why Severus insisted on such a complicated wardrobe to begin
with. “You’re there often enough these days. It goes without saying you’re
always welcome in mine, but it seems like it would be nice to set you up with a
space of your own. I get the idea you feel unwelcome. Like you’re a visitor or
something, which you’re not,” Harry emphasised. “You don’t even have to have a
bed in it if you don’t want. We could get you couches and bookshelves and
things instead. Hell, a miniature lab, if you like. Or you could set up in the
basement. I know you are always frustrated by the limited space here. We could
move your side projects home, maybe the ones I can help with, and keep the
important jobs here.”  
“We could,” Severus said far more agreeably than Harry expected. “If I do work
out this remedy for you, I may have to train you thoroughly in at least one of
our potions. It was taxing enough providing for a werewolf and two vampires.
Adding a bloodwolf to the equation may be more than I can handle without
assistance.”
“You know I’m always willing to help in any way I can. You’re the one that
doesn’t like anyone fiddling with your potions,” Harry pointed out, to which
Severus simply shrugged.
They lay quietly for a while, with Severus glancing over occasionally to make
sure everything was progressing smoothly on the workbench. But for the most
part, they simply enjoyed each other’s nearness. There was a time, not long
ago, when Harry couldn’t have imagined this ever happening again, when the man
had grown so distant and cool Harry could scarcely tease a goodnight kiss from
him. Harry’s vengeance slumbered peacefully. He felt no wrong done to him could
justify forsaking this intimacy. If becoming a bloodwolf was the price he had
had to pay for it, then so be it.
He did feel bad for Loraina, though. It seemed cruel to have teased her. Though
really, it was she who all but forced the idea on Harry. He hated to take
advantage of Severus’ openness at the moment. But he knew that once the man was
more well-rested, and the thrill of discovery faded, he would become taciturn
once again.       
“Severus,” he ventured. “What happened with you and Loraina?”
Severus grunted and momentarily prized a single eyelid open to look down at the
young man. “She tried to kill the Dark Lord and ran away,” he shrugged, closing
his eyes again. “I was not willing to scratch out a living in the forest with
her.”
“Why not?” Harry asked softly. Their feelings for one another must have been
profound for them to echo still, in both of them, twenty years later. And Harry
wondered, insecurely, if perhaps there was anything that he might do that would
cause the man to abandon him. He had told Harry there was no length he would
not go to for him, but had he not once felt the same about Cobs?
“Why are you asking?” Severus asked suspiciously.
“I’m just curious. She mentioned…Nothing” Harry said, holding him tighter.
“Nevermind.” It didn’t matter. Severus always had his reasons, and they were
never arbitrary. If he ever did abandon the young man, it will have been well-
deserved.
“No,” Severus said, rising to his elbow with a gentle scowl. “What did she
mention?” Harry cursed himself for disturbing their quiet moment and propped
himself up reluctantly, as well.
“Why she wanted Voldemort dead,” Harry shrugged. “That it wasn’t because she's
a vampire now. It was because becoming a vampire made you stop loving her.”    
Severus shook his head, scooting Harry to the side so he could swing his legs
over the edge of the cot and sit up. He scrubbed his hands over his face with a
heavy sigh. “She oversimplifies things,” he muttered, his weariness returning
to him. “She doesn’t see her own actions. Not really.”
Harry nodded, willing to lay the matter to rest. But Severus brooded on it,
looking as if he wanted to talk about it further but was unaccustomed to this
kind of sharing. Harry had always unburdened himself to Remus. He understood
the importance of it, and he wanted to help Severus do the same.
“What is it?” he prompted gently. Severus looked at him, clearly uncomfortable,
but just as clearly wanting to be understood. Severus did not love often. Being
accused of doing it lightly seemed to bother him. Harry pulled his leg up onto
the cot and made himself comfortable, trying to convey he was willing to
listen.
“Loraina…” Severus shook his head again with a mild grimace as if the woman
defied explanation. “She had always been different,” he said, scowling at the
inadequacy of the word but finding nothing better. “Vampirism simply made the
way she was different unacceptable. It wasn’t that I stopped loving her.
Truthfully,” he admitted, looking closely at Harry to gauge his reaction, “I
haven't.” But this was not news to the young man. And all that mattered to
Harry was how much Severus loved him. When he saw no offence in Harry, no
judgement at all to speak of, Severus continued, and much more easily than
before. “There were many wonderful things about her, Harry,” he told him
wistfully, sounding much as he had in the dungeon when he had first described
her, “but many unsettling things, as well.”
“Such as?” Harry asked. He loved that Severus was talking, and he wanted him to
continue, even if it was about Cobbleshot.
Severus reflected for a moment, looking over at the self-stirring cauldron but
clearly not seeing it. Perhaps he felt it inappropriate to remember a past
lover so tenderly while looking at his current one. “Everything she did, she
did it completely and with her whole self,” he said finally. “She could see the
extraordinary in the mundane, and she made the mundane extraordinary for me.
She appreciated the details that everyone else overlooked. But…” He looked at
Harry, almost helplessly, and Harry waited patiently for him to gather his
thoughts. The subject of this woman was one of the few that had ever left him
at a loss or elicited such a sadness in him. Harry reached over and took hold
of his hand and Severus squeezed Harry's fingers gratefully.
“Hurting other people never bothered Loraina,” Severus continued, toying
absently with Harry’s knuckle. “I was, perhaps, the only exception. She could
be ruthless when she thought it necessary but, before we went to Romania, she
had never been cruel. Not for the sake of it. Though, I often had to step in to
stop her taking things too far, to explain that something was inappropriate or
point out consequences that simply did not occur to her.” He released Harry’s
hand with a sigh to wring his own. “When we first joined the Death Eaters, one
of the more senior members insulted me. It was not a major slight,” he
shrugged. “It’s simply what happens in those situations. We were the
greenhorns, and the hierarchy was asserting itself. He tried to intimidate me,”
Severus explained. “It was mostly talk and posturing. Though he finally shoved
me, made a rude comment about my nose. And so Loraina broke his.”
Harry recognised this was not meant to be an entertaining story, but he had to
fight a grin. He could see Cobs doing just such a thing and with no hesitation
whatsoever. Severus saw Harry’s amusement but clearly did not share it, and his
solemn expression sobered Harry quickly.
“He underestimated her,” Severus went on. “They always underestimated her,” he
said, shaking his head. “He fought back, he shouldn’t have. I honestly think
she might have killed him if I hadn’t stopped her.” Harry shifted
uncomfortably. He could just picture that, as well. “I didn’t drag her off,”
Severus told him. “I simply had to touch her shoulder and say ‘enough’. That’s
how it always was. If they didn’t respect us after that, at least they feared
us.” He gave Harry a meaningful look. “And with good reason.”
Harry considered this for a moment. He’d broken Draco’s nose, and the boy
hadn’t even been being rude to Hermione at the time. He had almost killed the
bastard, but that wasn’t for insulting Hermione, it was because he was a
serious threat to them all. Harry understood the impulse. But Cobbleshot, it
seemed, had no qualms about acting out what others only entertained. “But
didn’t it bother you at the time?” Harry asked.
“I certainly didn’t delight it in,” Severus sighed, “I just accepted it as part
of who she was. I understood Loraina, Harry, and I loved her anyway. Mostly,
simply because she loved me, and no one ever had before,” he said, making Harry
ache for him. “We complimented each other. Still, it wasn’t a burning fury she
had then,” Severus stressed, “just a lack of conscience and awareness. It was
almost innocent if that makes sense. The Madness, though,” he said sadly, “it
unlocked something sinister in her. It gave colour to her impulses, added
emotion where before there was none. And it was the wrong kindof emotion.”
Harry recalled the hostility the Madness had inspired in him. And Loraina had
admitted the First Dark had never released her entirely. “You didn’t want her
coming here, did you? In the beginning?” Harry asked. Though he had never
confessed to Severus his presence during the man’s late-night meeting with
Dumbledore, he remembered Severus’ anxiety then.
Severus shook his head. “When she first came, I had worried about how she would
be with the children but, mad as she is, at least she now understands
consequences. She’d learned how to pretend when it was necessary and to
recognise when that was. But when I had last seen her, that had not been the
case. She blamed the Dark Lord for our struggles, but she took her anger out
indiscriminately on anyone or anything that displeased her. She got better at
managing it by the time we reached Britain. But I couldn’t control her any
longer,” he confessed, almost shamefully, as if her transgressions were somehow
his fault. “And I could not stomach her new sadistic tendencies. She was
frequently unkind to me, as well,” he added quietly. “Not physically violent.
But she had never even raised her voice to me before. Nor I to her, at least
not in anger. It may seem like a small thing in the larger picture,” he
shrugged, “but it still felt like a betrayal. She would become frustrated by
what she considered my weakness, my reticence for violence, especially when we
hunted, and she would lash out at me. It was fleeting but was often
unpredictable. And it was wearying.”
Harry nodded his understanding. He was familiar with the wearying mood swings
of others, and he wondered if Severus was aware he’d subjected Harry to a
milder version of his ordeal for years. He wouldn’t bring it up, though,
especially since it seemed so removed from Severus’ present mood. Loraina
seemed worse by far, anyway. Harry couldn’t help remembering what Loraina had
said in the forest, though. How she had sacrificed the better parts of herself
in order to help Severus, and how she had longed for Severus to help her in
turn. Though, Harry couldn’t find it in him to blame either of them. “I think
she’s still in love with you,” he said. “I think she thinks she failed you. Or
you failed her. I don’t know,” Harry shrugged, picking at a thread on the cuff
of his jeans.  
“We failed each other, Dearest,” Severus sighed, leaning back against the stone
wall. “But why were the two of you discussing this, anyway?” Severus asked,
giving Harry a piercing look.
The young man didn’t think it would be prudent to explain how intensely she’s
been pursuing him, and certainly not to mention any of the other things they’d
been up to. “It just came up,” he hedged. “It’s just sad,” Harry said, hoping
to divert his attention. “I think I like her,” he confessed, though he was
still unsure and sounded it. “I don’t particularly want to, but I think do. I
feel bad for her.”
Severus reached over to pull Harry to him and hug him against his chest. “So do
I, Dearest,” he whispered. “I don’t know what she’s telling you, Harry, or why.
But you must understand that her mind does not work like yours or mine, and it
never has. She’s clever. Devilishly so. And she can be alluring, even still.
But she’s defective. And none of us, not even I, can mend her.”
“I think she knows that,” Harry said softly. Much as she craved Harry’s
memories of Severus, and as familiar as she still acted toward the man, Harry
didn’t think she’d made any serious attempt to rekindle their love affair.
“You should be wary of her,” Severus cautioned. “A wounded animal is always the
most dangerous.”
“You think she’s an animal?”
“She always was a wild thing, Harry. Loving something does not tame it. It
simply allows you to forgive the scars.”  
   
***** Nor for My Manhood, Honesty, or Wisdom *****
Remus flooed into the sitting room just as Harry and Severus emerged from the
lab, hand in hand. Severus wrapped an arm possessively around Harry’s waist
when they paused to greet him. Harry sighed inwardly, but Remus simply smiled.
He looked much more clearheaded than earlier, but the whisky had not left him
unscathed.
“I was hoping you hadn’t gone to bed yet,” he said, addressing Severus. “Do you
think you could manage a meeting in Minerva’s office? Kingsley and Arthur are
there now. If not, I’ll tell them you couldn’t come. Hermione’s rested a bit
and will be there. It’s up to you.”
"He’s exhausted,” Harry objected, speaking for the man. Which caused Severus’
eyebrow to twitch, though he made no comment and only squeezed Harry tighter.
“I’m putting him to bed,” he said flatly. “We can manage without him.”  Severus
smiled at Harry and shook his head, drifting in for a small kiss. Harry
returned it, but his expression turned motherly as he turned the man and urged
him toward the bedroom. Severus and Remus shrugged to each other as he was
marched away.
“I should really be there,” Severus protested as the door closed behind them,
but not seriously, as he was already undoing his buttons and shrugging out of
his clothes.
“You need to rest,” Harry said firmly, turning down the sheets. “Unless losing
sleep is worth it to you to see me scolded within an inch of my life,” he
muttered. He was not looking forward to this gathering.  
“It will be fine. They aren’t allowed to punish you,” Severus said groggily.
“I’ve done that already.”
“If that was punishment,” Harry said, tucking him in, “remind me to misbehave
more often.”
“Brat,” Severus mumbled, already slipping into sleep. Harry grinned, leaning
down to kiss his forehead before quietly removing himself and returning to the
sitting room.
Remus reached for him with a smile and Harry padded over to take his hand. “I’m
glad the two of you are getting on again,” Remus said, his fingers, as always,
combing through Harry’s hair.
“The two of you seem to be doing nicely, as well,” Harry said, draping his arms
around the man. “Now, if we could just learn to all do nicely together, maybe
we could get on with that living you mentioned.”
Remus sighed, but it was contented. “Do you really think that’s going to
happen?”
“I’ve seen stranger things.”
“Such as?”  
Harry grinned. “It will work out. I know it will,” he said confidently. “If I
survive this meeting, that is.”
Remus chuckled. “I have no doubt Hermione’s report will put us in better
spirits and we’ll all but forget last night. It seems I missed quite a lot,
being stuck at the bottom of a bottle.”
Harry scowled. “Speaking of. You shouldn’t talk to Loraina,” he said. “She’s
not good for you.”
Remus looked slightly taken aback. “Says the man who traipses around with her
nightly,” he scoffed.
“So I know what I’m talking about,” Harry pressed. “She’s not right.”
“I’ve known Rainey far longer than you have, Harry,” Remus pointed out. “I know
what she is.”
“Yes. A bad influence. If I ever hear again that she’s plied you with
Firewhiskey, I’ll kill the both of you,” Harry said sternly. “In fact, new rule
for Grimmauld Place: No alcohol.”
Remus looked mildly incredulous. “You’d rather I did my drinking at the pub?”
“I’d rather you not drink. I’ll try to avoid driving you to it.”
“And you think you’rethe reason I drink?”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “One of them. But happy men don’t get drunk. So I’ll
just have to keep you happy,” he said, leaning in to kiss the man.
Remus smiled against Harry’s lips. “Deal,” he said, drawing back. “Are you
ready to meet the others? They’re waiting on us.”
Harry sighed, releasing the man reluctantly and following him through the floo
even more so. There were no enthusiastic handshakes awaiting him this time,
though the expressions he met were not as hostile as he might have expected. He
felt like he should apologise. Trouble was, he still wasn’t feeling all that
repentant.
Cobbleshot lurked in the shadows by the bookshelf with her arms folded across
her chest. She seemed far more cross with him than anyone. McGonagall sat
behind her desk with Arthur and Kingsley flanking her like an Inquisitor’s
squad. They were polite enough, though, when Harry nodded to them. He shared a
smile with Hermione, who clearly had not had enough sleep but who seemed alert
enough, nonetheless. Harry let Remus have the other chair and perched on the
armrest, steeling himself to face the music.
“So…” Kingsley began, clasping his hands behind his back. But he seemed at a
loss, so Arthur took the baton.
“Yesterday was not ideal,” he said haltingly, “but it wasn’t as bad as it might
have been.”
“I’m sorry,” Harry interjected, still not feeling it but knowing it was
expected of him and that he might as well get it out of the way. “There was
just so much,” he shrugged helplessly, seeing Hermione raise her eyebrow from
the corner of his eye. “The people. The lights. The questions,” he went on,
ignoring her. “And...I’d not encountered virgin blood before, either,” he
added, giving them a meaningful look. Their irritation softened immediately in
light of this new information. Of course, he didn’t elaborate that the virgin
wasn’t actually present. Regardless, they all seemed to accept this as more
than adequate justification for his actions.
“I’m sorry, Harry. We hadn’t considered that complication,” Arthur admitted
with a glance to Kingsley.
“Well, whatever the reason, if you felt you could not safely remain, I’m glad
you had the control and forethought to leave before real harm could occur,”
Kingsley said, nodding to himself. “The crowd was surprised, but at least we
established that you are alive and the fact was well documented. We can deal
with whatever else arises. However, I was given reason to believe future
outings might be more successful soon?” he said hopefully, looking to Hermione.
She nodded, her smile was reassuring.
“Severus and I have been working on a promising lead ever since I arrived,” she
informed the gathering. “And last night, we made some important discoveries
which Severus is putting to practical use as we speak.”
Hermione went on to explain to them what Harry had learned earlier, though
going into more technical detail, which Harry wasn’t especially interested in.
He turned his attention to the assembly instead. The news was enthusiastically
welcomed by all but one.
Harry didn’t particularly like the way Loraina stared at Hermione as she spoke.
It looked bland, but Harry knew her better now, could see the discontent in her
lack of expression. She didn’t even stay for the whole story. She locked eyes
with Harry briefly before drifting silently out the door, and it did not bode
well with the young man.
“We may have some promising developments on our end, as well,” Harry heard
Arthur say, waking him to the conversation again. “Those we apprehended, though
not knowledgeable themselves, have some well-known acquaintances. One they all
seem to have in common is a certain criminal by the name of Alfred Jixy, aka
‘Jinx’. He is a member of an illegal potions syndicate that is run out of
Knockturn, we believe near Moribund’s.”
Harry’s blood chilled. The Ministry was getting closer, and Harry had not yet
made up his mind whether he wanted to let them. The others seemed excited by
the news, but Harry brooded, which Remus noticed.
“What is it, Darling?” he asked softly, wrapping an arm around his waist.
“Don’t you want to know who did this?” Harry couldn’t exactly admit he had a
better idea than they did already. He scowled and addressed Arthur and
Kingsley.  
“Are you sure this is wise?” he asked carefully. They seemed confused. “I mean,
what happens when we find these people?”
“They’ll be arrested, of course,” Kingsley assured him.
“And placed on trial?” Harry asked. Kingsley shifted uncomfortably.
“Well, naturally. That is how these things work.”
“But they can’t be,” Harry insisted. “If there is a trial, then the whole
Wizarding World will know what’s happened. And I thought we all agreed that was
out of the question.”
“Are you saying we should drop our investigation?” Kingsley asked, slightly
affronted.
“Look. We both know that won’t happen,” Harry sighed. “But, I don’t know. Hit a
dead end.”
“Harry, these people may not stop at infecting you,” Remus argued. “As long as
they are out there, they are a possible threat to you. We cannot allow them to
remain at large.”
Harry knew this only too well but did not want to give too much away, did not
want to alarm his annoyingly perceptive Mate. “What do you think Severus would
have to say?” Harry asked him quietly. Remus’ face fell. Severus very nearly
was arrested for public disturbance, was on the verge of kidnapping Harry, all
to avoid the truth from being revealed. “Remus. The world cannot know. I don’t
know how and I don’t care, but this has to be handled quietly.” He looked to
Arthur and Kingsley. “You’re the Ministry. I’m Harry Fucking Potter. Bend some
rules. Find a way. These arseholes cannot stand trial.”
Kingsley sighed. “Minerva, what do you think?” he asked.
The Headmistress had been unusually quiet, and now she fixed Harry with a
pensive look. “I think Potter has a point. I know it’s what Severus would
advise if he were here. And the incident in Diagon Alley proves we should have
been more mindful of his advice last time. I, personally, do not care to see
Harry face the repercussions of a public outing of his condition.”
“It will have to be discussed with the Minister,” Kingsley grunted, but he
nodded nonetheless.
“Perhaps it would not be so terrible for it to become public knowledge,”
Hermione proposed quietly. All eyes swung to her. She had not contributed to
the discussion since giving her report. Harry scowled at her and she shrugged
at him apologetically but continued all the same. “Harry is a beloved public
figure,” she explained. “For him to come forward and admit to his
condition...it could help improve public opinion, boost the image of all Dark
Creatures.”
“Or it could instigate ugly rhetoric that results in violence against Dark
Creatures,” Remus pointed out calmly but critically. “Is it wise to stir this
pot? Do you really think the public ready?”
“Change in society never happens peacefully,” she countered rationally. “Every
advancement in civil rights requires a catalyst.”
“That’s all fine in theory, Hermione,” Remus answered, becoming more heated,
“but people could be hurt. Real werewolves and vampires, who are disadvantaged
enough as it is, could see hostilities towards them rise. There might be much-
needed discourse, granted. But this conversation is never one-sided. There will
be persecution. There willbe violence. We’ve seen it before, and the prejudice
still exists, it’s just been quiet lately. Because it hasn't recently been
provoked.”
“This is different. This isn’t Dogtown. This is not Charles Blackfur. This is
Harry Potter. If the masses could forgive it in anyone, could find acceptance
for it in anyone, it would be him. Yes, it’s come up before and there were
casualties,” she shrugged. “But there was also progress. And this time, we can
have the most respected public figure in modern history at the centre of it.”
“‘And there were casualties’?” Remus repeated, shaking his head at her casual
mention of Remus’  fallen brothers and sisters. “Do you hear yourself,
Hermione? You did this same thing during the war,” he went on, growing properly
angry. “You spoke of strategy without understanding the reality of those
decisions, without appreciating the costs, because you were never in the
battles you helped plan.”  
“So you’re happy with the status quo?” she challenged.
“Of course I’m not!” he said, exasperated. “But it isn’t a matter to take
lightly. Bringing the issue to the forefront willcause conflict.”
“You have to break a few eggs sometimes,” Hermione argued coldly.
“Voldemort said that to me once,” Harry interjected quietly, killing the angry
retort on Remus’ tongue. The room fell silent and all eyes turned to him.
“Before I mastered the link, we had a few conversations, he and I,” Harry
explained calmly. “He offered me my freedom, and to spare the lives of those I
loved. Your lives,” he said, giving them each a meaningful look, one that
seemed to subdue Hermione. If only she knew what Voldemort had shown him before
his offer to make Harry more inclined to accept it. Perhaps one day he might
even borrow the Headmistress’ Pensieve and show her. “He said he’d send no Dark
Marks over our houses if only I would step aside and allow him to carry out his
plans. And it was tempting,” he confessed. “But then I asked him: Others?
