Sparking Like The Perfect Match

by Lokifan

Summary:

After Potter’s escape, Draco and his family need protection from someone the Dark Lord likes. Headmaster Snape gives it for a price: Draco’s cooperation in an unexplained Beltane ritual.

Notes:

• For ravenna_c_tan.

Please note - the consent is somewhat dubious here (they want each other and enjoy each other, but there is distinct external pressure and of course power dynamic issues out the wazoo) and though Draco isn't underage for the UK or his own world, he is under 18.

Thanks again to the Beltane mods for their impossible patience.

Draco stepped onto the train back to Hogwarts with the aftershocks of pain still reverberating around his body. His mother stood on the platform waving, her face chalky. Draco found a carriage and waved from his window as he hadn’t done since he was twelve. His mother stayed on the platform, her blond hair draggled down her robes as if she’d drowned while he wasn’t paying attention. They waved each other out of sight.

It wasn’t until Draco couldn’t see her any more, as he used her wand to levitate his trunk onto a rack, that he wondered how she’d get home.

She would have planned ahead. He was sure.

He folded into a seat, the carriage empty. Even fewer students were coming back this term, apparently. Draco wished they could’ve slipped overseas like the Turpins, even gone on the run like the Muggleborns. That would have been terrible, but - but - The fingers of his right hand clenched over his left forearm, scratching at the branded skin through his clothes. They couldn’t run. They’d been marked like cattle.

The carriage door scraped open and Draco jumped, his flinch sending sparks of pain chasing each other round his nerves.

Crabbe lumbered in, Goyle so close behind him that he was almost stepping on his heels. Draco felt his face relax into a smile.

“There you are,” Crabbe said. “We couldn’t find you.”

“I knew you’d find me eventually.” And he wanted to hide his slight limp from them for as long as he could.

Crabbe grunted and flopped down opposite Draco. Goyle sat next to Draco, his mingled scents of chocolate and body odour and goblin-made cologne so well-known that Draco’s throat tightened. Sitting with the two of them while the red Hogwarts train thrummed beneath them was wonderfully familiar, despite all the new undercurrents. If he sat carefully, he could almost imagine nothing had changed.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, as Draco stared out at London as it passed. Draco was usually the one who talked a lot. Crabbe was quiet, and Goyle sometimes shy about how he spoke. Without Draco complaining or plotting or telling stories while they laughed, it was quiet.

“It’s weird getting the train in April, isn’t it?” said Goyle.

Crabbe grunted agreement. Draco, flailing for conversation that wasn’t about the Dark Lord, said, “yeah. I guess we should’ve predicted Snape would give us proper holidays for Easter. He never liked being around his students before.”

Crabbe and Goyle laughed.

“And there’s even fewer of them now. I saw when I was getting on,” Goyle said. “More students and their families running.”

“Maybe he wanted that too,” said Crabbe. “If they took the chance to run away, they’re too weak to be part of this. Right, Malfoy?”

“Right.” The reply was half a croak.

Draco’s hands were shaking with fine tremors. He slid them between his knees, hoping Crabbe and Goyle hadn’t seen.

The trolley witch came round. While Crabbe and Goyle were haggling over Chocolate Frogs, Draco shut his eyes and pretended to be asleep.

Despite everything, this was the safest Draco had felt for weeks. It wasn’t long before he dropped off.

He woke crying out, flinching from Crabbe’s hand on his shoulder. “Merlin, Vince, what is it?”

“We’re almost there, you need to get your robes on.”

“All right.” Draco scrambled out from under Crabbe’s hand and reached for his trunk. A bitten-off gasp escaped his lips as he did so.

“You guys got it bad from the Dark Lord, then.”

It didn’t sound like a question. Draco stared at where his mother had written his name on his trunk, D. Malfoy, in her perfect handwriting, and felt his mouth shape formless words.

“I heard it from my dad. I don’t think most people know.” Goyle’s offering let Draco turn to look at them both.

“Not just from the Dark Lord, Crabbe. He wouldn’t lower himself, not once he’d regained his temper. He had his servants...” Draco’s voice wavered and trailed off at the memory.

“Is your dad okay?” asked Goyle.

“He will be,” Draco said, not allowing himself to believe anything else. His mother was there. And surely soon another Death Eater would make a mistake, maybe even as serious as theirs in losing Potter, and things would be better. Draco’s father was better than Draco had ever been at punishing the others.

His own voice crying, “Crucio!” rang in his ears.

Before long they were stepping off the train at Hogsmeade. Draco caught sight of Pansy with Daphne and Millicent. For a moment her dark eyes caught his, and they stared at each other across the space between. Then her eyes tugged away from him like unhooking a thorn from your clothes, sliding blankly back to her friends.

It was the right decision, he was sure of that. She needed to stay away now that his family had committed such a momentous failure. He swallowed the burning hurt and kept walking.

He needed to come up with a plan. His parents needed protection, they were surrounded by Death Eaters without a wand between them, and it was up to him. Bellatrix might have protected them - helped his mother, at least - but her position was too weak now to do them any good.

Draco had to do better than he had over Dumbledore if he was going to keep them safe.

But maybe something along those lines - some innovative piece of magic that would impress the Dark Lord -

“Keep moving, would you?” Crabbe snapped as Draco slowed down, thinking.

“I’m thinking, not that you’d recognise it.”

“Not like it’s done you much good so far.”

Draco’s head snapped round to glare at Crabbe. Crabbe glared back. Draco felt the ground shift under his feet. He had to hide a wave of dizziness, unsure whether it was the old curses or the look on Crabbe’s face.

Crabbe had sometimes been moody before this, proud to be helping the Carrows, impatient with Draco’s anaemic words of caution. This shouldn’t have been anything especially out of the ordinary, but there was something in his voice -

Goyle pushed between them, heading for the coaches, and Draco and Crabbe followed his lead.

 

If he couldn’t rely on Crabbe and Goyle - but maybe he could, if he came up with the right plan. It might be okay. His parents wouldn’t be able to protect each other now that Draco was at Hogwarts with the only wand the family had left, but maybe if he - no, the family poisons he needed had been used by the Death Eaters.

Draco rifled through ideas like cards, dismissing them as he went. Too complicated, relied on a student who’d left, needed power he didn’t have. Panic fluttered in his chest as he entered the Great Hall with the others, his head full of stupid, unworkable plans. His heart was pounding at his chest like it wanted to escape. There had to be something -

“Students.” Snape’s voice was soft, but he’d never needed volume to make his voice heard. The depleted ranks of students turned their faces up to him. His height drew attention, as did the swathes of black he wrapped himself in, but it was more than that. Not charisma, not the ability to inspire love like Dumbledore had had - but sheer force of personality burned off him like cold flame. Draco could almost feel it on his face as Snape eyed them all.