You’ll kill others? And he told me, ‘You must break eggs, my dear boy, as the
saying goes.’” Harry was lost in the memory for a moment, heard the fiend’s
voice in his head as if it were yesterday, and a shiver ran up his spine.
“Harry, this situation is not the same,” Hermione said in a small voice,
screwing up her courage, but much more meekly than she argued before.
“No, it’s not. I agree, Hermione,” he gently conceded. “And I understand what
you are saying, and it’s something to think about. I just wanted to caution you
against having no more care for human life than Voldemort. I was in those
battles you helped plan, Hermione. Not all losses can be justified with good
intentions. And the people who will be most affected won’t even be able to
provide their opinions on the matter. At least weall signed up to fight during
the war. These people aren’t soldiers. Or wouldn’t necessarily be if we didn’t
force their hand. We have to weigh our idealism with compassion, is all.”
“Well, look who’s a philosopher.”
Harry twisted in his seat toward the voice. He hadn’t noticed Cobbleshot’s
return. The rest of the room seemed to never have noticed she left in the first
place.
“I think we’ve all had more than enough to consider for one night,” McGonagall
said sombrely, tactfully inviting the gathering to disperse. “Arthur. Kingsley.
Thank you so much for taking the time to come all the way here and keep us
updated.”
They nodded, stepping out from behind her desk in tandem. “I’ll see if I can
slow things at the Department to give us time to decide our course. Perhaps
it’s best if we did not mention this conversation to the Minister just yet,” he
said to Arthur, who nodded his agreement.
Hermione looked chastised, and Harry slipped from his seat to pull her to her
feet and into a hug. “I understand what you want, Hermione,” he whispered into
her ear as she squeezed him gratefully. “I want it, too. Let’s just be careful,
alright?” She nodded. Once Harry released her, Remus stepped over, as well, to
make amends.
“I know you mean well, Dear,” he said with his own embrace. “And I know you’d
defend us until your dying breath, and don’t think I don’t appreciate it,” he
said as he pulled back. “Allies like you are important. I’ve simply lost enough
friends to prejudice to appreciate caution. Bold moves are sometimes necessary,
and I’m not afraid to make them. Let’s talk about it more tomorrow, alright?
When we’ve both had more rest.”
They smiled at each other and Harry watched as they made their way to the floo
together, waiting for Kingsley and Arthur to vacate it.
“Seems to me we’re running out of time, Lovely,” came a breathy voice in
Harry’s ear. He started. Harry disliked the way it tickled, and that she had
managed to come so close without his noticing. “Well done stalling them. You’ve
bought us some time to take care of the bastards ourselves.” Harry turned to
stare at her, not wanting to have this conversation in the Headmistress’
office, with McGonagall giving them a pointed ‘Why are you still here?’ glare.
Cobbleshot didn’t intend for them to have a discussion on the matter, though.
She nodded to McGonagall and took her leave.
“I’m getting too old to be staying up this late,” the Headmistress grumbled
good-humoredly to Harry as she walked him to the hearth.
“I’m sorry, Professor,” Harry said sincerely, strolling along beside her
shuffling steps. He hated seeing her age. He’d always felt, somehow, that she
should be immortal. But then he’d thought the same of Dumbledore. Sometimes the
hardest part of growing up was realising your heroes were merely human. Though,
the realisation at least made one appreciate them all the more.
“Oh, don’t apologise. I just feel rude for kicking you out. Though, I simply
must.” But having said that, she stood in the way of the jar of floo powder as
she regarded Harry thoughtfully. “I wanted to tell you, Potter, that I’m proud
of the man you’ve become.” Harry blushed. Especially after his whispered
exchange with Cobbleshot just moments before, he felt he did not deserve the
admiration he saw in the Headmistress’ expression. “You’ve always been
courageous. And more than modest. But now you possess wisdom, as well. Far more
than one typically finds in one of your age. I am sorry for what you had to
experience in order to gain it, Harry,” she said sadly. “But I am thankful you
have. Men of lesser character would have found themselves on this side of a
life like yours hardened and bitter. I am grateful you’ve become a man worthy
of your laurels, Potter. Nothing in life is more jading than witnessing
unmerited acclaim, and few things are more heartening than seeing the deserving
rise to their due.”
Harry was speechless. All he could think of was Timothy and the echo of his
screams inside the Shrieking Shack. He wanted to be the person she thought him
to be. He wanted to be worthy of her pride in him, but he knew he wasn’t, and
he was at a complete loss as to how to respond to her declaration. He felt
guilty, wanting to confess his failings but not daring to spoil such a thing
for her. He was saved from responding, however, by McGonagall’s sudden self-
consciousness. “I’m growing embarrassingly maudlin in my dotage,” she said,
huffing her irritation at the wetness she dabbed from the corners of her eyes.
“You go on now, Potter, and a leave an old woman to her rest,” she said,
shooing him through the grate. But not before he worked in one brief, grateful
hug on his way out.   
 
***** What Remains is Bestial *****
“The Full is almost a week away,” Severus explained as he carefully poured a
small amount of thick gold liquid into a glass tube. “You’ll need to take it
again then for it to be effective, but if this works as I think it should, that
should be a much calmer experience for you; though no less painful. We want to
test it now, however, so we do not have to deal with unexpected side-effects at
the same time as your transformation. It should help immediately with the
bloodlust and the volume of blood you require should lessen with use. We might
not know right away how effective it is in regards to your tolerance of
sunlight, however, as the effect will likely build slowly over time like with
Substisanguinus.”
It was all important information Harry supposed, but it seemed to him as if
Severus was simply stalling. He made no move to pass the phial to Harry. The
man looked tired and apprehensive. Two days had passed since their
breakthrough, and Severus had been working on the concoction almost non-stop,
juggling the preparation of several different elements at the same time in
order to produce the small offering they were about to test. But Severus seemed
to only now be contemplating this next step, after the frenzy of discovery and
accomplishment, and debating his willingness to take it.
Remus and Hermione were present in the lab, as well. They were anxious. Perhaps
even more so than Harry. It was in their natures to fret. But whereas they
tended to over think, Harry almost made a point not to do so at all. There was
no question of not testing the potion, so what use was there, then, in
imagining all the things that could go wrong?
Not that he wasn’t nervous, too. He had not gone out since before their meeting
in the Headmistress’ office because of his conflicted feelings toward
Cobbleshot and what she wanted them to do, and he had relied instead on
contributions from his friends. But it hadn’t really been enough, and they
could not continue the practice nightly. He had not fed at all for quite some
time, in order to better mark the effectiveness of Severus’ potion, and his
thirst was keen. He was ready for something to slake it. Still, he wasn’t
looking forward to this experiment.
Clearly, Severus was not either. Harry waited for him to pass over the phial
but he seemed to have no intention of it. “Harry, perhaps we do not need to do
this. I might be able to draw some of your blood,” he vacillated, “and study
its reactions to various elements of the potion.”
“Would that prove it’s safe?” Harry asked, not really wanting to wait, despite
that he wasn’t sure he was ready. Severus shuffled restlessly, seemed wholly
unconfident in the suggestion.
“It might give us insight,” he said shakily. “The nature of our affliction,
though, is not purely biological. It interacts with you on a different level,
with the wholeness of your person. Testing your blood would only tell us so
much. But Harry-”
“Just let me try it, Severus,” Harry interrupted, hearing the desperation
threatening in Severus’ voice. He held out his hand for it, but Severus pulled
the phial closer to him, shaking his head; not in refusal, just uncertainty.
“Look, is it going to kill me?” Harry asked with a shrug, trying to put things
in perspective. Severus’ face crumpled, momentarily stricken, and Harry
realised that’s exactly what Severus was afraid of. Harry was slightly shocked.
He had expected the worst side-effect to be another agonising stint in bed, but
the seriousness of the situation finally settled in and he sobered. “Oh,” he
said softly.
“Harry, I do not think I want you to do this, after all,” Severus said, fingers
tightening on the phial, seemingly battling the impulse to pour the potion down
the sink as his eyes darted to it. But Harry knew how important this was to
him, how vital to his research, how hard he’d worked these past few days alone
to produce this possibly world-changing but potentially deadly shot of liquid.
“There’s really no other way to test it, is there?” Harry asked quietly.
Severus shook his head. When he finally met Harry’s eyes, his were apologetic.
“Then I suppose that settles it,” Harry said, holding his hand out for it
again, as Cobbleshot had offered hers in the forest, refusing to be denied.
Severus’ hand shook as he finally passed Harry the phial. Remus approached
cautiously, laying a hand on the other man’s shoulder in support. “You’re
brilliant, Severus,” he whispered adamantly in his ear, despite that his
expression showed the same strain. Perhaps it was not only Severus he was
trying to convince. “It will be perfect. And then you’ll have your key, and
great things will happen. It will be fine. We believe in you. Harry believes in
you,” he assured him, glancing to Harry who added his own reassurance with a
firm nod, even though his stomach was turning somersaults. Remus managed a
smile and reached over to clasp Harry’s shoulder with his other hand, though
Harry could feel its subtle tremor.
Severus looked from one to the other of them and slowly his confidence
returned. He nodded but reached with shy fingertips to Harry’s cheek. “It’s up
to you, Dearest,” he said softly.
Harry took a steadying breath and looked down at the phial in his hand,
wondering if the dark yellow syrup would prove his bane or his salvation. He
saw Hermione tiptoe up from the corner of his eye. She kept her distance but
nodded encouragingly. Harry could see the anxiety in her eyes, and he sought to
calm it with a confident smile.
Waiting would not make the endeavour safer, and if he didn’t get on with it, it
seemed the anticipation might trigger some sort of breakdown in one of them.
Harry straightened and raised the phial as if toasting them. “For Narnia,” he
said with a crooked smile. Then he brought the thing to his lips before he
could change his mind and tossed down its contents. It was far from the racing
quicksilver of the hybrid potion. It trickled through him, cloying to the walls
of his throat, coating what it touched with thick, oily bitterness. He couldn’t
prevent his grimace. “Gah,” he shuddered, sticking out his tongue. “Tastes like
curdled piss,” he said with a small laugh. No one seemed all that swayed by his
attempts at levity, though, and they all watched him carefully. Neither man
seemed to even notice as Remus’ hand moved to Severus’ other shoulder, holding
them both upright as they collectively waited for some reaction in Harry.
But Harry didn’t feel very different. “Is it supposed to do something?”
“Not kill you is enough for now,” Severus said, eyeing him closely, still
tense.
“Then I think it was a success,” Harry said with a nervous chuckle, still
unsure. His stomach was not thrilled by its new contents, but nothing serious
seemed to be occurring. Harry simply felt tingly and mildly ill. After a few
more moments, the oxygen seemed to return to the room and everyone relaxed.
Remus released Severus to pull Harry into a relieved hug.
“We knew he was brilliant, didn’t we?” he asked, beaming, before laying a brief
but proper kiss on Harry’s lips. Then he released Harry and turned around to
embrace Severus as well, surprising everyone. Including, it seemed, himself.
Severus endured it gracefully enough, even if it lasted just a shade longer
than was comfortable before Remus drew back with a blush. The fact that Harry
continued to breathe seemed to put Severus in a forgiving mood, and he patted
Remus on the shoulder with a nod before putting some distance between them and
taking Harry’s hand.
“What are you feeling?” he asked.
“Relieved?”
“Of course, but are there any symptoms?” Severus clarified anxiously.
Harry shook his head. “I’ve felt better. But I’m not on fire, so that’s an
improvement on the last potion I swallowed. And I’m not fantasising about
sucking Hermione dry anymore,” he observed agreeably. He shrugged
apologetically at her but she waved him off.
“Could there be a delayed reaction?” she asked, still fretting.
“I don’t believe so. Nothing serious, at any rate. But I think I will take a
sample of your blood, Dearest,” Severus said, seemingly reinvigorated by the
success of their test.
“Of course. Anything you need.”
“And then you should go feed. It may have taken the edge from it, but you still
need blood,” Severus said firmly, bustling about to collect the things he would
need to draw Harry’s sample.
Harry’s mind raced. Going to the forest was the last thing he wanted to do. He
allowed the man to bleed him without comment but quickly spoke up when the task
was through. “Come with me,” Harry urged, trying to mask his nervousness at
Severus’ suggestion. But Severus shook his head, eyeing the red of the freshly
filled phial he held before turning with it to his workbench.
“I have too much to do,” he said distractedly. Harry placed a hand on his arm,
stilling him.
“Severus. You’re running yourself ragged,” he whispered, gently removing the
tools from his hands and setting them aside. “There is no rush. You need to get
out of this room,” he pleaded, and not only because of his wish for Severus to
accompany him. The man was understandably obsessed with the work, but it was
starting to take its toll and Harry was worried.
“Harry’s right, Severus,” Remus added softly. “Even if you do not go out with
him, you should at least rest.” Harry cursed inwardly. Of course he wanted the
man to rest, but he also wanted a chaperone to the forest. Severus sighed, but
eventually buckled under their combined pressure.
“I suppose I could use a nap,” he conceded, appearing to become aware of his
exhaustion all at once.        
“But shouldn’t someonebe with him? Just in case there are still side-effects?”
Hermione continued to worry. “Perhaps I should go as well.”
Much as Harry appreciated the suggestion, he knew it was out of the question,
and Remus quickly explained to her why. “You’d never manage to keep up, Dear,”
he said, shaking his head. “Besides, it’s never wise for the uninfected to be
present when a vampire hunts, particularly one as young as Harry. Your blood
would sing to him far more strongly than anything in the forest, especially
once he’s given himself over to the instinct. He won’t be alone, though.
Loraina is more than equipped to care for him, and strong enough to carry him
back, if need be.” Hermione nodded reluctantly. “Harry, Hermione and I will see
to it Severus doesn’t sneak back down,” Remus said, already urging the man
toward the stairs. “Why don’t you go ahead?”
Harry was surprised that Severus was allowing it, but it heartened him. Remus
was physical in his expression, but Severus was decidedly not and generally
disliked casual contact, even from Harry much of the time. And yet he made no
comment or move to brush away Remus’ light touch at his shoulder and the small
of his back. Harry wanted company to hunt, but not as much as he wanted to
avoid interfering with whatever was developing between the two. In the end,
Harry gave up and did as he was told, passing out affection to them all before
trudging his way to the floo. 
He took his time as he locked Severus’ office door behind him and made his way
to the grounds, approaching the treeline with trepidation. Loraina was like a
ghost. A seemingly clairvoyant one. There would be no chance of hunting alone
and undetected, so he braced himself and plunged into the forest at his usual
stroll. It wasn’t long at all before she appeared at his side, seeming much
more excitable than usual.
“I’d almost thought you’d forgotten about me, Lovely,” she said, her strides
matching his, but containing far more spring.  
“I’ve been busy,” he hedged. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but he wasn’t
sure how to handle the situation. She had expectations of him he no longer had
any intentions of meeting.
“Busy avoiding me, you mean,” she said wryly. Harry didn’t trust himself to lie
convincingly and struggled with a response, but she shrugged and nudged his
shoulder with hers. “It’s alright, Lovely,” she soothed. “I understand. I have
to be rationed. But you’ve been away long enough now to miss me, I’m certain,”
she said coquettishly. She was almost like an eager young schoolgirl, tugging
at her pinafore in front of her crush. Harry sighed. He couldn’t let it
continue.  
“Loraina,” he began, but she cut him off.
“Tell me you’ve missed me and I’ll give you a present,” she said playfully.
Harry winced, feeling sure that accepting said present would be decidedly
unwise. Besides, he was almost certain whatever she had in mind would be
inappropriate regardless of his decision about their project.    
“We should talk,” he said hesitantly. “I really don’t think-”
“No, not that kind of present. Though, that offer always stands,” she purred
with a quirk of her eyebrows. “This present you’ll accept. Trust me. Go on.
Admit you’ve missed me,” she insisted stubbornly. “Fine, I’ll give it to you
anyway,” she muttered when he failed to respond, openly pouting. “And I’ve got
a memory lined up for you, too,” she added, brightening again. “It’s special.”
Harry stopped walking and looked at her, feeling unbearably awkward. He could
tell her enthusiasm was frail, unsuccessfully masking her insecurity. Her eyes
shone with a fragile hope, and he could practically see her willing him to play
along. But not only did he want to avoid disappointing her, he had absolutely
no idea what she might do if he did. And Harry realised he was more than a
little frightened of her, despite his newfound fondness.
“A present?” he asked carefully, finally. Her smile was relieved, and not a
little manic.
“Come see, Lovely,” she whispered before turning and setting off with no other
explanation. Harry sighed, hesitating only for a moment before following her at
a sprint. She seemed to run forever, at full tilt, to an area of the forest he
was unfamiliar with. And so Harry almost stumbled over her when she stopped
abruptly just outside of a clearing. She was so excited when she turned to him
that, for a moment, she couldn’t seem to form words. And her mood was slightly
infectious. Harry had no idea what was in the clearing, but his anticipation
made him tingle.
“The wards end not far from here,” she told him when she had collected herself.
“Only so much of the forest is in Hogwart’s keeping. It’s vast. Once you pass
the boundary, you can Apparate, did you know that?” Harry wasn’t sure what she
was driving at, but he shook his head and waited. “I didn’t drag him very far
in,” she went on. “Just enough that he couldn’t easily get away. I made this
space my own a while ago. The Centaurs steer clear. There’s a hag nearby, but
she knows better than to cross me.” Harry watched with trepidation as her
manner changed from giddiness to something he could only describe as arousal.
“What I’m saying, Lovely,” she said, sidling closer, “is we have complete
privacy here.”
“For what, exactly?” he asked uncomfortably, taking a step back.
“For whatever you want to do to him,” she whispered, flashing him a tantalising
look. Harry’s pulse quickened as he began to suspect her meaning. He looked to
the clearing again, stepping around her to drift closer to it.
“Who?” he asked absently, even as the Beast stirred with recognition.
She didn’t answer, she only grinned as she followed Harry, who drew toward the
treeless, moon-flushed space with gradually increasing speed and determination.
In the clearing was a simple but well-made structure. Even through its walls,
Harry could smell the rich, warm waft of human blood. It was intoxicating, and
Harry approached the door as if in a dream, pushing it slowly open on its rope
hinges to reveal his gift within.
His Highness Prince William hung from ropes from the ceiling, his arms
outstretched in a mockery of crucifixion. He had clearly been here for a while,
if his stench was any indication, though the pulsing glow of his heart still
seemed strong enough. He'd likely been here the whole while Harry had been
avoiding the forest. Seeing the man who still haunted his nightmares was
overwhelming, triggering flashbacks of the factory: The impossibly loud crack
of gunshots and smell of powder. The unending blur of vicious, Mut-frenzied
faces as they came at him relentlessly, two emerging from the shadows for every
one he cut down. The bite of nails on his face as they attempted to claw his
mouth open. And, most keenly, that first burn as the potion snaked its way down
his throat and through his body. And through the haze of that initial pain was
this man’s face, sweaty and hate-filled, glaring down at him as Harry finally
succumbed to the fire.
A cold hate gripped him. Every vile impulse Harry had ever felt combined could
not match the urge for slow violence that now made Harry’s fingers twitch at
his sides. The Beast did not just awaken, Harry felt himself become the Beast.
He did not need to transform, though, to embody its hunger. Not yet.
Cobbleshot strode up next to Harry, all playful girlishness gone. These games
were more serious, and her prowess at them was practically Olympian. “Do you
like my gift, Harry?” she asked softly, snaking an arm around his waist. Harry
was so overcome at the moment that he allowed it. “I got him for you before the
Ministry could rob you of him. I know how important this is for you. Just as
well you kept your distance. The Mut’s only now run its course. He should be
clear-headed by now. Not so impervious to pain,” she intoned with clear
insinuation. “He’s stubborn, too. This will be fun,” she said, a smile in her
low, darkly anticipating voice.
Harry looked down at her. He did like this gift. So much so that he found
himself very nearly failing to check the impulse he had to express his approval
by pressing his mouth to the one she raised to him with wantonly parted lips.
He had not fed and his lust was urgent, despite the potion. And added to the
lust for blood and sex was now the lust for cruelty. How the three complimented
each other, and how perfectly they mixed in this fey woman.
Harry forced himself to look away and back to their captive. He was not
conscious, and Harry pulled away from her to circle him slowly, looking him
over. “You’ve fed from him?” Harry asked curiously, observing several angry
punctures on the man’s neck.  
“Oh, just a bit. I thought we would be disposing of him later anyway, so why
not?” Harry noted how casually she spoke of murder, but also how little it
bothered him. “He’s only just starting to sweat. Pity he’ll never know the
Madness,” she sighed. “I’d have liked to have watched it destroy him.”
“Oh, he’ll know madness,” Harry promised her quietly. Cobbleshot shivered with
anticipation when she met his hard gaze, breaking into a slow, almost indecent
grin.
***** The Time, the Place, the Torture: O, Enforce It! *****
“Wake him,” Harry said softly, ready. He barely heard the Rennervateshe cast,
but their captive stirred and then woke with a start, struggling weakly to find
his feet and take his weight off his wrists. Harry noticed his hands looked
purple. It was a good thing the man wouldn’t be needing them anymore. Standing
didn’t give him much slack, though, and he was still so unsteady he ended up
dangling anyway, his weight thrown forward as he turned his attention to his
surroundings instead of his balance.
It was dark in the hut, but the quarter moon outside provided enough light for
the man to at least determine he had company. Though not enough, perhaps, to
recognise it. His expression was surprisingly sharp to be so exhausted, and his
scowl was quick. He struggled to focus on Harry’s face. He was angry and
apprehensive, but he wasn’t afraid. No doubt he’d already realised he wasn’t
leaving the forest alive. There was no hope in him, only hate. All the better,
really.
Harry whispered a Lumos, though it was almost unnecessary. His wand began to
glow as soon as the impulse struck him, held loosely in the hand Harry rested
on his bare thigh as he sat cross-legged on a stool in front of their prisoner.