“You are not here to hide from the real world, the adult world of wizards and witches as it goes through this great change. You are not here to practice for it. You are already part of it, soldiers on the front lines of the battle for your world.

“So do not trust easily.”

Draco felt Crabbe’s eyes turn to him. He stared ferociously at Snape’s pale, black-eyed face until it blurred in the candelight.

“This is not to say that you should not trust at all. ‘Trust no one’ is foolish, short-sighted advice. Find the few, the very few, whom you may trust above all. Then stick together through everything that comes. Be willing to do anything for those people, and trust that they will do the same for you.

“That is how soldiers survive. It is, in fact, how they do better than survive - it’s how they win.”

There was some kind of scuffle over at the Gryffindors’ table; Draco recognised Ginny Weasley’s voice rising above the fray. He didn’t turn to look, busy instead with watching the Carrows’ expressions as Snape sat down, and turning the words over in his mind.

Find a small group of people - one person, even - and stick with them to survive.

He could do that.

***

After the welcoming feast, Draco told Crabbe and Goyle, “I’ll see you later.”

“Where’re you going?” Crabbe grunted. Draco stared at him for a moment, trying to decide whether to lie or refuse to answer or tell the truth. Crabbe scowled and turned away. “Never mind.”

Draco headed for the Headmaster’s office. Portraits muttered as he passed by. Draco scowled back at them and kept moving, until a horrible thought stopped him cold.

Dumbledore was dead. That meant his portrait would be up inside the Headmaster’s study.

Oh no.

Draco’s chest felt like it was full of freezing water, like he was drowning and had just taken a gulp. If Dumbledore looked at him, if he said - what in the hell would he say, while Draco was trying to ask Snape for protection?

Draco remembered his mother’s expression that morning. He had to find someone to scare off the other Death Eaters. His parents were living with piranhas and Draco needed a shark.

He kept walking. It belatedly occurred to him that the DA would likely be out tonight, splashing graffiti over walls and creating trouble for the Carrows. Draco took hold of his mother’s wand, gripping it too tightly as he listened for trouble.

The gargoyle outside the Headmaster’s office eyed him with distinct disfavour. Draco couldn’t blame it. Ever since - ever since he’d fixed the Cabinet, the portraits and guards and ghosts of Hogwarts, its defenders, had disliked him.

“It won’t be a type of sweet any more, will it… A potion? Maybe that’s too obvious. Or a poison? It’s all worth trying, anyway. Confusing Concoction!” he said to the gargoyle. “Shrinking Solution. Draught of Living Death.”

“Polyjuice,” said a deep voice from behind him. Draco spun.

Snape was thinner than he’d been last summer; his mouth was pulled tight. His whole face was, really, every line scoured more deeply on his face. He looked older than Draco knew he was; with that great nose, and his black robes, he looked like a giant crow.

“Mr Malfoy. Upstairs.”

Draco blinked. Snape raised an eyebrow and Draco hurriedly turned, heading up the spiral staircase. His shoulderblades itched with the awareness of Snape’s eyes on him. Draco could smell Snape’s presence in the air around him; feeling it silent behind him made his heart race.

Draco had only been to Dumbledore’s office twice - once over the Dementor imitation in third year, and then after Moody transformed him in fourth. Even so, he could see that things were different. The mysterious little silver devices had vanished. In their place were books with foreign words down their spines, and some of the ominous jars of unnamed things from the Potions classroom. A vast stone Pensieve sat in one corner, and winking in the bookshelves above it were ranks of little bottles, the potion within utterly clear. Veritaserum.

Dumbledore’s portrait was behind the desk.

Draco’s heart seized. Dumbledore looked asleep, thank Merlin, but what if he woke and saw Draco? What would he say?

“Sit, Mr Malfoy, and tell me why you’re here.”

Draco moved forward in a daze and half-collapsed into the chair in front of Snape’s desk. Snape moved smoothly into his own chair. His black eyes stayed on Draco, who avoided his gaze. “Well?”

Draco shut his eyes for a moment, grasping for composure. He had done what no one had done in a thousand years, what Snape himself had never managed - he’d brought an enemy into Hogwarts. He had to stop cringing inside at the thought. He wasn’t useless. He wasn’t.

“My parents and I displeased the Dark Lord when we lost Potter.”

“I know,” Snape said softly. “I was at your punishment.”

The memory lashed at Draco’s senses: the sound of Death Eaters jeering, the smell of his own sweat and blood, the chill of the stone beneath him and the Dark Lord’s present. Snape had seen that?

Humiliation drenched him, but below that a spark of anger flickered. He’d seen that, and done nothing?

“Then you know - my aunt can’t protect them. My mother gave me her wand, so they can’t protect themselves. They know the house and its secrets, that’s their only advantage, and it’s not enough. I need help too, people here are starting to hear what happened.” There was a tremble in Draco’s voice, but he got the words out. He’d been practicing them in his head for most of dinner.

“And you come to me for…?”

Snape was going to make him say it. Draco swallowed and lifted his eyes from the desk. It was the first time he’d met Snape’s eyes in more than a year. “Help me.”

Snape’s face creased. “I… perhaps.” He stood, and Draco shrunk back in his chair, twisting to watch Snape pace across the hearthrug. “Perhaps. Draco, I suspect you’re in more danger than even you know. But my own position is more precarious than you might think, and if I lose the Dark Lord’s trust, then…” He shook his head, not giving voice to those consequences. Draco wasn’t sure exactly what he meant. Even the Dark Lord wouldn’t kill Snape, he was too valuable; and if Snape’s own projects got delayed, how much would it matter?

But then Snape was a spy. He’d hate to lose access to secrets and strategies.

“I can make it worth your while,” Draco said. “I’m sure. Just give me a little time, I can work something out.”

“I’m sure you could,” Snape said, his thin mouth quirking. “I will do what I can to protect you and your family, Malfoy. I don’t wish to see you… don’t wish to see any of you hurt.”

Draco hardly dared breathe as Snape looked at him with unreadable dark eyes; he was scared that if he moved the moment would shatter, and there’d be no one to help them again.

“But I must work within certain limitations. There are matters at stake here that… that cannot be risked.”

Draco knew he’d never make a spy in that moment; he didn’t want Snape’s oblique references spelt out, he wanted protection. “But you said you wanted to help.”

Snape’s mouth was drawn into lines of pain. “Well. I am Headmaster, after all. It’s my duty to defend my students from... ” He shook his head and returned to the desk, every movement a jerk as if he were a puppet being controlled by an impatient child. “We’ll meet again soon, and I’ll see what promises I can make you.”

***

Draco went about the next day with a low-key buzz of panic in his ears. In that way, that Tuesday wasn’t very different from much of the last twenty months of his life. Except that this time, it wasn’t only Snape and the insufferable Potter who noticed that something had changed.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was his second lesson. He could do Cruciatus if he had to, and he was downright good at the Imperius. Mostly he’d managed to scrape by in the new style of Defence, hiding in the shadows. It had become easier to hang back as it became shockingly clear that Crabbe and Goyle - especially Crabbe - had found their magical niches.

Only maybe now Crabbe wouldn’t be willing to camouflage Draco’s queasiness.

“All together now, children,” Alecto said from the front of the classroom. Finnigan shut his eyes next to her. He was already quivering - he’d been the practice dummy for a curse to turn blood to icicles first. Thankfully none of them were very good at it.

Draco mouthed the “crucio,” with the others and focussed on his Occlumency as Finnigan began to scream.

Alecto gestured and the class lowered their wands. Finnigan’s sobbing breaths were the only sound.

“Mr Malfoy,” Amycus said.

“Yes, sir?” Draco tried to remember how he’d survived encounters with the Dark Lord. Shutting everything down and just focussing on how to give an answer that would please him.

But it was even harder to detach here, when under the blood the room still smelt like Hogwarts’ dust and ink, when he was surrounded by all these people he’d known since he was eleven. People he’d liked and hated and plotted against and had crushes on, watching while he - what?

“On your feet, Malfoy.”

“Come up to the front. There’s no point in demonstrating these things if not everyone can see it.”

Draco obeyed. His legs didn’t really feel connected to the rest of him.

Finnigan forced himself back to his feet, so that he and Draco were almost nose to nose. Draco was taller. He could remember when being one of the taller boys had been what he wanted most in the world. (Well, nearly - after beating Potter at Quidditch.) Especially after that French Veela had gone off with the tallest Weasley.

His mind was whizzing at double-speed but he couldn’t come up with a way out of this.

“Now, you need to put some passion into it. Like your dear aunt, she’s a master of this.” Alecto was close behind him; Draco could smell her perfume. It made his senses ring with the knowledge of danger, like being inches from a jungle cat. “The movement of your wand should be much more fluid. Like me. Now watch Amycus, he’ll demonstrate.”

Draco’s ears rang with Finnigan’s scream. In the near-silence afterwards he could hear Gryffindors frantically whispering at Longbottom to stop him from getting in the way.

“You see?” Alecto continued. “Focus on how much you want to do it.”

Draco glanced at her. He met a smile as poisonously sweet as nightshade.

“Now, you have a go.”

He could do this. Draco took a deep breath, picturing the high white walls of Malfoy Manor, the grounds around it. Whatever emotions were happening within were undetectable and far away. Just like Occlumency.

“Crucio!”

Finnigan fell again, writhing. But even with what must be dreadful aftershocks from Amycus’ attempt, it was over quickly.

Alecto tutted. Amycus moved to Draco’s other side and put an arm round him. Draco’s skin crawled as Amycus guided him through the wand movements again. “Give it some welly this time, all right? You can’t serve our Lord unless you mean it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco caught the class beginning to mutter to each other - especially the more connected ones, like Crabbe and Goyle with their Death Eater fathers. Whether it was concern or glee in their eyes, they’d clearly noticed blood in the water.

Draco tried again, putting all his fear into it. This time it was more effective; it was how he’d punished other Death Eaters under the Dark Lord’s eye, focussing on his own pain. He wondered if that was how the Carrows had hit on this - because the Dark Lord had done it to punish two failed servants at once. And now the Carrows could do the same, since the Malfoys had gone down in the world.

“Better, but not worthy of your position as servant to the Dark Lord,” was Amycus’ pronouncement.

“Certainly not,” said Alecto. “We’ll have Mr Crabbe demonstrate something really special. And do practice harder, Mr Malfoy. If you can’t show better technique, you’ll have to take a turn on the other side of the demonstration.”

Murmurs rose around the classroom. This was going to get out.

***

As he headed towards dinner that night, a couple of sixth-years ploughed into him on their way down the stairs.

“Watch it!”

They turned and he recognised Siobhan Murphy and Mark McNair. “What’re you gonna do, Malfoy?” jeered Siobhan. “Want me to show you how to work a real curse?”

Draco stopped dead as students slowed around them, hoping for a show.

Pansy’s voice rang out -- something about how Potter and his Weasley were going to end up mincemeat. He looked up in time to see Ginny Weasley whip out her wand, striding forward like a general leading an army. Daphne and Pansy’s eyes narrowed, but McGonagall appeared before things could go any further.

Draco caught Pansy’s eye as they dispersed. He slipped her a quiet smile. She looked away in a flutter of dark eyelashes, though she smiled too.

Draco wouldn’t always be lucky, and things would likely only get worse. Things were beginning to turn, and if this was happening at Hogwarts, then what was happening at home?

He fiddled with his steak and kidney pie, considering and discarding various ideas. If Snape didn’t help them, then what? By the fruit tart, Draco was wondering if he could run away on a Hippogriff like Sirius Black.

A nondescript brown elf owl fluttered down, dropping a note onto Draco’s plate. Draco reached for it, feeling his stomach unclench as he recognised Snape’s distinctive handwriting.

“What’s that?” Nott said.

“I’m to go to the Headmaster’s office in an hour.”

“Ooh!” came the resulting chorus. That was just like always, but there was a new edge of sadism to it - or tremor of fear, depending on how they felt about him. Pansy looked faint but said nothing, which Draco entirely understood. If he’d been in her shoes, he would have stayed away too - they could be friends again when that was safe for both of them.

He felt contaminated sometimes; rotting from the inside out, his soul infected by the Mark.

The note had contained the password: “Pepper-up.” The gargoyle looked miffed but moved aside. Draco’s hands clenched and unclenched as he moved up the stairs.

Snape was a shadow at Dumbledore’s desk. He didn’t look at all like Dumbledore had; the light had caught in Dumbledore’s silvery hair and beard, in his bright blue eyes. The light seemed to slink away from Snape, afraid.

“Sit down, Mr Malfoy. I have a proposal for you.”

“You do?”

Snape indicated the chair. Draco half-fell into it.

“You asked for my protection, for yourself and for your parents. I am willing to extend it, for a price.”

Snape looked at him, and for a moment Draco felt all the adoration and the sense of safety that he’d felt when he was fifteen flood back. He remembered how Snape, black-eyed and furious, had swept up to Dumbledore and shouted about what Moody did. How he’d said that he could help Draco, back in sixth year.