The first thing illuminated was his crotch, the nakedness of which His
Highness’ scowl deepened at before he lifted his bloodshot eyes to Harry’s
face. The man scoffed.
“I’d heard whispers that you were a deviant,” he sneered, voice rough and
weary, “with that dour as fuck Cocktail Mixer. But I didn’t think it could be
true. ‘Specially not of that old fuck. Guess I was wrong,” he muttered,
coughing and spitting on the dirt floor. “Wot you gonna do, then? Stab me with
your meat wand, you filthy poofter? Lucky for me the thing’s so fuckin’ small.”
Harry didn’t answer. He simply stood, laying his wand on the stool to continue
lighting the space as he circled the bastard to take in the sorry state of him
again. Harry didn’t need the light, but he wanted to make sure Willy could see
what he had created. When he made his way back to it, Harry bent to look the
man in the face, close enough that his rancid breath seared Harry’s nostrils.
The man smelled of sweat and urine and dirt.
And Hate. Harry realised that was something he could smell now. And old fear,
likely from when he was first brought here and still held out hope of survival.
That was gone now. The man’s eyes held nothing but low-burning anger and
challenge. Harry’s own expression betrayed nothing.      
“Would you like me to show you why I’m naked?” Harry asked softly. William’s
lip curled in disgust.
“Not especially. Reckon you’re just a fuckin’ pervert,” he drawled.
“Just didn’t want to ruin my clothes, actually,” Harry shrugged.
“Wot ‘with my blood’?” William asked flippantly. Harry shook his head.
“I can spell out stains,” he explained calmly. “Harder to fix rags.”
William looked at him apprehensively and Harry gave him a slow smile, not
bothering to step back before reaching within and untethering the Beast. The
man betrayed the first hint of fear at the sound of Harry’s snapping bones and
the audible rip of tearing muscles. Harry was not exactly old hat at this, but
he’d done it often enough, and his loathing for this man burned hotly enough,
that he managed the transformation without crying out or losing his footing. He
embraced the pain as his body swoll and sprouted, used it to fuel his
stubbornness. William yelped when Harry’s face, so close to his own, contorted;
turned his to avoid Harry’s lengthening muzzle. Harry’s lungs pumped against
the residual ache, and the transformation ended with Harry’s leathery snout
tapping William’s cheek with each throbbing pant, blasting hot breath in the
man’s face that lifted his greasy hair while William grimaced as if already in
pain himself. Harry enjoyed the way he trembled. He could sense it in his
whiskers and the sensitive pad of his nose. He growled quietly, causing the man
to whimper as Harry opened his maw and licked the trickling sweat from
William’s face with a long, slow swipe of his flat tongue. It tasted like fear.
Harry liked the flavor, wanted more of it. He roared in the man’s ear.
William’s cry was lost in the sound, which was neither wolfish nor vampiric,
simply inhuman. Despite clear effort to suppress them, the man released a
trickle of tears, which Harry licked away as well, more delicately than the
sweat before, as William shuddered. Finally, Harry stepped back with a
satisfied purr.
“Wot in merciful hell areyou?’’ the man stammered, finally daring to look up at
him. Harry pushed off his hands and rose to his full height, further cowering
the man, and wheezed through his fangs in a close resemblance to laughter.
“And just what did you think you were feeding him that day?” Cobbleshot asked,
laughing properly in Harry’s stead. This was Harry’s show, but she stepped from
the shadows now to stroke his jet black fur lovingly. “You should ask more
questions before agreeing to meddle with legends.”  
William fought to collect himself. He was clearly well acquainted with Loraina,
and now he remembered his hate and his defiance. He couldn’t completely quiet
his tremble, but his glower returned. “Well, get on with it then,” he spat.
“Reckon you’re about to do to me wot you done to Timmy. Fuck it. And fuck you,”
he hissed.
Harry looked down at Cobbleshot, but she was staring at William with a smug
smile. He’d have to remember later to ask exactly what she’d done to Timmy, if
he could hold on to it. The moon was fuller than the last time he’d changed and
his hold on such things was more tenuous. He turned back to William and fell to
all fours again, snuffling at him as he moved behind him. There was no doubt
the bastard was tough, but his bravado failed him when Harry rose and placed a
paw on each of his shoulders. He cried out in pain as Harry let his weight rest
there, pulling on the bonds around the man’s already tender and aching wrists.
He didn’t scream properly, though, until Harry gently placed his jaws around
William’s neck.
He likely expected Harry to rend his head from his shoulders, and Harry was
tempted to do just that. But Harry wasn’t finished playing yet. His wolf fangs
were not as sharp as his vampire ones, though they were sharper and more
slender than Remus’. Harry tightened his jaws carefully, letting them sink into
the dirt-caked flesh beneath them until he tasted the hot liquor of the man’s
blood. He’d yet to feed directly from an uninfected heart, and it was
unexpectedly glorious. He let the rapture of it carry him back through the
change.
“Loraina, heal these,” he panted as he fell away from the man, once again human
and naked. The punctures were not as neat as the ones Cobbleshot had left and
he was afraid the man might bleed to death before he was done with him. “No
wonder you snacked,” Harry mumbled, still high on the swoon, coming back to the
woman as she cast the requested spell.
“It is a rare delicacy if one does not fancy Azkaban,” she agreed with a smile,
running a finger through the blood that still stained his face before bringing
it to her lips and licking it clean. She shivered, then boldly rose to tiptoe
to lick the rest directly from the corner of Harry’s mouth. Then it was Harry’s
turn to shiver, his hands finding her waist to steady her as she finished the
job. He was still intoxicated. He’d only drank enough to whet his lust, and he
realised all at once that he was naked and that he enjoyed the sensation of her
pressed to his bare skin.
She was so tiny. It was an easy thing to forget. Her personality made her loom
more large in one’s perception. She filled one’s awareness, but touching her
now he found she seemed barely to fill his hands. Something about that was
arousing. He was used to being roughly treated by larger men. He loved their
size and their weight and the way they filled his arms, the way they filled all
his senses with their physicality. But her smallness made him want to touch her
in the same way delicate things often beg to be fondled.
His resistance was at an all-time low, and he waited for her to take advantage
of that fact. If she had moved her lips an inch to her left to find his,
nothing would have prevented him from devouring her. But she didn’t. She placed
her hand gently on his cheek and drew back, her absence allowing him to wake to
himself. He looked down at her, and he could tell she could see his gratitude
and his confusion. She simply smiled at him knowingly and stepped clear of him,
withdrawing again to the shadows, leaving him shaken and still obviously
aroused.
“Not a complete faggot, then.”
Harry had practically forgotten about their guest. The comment lacked bite,
though. Billy seemed surprised to still be alive, though far from grateful. And
Harry was beginning to tire of their game. He found his clothes and worked his
way back into them as he spoke.  
“Who hired you to attack me?” he asked calmly, closing his trousers over his
lingering erection.
“Fuck you,” William mumbled wearily.
“You realise I’m going to torture you,” Harry said plainly, moving to his shirt
buttons.
“You think I’m afraid of pain? I was in the war, you little shit,” he sneered.
“Watched you cut down me best mate with some spell I’d never even seen before.
From your fuckin’ forehead. Fuckin’ freak,” he muttered, his voice thick with
loathing. “Besides, do you have any idea how long I’ve been takin’ bloody Mut?
Might not have any in me right now, but after a while it don’t matter. The
withdrawals hurt more than anything you could do to me. You couldn’t cause me
enough pain to make me tell you fuck all.”
Now dressed, Harry walked over to the stool and reclaimed his wand, taking a
seat. “I don’t need to make you feel pain. I just need to make you remember
it.”
William mimed gagging at Harry’s crypticism, and Harry sighed, waving his wand
to sever the man’s ropes, sending him crashing to the ground, too weak to
stand. He writhed on the dirt floor, trying to roll to his back as he cradled
his worthless hands to his chest. Harry walked over and crouched at his side.
“I tested this on our friend Tim,” he explained conversationally. “He wasn’t as
tough as you, but somehow I think it will still be effective. You know, I had
thought about setting you loose in the forest and letting you run for a while
before I went wolf and hunted you down,” he mused. “Maybe ripping open your
abdomen with the handy new claws you gave me, eating you alive slowly while you
screamed for death.” William sneered, not half as frightened by the suggestion
is he was disturbed by it. He eyed Harry in disgust. Harry had disturbed
himself a bit when considering it. It still appealed to him, though. “But
that’s nothing to what you did to me, honestly,” he went on, sitting finally
and resting his arms on his knees, “as you are about to find out. Besides,
after I’m through, I don’t think you’ll be able to run,” he said, considering
the man beside him. “I’m afraid your mind just might turn to mush. Of course,
the humane thing to do then would be to put you out of your misery. But I
haven’t decided, yet, if I’ll feel merciful at that point. Depends on how much
you can tell me, I suppose.”
William answered by spitting in Harry’s face. Harry calmly wiped the stuff from
his eye, then punched the man solidly, dislodging one of his few remaining
teeth. William didn’t make a peep. He simply took a moment to recover and then
fished for the tooth with his tongue to spit that bloody thing at Harry, as
well. Though it fell well short, he glared up at Harry in challenge, and the
next blow went to the man’s stomach. This time William groaned and curled in on
himself.
“That one got away from me,” Harry said, almost apologetically. “I haven’t
learned to gauge this new strength, to be honest,” he sighed. “I would imagine
you’ve got some internal bleeding now, though, so that’s good. You should die
whether I feel merciful or not. Eventually. That should cheer you up a bit.”
William was not capable of reply at that point, so Harry got on with it,
pulling the memory from his temple. He was better at editing them, now. The
fury and bitterness and panic he’d felt before the potion was all nice and
good, but Harry opted for pure pain, starting the memory at the moment the
potion touched his tongue. William’s screams were instantaneous. It wasn’t
exactly music to Harry’s ears, but he was disturbingly undisturbed by their
unending chorus.
Cobbleshot seemed to think it prime entertainment and took a seat beside Harry
with a contented expression, giving the young man a tender look before serenely
watching their captive’s face turn red and his veins bulge in his neck from the
force of his cries. Harry, however, was almost bored. He watched Loraina
instead, still trying to banish the phantom sensation of his hands on her
waist, and the almost-forgotten feeling of being attracted to femininity. She
was only occasionally so, though, as if it were a by-product of her arousal.
Other times she was almost mannish in her mannerisms, guileless and
straightforward. Sometimes, she even struck him as more masculine than Severus.
Severus’ movements were practised and controlled. Graceful. It lent him a vague
air of androgyny. Remus, however, contained no ambiguity.    
“You shouldn’t talk to Remus,” he told her, remembering he’d meant to bring it
up. He practically shouted it, but only to be heard above their guest. He
wasn’t nearly so cross with her over it anymore. “Or at the very least, don’t
give him whisky, for Merlin’s sake. I actually think he might be developing a
problem.”
She smirked. “You are not Lord of myManor, Lovely. You cannot rule me.” Harry
wasn’t sure if she meant it or was being playful.
“But I am lord of mine,” he pointed out, “and of Remus.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I thought it was the other way around,” she countered.
“Please,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. Remus may be able to command his bones,
but Harry as good as owned both men, and everyone involved knew it. Loraina
seemed to as well and gave him a conceding nod.   
“Because I like you, I’ll consider it,” she said. “Or I may not,” she shrugged
with a dismissive sniff.
Harry shook his head at her. “Crazy bitch,” he muttered fondly. She gave him a
delighted, decidedly unhinged smile.
“Tetchy brat,” she returned. It was an odd flirtation, occurring at an odd time
and place, but Harry had to admit he was enjoying himself. He winked at her and
then turned his attention back to William, gently lifting the memory from the
man’s mind but not yet returning it to his own. He waited patiently for the
man’s eyes to clear, for him to recover himself. It took a long while, and he
was unusually still when he finally regained the power of speech.
“Merlin’s Dickbeard,” he rasped with a shudder, looking up at Harry in
something almost like admiration. “How in hell did you survive that?”
Harry snorted. “It’s what I do,” he smirked. “Boy Who Lived, remember? But
enough about me. Have you decided you want to answer my questions?”
William’s defiance was a little harder to rally this time, but rally it he did.
“Fuck you,” he whispered shakily, eyes falling closed, knowing what was about
to happen. Harry shrugged and lowered the memory back into the man’s temple.
His screams were weaker this time, but still unending.
“Remus and Severus are getting on really well,” Harry mentioned to Cobbleshot,
ignoring the noise. “I think it mostly has to do with how frazzled Severus is,
but I’m still impressed.”
“You know, I had some doubts at first, but I think I like your werewolf,”
Loraina said agreeably, shifting closer to him to speak more easily over their
friend’s shouts. “He’s far more cunning than he lets on. That threadbare
uniform of his is misleading. He’s ruthless in his own way,” she reflected with
a small smile. “His Claiming you on the Full? Wasn’t necessary,” she said with
a dismissive shake of her head. “Helpful perhaps. Unscrupulous, undoubtedly.
And I suspect fun, as well. VerySlytherin,” she summarised approvingly.
“The world isn’t divided into Houses, Loraina,” Harry pointed out. He didn’t
disagree with her assessment, but she saw everything so simplistically. “I
suppose we all have a bit of each of them in us.”  She looked at him as if she
thought him naive but didn’t comment.
“I simply mean he’s devious enough to appreciate Our Severus,” she explained.
“And Our Severus,” she sighed, “is a lion in snake’s clothing, we know that
already. Not that he isn’t excellent at playing the part. I’m almost surprised
the two of them haven’t been to bed already. Remus is determined, I could tell
that much from talking to him. It was one of the reasons I brought him more
drink,” she chuckled as if she had sympathised. “He seemed at least as upset
that you were with Severus as the other way around. He didn’t say so, but I
could tell. He was so angry at you for mistreating Severus. And I know he
thinks you hung the bloody moon, so he must be fond of Severus in the extreme
to see any fault in you. He’s nurturing,” she reflected with a nod. “He’ll be
good for Severus. Severus has always needed to be cared for, he’s just never
accepted it.”
Harry had mixed feelings about her examination. He agreed with her for the most
part, and it gave him hope. But he knew she was saying these things because she
was trying to soothe Harry’s fear of leaving the two alone, not to encourage
his attempts to join the three of them together.
“But canthey be together?” he asked. He’d been wondering. What he wanted them
to do involved the sharing of plenty of bodily fluids. “Aren’t they toxic to
one another?”
She shrugged. “These aren’t mundane Muggle afflictions, Harry. They are
magical. Their effect and transmission depend as much on the animus of the
bearer as anything else. Both lycanthropy and vampirism can only be transmitted
through a bite,” she explained. “A purposeful one. Like most things magical, it
requires intent. We are toxic to one another in battle because we both fight by
biting, and a bite is an intentional act of aggression. I suspect that is why
they worried about you on the Full and the Dark,” she told him, “before they
had established you were not infectious. It was because you would be
aggressive. The wounds you inflicted were intentional, whether you were in your
right mind or not.” Harry mulled this over, regretting, again, the harm he’d
caused then. But if the potion he’d tested that night indeed worked, he
wouldn’t have to worry in future.
“As for the boys being together,” she went on uncertainly, “the prejudice is
deep and the instinctual aversion is strong. I don’t think there have ever been
a werewolf and a vampire in this situation where they might interact physically
in a non-hostile way,” she mused. “So you are not the only one who is unique,
Lovely,” she needled. “The sharing of blood, and similar substances,” she
added with a lift of her eyebrows, “might sicken, but without the intent to
harm it should not be life-threatening,” she reasoned. “At least, that is my
opinion,” she shrugged. “I could be wrong. Severus is the scientist. I kill
werewolves, I’ve never been compelled to kiss one. Don’t look so shocked,” she
said, waving off his scandalised expression. “I’ve killed my share of vampires,
as well.”
Harry scowled at how casually she spoke of such things. “What? For sport?” he
asked uncomfortably.
She shook her head and gave a small, joyless laugh. “In Romania,” she began,
voice suddenly low, as if her time there shouldn’t really be spoken of aloud,
“the skirmishes over territory between the Vampires and the Lycanthropes is
never ending. And I lived in the in between,” she told him with a far-away look
in her eye. “Rejected by the Coven but tolerated at their borders, no doubt
because I helped with disposing of or scaring away a good number of their
rivals. I was a nomadic ‘other’, no allegiances, no allies; only enemies.” She
lost herself in memories for a moment. They were clearly not pleasant, but
Harry liked when she talked about her past. She seemed saner when looking back.
Discussing the roots of her madness, ironically, seemed to quiet it. “Well, no
official allies,” she amended, waking to herself again. “There were other
outcasts from both sides that shared that limbo. I only ever befriended the
vampires, though. If friends are what we could call ourselves. We learned from
each other sometimes, of necessity, and we fought each other rarely because we
knew each other’s secret weapons. I learned Animus Secretum, for example. I
taught it to others as I taught it to you, though not as easily,” she said, her
eyes going fondly to his still-fading scar.
“What else did you learn?” he prompted when she stopped sharing.
“Few magical things,” she shrugged, hugging her knees. “Mostly practical ones,
like how to live in the forest. How to ambush. How to confuse my scent. How to
use knives,” she said, producing one from behind her back almost as if by
magic. Harry’d not noticed it before when he’d held her. He wondered where else
and how many she might have hidden on her. “How to use them in close quarters
andat a distance,” she continued, twirling the point of the blade she held on
her fingertip. “I enjoy knives. They are so versatile. I would teach you, but
your knives are at the ends of your fingers and your skill is provided by
instinct,” she said as if she admired it.
“It sounds as if it was just as dangerous fleeing to Romania as staying here to
hide from Voldemort would have been,” Harry pointed out. “More dangerous even.”
“Perhaps,” she admitted, suddenly melancholy, returning the knife to it
invisible sheath. “But I couldn’t be here,” she said softly. “Not for a long
while. Severus was here,” she explained sadly. “It was easier to live there
than to fight the temptation of his nearness.”
Harry’s heart broke gently on her behalf. She seemed both frail and
indestructible, and her inherent dichotomy was exhausting. “Was there no one
else, Loraina?” he asked helplessly. “Could there have been no one else? People
break up all the time. They move on. They find other lovers.”
“Of course. The prospects rounded the block,” she smirked, rolling her eyes. “I
am not lovable, Harry. And I do not love easily. All you bleeding hearts,” she
muttered as if cursing. “You treat it so loosely. You declare it so easily. I
don’t know what it is you people label love, but it is not love as I understand
it. Severus is like me, though,” she said, her expression softening. “When he
says those words to you, he means them, and it is precious.” She fixed Harry
with a stern look. “You should appreciate it.”
“I do,” he said defensively.
“And yet you lie with the Wolf,” she sneered.
“It’s complicated,” he muttered, scowling at her sudden criticism.
“Is it? Or do you just like to use that as an excuse? You cheapen the rarity of
his affection by sharing yours with another.”
Harry was growing angry and tired of her hypocrisy. “You’ve been trying to get
me to share it with you, as well,” he accused.
“Oh. I’m not asking you to share,” she clarified. “I’m asking for all of you.
Leave the others to each other,” she said, leaning closer and looking up at him
through her lashes. “I’m not in love with you, Harry, but I am exceedingly
taken. We could be beautiful together,” she sighed wistfully. “I could make you
happy,” she said. “Or well, I could at least keep you from being lonely. Or
bored,” she added with a quirky smile. “If neither of us can have what we want,
we can at least have each other.”
Her desperation was peeking again. Harry felt for her. In different
circumstances, he might have accepted her offer, though there was no telling
how long he would be able to bear the arrangement. But he was fairly certain
she knew as well as he did that he could have exactly what he wanted. That he
had it already. He did not need her as she apparently needed him, no matter how
hard she was working to convince him otherwise. Harry avoided answering her
hopeful expression by turning his attention back to their prisoner. He’d
practically forgotten what they were doing there. William’s screams had almost
spent themselves and at some point, Harry had simply ceased to notice them
anyway. He lifted the memory once more.
“Just answer my questions,” Harry sighed when the man finally surfaced. William
trembled, no longer quite so hateful.
“What does it matter?” he croaked, his voice almost entirely shot. When he
coughed, it was flecked with blood. “They’ll see you coming. You ain’t getting
to them. Not without me,” he added. Harry could tell he wasn’t seriously
expecting them to broker a deal, the man simply wasn’t ready to yield.    
“We won’t be without you,” Loraina said mysteriously with a small titter. Harry
had no idea what she was talking about but was too distracted at the moment to
ask for clarification.  
“Tell me why that is, and maybe we can talk.” But they both knew Harry had no
intentions of sparing him. The game was simply delaying the man’s agony.
“Listen,” William said with a touch of desperation. “She’s as mad as you are
and twice as cunning. Maybe even as cruel.”
“She?” Harry asked, surprised. He and Loraina shared an intrigued look. William
sneered weakly, momentarily enjoying his advantage.
“Aye. She,” he confirmed, his speech laboured. The effort of communicating
caused him to break into a sweat but didn’t deter him. “Would like to mount
your Mixer’s swizzle stick on her fuckin’ wall, she would. This ain’t about
you, mate. Never was. Well, was for me. And her backer might feel differently.
But for The Boss, it was all about forcing him to watch you suffer.” He had to
rest and catch his breath before continuing. Harry had questions, but he didn’t
want to interrupt while the man felt so inclined to volunteer. “Personally, I
thought it was daft to think that creepy old arsehole cared about anyone enough
to make the whole thing worth it. Least of all about you,” he sneered, panting.
“One of my boys was at Hogwarts with you ‘fore he dropped out, said you and the
slimy git right detested each other. I didn’t care, really. I just wanted to
fuck you up,” he said carefully, glaring at Harry. “Didn’t give a shit why.
Looks like I managed it, too,” he smirked. “How long did you burn for, you
little prick?” he asked, giving Harry a smug look. Harry forgot most of his
questions as hatred gripped him once again.
“You’re about to find out,” he growled in a low, dark voice. He saw the panic
ignite in William’s eyes as the memory drifted toward him once again. Maybe he
thought he’d incite Harry to kill him but, if so, he miscalculated. “Loraina,
petrify him, I’m tired of hearing him scream,” Harry commanded calmly.