And then Snape said, “but what can you do for me?”

Draco’s mouth went dry and his mind went blank. He clenched his hands on the arms of the chair automatically to hide their shaking. He thought he might be sick, because he didn’t even have his own wand and Snape was the Dark Lord’s right hand. What could he possibly, possibly offer?

Snape swooped around the desk towards him and Draco flinched back in momentary panic. Snape put his hands on the arms of Draco’s chair, leaning over him. Draco was surrounded by black cloth, suddenly caged in by Snape’s body and the bitter, lingering smell of herbs and the force of Snape’s personality, as bitter and fierce as the taste of potions ingredients.

Draco looked up, needing to see Snape’s eyes, to try and see what he might do. He was forced to crane his head back, feeling every inch of the vulnerability as he exposed his throat.

Snape stared into him. Draco desperately shored up his Occlumency against Snape’s gaze. He was so taken up by the effort to keep Snape out that it wasn’t until one side of Snape’s thin, scythe-like mouth began to curl slowly upwards that he realised.

Oh. That was what he meant.

Draco heard his own breathing go still more unsteady but it was a chance, it was something. It didn’t feel like a decision. He lifted his head back still further and closed his eyes. The show of vulnerability was acquiescence and resignation and enticement all in one.

And now Snape couldn’t see into his mind.

Draco felt Severus’ right hand land briefly on his left, before continuing up Draco’s arm, skating over where the Mark lurked under Draco’s robes up to the base of his throat. His other hand was iron on Draco’s right forearm, holding his wand arm against the chair. Draco swallowed against the light touch of fingers as Snape’s hand skimmed up his bare throat to his chin. Two strong fingers pinched Draco’s chin, holding him in place. Draco kept his eyes shut, waiting for whatever came next.

Snape kissed him. His lips were warm against Draco’s - somehow Draco had expected them to be cold as death. Draco was rigid with tension, his fingers clawing at the chair and his lips stiff. He didn’t come close to kissing back, but Snape didn’t seem put off, didn’t even pause. Draco couldn’t see his expression, but there was communication in his kisses: how he returned again and again, kissing slow and single-minded, coaxing a response from Draco. It was gentle as a warm bath and relentless as the tides.

Draco felt his defences crumbling as Snape kept going, found his mouth relaxing under Snape’s. It was contact and warmth and a chance at safety, and he hadn’t had any of those in a long time.

He didn’t quite relax, but he did give in. He could feel his body letting go of tension at an almost painful rate, fear sluicing off his clenched muscles. Snape made a low sound of approval as Draco’s petrified body began melt into what was happening, and the sound clutched at Draco’s belly.

His eyes were shut, his body was hemmed in; he couldn’t reveal himself, he couldn’t make any terrible mistakes that ruined things. He could just… go with it.

And as Draco began to really kiss back, as his tongue teased out at Snape’s mouth, Draco was hit by a nearly painful jolt of satisfaction as he heard Snape’s breath stutter.

After a moment or two Snape drew back. Nothing happened, and Draco broke down in the face of the silence. He opened his eyes, taking in the details of Snape’s face, still close to his. Snape’s mouth was reddened and his cheeks had a living flush. Draco stared at this proof that Snape was human, that he could be affected by Draco - if only physically. Snape was smiling a little.

Draco watched that kiss-warmed mouth form the words, “we shall see if that is enough.”

“I’ll - I’ll do what you want. If you want me to, to - ” Draco abandoned words. He needed to seem knowing and skilled, not to trip over his tongue. He started unbuttoning his shirt.

“That’s not the price, Mr Malfoy. At least -- ” Snape paused, eyeing him. “Not all of it.”

Something squirmed in Draco’s stomach. “No?”

“I require your assistance with a ritual. A spell I’ll perform at Beltane, to help with the war effort.”

“Why me?”

“Magic, at base, is manipulating symbols. This spell would repel invaders. As the one who brought attackers here previously, and as a member of the student body - your value as a symbol, and therefore as a partner in performing this spell, is unparalleled.”

“Oh.”

“If you do this spell with me, I’ll protect you and your family for as long as it’s needed - including after the ritual.”

Draco remembered how furious Snape had been for days after that confrontation with Dumbledore - how Draco had cowered while Snape strode around making the atmosphere feel full of lightning bolts - and didn’t mention Unbreakable Vows.

“The ritual… it’s a Beltane thing… so - ?”

“It involves orgasm, yes.”

At the word orgasm in Snape’s low voice, Draco felt a tremor of arousal. Then he had to dig his fingers into the sides of his chair, trying to control the bubble of hysteria rising in his stomach. It was about to become a laugh.

“And not just sex, Mr Malfoy. You must surrender yourself to me.”

For a moment Draco wondered if this was the kind of dark magic that required a virgin. He had… heard things, and not just the rubbish swapped by his dormmates. From the mutterings of his father’s friends.

“There will be nothing damaging, I will not harm you; but I might hurt you. You must agree to obey me entirely.”

“What happens if I don’t?”

“Then everything will immediately stop, but our agreement is broken. If, at any point, you wish to abandon our bargain, you simply need to say a word.”

“What word?”

“I was thinking… Potter,” he said, with a slightly twisted smile.

Draco bit back a very ugly swearword, forcefully reminded of how black Snape’s sense of humour was.

“We won’t begin the night of the ritual. It requires a build-up of energies. More importantly, you need to practice obedience. By Beltane, I’ll know I can trust you to obey me immediately and without question.”

Draco’s hair stood on end. Snape sat silently, and Draco was grateful; he couldn’t take in anything else. He was busy trying to imagine what Snape might do, torn between fright and relief - at least “practice” probably meant virginity wasn’t required, and he wasn’t going to end up tied to a slab with Snape slitting his throat.

“Now if you can agree to obey and trust me, Draco, we will make one last binding agreement, the foundation of our Beltane ritual. A spell we’ll perform tonight.”

“Oh?” Draco said, hearing his voice rasp in his throat. The images in his mind - goosebumps were prickling over his skin, and he didn’t know if the shiver inside was from fear or lust.

Snape looked straight at him. Draco forgot all about trying to avoid his gaze; but then it didn’t matter any more. If they were going down this road together, avoiding Snape’s eyes wouldn’t be enough to keep him out, not if he really wanted to get inside Draco’s mind. Draco would have to hope that Snape wouldn’t have a reason to practice Legilimency on him.

The black eyes were piercing. Draco felt pinned to his chair and breathless.

“The spell will make it impossible for you to reach orgasm without my permission.”

Draco’s brain stuttered, like it had missed a step.

Seeing his expression, Snape added, “if I die, the spell will be broken immediately.”

Draco thought, dazedly, how telling that assurance was about the world they both lived in.

Snape let the silence draw out. Draco wasn’t sure if that was to give him time to think things through carefully and make a logical decision, or simply because silence was powerful. It showed the little rat of Draco’s mind, scurrying around for a way out, that there was no other way to get what he needed.

Maybe it wouldn’t be bad. That kiss had been good, behind the terror ringing in his ears - loads of people fancied Snape, Draco had been one of them - and Snape would make the Carrows leave him alone, would keep his parents safe.

Shit.

“Are you going to tell my parents?”

“What?”

Another day, Draco might have been satisfied that he’d managed to startle Snape. “If I agree, and you keep the other Death Eaters away from my family. Will you tell them why? What I’m doing?”

He felt shame flood him at just the thought. His father speaking to his old friend, finding out that Draco was -

“No,” said Snape. “I promise.”

“All right,” Draco said. “I mean -- all right. Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

“Certain.” He felt the choice settle around him. It was like the sun setting; the world was still the same, but the colours were a little different all around.

Snape gave a slow smile. Draco watched it spread across his face and swallowed.

“Very well. Strip, Mr Malfoy.”

Draco’s brain started fizzing like ginger beer. He glanced at the sleeping portraits. “H-here?”

“Here. Stand in front of the fire.” Snape looked down at his desk and started sifting through the parchment atop it.

Draco stared, unmoving. Snape looked up. The brief glance communicated a great deal. He was meant to be showing that he’d obey.

Draco stumbled out of his seat and over by the hearth. Snape was still fiddling with his papers, not looking, and Draco was grateful.

He just had to take the first step. Make himself move.

He had to. He’d promised to obey.

It’d just be his robes, to start off with. That was nothing. He might do that anyway, relaxing at the end of the day. Draco blushed as his thoughts recalled old fantasies: of himself and Professor Snape having intellectual conversations, Snape admiring his acumen and insight, and then -

He laid his robes on an armchair and swallowed. Draco shut his eyes, trying to shut out where he was - stripping in the Headmaster’s office, for fuck’s sake - and began to unknot his tie and unbutton his shirt. The crackle of the fire thankfully drowned out the susurrus of the sleeping portraits’ breaths, and he could hear nothing from Snape. It was almost like he was alone. He could do this.

Screw Pansy, who said he had no willpower?

He had to get his shoes and socks off. He should’ve done that first. Idiot.

Despite the fire, his nipples were tightening in the chill of the room. Snape wasn’t looking at him - his eyes were definitely on the parchment in front of him - but Draco could feelSnape’s attention, a tangible presence as it slid over his body.

Draco knelt to remove his shoes. As he unlaced them, he looked up through his eyelashes and surprised a hint of a flush in Snape’s sallow face.

Draco undid his belt and let it drop atop his shirt and tie. He paused for a moment, fighting his own embarrassment, then let his trousers drop as well. He glanced up to see Snape stand up and move, silent as a shadow.

Draco stood still under Snape’s eyes. Snape was close enough that Draco could hear his breathing get faster. He said nothing. Draco watched Snape take in the bruises that he still bore from the Dark Lord’s punishment, the Mark on his arm.

Snape gestured. Draco took a deep breath, determined, and dropped his boxers to stand bare before the fire.

Snape pointed his wand and Draco felt a millisecond of terror before Snape silently sent his clothes flying, to land folded on the other side of the room. Draco clenched his hands into fists as Snape eyed him, determined not to hide himself. He felt a blush burn his skin as one side of Snape’s mouth tugged up into a smile.

Draco’s stomach squirmed as he stared back at Snape. The fire reflected in his black eyes, and it was impossible to read emotion there.

Snape’s smile made Draco’s stomach squirm - with anxiety and something else.

“All right, Mr Malfoy. Now touch yourself.”

Draco spluttered. “Here?”

Snape raised an eyebrow and waited. He didn’t push or persuade or remind Draco of their bargain; he simply stood in his dark robes and waited.

Draco began. To his chagrin, he quickly began to harden. The adrenaline singing around his body, the edge of unpredictability as Snape looked at his naked body - it was fizzing through him, making his heart race.

Snape began to circle him, silent as a Thestral. Even so, the power of Snape’s presence radiated from him. Draco felt Snape’s gaze sweep over him, tangible in its heat.

Daring, Draco let out a moan, and heard the smallest hitch in Snape’s breathing.

Draco slid a hand down his own chest, and plucked at a nipple. His whole body was standing to attention now; he could feel every air current on his skin, the warmth of the fire, Snape’s attention bright and hot as the flames.

Snape passed in front of him, dragging his eyes down Draco’s chest and stomach. His gaze seemed to snag on Draco’s hard cock, caught. Draco felt a moment of breathtaking vulnerability and wanted to hide; he felt himself hunch a little, instinctively.

Snape reached out, touching Draco’s right hip and left shoulder, pushing him straight again with light fingers. Draco gasped. It was the first time Snape had touched him that night; the assured touch on his naked skin sent a shock of lust through him.

Snape resumed circling him. Draco kept stroking himself, wondering if he could tempt Snape to touch him again. Snape’s wand was in his hand, and Draco wasn’t sure if this was part of the spell or not. The unpredictability, even the danger, thrilled through him.

Fuck. Maybe all this business with the Dark Lord in his formative years had really screwed him up, sexually.

Snape smoothed fingertips over Draco’s shoulder. Draco paused his movements, the brief touch sending outsize shivers through him.

“Keep going,”  Snape murmured.

Draco obeyed. Snape was definitely flushed now, his bright eyes intent. He kept bestowing those small touches - a glancing hand at his hip, rearranging his elbow, nudging his thighs further apart. The quiet command in it as Snape rearranged Draco’s body to his liking made Draco’s stomach go tight.

He wanted to touch back. To see Snape out of his robes, at least with one of those tiny buttons undone. But being exposed before his black- armoured sent heat rushing through his veins.

Snape lifted his wand, and drew a long ribbon of flame from the fireplace. He turned, sending the fire toward Draco. Despite Draco’s misgivings, despite how he froze, he felt desire scorch him. Snape looked like a sorcerer of old, black-eyed and mysterious with fire at his command.

The fire began to weave around Draco in a long strip, curling round his legs. It didn’t feel hot, but he could feel a warm breeze tickling over his skin where it hovered near him. He stopped wanking to watch it curl up his torso, and Snape gave him a sharp little flick with the fire to one nipple.