“No, wait!” William gasped. But then suddenly he was frozen. Harry lowered the
string again, pulling the stool over and using it to prop his wand in place,
freeing him to move about while letting the memory play indefinitely.
Harry fell back onto the dirt floor then, exhausted himself. Loraina stretched
out beside him and lay a hand on his chest. Harry simply ignored it. She’d
earned the small contact. Besides, they’d reached a level of intimacy that
could not be erased or disregarded; through scenes like this one that no one
else would understand or condone; through the sharing of memories; through
exercises in savagery that no longer seemed taboo to him, just primal and
essential. She’d faced down his darkness with him and hadn’t flinched. Whatever
they were, they were no longer superficial.
She fondled the wrinkles of his shirt but looked troubled, glancing anxiously
to William and then to Harry, though she did not voice her concerns. “I think I
know something that might refresh us,” she proposed, seeming to shrug it off.
“I told you I had a memory for you.”
Harry didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure he was in the mood. He was preoccupied,
replaying in his head what William had told them. Harry had been used--again--
and for the worst purpose he could imagine. He should talk to the man more,
find out who was this mystery woman with a grudge against Severus. No doubt
that was the source of Loraina’s disquiet, as well. But he suddenly felt it
didn’t matter, really. It had been a cruel plan, but look what had come of it.
A month and a half of worry and suffering were surely worth the resulting
culmination of Severus’ lifework. He and Severus were closer than ever. And now
they had Remus. Harry’s vengeance would be spent with this adventure. Whatever
else happened didn’t concern him.        
“What did you do with Timothy?” he asked absently, not realising until that
moment that he’d been idly playing with the fingers she rested on his chest. He
saw no reason to stop at that point, though.
“I think you know what I did with Timothy.”
Harry furrowed his brow at her. “Why did you try to stop me when you thought I
was about to kill him, then?”
“I thought you weren’t ready,” she sighed. “I thought it would sit on your
conscience and make you question yourself. I thought it might turn you from our
path. Besides, you were tortured enough, Lovely,” she explained simply. "Better
the deed fell to me."
“And now?” he asked.
She gave him a slippery smile. “Now I think you are ready for anything,” she
said breathily, catching his nipple through the fabric of his shirt with her
fingernail. Harry sighed and removed his hand from hers.
“You said you had a memory?” he asked, trying to distract her.
She grinned and sat up. “Do you want it?” she asked, suddenly excited.
He hesitated. “What is it?”
“You showed me the loss of your virginity. I had thought of returning the
favour, but that event was wholly unremarkable, to be quite honest. Then it
occurred to me you might like to see Severus lose his.”
Of course she took his virginity. Harry wanted to see but didn’t at the same
time. He felt this was something he should have Severus’ permission for. Still,
the memory was as much Loraina’s as it was Severus’. At least, that’s what he
decided to tell himself. Loraina saw his decision in his expression and smiled.
“Leave it to me, Lovely,” she purred, lifting her wand. “This is one of my very
favourites.”
     
***** O, I Am Spoil’d, Undone by Villains! *****
“Everyone else goes to the Astronomy Tower,” Severus points out. He sounds
excited but uncertain.
“Exactly. Everyone goes to the Astronomy Tower. I want more privacy than that,”
Loraina says, towing him by the hand along behind her through the arches and
out onto the grounds.
“But...outside the Castle?” he whispers anxiously.
“What? Don’t you like Quidditch?” she giggles, turning to skip backwards across
the grass, pulling him with two hands now, so she can watch his face at she
teases him. She likes the way his eyes light up when he looks at her, the way
their black twinkles when he smiles. No ones else looks at her like that. In
fact, no one else smiles at her. But Severus is not afraid of her. Though she
sometimes unsettles him, he is patient. Kind. Loraina was not overly familiar
with the concept until they met.
But Severus has been teaching her. He’s taught her so many things --things she
never knew she wanted to learn-- including how nice it is to make another
person smile. Now it is her turn to teach Severus, she thinks giddily. He’s
proven a quick learner so far: Thorough. Intuitive. And that is just kissing.
She’s never met anyone who can kiss her the way Severus does, who can make the
world disappear and time stand still. She’d never realised you could stop at
kissing and it be enough. He makes her want to take things slowly. Severus
never rushes. He wants to savour everything, he wants to master it before
moving on. Each new thing they try, he treats like its own miracle. And he’s
shown her new delights in acts she thought bored her. It feels almost as if he
is leading her through her first everything and not the other way around.   
It is time, though, to carry it further. She wants to show him what sex can
really be, and she wants them to be completely alone when she does; so far away
from others that no one will be able to hear all the sounds she intends to draw
from him, or that she intends to make herself.
It is dark beneath the stands of the Quidditch pitch, but enough moonlight
falls through the airy structure to light their way through it. There will be
more than enough for her to see his face as they make love, and that is all
that really matters. There is a halfway secluded spot beside the Slytherin
changing rooms and she stops here and strips her robes, laying them neatly on
the ground in lieu of a blanket. It won’t stop the blades of grass from poking
them, but it should keep them from being covered in dead bits and dirt. Loraina
has learned that sweat and dirt and nakedness do not mix well together.
She kicks off her shoes. They smile at each other as Severus follows suit. They
are both small and there is plenty of room for them to sit on the patch of
fabric. Loraina likes this about Severus. She didn’t realise it until they
first embraced. He is so thin. But then Loraina’s never before been able to
wrap her arms around a boy the way she can Severus. They fit, the two of them,
like a matching set. He is dark and she is light, but they are both pale and
lithe. They tangle well.
Loraina does not rush it, though she wants to. She wants him naked and pressed
to her, but she takes them through what they know first. Severus’ kiss is slow
and deep, meticulous. It’s delicious. But Loraina warms it, adds passion, adds
hands and arms, and Severus responds in kind until they are clutching and
squeezing and rubbing. She loves his little, pleased hum when she surprises him
and the feeling of him smiling against her lips. She moves her hands to the
buttons of his shirt and, as predicted, he becomes shy.
“Would you like me to go first?” she whispers, but she doesn’t wait for his
answer, popping open the straining buttons of her blouse even as she asks. Her
breasts are not large but they are full, and her shirt is, honestly, just a
smidge too small. She hasn’t worn a bra in weeks. She doesn’t really need to.
Severus has seen her breasts before, but each time he looks at them is like the
first time, like he is fascinated by them. His hand, as always, rises with no
shyness whatsoever to fondle them reverently, drawing a sigh from her as she
shrugs out of her sleeves and tosses her shirt aside.  She allows him to suckle
them, cradling his head in her arms. He is carefully rough with her, not like
the other boys who attack them with a clumsy hunger. Severus’ aggression is
calculated, bold and perfectly executed. She wants to lie down and let him have
his way with them. He’s made her come more than once with just this: just his
lips and tongue and teeth on her nipples, his long slender fingers massaging
their swell. But she wants more this time. She wants to give him more. Loraina
gently but firmly lifts his face--enjoying the sight of her nipple falling from
his now swollen lips--and reclaims his mouth, distracting him with an ardent
tongue against his as she opens his shirt and sweeps her hands firmly across
his thin chest, snagging his taut nipple with her palm. His small moan tastes
good.
She rakes his shirt off and away, straddling his hips to press their bare skin
together. His hands sweep up and down her back as they kiss, as her breasts
brush his chest and their nipples catch across each other. This, too, is nice,
but she wants more still. His measured action is almost teasing. He is not
reticent, simply patient, practically methodical. It’s brilliant mostly. But
she has never been patient. She’s been practising it lately, but now is not the
time for it. Her kiss is hungry. She devours him as she reaches between them
and presses the heel of her hand down the length of his erection through his
trousers. His gasp is addictive. She repeats the gesture, pulling a moan from
him. His eyes fall closed and he begins to pant. She is already damp
anticipating the feel of him inside her. She’s waited a while for it, because
she wanted his first time--their first time--to be special, to not feel cheap
and forgettable.
She slips from his lap and quickly peels her skirt off, and she can see how
badly he wants to touch her nakedness. The look in his eyes is almost
worshipful. It is so very endearing. But she doesn’t let him. She crawls over
and brings her mouth close to his, not kissing, just brushing his lips with
hers, sharing his shuddering breath as she opens his trousers and urges them
off.
He’s never been naked in front of her before. Not completely. She knows he’s
self-conscious, especially since that incident with her turncoat cousin and his
loathsome friends. But she tells him, with adoring eyes and loving touches,
that he is beautiful and perfect, urging him to wriggle out of the fabric until
it is to a place where she can grasp it and strip it away.
The sight of him steals her breath. In the moonlight, he is luminous, as if he
is made from it and not lit by it. She sees him tremble. But he trusts her, and
that look is the most erotic thing she can imagine. She crawls toward him
again, between his legs, placing a hand on his shoulder to lay him down as
their lips meet. For the first time, they are completely bare and completely
touching. And his skin is like silk. And so is his hair, which she combs
through with her fingers. It’s almost as long as hers. She knows he grows it
out in order to hide behind it, but she still thinks it is beautiful. Let him
hide from the rest of the world. He is hers. All the better that no one else
sees him well enough to want to take him from her.  
She can feel the thump of his heart against her ribs and the subtle tremor in
his hands, but she still enjoys the sensation of them on her waist, balancing
her on top of him as they kiss before his legs open to tangle in hers and his
hands slide further down to cup her arse. His erection is tucked into the
hollow of her hip and he makes no move to adjust it. Sometimes she is
frustrated by how gentlemanly he can be.
She rises, drawing up her knees to straddle him. He fits so neatly in the cleft
between her legs. She feels him twitch, she can tell his head is swimming by
the intoxicated expression on his face and the way his head lolls to the side
as he looks up at her, fighting for breath. It feels as if they are melded
together with pure fire. How can something be so hot and not blister?
“This is for you, Severus,” she whispers, stroking his chest. “Don’t worry
about pleasing me. There is no way I could not enjoy this. I only want you to
concentrate on howyoufeel. Let me give you this gift, Severus,” she asks, a
little pleadingly. He nods slowly, reaching to caress her face, and she catches
his thumb in her mouth, making him gasp and buck gently up against her. Then
she bends to kiss him at the same time she begins working her hips, wet enough
already that the glide is effortless. He forgets the kiss, letting his head
fall back with a sigh as she rubs the sensitive line below the head of the
underside of his cock with her pulsing clit. She sighs herself at how delicious
it feels, running herself up and down his length with the long, smooth rock of
her hips. And she touches him: his long, thin neck, his chest, his sides. She
leans back and reaches behind her to lightly run her fingernails up his thigh,
speeding the stroke of her hips, sliding further up to tease them both with the
threat of penetration before pressing down and back again.
She doesn’t want him coming early, though, so she lightens her ministrations,
brings the tip of his cock back to her opening slowly so there will be no
surprises, and lifts enough to prepare the angle. “Are you ready, Severus?” she
asks sweetly. His eyes flutter open and he takes a deep breath, searching for
her hands with his to weave their fingers and press their palms together before
he nods his consent. She smiles and eases herself over him, loving the sight of
his mouth falling open and his neck arching back as she sheathes him.
He feels just as good inside of her as she suspected he would, and she takes a
moment for herself to savour her fullness, to enjoy the way he jumps inside her
without moving his hips, to respond by squeezing herself more firmly around
him. He shudders a bit, and she bends down to give him the kiss his reaching
lips beg her for. They are hungrier than she’s ever known them. She returns his
enthusiasm, placing one of his hands encouraging on her breast as she finally
begins to move again; not drawing off him so much as grinding against him,
wanting to feel him deeper. He moans loudly into her mouth and she rides him
properly, placing her hands flat on the ground on either side of his head to
get the leverage she wants to stroke his entire length with herself. He bucks
up into her but seems almost apologetic about it.
“Do what feels good,” she pants. He takes her permission and lifts into her
immediately. She feels the fever in her cheeks, the rising pressure behind her
eyes that clouds her vision and makes her drunk, as if her brain is being
flooded with pleasure like a drug. His rhythm is choppy, his thrusts seem
almost involuntary, but it’s still gorgeous because she knows he’s overwhelmed
with the newness of it. She lets him do what he will for a long while, pressing
her forehead to his as he scrunches his eyes closed with concentration. But
then his strokes even out, become longer, fuller, until finally, he’s driving
into her properly. It’s then that she adds her own movement--speeding his
thrusts, driving them home with more force, ensuring they stick for the
briefest of pauses before allowing him to pull out of her once more.
She hadn’t meant to be the one to start moaning. She doesn’t want to
precipitate his finish. But she can’t help herself. She is trembling and
lightheaded, her arms grow weaker as her threatening orgasm possesses all her
limbs and turns them to jelly. Severus reaches up and draws her down to him,
hugging her against his chest as her gasps continue to hiccup from her with his
thrusts. They are both sweat-slicked and burning and she clings to him, tugging
at his shoulder to urge him to roll her over and take full control; though even
after, she wraps her legs tightly around him, trying to pull him more deeply
inside her.
He doesn’t hesitate, and he doesn’t slow. He is still a novice and it shows,
but he has the same instinct she tasted in their first kiss, and the promise of
what he would eventually be capable of is almost enough in itself to drive her
over the edge. He doesn’t rise up. He holds her close to his chest still with
his arms under her shoulders, only moving his hips. She’ll have to show him
later how to find the right leverage, when to thrust to increase his momentum.
She will teach him how to fuck her harder and deeper and faster. But not this
time. This time is for Severus.
His stamina is pleasantly surprising, but now he matches her moans with his
own. His expression is raptured and almost amazed. She reaches up and cradles
the sides of his face, looks deep into his wide eyes as he releases a surprised
shout, shudders almost violently the entire length of his body, and empties,
gasping, deep inside of her. She would never be able to express in words the
satisfaction she feels at that sensation, how comfortable his weight is on top
of her and his presence is within her.  
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers shakily when he’s finally able. She grins at him,
sated, and reaches up to lift the sweat-soaked strands from his face.
“Whatever for?” she asks breathlessly, endeared.
“I should not have...inside of you,” he mumbles, embarrassed.
“Oh, I have all I need to take care of that, My Love. Feels better this way
besides,” she says, shrugging off his concern.
He looks at her oddly. “You love me?” he asks, looking down at her with both
hope and scepticism.
Her heart skips a beat, but she smiles at him again, studying his face,
considering his lips with her fingertips. “I do,” she says, surprised at the
taste of truth on her tongue. She meets his eyes again, delighted at this new
discovery. “I love you, Severus.” Her grin widens. “Do you love me?” she
whispers coquettishly.
Severus does not hesitate in his answer. “Of course, I love you.” She is
surprised by the quickness and the sureness of his declaration. She feels
humbled by his sincerity. But mostly she is thrilled. They kiss again and
something about it is different. But Loraina realises it is not the kiss that
is different, it is herself. She’s only now recognising in it what he’s just
confessed and realising that it has been there for a long while and she had not
noticed it.
No. She’d noticed it but had not known what it was. She savours it now, though.
And him. They separate but not by much. They lie side by side on their
makeshift bed, arms draped limply across one another, finally noticing the stab
of the yellowed grass beneath and the hardness of the ground but still not
caring.
Loraina is blissful. She cannot remember feeling a contentment like this ever
in her life. She is happy to drift in it...until she hears a rustle behind her.
She sees Severus’ eyes dart quickly to where it came from as he reaches to
shield her, though his thin arms do so little.
“Well, what have we here?”
Panic seizes her. She recognises this voice.
They have to leave. They have to escape. She turns to frantically reach for her
discarded clothing and the wand stowed there, but before she can claw her way
to them, a shoe presses firmly and painfully over her wrist to prevent its
progress.
The memory was ripped away with a feeling as if Harry’s brain were gasping, and
he struggled to orient himself in time and space and self. Gone were the
stabbing blades of grass, but the ground was still hard. He felt aroused but
drugged and still gripped by panic.  
Why was his blouse open and whose hand was that on his breast?
No. Loraina’s breast. He was Harry. Harry didn’t have breasts. That’s how he
was able to see them from this angle. He tried to shake off his lingering
cobwebs while at the same time grapple with the realisation that someone with
Loraina’s tits straddled him, the place where they met inexplicably but
intensely warm. The harder he tried to wake properly, the more confused he
seemed to become, like a drowning man fighting to surface but diving deeper
instead.
“Loraina!” he gasped, weakly pushing at her thighs, as if he might brush them
off.
“I saw your reaction to our memory. It seems a shame to waste it, Lovely,” he
heard her say as he felt his shirt being undone.
Harry circled her wrists with his fingers but found he couldn’t bring himself
to peel her away from him as her palms devoured his chest and stomach. He
opened his mouth to demand to know what she thought she was doing, but all that
escaped his lips was a moan.
“Don’t fight it, Harry,” she whispered breathily, bringing her mouth close to
his. He wanted to taste her lips but, at the same time, he knew he didn’t. He
somehow resisted, though it was only by forcing himself to turn his head away,
his eyes squeezed shut. She chuckled at him, amused and only slightly
condescending; mostly hungry. “Oh Harry, why this resistance? You have to let
the beast out in order to tame it.”
One of her hands, still tightly ringed with Harry’s own, travelled its way down
his stomach. He tried to prevent it from drifting further but failed, groaning
when she cupped him through his pants. When had he become so achingly hard? He
looked up at her, angry and bewildered and completely not in control of the
situation.
“You know where this ends, Harry. You know where our adventure takes us. Say
your goodbyes. Let me fill the void. Trust me,” she intoned, low and sultry, “I
can fill it and more.” Her other hand had moved to his hair and he released it
in order to lay a restraining hand on her chest to prevent her from pressing
herself to him, but she simply took that hand and shifted it so that it cradled
one of her breasts. He was awake enough now to appreciate the feel of it in his
hand, and that he’d never really felt one before, and that he enjoyed the shape
and texture and weight of it. How neatly it fit in his palm. Squeezing it was
pleasant, and its erect pink centre called to his lips.
“Loraina, enough!” he barked, pulling his hand away with effort. He ignored the
heat pressed across his straining erection with more effort still. The memory
still gripped him, which was exactly what she had counted on, but he wanted to
know--more than he wanted to know the taste of her breast or the grip of the
slick oven of her sex--what had happened next.
“Thought you might like to get used to it, since it will be all you have after-
”
“What happened?” he asked urgently, finally gaining proper control of her
wrists and holding her hands away from him. She stopped trying to force herself
on him and gave him an apprehensive look. “Someone stepped on my hand,” Harry
rushed to explain, then shook his head in frustration and corrected himself. “I
mean, on yourhand. Someone you feared.”
Loraina froze and stared at him, then she jerked herself from his grasp and
fell away, scrambling backwards until she upset the stool, sending Harry’s
wand, with its tethered memory, rolling to the floor. “You weren’t meant to see
that,” she said in a fierce whisper, drawing her knees to her chest. She looked
stricken and distracted. Harry rolled to his knees and reached for her
cautiously, as one might approach a scared and wounded animal, his offence at
her attempted assault overshadowed by his sympathy, his suspicion over what the
rest of her memory showed.
“You were frightened,” he said carefully, soothingly. “Loraina, why were you
frightened?” he asked, not sure he wanted to know but feeling he must. “What
happened next?” he whispered.
She looked at him as if she didn’t really see him, as if she were seeing,
instead, the experience she’d just ripped from him. Slowly she woke, looked up
at him timidly. “The Worst Thing,” she whispered, the way a child whispers a
terrible secret.
Harry took a deep breath, allowing himself a moment to take in their
surroundings now that he was himself again. William lay on the floor beside
her, as silver as the ground beneath him. Harry’d have to deal with the body
later. He crawled over and reclaimed his wand and his own memory, returning it
where it belonged. Then he seated himself carefully beside his friend, who was
still hugging her knees, her face hidden between them so only her wild eyes
peeked over the tops.
“May I see it?” he asked softly.
Her expression was unreadable. After a long moment, she shuddered. “You don’t
want to, Lovely,” she assured him. “I wish I could scrub it from my memory. Why
would you want it in yours?” She shook her head. “Truthfully, if giving it to
you took it from me, I would. But it doesn’t work that way,” she said softly,
as if with regret.
“Please?”
“Why are you so eager to see our pain? Our disgrace?” she hissed angrily,
scowling at him in accusation.
Harry lay a hand lightly on her arm but she shifted away from his touch. “I
only want to understand,” he whispered. “Both of you.” Loraina regarded him
distrustfully, but then she softened under his persistently sympathetic gaze.
She gave him a scrutinising look.
“It was the end, you know,” she said quietly but hurriedly. “So soon after we
truly began, that was the end. The start of it. It planted in us the things
that ultimately defeated us.” She looked at him again, for so long that Harry
thought she might be finished, that she was refusing him. But she turned to him
finally, neither of them paying any mind to her still-bare chest, and lay a
hand gently on his cheek. “It is one thing to know such horrors occurred. But
you won’t understand without living it, Lovely. You won’t understand him. Or
me. And if you don’t understand, perhaps you cannot appreciate us and what
needs to be done, or why.”
“Then enlighten me,” he said softly. Harry had no doubt that what he was about
to see would be the most painful thing he’d ever witness in his life. More than
watching his friends die. More than seeing Dumbledore fall or Ron soulless in
Hermione’s arms. Because no one was or had ever been dearer to his heart than
Severus, and he knew this was the most painful thing Severus had ever
experienced. So painful he had refused himself to Harry for all these years
despite how deeply Harry knew Severus loved him, despite how intensely Severus
knew Harry loved him back.
But Harry also knew Severus would never, ever speak of the incident. And it was
such a vital component of who the man was, Harry felt he would never truly know
Severus otherwise.
“You would inflict this wound on yourself willingly and intentionally?” she
asked him. Harry wavered, but only for a moment. He swallowed nervously, then
looked back up at her and nodded.
“Very well,” she said softly. Harry stretched back out on the floor and
prepared himself. She did not give him the memory right away, though. She
gently stroked his hair back from his temple as if petting him, then bent to
lay a kiss where the memory would go, as if preparing the spot, apologising to
it for the coming trauma.