It was like a shock of static. Draco gasped and got back to his orders.

Snape moved behind him, close enough that the rough materials of his robes brushed Draco’s skin. He could feel Snape’s hot, quick breaths on his shoulder. Then he felt Snape’s arm encircle him, and Snape’s left hand on his cock.

Draco’s hips bucked into the shocking, longed-for touch. By this time he was hot and swollen in his own hand; to have Snape’s hand cherishing his cock drew a strangled gasp. He glanced down, wanting to see Snape’s hand on him - and to know what the ribbon of fire was doing.

“Ah ah ah.” Snape’s wand-tip touched the underside of his chin, tracing the line of his jaw. Draco swallowed, and felt the warm tickle of fire encircle his neck, forcing him to keep his chin up. The flame collar meant he wouldn’t be able to watch what was happening; he’d just have to trust in what Snape was doing.

Snape didn’t seem to be scared of the fire; his body was pressed against Draco’s nakedness. Draco rolled his hips back, seeking the feel of Snape’s cock. His felt Snape’s hardness against his arse, and the vibration of a silent moan in Snape’s chest.

Draco grinned, exulting, and was stung by the fire again.

Snape stroked him harder and Draco shuddered. Snape’s hand worked him cleverly, finding sweet spots, until Draco’s knees were trembling. He held himself frantically rigid, scared to relax and find himself burnt.

Snape’s wand must have been put away, because Draco felt Snape’s right hand on him, round the base of his cock. Snape’s murmured words, too low to hear, were brushed into his hair.

“All right, Draco. You can come.”

Snape’s hands worked his cock and stroked his balls, taking ruthless ownership of him. And somehow the flame and the fright and the knowledge that Snape had just taken control of his orgasms, that he would need Snape’s permission from now on, all coalesced in an orgasm that screamed from him.

Draco’s knees buckled, and Snape withstood his weight. The flames died out - his body released, the fireplace dark - and Draco was left to relax against Snape, almost slumping into his arms.

Snape guided Draco to an armchair. Draco blinked silently up at him. His throat felt sore though he couldn’t remember screaming; his body was buzzing.

Snape left one hand on Draco’s hair while he called Draco’s clothes back, one by one. The sense of Snape’s magic was unmistakable; it was like being surrounded by him as Draco’s socks slid up his feet and his shirt buttoned itself around him. The sensation of his tie sliding around his throat with its magically perfect Windsor knot reminded him of the flames. He reached up to touch it, and wasn’t quite sure if his hand was shaking.

It was dim in the office now - only the candles were still alight. Draco glanced up and Snape was close enough that Draco could see his face. His expression was unreadable as ever, but Draco thought his eyes might be softer than usual.

Snape Summoned a glass of water from somewhere and handed it to him. Now that Draco was buttoned and tied back into his clothes, Snape’s hand had migrated to his shoulder. The touch stay there while Draco slowly drank his water.

It was strange. Sitting in Snape’s office with the water and Snape’s hand on his shoulder wasn’t unduly intimate; it wasn’t unlike Snape, as his head of house, was reassuring Draco after his father was arrested. Except now, his body was alight from coming, and Snape’s hand on his shoulder had just wrung out of him one of the best orgasms of his life.

Draco hadn’t been able to relax in so long, and now he felt like he could sleep for a thousand years.

Snape took the empty glass from him, which was lucky because Draco had been about to drop it. “Go to your dormitory, Mr Malfoy. We’ll speak again soon.”

“Yes, Professor.”

Draco was too tired to worry about encountering the DA on his way back to the dungeons. He thought perhaps the portraits were muttering more than usual as he passed, but when he turned back they were silent.

The other boys were still in the common room when he got back. Draco ignored their questions as he passed; he struggled into his pyjamas then slept like the dead.

***

Draco heard nothing from Snape for the next few days, but now the spell was on him that wasn’t nearly as scary as it might have been. They’d made a deal, they had a link. That was reaffirmed in the morning after their encounter, when Draco automatically began to wank in the shower, only to be brought up short, his body humming but unable to find release. He’d been forced to wait for his erection to go down, itching for more sensation.

The Carrows had scowled at him in class but left him unmolested, which was proof enough that Snape was keeping to their deal. On Friday a letter came from his mother, and there was sincerity in her reassurances that everything was fine. Draco stared down at the parchment, feeling a grin light up his face for the first time in forever. He wanted to sing; the relief swooping in his stomach was so strong he felt dizzy. He looked up at the professors’ table, still grinning. Snape caught his eye for a moment and sent him a brief, private smile.

The dimming of panic left room for other sensations to kick in. The fourth night after the spell was Saturday. Zabini and Nott were with their girlfriends, Goyle was spending time with some sixth-year girl Draco didn’t know, and Draco was lying in bed fidgeting with his pyjamas to stop himself from touching. Thinking about what Snape had done and reliving the memory of the spell only made it worse.

On Sunday morning Draco woke up fruitlessly humping his mattress and decided enough was enough.

When he got to Snape’s office, he found the password had changed. Draco stood there for a moment, stymied, then heard the scrape of stone and footsteps.

Ginny Weasley and Longbottom stormed out. They both had bruised-looking lags under their eyes. Ginny glared poisonously at him and Draco took an instinctive step back; Longbottom merely glowered. They disappeared down the corridor at speed.

Snape appeared after them. He looked tired too, but he eyed Draco as Draco stood there fidgeting and began to smile. “Ah.”

Draco blushed, humiliated. He was even more embarrassed because Snape’s ability to read him at a glance was kind of hot.

“Come upstairs.”

Draco obeyed. Thankfully, all the portraits were asleep again.

“Now. Last time I gave you completion freely. I’m afraid this time, you’re going to have to work for it.”

At Draco’s anxious expression, he explained. “Remember that if the Beltane ritual is going to work, you will to surrender entirely - to obey my orders without pause. Given everything, that might take some practice.”

Draco wanted to ask what ‘everything’ meant. He’d long since abandoned his anger towards Snape. His father could never had kept the Dark Lord’s regard; both of them were too capricious. Besides, there was no glory to be stolen in serving the Dark Lord - only survival.

Even so, Snape was right. It would take practice.

“All right.”

A rare smile illuminated Snape’s face. He sat on the sofa in front of the cold fireplace and summoned Draco with two crooked fingers. Draco flushed as he obeyed the imperious gesture; but lust burnt hotter than resentment in his stomach.

“Clothes off, Draco.”

It was easier the second time, but stranger; morning sunlight shone through the windows as Draco bared himself. He went slow over his trousers, his underwear, and was rewarded with the minute clench of Snape’s fingers on his own knee. He hid his smile in his shoulder as he got out of his boxers. Then he caught Snape’s eye as he straightened. Snape’s amused, sharp expression said clearly that Draco’s little manipulations had been plain as day.