Then suddenly, Harry was once again naked and terrified under the stands of the
Quidditch pitch.
The pressure of the shoe on her wrist increases until she cries out and,
reluctantly, Loraina looks up to see Stanley Perkins grinning smugly down at
her. A broomstick perches across his shoulder. He is mirrored, as always, by
Bobby and Boris Evansley, standing just behind. She hears Severus scramble to
his feet to come to her defence, but Stanley doesn’t even spare him a glance.  
“Get him,” he says, and his two sycophants move without question or hesitation
to seize Severus and haul him roughly to a safe distance, sniggering all the
while at his futile struggle against it.
Loraina glares her hatred at them all but blasts it most hotly at Stanley. The
bastard has been harassing her for weeks. Winning the last match against
Ravenclaw seemed to make him believe that, as captain, the victory entitled him
to his pick of the Slytherin girls. And for some reason, he chose Loraina. But
she has rebuffed him at every turn. His interest now is almost purely spiteful,
and ever since he groped her in the halls outside Potions and was soundly
slapped in response, she knew there would eventually be trouble.     
“Thought we’d get some practice in after hours since that Potter cunt booked
the pitch all weekend. Too dark to practice properly, though. Was disappointed,
till we heard some interesting noises outside the changing rooms. Looks like
the trip will be worth it after all.”
“Leave us alone,” Loraina hisses, yanking to dislodge her hand from his boot.
He removes it, but only to bend and pull her to her feet by her hair. She bites
her tongue to keep from crying out, but Severus is still beside himself,
tugging frantically against the hands that hold him back until he is subdued
with a cruel punch to the stomach and a derisive chuckle.    
“Look at this,” Stan sneers at Severus, abandoning his broom to twist one of
Loraina’s arms behind her to secure her further. “This is why you turned me
down? For this? This pasty, scrawny sack of bones? Is that supposed to be a
dick?” he asks, squinting at Severus’ nakedness. Severus is already hiding
behind his black curtain of hair but tries to turn to block the rest of himself
from Stan’s scrutiny. “Looks more like...like a…” Stanley is cruel but not
clever, and a comparison does not come immediately to mind.
“A flobberworm,” Boris supplies.
“Flobberworms are big, ya fucking tosser,” Bobby says, smacking him upside the
head with the hand he isn’t using to bruise Severus’ upper arm.
“A baby one then,” Boris shrugs. “Look,” he coos, bending to poke at Severus’
flaccid genitalia with the tip of his wand as Severus’s face burns red and he
strains to shield himself without the aid of his arms. “Look at the baby
flobberworm.”
Loraina’s fury overpowers her sense of caution and she struggles against her
captor like a feral animal, snarling, ignoring the pain in her shoulder as Stan
tries to wrestle her back into submission. She frees herself but only makes it
a few steps towards Severus’ aid before she is brought up short, yanked back
into Stanley’s arms by her hair again.    
“Leave her alone!” Severus shouts, putting up an impressive fight of his own.
But there are two holding him back, each bigger than himself, and he doesn’t
stand a chance of escape. “Don’t you touch her!” he hisses, shaking with
impotent rage.
“Or what?” Stan smirks, his forearm clamped across Loraina’s throat now like a
steel vise. She claws at it but to no avail and finally gives up on damaging
him to tug at the arm instead, desperately trying to relieve the pressure
enough to draw sufficient breath. His other hand free, Stan molests her
demonstratively. Severus is so livid he is almost in tears watching the bastard
take Loraina’s breast roughly in hand. “What are you going to do about it, you
bony little faggot?”  
“That’s right,” Bobby chimes in. “Didn’t think you even liked pussy. Didn’t we
beat the snot out of him last semester for sneaking a peek at my broomstick in
the pisser?” he asks Boris over Severus’ head.
“Yeah. We did,” Boris confirms. “Was fun, too. Leave the lady to us,” he tells
Severus, bending to retrieve his broom from the ground at their feet. “I’ve got
something more to your fancy right here, Snivellus,” he says, waving it in his
face.
“‘Ere. Don’t call him that,” Bobby groans, disgusted. “Those Gryffindor twats
call him that.”
“Wot? It's a good name. Besides, what kind of Slytherin lets a bunch of
Gryffinwhores get over on him?” he sneers, shaking Severus in condemnation.
“Worthless half-blood,” he says, spitting. “Remember the look on his face when
they took his trousers?” he grinned to Bobby. “Not a bad move, that. Looked
about like this, he did, all red and...and snivelly!” he says triumphantly,
only just connecting the dots. “Thought he was gonna cry. You gonna cry now,
Snivellus?
“Hey, Snivellus,” Bob joins in taunting, taking the broom from Boris. “Say
hello to your new girlfriend.”
“No, no. Boyfriend,”Stan says, shaking his head at their idiocy. His hand is
still busy marking Loraina in ways he has no right. “That’s the whole point,
you fuckin’ git. Make him kiss it,” he adds, forcing Loraina’s cheek to his
thick, wet lips.
“I’ll make him do more than that,” Bobby mutters, something new and ugly in his
expression. “Like looking at my pecker, do you, you fuckin’ pervert?” he hisses
hatefully in Severus’ ear. “We’ll give you something nearly as good. Help me
hold him down,” he commands Boris.
Loraina sees what is about to happen, sees the terrified look on Severus’ face
as their eyes meet, and she is absolutely frantic in her helplessness. “No,”
she sobs. “No, no! I’ll do it,” she promises, suddenly pliant, removing her
nails from Stan’s flesh and patting it gently instead. “I will. I’ll fuck you,”
she insists agreeably. “I’ll suck you all you off. I don’t care. Whatever.
Just...just leave him alone,” she pleads desperately. “Just don’t hurt
him.Please don’t hurt him.”
“You’ll do all that anyway,” Stan hisses in her ear, then nods to the others to
proceed.
Loraina hears Severus grapple with them, but he doesn’t beg. He knows it will
do no good, and he is too proud. But Loraina is sobbing, her eyes scrunched
shut. She can’t bear to see it. If only she’d not rejected Stanley, maybe this
wouldn’t be happening. If only she’d fucked him to shut him up. What was it to
her? It wasn’t the same as being with Severus. It wouldn’t have counted. But
she hadn’t. And now they were going to hurt her Severus. Out of spite. Because
of her.
“Watch it, Loraina,” Stanley growls, wrenching her head up by her hair to force
her face in Severus’ direction. “Still like him better than me, you stuck up
little cunt?”
Loraina refuses to open her eyes. Until she hears Severus cry out, and then she
cannot help but look. Boris has him pinned to the ground on his stomach as
Bobby wields the broomstick, trying to push its end inside of Severus.
“I don’t think it will fit,” Bobby mutters over Severus’ sobs, pressing still
as Severus frantically scores the dirt with clawing hands, trying to escape.  
“ Make it fit, you tosser,” Boris smirks, holding Severus in place almost
effortlessly despite how desperately he fights to free himself.  
Severus’ screams change sharply in pitch and volume and Loraina cannot bear the
sound. She tries to drown them out with her own. Hers are shrill and unending
but, this far from the Castle, no one can hear them. Stanley clamps a hand over
her mouth, but still, she screams, no matter how hard he squeezes and shakes
and tells her to shut the fuck up. Loraina can’t stop screaming. She feels like
her soul will scream forever.
Finally Severus’ own hoarse cries quiet to sobs and the two boys abusing him
release him and step away, but not before the one spits on him and the other
kicks him in the ribs. They leave the broom. Severus’ face is turned away from
her, buried in his thin, bruised arms.
Loraina stops screaming. She’s gone cold. She thought hate was supposed to be
hot, was supposed to burn. But Loraina is ice. She is almost numb with hate.
Now that she’s quieted, Stanley releases her face.
“Just look at that pathetic piece of half-blood shit,” he says in her ear, but
his tone is almost seductive. She feels his arousal stabbing her back. His
hands are busy on her skin, reaching boldly between her legs, and she offers no
resistance. She feels like something in her has died and he’s simply molesting
her corpse. “That’s not a real man, Loraina. I’m about to show you what a real
man is.”
“I’m going to kill you,” she says flatly.
“Kill me?” Stan scoffs, turning her to face him. “You can’t even stop me. Won’t
want to after I get started, anyway,” he mumbles against her neck.
“I’m going to kill you,” she repeats, and this time Stanley stiffens, draws
back and glares at her audacity. “All of you,” she clarifies. “I’m going to
kill all of you. I’ll enjoy it,” she nods, her voice still toneless, angering
him further. “I’ll enjoy hearing you scream as you die.” His hands tighten
painfully on her arms, but she simply smiles at him, anticipating his demise.
“Shut it, you crazy bint,” he snarls. Then he throws her violently to the
ground, immediately falling on top of her.
The hollow the memory left in his mind this time was almost unnoticeable in
comparison to the gape in Harry’s chest where his heart was meant to be. He
could still feel the tears cooling on his face but was confused by the sudden
absence of a man on top of him, forcing his knees apart. Instead, gentle hands
caressed his face and rubbed his arms as if to warm him. The fog lifted
particularly slowly this time. The memory had so shattered him he could find no
will to actively shake it off. When it did finally leave him he gasped,
replenishing the tears on his cheeks Loraina had just smoothed away. He looked
up at her, unable to voice his regret for what had happened to her. No words
could ever be sufficient. But her eyes apologised to him, as well, and he
reached up and drew her down into his arms, cradling her gently as if to
comfort her, even though he was the one who sobbed.
She petted him until his tears dried, but still he lay speechless. “They’ll be
looking for you, Lovely,” she said softly. She seemed to not want to rush him,
but they both knew no one could discover what they’d done there that night,
which was a danger if they came searching for him. Harry nodded and sat up. He
was still lethargic but tried to collect himself.
“What did you do to them?” he whispered finally.
“I think you know that I did to them,” she answered, just as softly. “One day,
I might show you.”
“Did Severus know?”
“He had to have, but we didn’t speak of it,” she admitted. “They simply
disappeared one at a time and we never acknowledged it. There was no point. He
could not have stopped me. Talking would not have changed their fate. Perhaps
he didn’t even want to. Discussing it would have forced him to admit that to
himself, and he wasn’t ready to accept he could want such a thing. But I think
he realised, then, what I would do for him. What I would do to those who hurt
him. How far I would go. There is no length I would not go to to punish those
who would harm him,” she told Harry, her expression hard but casually so.
“Which is why we must find this bitch they call The Boss,” she went on, her
malice more active in her expression now. “Why we must make her pay for what
she has done.”
Harry stared at her. He understood the impulse. But he didn’t feel compelled to
bloodshed. He felt like flying to Severus’ arms and holding him forever,
spending the rest of their lives trying to soothe the damage that had been done
to him. “I can’t,” Harry told her, knowing the argument he was about to incite.
But he could not leave Severus. He could not hurt him that way.   
“What do you mean, you can’t?” Loraina demanded in a low snarl.
“I’m not leaving, Loraina,” he said apologetically. “Especially now. Don’t you
see?” he said, willing her to understand. “They didn’t win. It’s worked out. I
have to take care of Severus now. I have to-”
“The ones who orchestrated this are out there still,” she spat, rising angrily
to her feet, “threatening to expose you, threatening your life and the lives of
those you love. Threatening Severus through you! Don’t you want revenge?” she
demanded.
“I’ve gotten all the revenge I care about,” he said, shaking his head. He
looked over at the remains of his vengeance which still needed to be dealt
with. He felt no remorse, though he didn’t particularly feel sated, either. He
simply no longer had an appetite for violence. “I can take care of myself now,”
he explained. “The ones I love can take care of themselves. Severus needs me.
It’s over, Loraina,” he told her sadly. “Thank you,” he added sincerely, “for
what you’ve given me, but...it’s over.”
***** Two or Three Groan; 'Tis a Heavy Night *****
Chapter Notes
     End notes for spoilage
See the end of the chapter for more notes
They were looking for him. All three of them were in the forest but not deep,
their search had just begun. Harry could sense their worry, could smell their
panic; not as pungent as fear but echoing the same notes in its perfume.
Loraina was no longer speaking to him, and Harry had had to dispose of his
rubbish on his own before coming home. Digging the hole, while a far simpler
matter with his claws than it might have been, still took longer than he’d
liked. He learned some things, though. Like how satisfying the simple act of
digging was in wolf-form: the smell of the earth and the way his paws shifted
it in great scoops. It was also comforting to know that if he was ever caught
outdoors with sunrise approaching, digging himself a temporary grave would not
be so daunting a task. Somehow the pain of the change was not nearly as
loathsome to him as the sear of the sun, and it made him less anxious of the
dreaded dawn. Harry also realised he quite liked being a wolf. He wondered if
he and Remus, if his potion worked as predicted, might go out on the Full and
play. Surely Remus would enjoy galloping. And howling and digging and chasing
scents. Harry knew he would.
He’d fed from the fiend before covering him over as it seemed a shame to waste
so much unsullied human blood. But he had been paranoid that the scent might
cling, and he wasn’t certain how sharp Severus’ and Remus’ senses were. Even
after half a dozen scourings, with his skin feeling decidedly too raw for
another, Harry still swore he caught the scent himself and had hunted a few
woodland creatures on his way back to the castle, feeding sloppily to mask
whatever scents might remain and to heal the last of the ache of a second
transformation.
It was Severus he approached when he returned to find them looking, and Harry
watched him for a moment from afar. The memory Loraina had shared with him had
indeed been painful. Harry hadn’t had much of an opportunity to reflect on it,
but it put so much of the man into perspective. Harry felt sharp, fresh guilt
wash over him remembering the way he had treated Severus on the Dark. It made
him feel ill, dirty, and his cheeks burned with shame. Harry now understood and
no longer begrudged Severus his every rebuff over the years when Harry had
simply tried to share with him all the things Severus made him feel. He forgave
all his inevitable refusals. If he could go back, Harry would never have placed
the man in the position to have to refuse. He was actually surprised Severus
had always been so gracious about it.
Of course, all it would have taken was an explanation. Harry had simply assumed
that the man grappled with his sexuality, that he felt those impulses were
shameful and denied that he felt them. It had caused something of a crisis in
Harry, making him wonder if the man thought less of him for being so eager to
perform acts Severus seemed to consider unfit to do himself.
But still, Harry understood that some things just cannot be spoken aloud, no
matter to whom or for what purpose. What else was the man to do but gently
deflect Harry’s attempts as they occurred? It had seemed unfair to Harry at the
time that he was expected to forgo that activity for the rest of their lives.
No doubt Severus felt it unfair, as well. Perhaps that was even why he had
tried to push him away. Harry didn’t mind giving it up, though. No sexual
experience was worth more to him than the man he loved. In fact, even if
Severus never again touched him in a sexual way, Harry would not leave. He
would still want to be there to make sure Severus knew he was valued.
Cherished.  
Harry felt fresh conflict, now, over his continuing affair with Remus. Though
he loved him dearly, Harry realised he no longer actually neededthe man. If
Harry had mastered the change, and if Severus’ potion worked, Remus’ role as
his mentor in lycanthropy was simply an excuse for his nearness. They weren’t
to know Harry’d mastered it, though. And he and Remus were Mated. Despite what
Loraina believed, Harry knew it to have been necessary. What effect would
ignoring that bond have on them both? And if Harry ended their relationship,
where would the man go? Did Harry’s devotion to Severus mean Remus would have
to be turned away? Could Harry even bring himself to do it?
But could he tolerate the man’s presence otherwise?
Tortured, Harry looked at Severus again, at how anxious he was in his search.
His senses were dulled by time and Substisanguinus, which is why he hadn’t
detected Harry’s presence yet, standing perfectly still downwind. But his
concentration was intense. Harry knew he’d comb the entire forest for him. He’d
overturn every leaf. Severus would do absolutely anything for him, whether
Harry deserved the effort or not. Perhaps it was time Harry tried to be worthy
of the man. Perhaps it was time Harry made an equal commitment to Severus.
Perhaps it really was time Harry relinquished his other lover.
The decision made his stomach turn, made his bones ache as if they mourned the
sound of Remus’ voice already. Would he really never run the forest with him?
Would he really never again know the musk of his fur and nip of his teeth?
Harry was too busy battling with his choice to reveal himself. He let himself
be discovered, instead. Harry saw Severus swallow his relief when he saw him,
trying not to let on how worried he’d been, but his voice was still unsteady
when he spoke.
“Alright, Dearest?” he asked softly as he drew near, sensing Harry’s turmoil.
Harry had to censor himself, as well. Now that he was close enough, Harry
wanted to snatch Severus to him and weep. He wanted to stroke him and apologise
and profess his eternal love. He wanted to fall to his knees and beg
forgiveness. But he couldn’t. Not here. Not now. Harry would not have been able
to explain the action without confessing his recent sin, admitting he’d
betrayed Severus’ trust and knowingly spied into matters he knew Severus would
never be comfortable with Harry knowing. And so he tempered his response to
simply clutching Severus quietly but fiercely when the man reached for him.
“You were gone so long,” Severus began, his voice as tight as his embrace.
“Loraina? Where is she?”
“In the forest,” Harry said, his voice muffled by Severus’ robes as he clung to
him. Beyond that, Harry had no idea. He didn’t have the capacity to consider
the woman at the moment. That situation was so overwhelmingly convoluted. Harry
could only handle one crisis at a time.  
“And is she...?” Severus asked hesitantly. Harry drew back, confused by the
dread in Severus’ voice. He saw apprehension in the man’s eyes.
“She’s fine,” Harry assured him. “Not happy with me at the moment,” he
admitted. “We...had a falling out. She’s gone off to fume.” Severus sighed with
relief. “You thought I might have hurt her,” Harry intuited.
“When you didn’t return, we didn’t know whether you’d had an unexpected
reaction,” he admitted reluctantly, “one Loraina could not have easily handled
alone.”  
“No. We just took our time with it,” Harry lied soothingly, stroking the front
of the man's robes to smooth them where his embrace had bunched them. “The
potion unsettled my stomach,” he said, which was not untrue. “I caught a few
smaller things.” Closer to the truth, still.
Severus seemed satisfied with the explanation, and he sent a flare up to alert
the others Harry had been found safe. “And how are you feeling now?” he asked,
his mood vastly improved, linking his arm in Harry’s to escort him. The man
could not possibly know how complicated a question that was.
“I’m sorry to have worried you all,” Harry deflected. “But, I amready to be
home.” Severus noted his melancholy and kissed him sweetly on the forehead.  
“The potion might have stirred your blood, is all. We’ll watch it carefully.
Perhaps a small price to pay, though, to see the sun again?” he said, smiling
encouragingly. Harry returned it weakly and leaned in closer to him as they
walked.
Remus met them not far from the forest’s edge, coming up silently and placing a
hand on both their shoulders. Severus seemed far more comfortable with the
contact than Harry, and Remus gave the younger man a concerned look. “I assume
everything is okay,” he asked hopefully, looking to Severus when Harry would
not meet his eye. Severus nodded, though threw a concerned glance to Harry.
They continued across the grounds together with Remus’ hand stroking Harry’s
back, aware that something was not right but being respectful of the young
man's unwillingness to discuss it yet. Harry wished the man was not quite so
kind.
“Where is Hermione?” Severus asked quietly.
“In the forest still. She seemed excited by the discovery of some plant or
another. After your signal that all was well, she decided to stay and have a
further look around. I cautioned her not to wander too far in.”
“She should not be there alone at night,” Severus muttered worriedly. Remus
gave him a wry smile.
“Which is something I mentioned and was tactfully but soundly told off,” he
chuckled. “She thinks she can take care of herself, and I’m inclined to believe
her. Hell, if she’s accosted by anything, I almost feel certain she could scold
her way to safety.” He and Severus shared a smile, but Harry’s mood was
impenetrable, and they hurried him home, concerned by his silence.
“The night is rather young, but perhaps you should lie down, Dearest,” Severus
fretted as they stepped through the hearth. Harry simply nodded, still mulling
over his dilemma, and allowed Severus to lead him upstairs.
“I’ll just put on some tea,” Remus said quietly behind them, watching them go.
Harry did not answer. He could tell Remus would like to follow, but he didn’t
want to encourage it. Harry’s mind was made up. He had to speak to Severus
first, though, before he could even begin to consider how to break the news to
his Mate. 
Once in Harry’s room, Severus moved to turn down the bed, but Harry stopped him
and urged him to take a seat. Hisseat. The one Severus had claimed as his own
during his long vigil at Harry’s sickbed. He’d watched over Harry the whole
while the young man had languished there. Thinking back, Severus had always
been there, looking out for him, even in the earliest parts of their
acquaintance. He’d confronted Quirrell in dark corridors and fervently
counteracted the curse that would have sent Harry from his broomstick and to
his death on the pitch below. He’d shielded Harry from an untreated Remus on
the full moon the night Harry had traipsed through time and freed Sirius.
Severus had been one of the first through the door to rescue him from Crouch
masquerading as Moody. And he’d taught Harry the skills needed to throw
Voldemort from his mind, even after Harry betrayed him by trespassing in his
memories.
It was a betrayal Harry’d repeated that night. And what he’d glimpsed this time
was so much more private than greying underpants. Severus had done so much for
the young man. He had even been willing to die to ensure Harry found the
strength within him to save himself from Voldemort. And it was Harry Severus
had hoped to save then. The rest of the world was a bonus but an ancillary one.
Severus had spent Harry’s whole life protecting him, often at cost to himself.
After all the damage he'd inflicted, it was Harry’s turn to sacrifice for
Severus.
No matter how loath he was to do it, Harry knew it was the right thing. Loraina
had tried to warn him, had tried to temper Harry’s impulsiveness. She’d known
that the three of them could never be together, that the two men could not even
share Harry between them without ultimately ruining Severus. But Harry hadn’t
listened. If he had, this inevitable butchering of his soul and Remus’ heart
might have been less painful for all of them. Harry shouldn’t delay it any
longer, lest it become impossible.
Severus seemed cooperative but uncertain as he took a seat, and he became
properly concerned as Harry dropped to his knees in front of him and took the
man’s hands in his own.
“Severus,” Harry whispered, not bothering to try and hold back the tears
already forming in his eyes, “I am sosorry.”
Severus was clearly confused, though he didn’t speak, he simply squeezed
Harry’s fingers more tightly. Harry was trembling, but this apology was so late
in coming. It was time Harry spoke it to Severus now, instead of whispering it
to himself as he walked away from the man.
“I’m sorry for everything these past few weeks. These past few months.” Severus
looked as if he were about to brush off Harry’s apology, as if there was
nothing to forgive. But something made him pause. He closed his mouth again and
looked to Harry to continue. Perhaps he felt it was for Harry and not for
himself that he did so, as if he could tell Harry had something on his heart he
needed to get out. “I’ve taken you for granted,” Harry admitted. His tears were
trickling at this point, but he struggled to keep his voice even, to let his
apology flow as easily as the salt water down his cheeks. “What you did for me
on the Dark…” Harry's voice faltered and he shuddered, swallowing the sob of
despair that threatened to escape. “That night seems so distant to me now that
I’ve Settled. I don’t remember much, but what I do remember…” Harry’s eyes
drifted to the tips of the fresh scar peeking from over the man’s collar. Had
he made it while taking the man? Had it been against Severus’ will? Had Harry
scarred him outwardly at the same time he scarred him inwardly? “Gods, Severus.
What you did for me, what you continue to do for me,” Harry said, shaking his
head. “You’ve always given me absolutely everything you could possibly give,
but I’ve only repaid your sacrifice with selfishness, your loyalty with
unfaithfulness. I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, relieved to be saying it
aloud and to Severus’ face. “I love you, Severus. A thousand thousandtimes, I
love you. But I’ve been greedy and stupid. I hadn’t set out to hurt you, but
neither did I properly consider whether or not my actions would. Which is
almost worse.”
Severus looked surprised by the sudden confession. He seemed as though he
wanted to stop Harry and soothe the pain the young man was obviously in but was
too overcome to reply. Harry paused, struggling for words he could safely
voice. He refused to try and justify himself, to explain away his wrongness. It
was time he accepted responsibility for his mistakes. He looked up at Severus
and held his shocked gaze with his own tearfully determined one. “If you want,
I’ll not touch Remus again,” he promised, and not without difficulty. In fact,
speaking those words was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. “I...don’t
think he’d force me,” he said quietly, willing away the acid gnawing at his
stomach. “If it would make you happy,” he rushed to continue, “I would not
willingly be with him again.”
Harry closed his eyes momentarily and swallowed his sorrow. But he’d meant it.
The three of them existing in a relationship together was what Harry wanted,
and he wanted it dearly. It was what Remus wanted. But it was not what Severus
wanted. It was a concession the man was making. For Harry. And he’d made so
many already.
Severus regarded Harry for a long while, clearly disquieted, looking as if he
were weighing Harry’s sincerity. “You have feelings for him,” he said softly
after a moment. “It’s not just the Bond, Harry. You genuinely care for him.”
Harry blushed and looked away, trying to breathe through the stabbing pain in
his heart in a way that was not obvious. He did indeed have feelings for Remus.
They were deep, they were true, and they had nothing to do with the Claiming.
But he shouldn’t. He should never have betrayed Severus by allowing them to
develop, or by acknowledging them either way. The Claiming was really no
excuse. It was what Remus had given him to serve as one. Because, though Remus
would have accepted Harry’s refusal in favour of Severus, he knew Harry’s heart
and its conflict. Claiming him had allowed Harry to pretend he had no choice.
But they all knew Harry was with Remus only because he wanted to be and had
long before the Full.  
When Harry didn’t answer, Severus took Harry’s chin between his fingers and
gently forced the young man to look up at him again.
“I have feelings for him,” Harry confessed, helpless under Severus’ probing
gaze. “But for you, I’d forsake them,” he vowed. “For you, Severus, I’d do
anything.”
But instead of gratitude or relief, Severus’ expression turned sad. “It would
pain you to lose him,” he said, scowling gently. Harry didn’t understand his
persistence in this except that perhaps the man was mining for the same level
of soul-bearing he’d displayed to Harry before in the lab. And if Severus
wanted him flayed and tacked, Harry would endeavour to oblige.  
“My body will respond to him in ways I cannot control,” Harry admitted shakily.
“But I won’t act on them. And my heart-” His voice broke, as if in protest of
this blood-letting of his soul, but Harry eventually forced its compliance.
“Letting go of Remus will hurt. Deeply. And I apologise for that, Severus,” he
said with desperate sincerity. “But I do it willingly, if not eagerly. Because
it would not pain me as much as it would to continue hurting you, to risk
losing you,” Harry said adamantly, leaning forward against the man’s knees,
wanting suddenly to hold him. He clutched Severus’ hands with more tenacity
instead, remembering the moment in the forest when he had finally allowed
himself to envision living without the man. “Severus,” he gasped. To his
annoyance, he felt that same panic starve him of breath. He hadn’t wanted to do
this. He didn’t want to feel like he was manipulating Severus’ concern, and he
hated that he could not stop it. “You are the most important...” He found it
difficult to speak. He was panting now, his mind warring with his lungs. “I
can’t.” Gasp. “I can’t lose you. I have no right to expect your forgiveness for
what I’ve put us through, but I swearI will do whatever it takes-”
“Shh,” Severus soothed, stroking Harry’s hair as the young man’s breathing
continued to stutter, his words growing more forced and faint. “You don’t have
to give up either of us,” he said, shaking his head. “Hadn’t I said that
already?”
“I know you said that before, Severus,” Harry said breathlessly. “But I’m not
sure you meant it. I know this is not what you want.”
“Harry,” Severus whispered, his expression reflecting Harry’s anguish. “I could
not claim to love you if I forced you into an ultimatum that made you so
unhappy.”
“But, youshouldn’t have to accept unhappiness, either,” Harry said forcefully,
his conviction almost belying the fact that Harry was, and so often had been,
the source of it.
“Though, you would force that pain on Remus?” Severus asked, almost critically,
and Harry was at a loss. He felt almost as if he was being put to some kind of
test, one he clearly hadn’t prepared for.
“Severus. I don’t know what you want me to say,” he admitted desperately.
“There is no right answer. I just know that I cannot live without you, and I
would endure any pain to prevent yours.”
“Who says I’m not happy, My Dearest Love?” Severus said. He stood and pulled
Harry to his feet, wrapping him in a soft embrace, and Harry melted into it
with silent thanks. He breathed in Severus’ scent and his grip became more
tenacious. No matter where he stored his things, no matter where he laid his
head; this, here in Severus’ arms, would always be Harry’s Home.
“You know he is here, don’t you?” Severus whispered into Harry’s ear. “He’s
listening. And you are breaking his heart, Dearest.”
Harry stiffened in Severus’ arms. He’d been so lost in the man and what he had
to say to him, he hadn’t noticed until just then the pulsing presence outside
the door. But it was there: the gentle perfume of tea and dust the man wore;
his blood, sweeter now this close to the Full; and running beneath was the
scent of anguish, of tears and staggered breath. Harry pulled away from
Severus, horrified. He hadn’t wanted Remus to find out this way. He hadn’t yet
prepared himself to face Remus’ pain or his own. Severus saw all of this pass
Harry’s mind through his expression and gave him a sympathetic look, stroking a
hand down his arm to calm him as he turned toward the slightly cracked door and
the grief-stricken man just outside it.
Remus must have heard Severus moving toward him and tried to flee down the
stairs, but Severus pulled the door open swiftly and stepped out onto the
landing, catching him by the arm before he could escape. “Remus. Don’t leave,”
he said gently. Harry could see them through the doorway, could see the way
Remus leaned away from Severus’ grasp with his head hung, warring with himself.
“Perhaps it is time we all spoke together,” Severus said, gesturing to invite
the man inside.
Remus finally turned to him uncertainly. He glanced back at Harry but couldn't
hold his gaze, dropping his eyes to the floor before Harry could even begin to
convey his regret. He relented, though, and followed Severus back through the
door. Harry started to reach for Remus as he shuffled past but drew back before
he touched him, knowing he had no right.
Remus took a moment to collect himself before lowering into the seat opposite
Severus at the chess table, but he still would not face either of them.
“Perhaps Harry is right, Severus,” he said to the rug with far more surety and
nonchalance than he could have felt. “I’ve been in the wrong. I had had plans
to move out, anyway, before Harry’s incident. I’ll just follow through with
them.”
“Oh, shut up, Remus,” Severus muttered softly, though his scowl was
sympathetic. “You aren’t going anywhere.” The comment shocked Remus out of some
of his pain, and both he and Harry turned confused looks to the man. Severus
returned them with mild annoyance. “This is ridiculous,” he groused. “We’re all
grown men. It’s time we behaved as such. For gods’ sake, Harry. Sit down, would
you, and let’s all speak like fucking adults.”
Harry immediately dropped to a seat on the bed opposite them, though he could
not quite manage to stop gawping at the man, much less form any coherent
thoughts that might be translated to spoken words. Remus looked to Severus with
cautious hope, though he still found it hard to hold Harry’s gaze. And
understandably. The young man had just attempted to toss him away. Though he
undoubtedly understood the reasoning, it still had to hurt. Severus read the
tension between them and huffed his frustration.
“Our situation is not a simple one,” he said finally, “and there are no simple
solutions. We have all been in the wrong,” he sighed. “Pretending there is no
love between you will not negate its existence. Just as pretending I am not
bothered by it has not magically taken the discomfort from me,” he admitted,
wringing his hands. “Harry, I admit I begrudge your fondness for another man.
But I have little right to complain, as I also admit to driving you from me.
That this was not the result I intended in doing so does not change our current
reality. And Remus,” he said, turning to the man almost reluctantly but
resolutely, “I confess I resent your hold on Harry. I resent that you shared
his bed before he’d properly left mine,” he muttered bitterly. “But much of
that blame lies with me, as well. And I have come,” he added grudgingly, “to
appreciate that situation more fully as of late. Where else would he go?
Shamefully, I seem to have caused Harry an unforgivable amount of pain for some
time. And you were the one who soothed it,” he said, much more forgivingly.
“And you did so for years with no impropriety. So I really suppose I must thank
you, considering. Or at least hold you no ill will."    
Remus regarded him for a moment. “My dear Severus,” he said gratefully, laying
a hand over the one Severus left on the tabletop between them. He smiled a bit
at the dirty look Severus cast at their layered hands but continued to hold it
anyway. “I’ve already confessed my misjudgement of your character. But allow me
to add to it my admiration of it. Your integrity is inspiring,” he said softly.
Severus regarded him warily as if he suspected the man of taking the piss. But
Remus held his gaze with openness and honesty until Severus softened. Then
Remus’ confidence wavered, and he withdrew his hand. “I cannot claim to possess
anything approaching it,” he said abashedly. “I acted on the Full entirely
aware of the pain those actions would cause you. And I did it for no selfless
reasons. But know I’ve come to regret the decision,” he said sincerely, looking
back up at the man, his expression pleading forgiveness. “Well, perhaps not the
decision itself, as I suspect it saved your life and possibly Harry’s sanity,
but certainly my motivations in making it. And I regret, also, the carelessness
of my behaviour in the days following. You deserved better, my friend. And I am
sorry.”
They all mulled over Remus’ comments for a while before the two men looked
expectantly to Harry. He felt the weight of their gaze, but he was too wretched
for a moment to speak. “What can I say?” he muttered, shaking his head at his
own foolishness. “You are both remarkable. And I’ve not shown either of you the
respect you deserve.” He looked to each of them contritely in turn. “I should
have recognised my good fortune and taken more care to appreciate it, and the
both of you. But I suppose I’m just a fuck up,” he said with a small rueful
laugh, his disappointment in himself dragging his eyes to the floorboards.
“Oh, Harry,” Remus said softly, wincing at the self-criticism. He reached for
the young man, taking his hand as he moved to sit beside him on the bed.
“Darling,” he whispered soothingly, stroking the back of Harry’s hand with his
thumb. “You are a bit,” he conceded with a gentle smile, surprising a bashful
chuckle from Harry. “But it’s part of your charm,” he assured him, tucking the
stray hair from Harry’s forehead behind his ear.  
Harry looked up at the man, wondering on Remus’ infallible good humor in light
of the pain Harry had so recently caused him. “I’m so sorry, Remus,” he said,
his voice subdued by shame, “for thinking of...discardingyou. As if you meant
no more to me than yesterday’s newspaper. Though you have to know nothing is
further from the truth.” Harry glanced self-consciously to Severus, but there
were things he needed to say to this other man, as well, though they might
chafe the Potions Master. “I’ve been so unfair to you,” he said, turning back
to the werewolf, “unburdening myself to you all this time about my troubles
with Severus. Seeking intimate conversation on matters of the heart, even
knowing your feelings for me. You shouldn’t have entertained me. And you
shouldn’t put up with my foul moods, especially when it’s nothing to do with
you. You’ve always been so gracious, and I’ve never had any right to impose on
you as I do.” He looked sheepishly between the two men. “I do love you, Remus.
But, if there has to be a choice…” he went on, his ache returning. He gave
Remus a helpless look, which Remus returned with sad understanding, bringing a
hand to the young man's cheek as if to convey his forgiveness.
“There need be no choice, Dearest,” Severus assured him quietly.
“But you are still upset by it,” Harry objected, not because he wanted to
choose, but because he couldn’t bear the conflict caused by the status quo. The
man did not deny it, and Harry could see Severus’ discomfort even now as he
watched the two of them. Remus lay a hand on Harry’s shoulder reassuringly, but
his eyes went to Severus, giving him a long, considering look.
“Perhaps,” he ventured carefully, “you would not be quite so bothered by it if
you were included in it.” Harry had to swallow his gasp at Remus’ boldness. But
he shared the hope he saw in the man’s eyes as they held Severus’. Remus did
not flinch in the face of the sudden aversion in the other man’s expression.
For his part, Severus seemed to struggle to hold his tongue. Harry could see
his reflexive denial, the stiffening of his posture and his momentary grimace.
But Severus managed not to immediately voice his refusal. His scowl fell to his
hands, instead, as he nervously examined the stitching in the cuff of his robe
sleeve.
Harry knew, though, that if he and Remus were ever going to succeed in this, it
would have to be now. Harry pulled Remus’ hand from his shoulder and held it
tightly for support as he looked beseechingly at the other man. “Have you
considered it, Severus?" he asked tentatively. Severus broke off his
examination of his hem for only a moment to throw Harry an exasperated look,
and Harry left Remus behind, slipping quietly from the bed to kneel before
Severus and more easily catch the man's eye. But he had to actually lay his
hand over the scrutinised fabric before Severus relented and gave Harry his
attention. Harry squeezed Severus' hand. "Try it?" he whispered imploringly.
"Only once. And if it isn't to your taste, I'll never mention it again. I
swear."
Severus' patience was nearly spent. "Harry, you know it isn't to my-" he
snipped, but he bit off his temper to fume quietly. At least he hadn't stormed
from the room, and that was something Harry thought he could work with. It was
Remus, though, coming quietly up behind Harry and placing his hand on his
shoulder in solidarity, who took the baton.
"Perhaps if you simply watched?" he suggested. His hand not still as he
proposed it. It slid to the back of Harry's neck in a demonstrative caress.
Harry shivered to his toes, the very idea making his head swim, and he felt
certain Severus could feel the tremor in the fingers Harry still rested on
Severus' wrist. Harry saw the colour rise to Severus' cheeks as he envisioned
it himself, and the glare he shot at Remus was only mildly hostile. Remus
smiled almost imperceptibly. Severus was tempted. He was not happy about said
temptation, but Remus did not give him an opportunity to resist it. He sank
slowly but immediately to Harry's side, giving the young man a look that Harry
could feel in his groin before pressing his fingers to the side of Harry's chin
to turn his lips to Remus' own.
Harry felt Severus go rigid beneath his fingers as Remus' mouth found his. But
he also heard the man's slow release of breath, like a carefully controlled
sigh, as Remus massaged the surprise from Harry's lips, wetting them before
persuading Harry's tongue into his mouth.
The kiss was slow but not necessarily sweet. It was a performance. Harry did
not play a part so much as act as a prop in Remus’ production. And Remus knew
how to use him to effect. He was every bit as adept as Severus was in coaxing
Harry's sigh, in robbing him of breath so that Harry had no choice but to open
to him lest he be smothered by desire. Knowing that Severus watched did not
thrill Harry so much as it paralysed his will, causing him enough ambivalence
that he could not consciously consent nor refuse. His hand fell away from
Severus and moved almost involuntarily to the back of Remus’ neck. He whimpered
his uncertainty into the man’s mouth, hoping Severus did not leave but unable
to stop himself.  
Severus did not leave. In fact, he seemed quite incapable of motion. He watched
silently as Remus urged Harry to stand, as his hands rose to Harry’s buttons,
keeping him pliant and unresisting with a talented mouth as he unwrapped Harry
like a gift to the other man. Harry saw Remus’ eyes watch Severus as he did so,
but when Harry started to turn his head in that direction, Remus prevented it.
“Pretend it’s just us, Darling,” he whispered, his lips moving to Harry’s neck.
He’d spoken softly, but the command rang as strongly in Harry’s bones as if
he’d shouted.
Harry had no choice but to obey. He gave a tiny moan as his hands went to
Remus’ neck, encircling it gently to pull Remus to his lips again and drink him
in, kissing him back properly at last. Just as he would if they had been alone,
he let those hands fall to the man’s collar, opening his shirt. A button or two
was lost to urgency and fell tinkling to the floor where it was ignored as
Harry wound his arms inside the loose fabric and around his Mate, his hands
finding their way into the back of his waistband to fill themselves with the
downy swell beneath it. Remus’ back arched as Harry’s nails found his skin,
presenting his chest to the young man. Harry took the unintentional invitation
to attach his teeth to one of Remus’ nipples, drawing a pleased groan from him.
But Remus peeled him away, grasping his upper arms to turn him and back him
toward the bed. They scaled it together, their lips close but not quite
touching as Harry crawled backwards and Remus shed the shirt still dangling
from his wrists by its cuffs. Remus denied the kiss the young man reached for,
urging Harry onto his stomach, instead. He positioned him so that the young man
could not easily see their voyeur. Not without looking, which his Alpha had
forbidden him from doing. Remus, however, could and did look to Severus often,
as if to ensure he still watched. It seemed almost like an audition, or a
challenge, or both. How long could Severus watch Remus taking liberties with
his Dearest Love before he came to claim him?
He seemed to want to be sure Severus could clearly see how he could make Harry
writhe and gasp as he kneaded the muscles of the young man’s back with firm
lips. How he could cause Harry to bury his face in the coverlet to stifle his
moan as Remus’ hands reached under him, sweeping his soft stomach hungrily en
route to undo his trousers. He wanted Severus to watch his tongue chase the
fabric he tugged down to lap at the curve of Harry’s arse.
Remus was usually far more patient, almost teasingly thorough. Not that there
wasn't finesse involved still, but it almost seemed Remus was afraid Severus’
attention might wane if he took things too slowly. Harry couldn’t say that he
minded. The speed prevented him from thinking too hard about what they were
doing and grow embarrassed. As it was, Harry was swept along, the sensations
coming so quickly behind one another he could do nothing except hold on and
ride them through.
Remus didn’t slow until they were both naked, until it was time for something
more delicate that could not be rushed. Harry was almost exhausted already, but
he shuddered with grateful anticipation as he felt Remus settle himself between
Harry’s legs and carefully part his cheeks with his thumbs. Just his hot breath
warming the cool air around his suddenly exposed pucker was enough to make
Harry toss his head back, teeth snagging his bottom lip to stifle his pleading
whimper. This was still new enough to Harry to blow his mind. It was the single
most decadent thing he’d ever experienced, and Harry sorely wished Severus
would allow him to show him its delights. That possibility was too remote to
consider at the moment. And then Harry didn’t have the capacity to consider
anything at all, as he finally felt the flat of Remus’ tongue rake across him.
       
Harry had always been vocal, but something about the way Remus massaged him now
inspired more noise than usual. These were not the usual high, quick, barked
sounds he expelled as much through impact as intention. These moans were pulled
low and deep and slow from his throat, from his chest. They poured, were
breathed from him in flowing streams that made his whole body thrum with their
vibration. Remus worked him with almost sadistic slowness, and when Harry
finally felt the rough-slick muscle probe deeper, it sent Harry’s hips delving
into the mattress beneath him. Remus followed, allowing no escape, until
Harry’s motions became so fevered Remus stopped to command his stillness. Harry
applied that command only to the bottom half of his body. He had no choice,
really. The rest of him peeled off the bed as his back arched with the
forbidden desire to thrust, his elbows hugged close to him as his hands each
took up fistfuls of his bedclothes, almost choking on his moans. It was not
until he was almost insensible and near weeping, his body trembling and his
head dangling between his shoulders, that Remus rose away and flipped Harry to
his back.
The man looked down at him, and his eyes smouldered. The fire in them was
stoked by knowledge of the power he wielded over the young man that had nothing
to do with the beast in their blood. Still, that beast no doubt added to his
feral posture. Though he didn’t move, he still seemed savage. At this point
there was not so much beast in the man as man in the beast. But there was
enough man left to bring that ferocity to heel, moving deliberately to finally
bend and give Harry the ‘more’ he’d barely been aware he’d been begging for. It
was not what Harry wanted, not what he craved. But it was more than the tongue
he’d had. Two of Remus’ fingers pressed insistently inside of the young man,
meeting almost no resistance and showing no hesitation. Though Remus was
careful not to touch the organ that begged, with its almost angry fullness, for
attention. It was understood that Harry was not allowed to touch it himself.
Remus glanced to Severus as he worked Harry, chasing the hips Harry could no
longer keep still. And finally...finally he gave the young man permission to do
the same. “Invite him to join us,” Remus whispered, twisting his fingers inside
of Harry so that the young man almost could not obey the command for moaning.  