It wasn’t fair. Draco was playing against the Dark Lord’s premier spy, someone who’d fooled Albus Dumbledore for over a decade; he was hopelessly outmatched.

And getting harder by the second.

“Lie over my lap, bottom up. I’m going to give you a spanking.”

Drazo froze, wondering frantically if Snape had used Legilimency to see Draco’s fantasies. But no - he would’ve felt it, and anyway Snape probably didn’t need Legilimency to see that sort of thing.

Snape sat patiently, watching him with a smile. Draco rather wished Snape would just grab him, or maybe use his wand to force Draco into position. But he supposed that was missing the point of this.

Draco knelt on the sofa and bent himself awkwardly over Snape’s lap. It took some wriggling to find a comfortable spot with everything in the right place; Snape helped guide him with gentle hands, until Draco’s arse was upturned in premium position to be spanked.

Merlin. He was grateful that the position let him hide his face.

His whole body jerked when he felt Snape’s hand on his arse, but it wasn’t a slap. Snape stroked him, rubbing his palm across Draco’s arsecheeks. Draco could feel his heart pounding and they’d barely begun. But Snape had touched him so little, really, and now Snape was luxuriantly groping him, stroking and rubbing and caressing. Sometimes his hands travelled up Draco’s back, and Draco pressed up into the touch; or down to his thighs, making Draco squirm. His cock was hard against Snape’s lap, and Draco felt himself go hot with foolish embarrassment that Snape would know how much he liked this. Like it wasn’t clear anyway.

Snape’s hand rubbed down over his shoulders then took hold of his hair, drawing him upwards a little. Draco closed his eyes, hiding, letting his hair shield his face a bit. “All right. You remember the word if you want it all to end?”

Including their deal, of course. “Potter.”

“Good.”

Draco gave a whole-body cringe, which only pushed his arse higher into the air. Then he felt the slap.

It made a loud, meaty sound. Snape kept going, and Draco burrowed his face into the fabric of the sofa, hiding from the embarrassing noise.

It barely stung at first. Snape slapped both arse cheeks, making sure to hit every inch. Draco’s skin began to warm; tingling sensation shot through him, making him squirm. He could hear his own breathing begin to speed up.

“You’re easy to mark,” Snape said softly. “You’re turning pink already. I’ll have to experiment a little - see how much bruising I can get away with.”

Draco was hit by a bolt of lust that his back arched automatically. “You like that idea, then,” Snape said. He sounded amused. And maybe a little breathless, but Draco thought he might be imagining that.

The slaps were coming harder now. It was beginning to truly hurt. Draco squirmed again, his body taut with lust and nerves.

“Don’t worry,” Snape told him. “You’re quite at liberty to cry out.” Then he delivered a heavy smack to the tender underside of Draco’s bottom. It shocked a cry from Draco’s throat. Snape did it again.

He found himself mindlessly, automatically spreading his legs, pleading to be touched. He didn’t realise he’d done it until Snape gave a chuckle before delivering light, stinging slaps to his inner thighs. Draco yowled, spreading his legs further, and Snape delivered a cruel pinch.

Draco flung his head back with a shout. Immediately, Snape got a tight grip on his hair. Testing, Draco tried pulling away and had his hair yanked for his trouble. So he stayed in position, hands clinging to the material of the sofa, body held tight and strained as Snape spanked him. His cries weren’t muffled any more. Somehow hearing them only made him louder; he could hear his shouting dissolving into wails.

Every inch of his arse was blazing hot, and Snape wasn’t stopping. Draco’s hips were pumping into air; he didn’t know if he was trying to avoid the smacks that were being delivered or searching for a touch for his hard cock. Snape was panting, delivering sharp little slaps to the same spot until Draco was huffing out sharp cries with every hit. He scraped his nails across Draco’s burning skin and Draco gave a full-body shudder.

He was surrounded by Snape’s scent, by his body. Snape let go of his hair, stroking it instead; the contrast as Snape’s other hand spanked him sent Draco’s brain into meltdown.

Tears came to his eyes. Horrified, Draco tried to blink them back; but control was impossible with Snape sending shiver-shocks through him every moment. Snape kept slapping him, so much harder now, and tears slipped down as he released a sob.

There was a moment’s pause. Then Snape resumed, moving down to smack Draco’s thighs, the sound ringing around the room and almost covering the sound of Draco’s sobs. The blows shuddered through him, and Draco’s body heaved as he cried. He didn’t know why he was crying - it didn’t hurt that much, not really - but the sobs wracked him, emotion pouring out of him like a damn had burst.

Snape tugged at his shoulders and stroked his hair. Before he quite knew what was happening, Draco found himself in Snape’s lap, being held while he wept into Snape’s robes.

Snape was stroking his hair. Draco distantly thought he should be embarrassed, but instead he melted into it, feeling his body soften and slump against Snape’s. His crying tapered off, and he opened sore eyes to find Snape offering him a handkerchief.

“Are you all right?”

“I don’t know,” Draco said, a little frightened by this truth. Snape nodded, seeming quite unperturbed, and Summoned a glass of water when Draco was finished with the handkerchief.

The last sobs huffed their way out of his chest. Draco handed back the empty glass, and closed his eyes.

“Do you have any idea why you cried, Draco?”

Draco shook his head.

“Hmm. Well, I have a few ideas. But it’s not terribly important.”

“I’m sorry,” Draco said, so quietly it was half breath.

At this, Snape slid a gentle hand along Draco’s jawline and forced him to look up. Draco stared back at Snape with wide eyes, knowing that if Snape used Legilimency on him now, he had no hope of fighting him off.

“You needn’t be sorry, Draco. You’ve done very well.”

Draco gave him a befuddled look.

“There’s no shame in crying. It happens sometimes, and besides,” Snape said, a toimbre in his voice that Draco had never heard before, “it was beautiful.”

Of all possible words -

Draco kissed him.

It was all the things Draco would never have associated with Snape: hot and sweet and steadily overwhelming. Snape kept stroking his hair and Draco groaned into his mouth, rubbing himself against Snape’s body. This was the first opportunity he’d had to touch Snape back, and it was glorious: arms, shoulders, chest there for Draco to discover. Before long Draco was straddling Snape’s thighs, pressing his cock against Snape’s body. He could feel Snape’s own erection and it sent sweet shockwaves through him, this proof that Snape wanted him back.