Harry tossed his head in Severus’ direction, disconcerted by the distance of
his lover. Harry was in the throes of intense sexual stimulation, the kind
usually visited on him by the man who sat now out of reach in a chair by the
bed. It was momentarily confusing. The look on his face was consistent, at
least. Severus’ sallow cheeks were painted scarlet, his eyes were black. His
fangs even peeked from between his slack and thirsting lips. Harry still wasn’t
sure why the things seemed so erotic now that he’d changed, but they did.
Severus’ expression was fierce and intent, but he was motionless except for the
rise and fall of his chest, and Harry could tell he was trying to still that as
well. He was rigid as if he were afraid he might shatter if he dared to move,
though he clearly wanted to, and his skin was sheened with sweat from the
effort.
But he must move. Harry needed him. He threw an arm in the man's direction and
keened his name. Severus’ eyes quickened, but he did not otherwise shift, and
Harry was almost frantic. “Severus. Please.” It was a hiccupped whine, a
shameless plea. Harry neededto kiss Severus, to touch him. And he needed
desperately to be touched by Severus, as Remus refused. The only additional
contact he’d made with the young man was to add yet another finger to the ones
already reaching within him. It was Severus who must ease the ache they
inspired.
Reluctantly, the man stood. Harry saw his glance flicker to Remus and thought
he might take that opportunity to finally flee. But then his eyes returned to
Harry’s and the young man saw him shiver. He made his way to the bed slowly, as
if dragging his obvious arousal behind him like a ball and chain. He looked
nowhere but at Harry’s face, which Harry knew was flushed and his expression
wanton. It apparently provided the inspiration the man needed to close the
distance and kneel beside the bed. 
“Severus,” he breathed, shuddering. “Join me.”
“Harry. I cannot do this,” Severus confessed, as if with difficulty.
“Try. For me. I want this, Severus,” Harry panted, his trembling fingertips
clumsily tracing the side of the man’s face. Gods, how he loved it. “I want it
more than you know. You don’t have to do anything. Just be here. Let me make
you feel good,” Harry begged.
Remus had stopped his ministrations and sat back on his heels, allowing
whatever was about to happen to transpire. Severus never looked at Remus, only
at Harry as the young man rolled to his stomach and grasped Severus by the back
of the neck, implored him with his eyes to waiver, to yield. Severus did not
respond with words. His hands came hesitantly to the clasp on his robes, and
Harry sighed his relief. He shrugged them off, with Harry reaching to help,
before moving his shaking hands to his buttons.  
Harry knew this might be their biggest obstacle. Severus deplored being naked,
even in front of Harry. But now Remus was here as well, naked already and
naturally more robust than the vampire. It seemed Severus’ weakness for Harry’s
will was enough to override his shyness, however, and when the man finally
peeled back his shirt, Harry’s palms were instantly pressed to the milky smooth
skin that was revealed, welcoming the familiar sight with open worship.
“I love you, Severus,” Harry promised, rising to his knees to tentatively tug
at the man. He was torn between wanting to claim Severus' lips and wanting to
strip him, as the one seemed it might hinder the other. He couldn’t resist,
though, and his mouth soon found its way to Severus’, his tongue returning home
in the man’s mouth even as his hands pulled Severus fully onto the bed and
urged him to lie down before reaching for the buttons of his trousers.
The man was clearly reluctant to allow it, but he did not have the willpower to
resist Harry’s plaintive passion. Harry returned to him as quickly as possible
once his task was completed, and Severus' hands hesitated only a moment before
moving to savour the planes of Harry’s back and arms, his face and chest. He
did not hesitate at all to claim the young man's eager mouth. 
They were beautiful together, moving intuitively in ways that only those truly
in love know how. Their palms found each other with no fumbling despite
that both their eyes were closed to concentrate on the sensation of their
bodies aligning. One did not move without the other mirroring it, as if knowing
already what the other would do. The urgency Remus had inspired mellowed, and
their movements slowed, flowed smoothly into one another, almost as if the two
were dancing.    
Remus did not interrupt the homecoming, for that was clearly what it was. Not
yet. He watched from the side as Severus lost himself completely, as Harry
melted against the man, dissolving and reforming in new places to coax the
first of many involuntary moans from the typically stone-tempered Potions
Master. Harry devoured the skin of the man’s torso with relish, came to his
cock finally and fell on it like one starving. 
The decisive moment had been met and passed, and Remus seemed to deem it safe
to cautiously cross the bed and kneel behind Harry once more. He carefully ran
his tongue across the young man's entrance, causing him to moan around his
lover’s cock, which sent Severus’ head falling back to the headboard with a
barely restrained cry.
It felt as if they continued like that forever, with Severus’ mouth alone free
to sigh and moan for the three of them. But Harry became increasingly
distracted by the man behind him, and finally, he rose to look back at
him. Remus rose, as well, to meet him. One of Harry’s hands still wrapped
around Severus’ cock, but his other reached for Remus’ for the first time that
night as Remus bent to kiss Harry’s swollen lips.
Harry soon found he did not possess the concentration needed to stroke both men
at once with any finesse, particularly while Remus kissed him so luxuriously.
Severus seemed to sense his distress and granted him permission to focus on
Remus alone by bringing his own hand to take himself over. Harry glanced at him
uncertainly, but Severus simply rested his head on the pillow beneath it, his
eyes flickering freely between the two of them now. Apparently, the man
actually enjoyed watching and did not seem to mind doing it again.
Harry did not question it, especially as Remus was different now. He was no
longer commanding and forceful. He yielded to the young man, falling back to
sit on his feet as Harry rose fully to his knees and shuffled to face him. Now
Harry towered over Remus, and the young man saw his submission in the softening
of his gaze. Harry took it but used it gently, pressing down on the man’s
shoulder to indicate he should lay down. His hands barely had to suggest, with
a touch to his inner thighs, that Remus’ legs should rise, and they did. Harry
grasped the man behind his knees and pressed them gently toward his chest. No
longer forbidden from the contact, Harry lowered himself to rub his erection
against the length of Remus’. The man moaned, his hand rising to stroke them
both, and it was lovely, but it was not what Harry wanted. Remus offered no
resistance as Harry pulled himself from the man's fingers and rested himself,
instead, against Remus' opening. Unlike Harry, who had been thoroughly
prepared, Remus was unready. Though he was definitely willing. Remus gathered
his own spit with his fingers and reached down to apply it to himself before
nodding for Harry to continue.
Harry heard Severus’ muttered sigh but had no attention to spare for it as he
pressed himself carefully into the other man. Remus groaned and pressed his
head back into the mattress as he simultaneously reached for Harry, urging the
young man deeper with wistful fingers at Harry’s sides. As his cock sank, so
did Harry, abandoning Remus’ legs and lowering himself to meet the man’s lips
at the same time their bodies met below. They kissed for a long while, allowing
Remus time to adjust. But it was Severus who moaned as Harry began to move
again. It was Severus’ hand Harry felt stroke down his back as he rose to his
hands to pump Remus properly. It was Severus’ fingers he felt slip carefully
inside of him as Harry’s cock slid more and more feverishly in and out of the
man beneath him. Harry was in raptures, not knowing where or on whom to
concentrate.
“Oh, Holy Hell.”
Harry opened his eyes to see Remus’ glued to Severus. He had finally noticed
what the other man was doing, and he writhed, rolling his hips up into Harry in
time with the motion of Severus’ arm. Harry was paralysed with pleasure, unable
to do anything but hold himself up and allow the two of them to manipulate him
how they would. Severus, however, no longer seemed content with the
arrangement. He moved behind Harry, grasping his hips and yanking him
backwards, out of Remus and toward his own need. As always, Harry was at his
mercy, but he didn’t have long to mourn Remus. Severus bent to wrap his arms
around Harry where he knelt, running his hands over his torso, up his chest and
neck, his splayed and hungry fingers urging Harry’s face to twist back to bring
their lips together at the same time Severus eased himself inside of him. Harry
moaned gratefully and pressed into it. Severus held Harry tightly as he rode
him, his arms wrapped around his waist from behind, covering the young man’s
upper back with devouring kisses. But Harry simply wasn’t close enough to the
man. He rose and reached behind him to touch Severus, sat back and leaned into
the embrace. His neck arched, draping his head back across Severus’ shoulder
even as Severus hooked his chin forward over Harry’s.
It was gorgeous. Every inch of them touched. No two people could be closer. The
whiteness of Severus’ skin made Harry’s pale body look ruddier by contrast, but
not by much. They were both lithe and slender, undulating as one as Severus
continued to fuck the young man slowly but steadily. Their black hair mingled,
became a single mass of sweaty strands that clung to cheeks and necks in
rivulets. The image held a kind of perfection. A perfection that Remus seemed
to want to sample for himself, that he could not resist touching as it knelt
still between his splayed legs.
He sat up and reached for Harry’s sweet, swollen mouth which hung slack and
inviting. He cupped the back of Harry’s head, brushing Severus’ shoulder to do
so, and the man’s eyes shot open, watching but not hindering as Remus tipped
Harry to his own lips and kissed him deeply. It seemed they all moaned then.
The motion of hips was forgotten for a moment as the kiss stretched, tapered,
and then Remus broke off from Harry, releasing him, and turned his heavily-
lidded eyes to Severus.
The two men had barely touched, and not intentionally. Harry would have held
his breath if he could stop his panting. He leaned forward slightly, bringing
Severus with him, closer to Remus who eyed Severus’ mouth with clear longing.
Harry didn’t think it would actually happen, but he wanted it to; so
desperately he would have begged, pitifully, if he wasn’t afraid it would
shatter the moment. Severus was apprehensive but clearly as swept away as the
others. He would never initiate it, never stretch for it, but he did stay
immobile as Remus ventured slowly, cautiously, ever closer. When Remus was a
breath away, the two broke off their examination of each other’s lips and their
eyes met, locked, as Remus finally dared to close the distance.
It was shy at first, uncertain, but then Severus’ eyes drifted to a close.
Remus teased the man’s lips apart with an eager tongue and, almost
involuntarily, Severus opened himself with a sigh. Harry shuddered at the sight
of his two lovers meeting properly for the first time, moaned out loud as he
glimpsed tongues finding their way into mouths before the sight was sealed away
by hungry lips. Remus brought a hand to the back of Severus’ neck and the man
allowed it. Unable to hold himself still any longer, Harry sought Remus,
tugging him up into position and anchoring himself again, gently but firmly.
He rocked his hips, working both men, unable to pull his eyes from their kiss
at his shoulder which was becoming increasingly feverish.
It was Severus who pitched them to the bed, causing Harry to press Remus to the
mattress as Severus chased the other man’s lips there. And then it was Severus,
as well, who took over the motion of their hips, his firm strokes driving Harry
deeper into the man beneath him. Harry was ecstatic, surrendering himself
completely to the tangle of lust they had become as the two petted him and each
other around him. He reached back to grasp at Severus’ thigh, encouraging him
to thrust harder even as his mouth fell forward to attach itself to Remus’
throat.
It was more than Harry ever imagined it could be: cramped and a little clumsy,
but beautiful and intense and overwhelming. Harry found Remus’ mouth, savouring
it as Severus marked the back of Harry’s neck. But then the two men found each
other again. Over and over. And it was glorious the way they seemed surprised
each time at how the other tasted and finding they craved it. Harry felt
himself closing in on his orgasm while they seemed just to be warming up
because he was able to watch it. He wanted to see it better, to give them
better access to each other, and so he attempted to slide his upper body from
between the two as much as possible without bothering the harmony below. The
other men seemed hardly to notice his absence, or at least not to be troubled
by it, as they both still reached to stroke him. But their focus was no longer
on Harry. In fact, he felt he was in the way. He’d always known, if he could
simply get them to connect, that the encounter would take off like wildfire.
And he was gratified to see he was right. Watching them learn one another was
one of the most intoxicating things Harry had ever witnessed. Seeing Severus’
hand on Remus, fondling the scars of his chest as he sampled his neck, clearly
fighting the urge to pierce and taste it as Remus urged him toward his
collarbone and the particular spot there that curled Remus’ toes, was so wildly
erotic to Harry that it finished him.
He’d been quiet about it, but Severus felt Harry’s climax and slowed to a stop,
allowing him to extricate himself from the two of them. Harry had hoped he
could slip away and allow them to continue their exploration, but his exodus
had disturbed their focus. Or else it had improved it, allowed the haze to
clear and for them to realise, properly, what was happening and who it was
happening with. Before, it had been a jumble of limbs and bodies, with no one
entirely certain who they were touching at any given moment. Despite the
frequency with which he’d snogged the man, the ambiguity had allowed Severus,
at least, to pretend he wasn’t really with the werewolf. He was with Harry, and
Harry also happened to be with Remus at the time. They seemed not to know what
to do now that it was simply them, and they looked hesitantly between Harry and
each other as if they both wanted to continue but did not want to admit to it.
Well, Severus didn’t want to admit to it. Remus, no doubt, did not want to
scare Severus away by reaching for him. The vampire held himself away from
Remus, and Remus seemed heartbroken, perhaps thinking things would now come to
an end.
It frustrated Harry, and he wanted to shout at them to just fuck already. He
was sated and wanted simply to watch his lovers make love. He knelt beside them
instead, bending to kiss Severus while he ran his hand over Remus, trying to
reignite the passion that had so recently consumed them all. Gently, he
persuaded Severus to lower himself by making him chase Harry’s lips as Harry
moved them steadily toward Remus’. For a moment, the three of them met, a
confusing tangle of lips and tongues and teeth, and their hunger definitely
stirred again. As their mouths fought to all make contact with one another,
Harry took a risk, reaching between the two to gather Severus’ hardness and
carefully position it against Remus.
And abruptly, Harry was forgotten.
Remus held his breath and looked longingly up at Severus, his hands rising to
the man’s sides to gently reinforce the request of his eyes. Severus seemed to
fall into his golden gaze, undeniably tempted. Hesitantly, still unsure, he
allowed himself to close the distance between them, bringing their bodies
together and slipping effortlessly into the man beneath him, pressing a
grateful sigh from Remus as he settled on top of him finally. It was such a
small movement, but it seemed almost miraculously momentous, and Harry
shivered, as undone by the simple act as they apparently were. Severus rested
where he was as if trying to come to terms with that he’d just done, with what
he was doing. But the only real hurdle had been cleared, and now Remus took off
running, bringing a hand to the back of Severus’ neck to pull him back to his
mouth, not waiting for Severus to decide to continue but wrapping his legs
around the man’s hips and drawing him further into himself. Severus moaned into
the mouth locked determinedly to his, and his fever returned. Harry sighed with
relief and settled back to watch.
They seemed to meet their match in one another, and Harry was fascinated by
their dynamic. Remus was not the true submissive Harry was, and Severus was
thrown off balance enough at the unaccustomed challenge to his will that he
yielded some small degree to the man. Far from the graceful synchronicity Harry
and Severus shared, or the gentle dominance Remus practised with the young man,
this was a contest. And a fairly evenly matched one. They almost seemed to
wrestle. When one pushed, the other pushed back. When one found an advantage,
the other turned it on him. They rolled each other more than once, but neither
was content to be passive and their competitiveness drove their boldness to new
heights, added kindling to the blaze of their lust. It was magnificent and
rowdy, and Harry had to vacate the bed entirely, along with most of the
bedclothes, to facilitate its range. He moved to Severus’ chair to watch from a
safe distance. If this was how they made love, Harry would hate to see them
fight.
Severus tried and failed to secure Remus’ wrists, though he seemed adamant
about maintaining his position on top, regardless. But Harry could see he was
still too timid for Remus’ liking. After a long, frustrating moment of
attempting to lift himself into the man but not achieving the desired force,
instead of asking--begging as Harry had instructed him--Remus simply placed his
hands on Severus’ chest, forcing him up and away. Severus seemed taken aback by
his audacity and his strength, needing a moment to recover from it, which Remus
used to attack, forcing Severus to take him into his lap so Remus could mount
him again and grind into him as he wanted. Now neither of them lorded over the
other. For a while, the position seemed to suit them both well enough. Severus
could now reach to grasp at the satisfying curve of Remus’ arse and the
generous swell of his muscular thighs. Harry loved Remus’ thighs, but he
couldn’t help but wonder what Severus thought of them. They were so utterly
different than he was used to. Harry was slightly athletic, but his build was
small and thin and his legs hairless. He was far more womanly than Remus.
Remus’ naked form was the essence of masculinity. He was not bulky, but he was
substantial, strong, and lightly furred right up to his arse cheeks.
Severus did not seem to mind the difference. He appeared to enjoy it, but also
to be surprised that he did. It seemed to take him a moment to make peace with
the fact that he had a man, larger than he was, in his lap, and that he liked
him being there. Liked Remus' arms around his shoulders, his firm biceps close
enough to taste, liked the broadness of the other man’s back beneath his nails.
Once he had wrapped his mind around it, Severus became more assertive, as if
determined not to let the difference in their size prevent him from leading the
encounter. But Remus wasbigger, and their position was awkward, allowing for
Remus’ manoeuvrability but not Severus’ own. Severus appeared to chafe at his
inability to thrust into the other man the way he’d prefer. The timidity Remus
had grown frustrated with before disappeared entirely. If Remus wanted to be
fucked, and clearly he did, then Severus seemed resolved to fuck him.
He rose to his knees, wresting back control as he lifted Remus with him by the
hips so that Remus had to cling to Severus with arms and legs to stop himself
from falling to the bed. It clearly surprised the werewolf. Severus’ thin frame
belied his vampiric strength. But Remus also seemed impressed by the display,
which Severus noticed with almost smug gratification. Harry knew the look well.
It was Severus’ ‘just wait’ look. The young man shivered, envying Remus. The
man had no idea. But he was about to.
Severus anchored Remus in place with a firm arm around the man’s waist,
reaching back to the headboard for support as he thrust up into him. Remus
threw his head back to loudly voice his approval, but the sound was interrupted
by steady impact as Severus used gravity and Remus’ not-insignificant weight to
impressive effect. Remus grinned down at the man in pleasant surprise, his
moans still flowing from his smiling lips. No doubt he’d not yet met anyone
strong enough to fuck him quite like this. He let himself get lost in it,
wilting around the man, his moans turning to encouraging hums as he buried his
face in Severus’ neck to consume it.  
Severus’ one-upmanship seemed to inspire Remus’ own. As much as he obviously
enjoyed what they were doing, his limbs were occupied with keeping him aloft,
and Remus liked to touch, and grab and stroke and squeeze. And he simply could
not. Harry saw him try to fondle the delicious contours of the taught shoulder
beneath his hand, but he could do little more than cling. Which was
unacceptable. He abandoned his grip, relying on the other man to support him if
he so chose, and let his hand find its way into Severus’ hair instead.
Harry gasped. Severus almost never allowed the young man to pull his hair. It
was Harry whom Severus guided with a firm grip in black locks. Severus snarled
his objection, but Harry could see his eyes flair with unexpected thrill. Remus
simply returned the snarl with a smile. The Dark Creature in each of them
showed strongly.
Teeth bared, the werewolf accepted the challenge presented. He tipped back
Severus’ head as his other hand found the headboard and pulled until Severus,
his own fangs peeking, had no choice but to fall to a seat with Remus astride
him. Severus’ resentment, though, had no effect on his lust except perhaps to
sharpen it. Remus did not gloat, but he was unapologetically pleased with his
victory. He pressed his advantage further, using his weight, settled against
Severus’ shoulders under Remus’ covetous hands, to force the man to lay down
entirely. He could tell Severus was displeased, but he distracted him from it
by seating himself forcefully over the man’s cock again and curling down to
kiss him, almost angrily, as he rode the man’s entire length properly, his
hands now free to devour him. Harry had actually been afraid the furniture
would not survive the ordeal, but they seemed to have compromised finally.
Refusing to be an inactive participant, but too pleased by the current
arrangement to alter it, Severus reached between them to grasp Remus’ erection.
He was undoubtedly far rougher than Remus was accustomed, but that didn’t
prevent Severus from wringing a series of cries from Remus that interrupted
their kiss, and Remus’ cadence, until they crescendoed with the wolf’s back
arching suddenly.
Remus’ orgasm was breathtaking, practically violent in its intensity, and it
rendered him completely useless. He seemed more than willing to continue his
exercise, simply physically unable to force his limbs to obey him with any
precision. Severus did not appear disappointed, however. Just the opposite.
Harry could see the satisfaction on his face as he tossed Remus to the mattress
then, bringing himself off quickly with a strangled groan by taking Remus from
behind as the man still moaned happily but rather pitifully beneath him.
And finally, the spectacle was over. Severus crawled off the man and fell to
the side, utterly spent. They both continued to writhe, though, as if their
passion refused to relinquish them, as if it hadn’t yet realised the match was
finished. Even once they managed to quiet their restless muscles, they fought
in vain to catch their breath, to make sense of the world around them and
recall that it contained something besides each other.
Harry was speechless. He had been so engrossed, he failed to realise until just
then that he was hard again. But he knew they were both worthless, likely for
the rest of the night, and he allowed his arousal to dissipate. They all needed
a moment to recover. Harry didn’t wait long before drawing close to them,
though. Before, it had seemed too dangerous to attempt. Now that he could, he
wanted nothing more than to touch them, to be with them, to share in the
aftermath. In fact, he was giddy with it, and with the slow realisation of what
had just happened. His two lovers had made lovers of each other. He crouched at
the side of the bed and peeked over its edge until they both noticed him and
blushed, even Remus who was not so prone to self-consciousness. Harry couldn’t
suppress his grin as he threw himself happily onto the bed with them like a
little boy at Christmas. And it certainly had been a gift.
They were close enough to each other that when he wriggled his way between them
they were both comfortably pressed to him, and he savoured the sensation. Their
skin was hot and sticky, but he ran his hands over it anyway. The room reeked
of sex: of arse and sweat and semen and faintly of blood. It was delicious. He
stretched to kiss one and then the other. He could taste their exhaustion but
also their satisfaction. They eventually found the energy to return his
attention but only an echo of it.
Now that their lust was sated they seemed vaguely uncomfortable. They
sheepishly made eye contact across Harry’s chest. Remus hesitated, but after
screwing up his courage, he reached to stroke his fingertips lightly down the
arm Severus had draped across Harry between them. Severus’ still red cheeks
coloured further. He did not return the affection, but he allowed it, and they
all knew that was just as meaningful. Harry willed the contact to repeat, for
it to evolve into something more substantial. But it did not, and Harry refused
to allow them to become awkward.
“Well,” Harry asked cheekily, “who else thinks this was a fantasticidea?” Remus
groaned but broke into an irrepressible grin. He reached to nuzzle the young
man’s neck, making Harry squirm.
“You’re far too young,” Severus muttered as he rolled away onto his back, too
hot to cuddle and too tired to tolerate Harry’s increasing enthusiasm. But
Harry had heard the contented smile in his voice and reached over to squeeze
his hand before turning his attention back to Remus. That man too, though, was
exhausted. He was happy enough to let Harry pet him but unable to return the
favour.
“I’m going to run us a bath,” Harry declared, too delighted by the turn of
events to be disappointed in their neglect.
"A bath? For all of us?" Remus mumbled into the crook of his arm with amused
incredulity. "Are you going to cast Engorgio on the tub?"
"We'll work it out," Harry shrugged, sitting up abruptly and scooting off the
bed, annoying them both with his energy. Harry veritably bounced across the
room. After rounding the doorframe, however, Harry stopped to peek back through
it. He wanted to see how they would act in his absence. He wanted to know if
they would direct their affection to each other or become embarrassed and
uncomfortable. Harry so wanted this to be the deciding moment, hoping against
hope that the two had actually connected and the night would not be a one-off
but rather the first in a long and pleasant series.
Neither of them moved or spoke for a while, making Harry increasingly anxious.
They both still seemed to be processing the night’s events. Eventually, Harry
saw Remus venture to reach a hand across the empty space Harry had left between
them, close to but not quite touching the Potions Master’s. After a tense
moment, Severus glanced over at the other man and then back to the ceiling. He
also, however, turned his hand and drew Remus’ fingers into his own, holding
them loosely.
Harry shivered happily. He took a moment to commit the sight to memory before
creeping away to continue his self-appointed errand.    
 
 
 
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
                                 [like a boss]
     w00t! w00t! Someone order a SANDWICH? Cos I just put one on tha menu.
     BOOM!
      
     (You'll have to excuse me. I feel like I've been writing this chapter
     for years.) :p
***** In This Time of the Night! Bring Him Away: Mine’s Not an Idle Cause *****
Harry was buoyant as he went to start the bath water. It seemed a shame to wash
away the sticky perfume so soon, but it made for a good excuse to leave the two
alone together. They needed time to reinforce the bond they’d just forged
without Harry’s presence complicating things. He didn’t want their feelings for
each other to revolve around or hinge on him. He wanted them to have a
relationship completely independent of him. Though one, of course, that allowed
for him. Perhaps he’d bathe alone later and make the two of them share this
one. He grinned to himself, thinking that was probably a tall order still at
this point, but it was a pretty thought. He left the tub to fill as he went
downstairs to grab some clean towels from the laundry and discovered the teapot
neglected on the stove. It had boiled dry while Remus had been...otherwise
engaged. Harry smiled again to himself as he carried it to the sink.
It was a slow process because of the open tap upstairs, but Harry was in no
hurry. He rinsed the pot and then daydreamed as it gradually refilled. The
evening had been nice, with both tenderness and aggression. They each had
brought something different to the encounter. He wondered if they would seek
each other’s intimate company when Harry was not around. And he wondered when
he might watch again. He certainly could see himself content with just that.
They were amazing together. He was still overwhelmed at the explosiveness of
their passion. But mostly, Harry wondered when they might all three find
themselves tangled in the bed sheets again, and what they could all do to one
another and in how many different combinations. The sheer number of
possibilities made him shiver with anticipation.
He was startled out of his happy reverie by a sudden knock on the kitchen
window over the sink. It was jarring and insistent, and he should have been
more alarmed, but his thoughts had been nice enough that he mostly just
resented the interruption of them. The place was SecretKept, so it couldn’t be
anything too amiss, surely. Harry scowled at the darkened panes. No one they
didn’t trust was supposed to be able to get this close to Grimmauld Place, so
why on Earth hadn’t they just come through the front door? Why the kitchen
window? Harry set the pot aside irritably and peered through the glass but saw
nothing but their meagre back garden, looking shabbier in silver than it did in
its usual withered green. His concentration was intense and he nearly stumbled
backwards in surprise when the annoyed tap-tap-tap occurred again suddenly,
accompanied by a flurry of feathers before the owl demanding entrance lifted
back off to make another circle of it. Harry hurriedly unlatched the window and
threw it wide. Before long a nondescript brown owl flapped inside. Harry did
not recognise it. Archimedes was upstairs for all he knew. He’d given the bird
run of the fourth floor where Buckbeak once stayed, but he was more a tenant
than a pet. Harry rarely had need of him. This unfamiliar owl was not inclined
to be examined, though. It practically threw the small parcel it carried at him
before immediately disappearing back out the window.      
It was a strange episode, and Harry had an ominous feeling about it; not least
because, once he’d shaken off his shock and confusion and turned to look for
the delivery, he realised he could locate the fallen package by scent. The
smell of human blood drew Harry apprehensively down onto his knees and under
the table, but he did not reach for the parcel right away.
It was much too small to contain anything too frightening, he thought, and it
was as plain as the owl who had delivered it. But it could be nothing good.
Harry hesitated, unconsciously chewing on the inside of his cheek out of
nervous habit as he considered things. He entertained the idea of going and
fetching Remus and Severus before opening it but decided against it. It wasn’t
like it was a bomb. At least not a literal one. But it might contain something
difficult for Harry to explain without confessing his and Loraina’s recent
activities. He’d look inside first and then consult them if necessary.
With a trembling hand, Harry retrieved the package and stood, setting it
carefully on the table where he considered it for a moment longer before saying
‘sod it’ and peeling back the brown wrap until he could pry open the lid of the
paper box. The scent of blood that escaped almost bowled Harry over. If he’d
been holding the thing he might have thrown it. It wasn’t that the scent was
strong, it was that Harry recognised it.
His already pounding heart thumped harder and Harry reminded himself to
breathe, though his lungs ignored the advice. He could barely force air into
them as he reluctantly reached inside the box and gingerly plucked out its
contents. Its true colour was dyed through with the tacky red tint of drying
blood, but Harry didn’t need to see the rich chestnut hue of the frizzy shorn
curl to know who it belonged to. He’d tasted this blood before. He’d pegged its
unique nuance as soon as he’d opened the box.
The implication was clear, but Harry was paralysed with uncertainty about what
he was meant to do about it. He glanced nervously toward the stair. His wand
lay on the floor of his room where Remus and Severus still lazed. His Map was
there, as well. Harry’d have preferred to check her quarters first, but he
didn’t have time to comb the forest anyway. If Loraina was not in her room,
he’d have to think of something else, regardless. Harry went back to the
laundry and found a t-shirt and jeans, pulling them on so frantically he almost
ripped them. He stuffed his feet in his trainers by the door, snatched the
parcel and its contents from the kitchen table, and then quickly flooed to
Severus’ rooms and to Loraina’s from there.
She was standing in her sitting room, and to say she seemed less than pleased
to find him suddenly standing there as well was an understatement.  “What’s the
meaning of this?” she scowled.
“Loraina,” he said urgently, but she wasn’t finished.
“Being accomplices does not give you the right to invade my privacy on a whim,
you entitled brat,” she pointed out. “What is it you want now?” she demanded,
growing angrier still. “Another sliver of my soul? Another taste of my despair
with nothing to offer in return?” she spat, pacing the floor in front of him.  
Harry didn’t begrudge her her offence. He would have been willing to stand and
accept her criticism, but matters were pressing. “Loraina, please, listen to
me-”
“So you like pain, is that it? Oh, I know. Let me show you the brutality of a
forced infection. That might give you a kick. Or maybe you’d rather see the
height of the Madness when Severus nearly drained me dry, shagging me into the
dirt while I pleaded with him to look into my eyes and remember who he was!”
Harry winced at the revelation, was taken aback by her venom. But he understood
it. She had shared something intensely personal with him with the intention of
solidifying his resolve to submit to her will, and it had backfired. “No, no.
Even better,” she went on, her anger curdling to despair. “Let me show the
moment when I realized Severus was done with me; the sad, dead look in his eye
when I almost struck him for not ripping the throats from the brigands that
would have left us with our own throats slit for nothing but our wands and
shoes,” she said, near to actual tears for the first time that Harry had ever
seen. “Or would you rather I just bottled these up for you to sip on?” she
asked, seeing him notice them, her voice so pitiful at this point he couldn’t
interrupt her, despite the urgency of the situation. He looked at her and shook
his head in sad apology. “Here I was, thinking you were a masochist,” she
hiccuped, her whimpers making her sound more like a heartbroken little girl
than the bloodsucking killer he knew her to be, “with all those bruises Severus
left on you. But you’re not,” she accused poutily. “You’re a sadist. The worst
kind. The kind that pretends they aren’t. Fucking Gryffindor,” she muttered
finally as she turned her back on him, repairing the lapse in her facade as she
angrily swiped at her tears.  
“Loraina, I’m sorry,” Harry said softly with aching sincerity, wishing they had
the luxury of having the conversation they obviously needed to have, but there
was no time to go about it properly. “I know you’re angry with me, and I don’t
blame you. I’m sorry if you feel like I didn’t hold up my end of the bargain.
But I never actuallyagreed-”
“Loopholes,” she spat disdainfully. “Loopholes!” she spun around to shout at
him, reminding him how unbalanced she was. “You are so fond of your excuses,”
she muttered bitterly, waving dismissively in his vague direction as she turned
to continue pacing.
“Look,” he began, sympathetic but growing frustrated. “It’s not my fault that
you needed me more than I needed you. But now you have to listen to me, becau-”
“Need you?” she interrupted, seemingly appalled at his audacity. “Need you?”
she repeated, her face a disgusted grimace. “I don’t need you, you vain little
shit,” she spat, livid. “Who in hell do you think you are? Who in hell do you
think I am? I wanted purpose and direction. I wanted distraction. All of which
you conveniently offered. I need nothing and no one. And I don’t haveto listen
to shit,” she added to his assertion. “If you want to have a confessional, run
to your pet mongrel. He is so fond of his heart-to-hearts,” she sneered. “Or go
find your damned bleeding heart Mudblood.”
“Goddamnit, Loraina,” he shouted finally, at his wit's end and reminded again
of his errand. “They havethe damned bleeding heart Mudblood! That’s why I’m
here!”
Loraina abruptly stopped her pacing. The anger and anguish instantly vanished
from her face and posture as she turned to him, replaced by incredulity and
curiosity in equal measure. She cocked her head at him, waiting. Harry took
half a second to calm himself after her emotional display, then extended his
still shaking hand to offer her the box. She snatched it from him and
immediately fished the lock of hair from inside, rolling it between her fingers
as she held it up to examine it. She sneered.
“The ones you love can take care of themselves can they?” she taunted him
nastily, returning the hair to the box and then tossing the thing back to him.
She licked her fingers clean before crossing her arms and leering at him with a
‘told you so’ expression.
Harry’s sympathy evaporated. Her attitude pissed him off. This might not even
be happening if she hadn’t abducted William. But he was just as pissed at
himself, knowing that he had no criticism of the deed beyond its present
consequence. Harry returned her hard stare.
“Why come to me?” she asked giving him a distrustful look. But then she
smirked, divining the answer. “Because you know. If you tell them, they will
stop you. You’ve always known that.” The more frustrated Harry became, the more
gloatingly she sneered. “They will not come with you. They will alert the
Ministry instead. But the Aurors are bunglers. How challenging was your final
exam?” she goaded. He threw her an acrid scowl but could not answer, because
they both knew she was right. “They’ll push papers and follow dead ends,” she
continued to prod, circling him as she spoke. “And all the while your Hermione
will be in the hands of murderers and drug-addled mad men.” She drew close to
Harry to whisper in his ear, “I wonder what they'll do to her when she runs her
mouth,” but skipped back away from the suddenly murderous expression the
comment evoked, seeming tickled by it. “Or when they get bored,” she shrugged.
“She isa pretty little thing under all that frizzy mess.” Harry was trembling
with anger. Anger at the bastards who had his best friend, and at this bitch
who gleefully pointed out all the reasons he was justified in his worry and his
fury. But he needed Loraina, so he held his tongue...with effort. “I do wonder
what they’ll do,” she went on musingly. “And to think she was so happily free
of you and your bullshit just days ago. But now she may never get back to her
shiny new lover on their sparkling private beach. And it will be
all...your...fault,” she said quietly, leaning in as she spoke, only inches
from his increasingly violent expression.
That was the final straw for Harry. She had been trying to provoke him and had
succeeded. He snatched her by her shirt front and slammed her, snarling,
against the sitting room wall, trying to resist the urge to strangle her. But
she was unfazed. In fact, she seemed to find his reaction hilarious and was
giggling so uncontrollably she couldn’t even attempt to free herself from his
grasp. Harry’s aggression withered in the face of her obvious insanity and he
released her, disgusted, letting her slip down the wall and onto the floor,
helpless to even keep herself standing in her morbid hysteria.
“Are you going to help me or not?” he demanded down at her through gritted
teeth. He needed to know, now, whether he should make a different plan of
action. Her giggles quickly spent themselves, and she looked up at him with a
grin, her head lolling against the stones behind it.
“Well, of course I will, Lovely,” she shrugged agreeably. “I’m ready when you
are.”
But now it was Harry’s turn to pace. He hadn’t expected to be flying off on a
rescue mission that night and was completely unprepared. He didn’t even know
where to start. “I’ve left my wand at home,” he confessed. “It’s in my jeans
pocket in my room and I didn’t want to disturb the both…” He broke off his
explanation too late. Loraina pulled herself from the floor, looking as if she
were about to be ill.
“Now why would it be in a different pair of trousers on the floor of your room
where you might ‘disturb’ the boys?” she asked flippantly. She sniffed him, her
nose scrunched. “I could tell you’d just been with one of them. Lucky Ducky,
though, seems to have finally managed them both.” She sneered at him, but Harry
refused to feel bad about what had happened and she could see the aggressive
lack of apology in his expression. “Doesn’t matter,” she said, eyeing him with
disappointment. “You don’t need a wand.”
It might have been true, though it still made him uncomfortable. He felt naked
without it. But he had done well enough without one before, he reasoned. It
seemed she was simply being petty, though, making him squirm over it, as
Cobbleshot sauntered over then to pull something from the drawer of her writing
desk. She returned and presented him with a wand he’d never seen before.
“Willy’s,” she explained with a shrug. He took it reluctantly. The thought of
using it made him feel dirty somehow. Besides, it was cheap; obviously not an
Ollivander. Harry gave it a swish and it responded, but he was vaguely
surprised it was capable of magic at all. He looked it over grudgingly.
“We don’t know any more about where to find her than the Ministry does,” Harry
pointed out, growing less confident about the endeavour with each passing
moment.
“Don’t we?” she asked, eyebrow raised. “I’ve been spending a lotof time on
Knockturn.”
Harry stared at her, still weighing their odds. “We won’t get in,” he added,
challenging her absolute surety. “If we go in with our fangs bared the real bad
guys will see us coming and scarper.”
“So we won’t go in with our fangs bared,” she shrugged. Harry waited
impatiently for her to elaborate, but she seemed to be enjoying torturing him,
as if this was her little revenge for his abandonment earlier that night.
Eventually, she returned to the desk drawer and took more things out of it.
“Polyjuice,” she explained, waggling a flask illustratively in his direction.
“Aaaand bits of Willy,” she added, several strands of hair pinched between her
fingertips. “Don’t look so surprised, Lovely,” she said, almost offended. “We
both know you’re shit at foresight, and I never go into anything unprepared.”
   
“You just happen to have Polyjuice?” Harry asked suspiciously.
“One of Severus’ N.E.W.T.s made it for her final assessment. I helpfully
offered to ‘dispose’ of it for him. Poor dear was so busy with other thingsat
the time,” she explained accusingly.
Harry took the flask she offered with a pang. It reminded him of Hermione. He
often forgot it was such an advanced potion, considering she had brewed it in a
bloody bathroom when they were twelve. She was soclever. It gave him hope,
though. He was still worried about her but tried to have faith that she was at
least clever enough to keep herself alive and unharmed until he could save her.
Yet, Harry’s panic had calmed enough for his doubts to properly awaken. He
glanced at the floo, sick to be leaving Remus and Severus like this. Especially
now that their future together seemed to finally have sorted itself. They would
be so worried, so hurt.
“You can go to them, Harry,” Cobbleshot said at his ear, startling him. He
hated when she did that and gave her a nasty look to make sure she knew it.
“But if you do, Hermione won’t be coming back alive. It’s up to you,” she
shrugged, stepping back.
Harry threw Cobbleshot a resentful look, but she was right. His grip tightened
around the flask in his one hand and the unfamiliar wand in his other as he
cemented his resolve. But he felt he couldn’t leave without some indication of
where he’d gone. If he never came back, he knew the pain of not knowing would
weigh on Severus and Remus forever.
Though at the same time, he thought anxiously, they might come after him.
They were more cautious than he was, however. And with Harry already on the
trail, they could afford to be. They would go to Kingsley, he was sure of it.
They might follow, but not alone, and Harry would go ahead of them to rout the
worst of the dangers before they had a chance to meet them. He wouldleave
them...something. It was the least he could do, considering all he’d put them
through, considering all the work Severus had done on his behalf...
Of course. The potion.
“I’ll be right back,” Harry said, already moving toward the floo. Cobbleshot
was disquieted but tried to hide it.
“Why? Saying goodbye? It will only make it harder,” she said, not as
nonchalantly as she’d meant, watching him scoop out a handful of floo powder.
“Come, Lovely,” she urged softly, her voice full of tragic understanding. “Let
us simply go.”
“It’s not that,” he objected. “Just wait for me. I promise I‘ll be back.” He
didn’t give her an opportunity to argue. He was already tossing the powder,
stepping into Severus’ quarters. He flew down the steps to the lab, quickly
scanning its many tables until he found what he was looking for.
Four thin tubes filled with pale yellow liquid rested in a stand by the sink.
Harry tossed his eyes about the room, frantically surveying his options, and
finally snatched a large pouch from the ingredients shelf, dumping its contents
of cheap, bulk chamomile onto a workbench. Then he carefully collected the
phials and stowed them in the now empty sack, adding the flask of Polyjuice to
it before tying it off.
He wasn’t done, though, and he had to work quickly. Harry didn’t like to think
about it, but in case he didn’t make it back, the least he could do was leave
part of himself behind for Severus to work with in his research. His years of
bloodletting came in handy as he filled a flask with as much of the stuff as he
felt he could spare without making himself ill, healing the cut with a smear of
the ever-present balm from a cauldron in the corner.
But then he took up a new flask. He knew Cobbleshot would be anxious by now,
but this was all he could think of. A note with all the necessary information
would take far too long to write. Instead, Harry used the dead man’s wand to
extract a series of memories. He plucked out all his time with Cobbleshot alone
in the woods --everything-- no matter how shamed he was by most of it, and
deposited the memories into the flask, capping it tightly. He hoped it would be
enough, and that they would forgive him his secrecy and his folly. But things
were different. It was not just vengeance that compelled him now.
Having done as much as he felt he could do in the time he had, Harry took up
his pouch of potions; but before he flooed back to Cobbleshot’s sitting room,
he ducked into the bedroom closet. His clothes were conspicuous. He needed
something more traditional, something that helped him blend with the darkness.
Besides, it smelled of Severus, and that was something Harry felt he would need
to carry him through.
Loraina was visibly relieved when Harry stepped back through her hearth wearing
one of Severus’ robes. “So, Lovely,” she said, looking to the cloth sack he
held approvingly, guessing its contents. “Are you ready now?”
Harry took a deep, shaky breath. He wasn’t. He’d felt, not long ago, that he
could not wait to fly off into the unknown and exact his bloody revenge. He’d
hungered for the opportunity. But so many things had changed. He had changed.
But he didn’t see an alternative. He decided to simply be grateful he’d been
foolish enough to prepare for the event as well as he had before abandoning the
venture. He thought again of Severus and Remus, probably still in his bed,
happily basking in the aftermath of their time together; and Harry’s heart
ached unbearably. He determined to simply leave it at Grimmauld Place. It was
better in their keeping anyway. He suspected it had no business where he was
going. His resolve properly steeled, Harry looked up at Cobbleshot finally and
nodded firmly.
Her responding smile was slow but almost inhumanly wide, and her eyes
smouldered with madness and enthusiasm. “In that case, Lovely,” she began. Her
voice was low and deep in its zeal.
                               “Let us hunt.”  
                              To Be Continued...
  
***** Psst! *****
          The Dark Creature trilogy is continued in A Crimson River.
                      Chapter one just posted. Just FYI.
End Notes
     Thank you to all the betas who helped with this fic: Dusty_Wolf,
     VannahBlackRose, PixieDust5383, Evan Glaser, Telaena, but most
     especially THANK YOU to Sablesilverrain and EVS, who have been extra
     helpful these last several chapters and made sure I finished this
     damned thing. (If I've forgotten anyone, I'm so sorry. Just poke me
     and I'll credit you.)
     And, of course, thank you to all the readers. Especially the ones who
     provided feedback, as you helped shape the fic as surely as my betas.
     Not to mention gave me the motivation to keep banging away at this.
     (It got sorta daunting toward the middle there, I tell ya.) You are
     appreciated. ^-^ Thank you for supporting my comment-dependent
     lifestyle. ;p
     The last and final installment in the Dark Creatures Trilogy is in
     the works, though I may need a breather. Might work on 'Toll' a bit
     to limber me up. :p Until then, again: THANK YOU! See y'all laters.
      
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