Snape kissed him and gave him a brief slap on the arse, reawakening the burn. Draco made a muffled noise against Snape’s mouth. He ground down against Snape’s lap, seeking more friction. Snape had one hand in Draco’s hair, the other on Draco’s arse, squeezing and groping. Draco spread his legs further, begging with his body to be touched. Snape bit Draco’s lower lip and Draco mewled.

Snape chuckled, his voice roughened by lust, and pulled back enough for Draco to see his wicked grin. Then he was jerking Draco’s cock, squeezing his arse, sending shockwaves of delicious pain through him. Draco moved helplessly, riding both hands, clinging to Snape’s shoulders just to stay upright.

“Good, good boy, Draco,” Snape said. He was satisfyingly breathless, his eyes dark with lust. “So good.”

The words made Draco whine his desperation, needing more. “Please, please - please, professor - ”

Snape laughed again, working Draco still harder, until his body was spasming and he was crying out with every touch. “Please, please - ”

Snape had mercy. “Come, then.”

The orgasm rumbled through him, pleasure overtaking every part of him from the inside out. Snape hurt him and held him and kissed him all through it, squeezing out every shudder, until Draco was panting bonelessly in his lap, blown open.

Snape waited until Draco managed to sit up and re-engage his brain, then said, “Draco, that was marvellous. Still, I’m afraid I’ve urgent work to do - there’s someone I must see.” He held Draco’s shoulders, the contact warming Draco. “You need to go back to Slytherin.”

Draco felt distant disappointment; he’d hoped to see Snape’s cock, to touch it properly. But he’d promised to obey - and besides, he was muddled and knock-kneed and abuzz from what had happened. The first time he got Snape off, he wanted to impress.

He nodded blearily, and Snape touched his hair once more, an apparent goodbye. Draco managed to manoeuvre himself to his feet and, in what he felt was a truly heroic effort, scramble back into his clothes. Snape’s eyes stayed on him throughout; when Draco was covered up again he looked a little sorry.

“I’ll see you very soon, Draco.”

“See you soon, professor,” Draco said in his brightest and most innocent tones,

Snape narrowed his eyes. Draco laughed.

 

Draco headed for his dorm, wanting nothing so much as a nap. Pleasure was still chasing itself over his skin; he felt aglow with it. But he was also very tired, and full of a secret, shameful wish for more time with Snape. Or failing that, another note from him. Maybe one telling him he’d been good again.

He descended the tunnel from the common room to his dormitory dreamily, trailing a hand along the cool stone.

He walked into his dorm, and Crabbe and Goyle looked up.

Shit.

Draco had avoided being alone with them since the train ride back. Goyle was busy with Naomi  Fawley, and Crabbe with the rest of the student team hunting the DA along with the Carrows. Draco went to the library until late, or got into bed early then hid behind his closed curtains. It had been pretty easy, and Draco had squashed his ridiculous hurt feelings about that. If they were spending more time with each other than with him, he had no one but himself to blame.

Crabbe broke the silence. “Where’ve you been?”

Later, Draco would think of a million smart-aleck replies he could’ve given, or ways he could’ve distracted them. Usually he’d been quite capable of saying “I already have a mother” and getting out.

But in this moment, still tender all over from what had happened with Snape, all he could do was blink back at his oldest friend and say, “nowhere.”

Crabbe snorted, abandoning his homework in favour of coming towards Draco. Draco took a step back then halted, hating himself. “The Room of Hidden Things again?”

“No!” said Draco, genuinely startled. “Why would I -- ”

“I don’t know! But then I don’t know anything, do I? We never do!” Crabbe gestured at Goyle, who was staring at a bedraggled piece of parchment that was probably his Charms homework, looking like he wanted very much to be elsewhere. “You never tell us anything. We’re too be stupid to be let in on your secret fucking plans!”

“It’s not like that, I swear. I’m trying to keep everyone safe!”

Crabbe’s face reddened at this. Goyle was looking back and forth between them. “Who asked you to do that? Who needs you? I can look out for myself, Draco. I’m doing a better job of it than you!”

“Why d’you think I’m staying away?” Draco said, his voice gone horribly shaky. He felt shaken too, the look on Crabbe’s face and the truth of his words a hit hard enough to make his soul vibrate. “Why d’you think I’m trying to keep you out of it - ”

“Because you know I’ve found something I’m really good at, you know I’m better at the Unforgivables than you’ll ever be, and you’re scared I’ll ‘steal your glory’!” Crabbe sneered. “Just like Snape.”

At the name, Draco lost track of what he’d been going to say. “No, no,” he said, a humiliating wobble in his voice. “Vince - ”

“Leave it.” Crabbe slammed out of the dorm. Draco stood staring at the closed door.

“What are you doing?” Goyle said. “Go after him!”

“And say what?” Draco said, his voice rising. “And say what?”

“I dunno! Just - what you always say - something! You can’t just let him do this.” There was panic in Goyle’s voice, as if he could see inside Draco, to where Draco was splintering. “You always have a plan, there must be something!”

“I don’t, alright, I don’t have a plan, not for this! You keep asking me what to do and I don’t know, I don’t know - ”

Goyle recoiled. There was confusion in his small eyes, and hurt. He’d always stuck by Draco, even when Draco’s grand plans led them into disaster, but he wanted someone certain - someone who could tell him what to do.

Terror and guilt formed a familiar sour taste in Draco’s mouth. He couldn’t help Greg any more, couldn’t tell him anything. Maybe it was better to stick with the Carrows’ orders after all, crazy as they were.

Draco and Goyle stared at each other.

“I’m going after him,” Goyle said at last. Even now, Draco thought Goyle would’ve let him persuade him back. If Draco had had any idea what to do. If he’d known what to say.

The door closed behind Goyle and Draco was alone.

He was too old to cry after a fight with his friends. He’d cried already today. If he did it again, they’d revoke his Grown-Up Wizard card.

Draco thought about the look on their faces, how after all the splintering and creaking and surviving he’d felt his friendship with Vince Crabbe crack, and half-collapsed on his bed to weep.

***

Draco ended up falling asleep after all, emotionally wrung out. When he woke, it was halfway through the afternoon and the dorm was still empty. He went and got his broom and flew over the empty pitch.

Merlin, he missed flying. Missed the clean competition of Quidditch; missed being the first to see that golden glint and going after it and not stopping until he had it in his fist.

He didn’t miss losing to Potter, but then Potter wasn’t here this year. Maybe he should’ve tried to get his Seeker spot back.

This wasn’t the point. Draco swooped higher and higher, until he could see the grey hulk of the castle and the dark spread of trees, until the air was chilling the air in his lungs.

Hogwarts looked small from here; no less venerable and ancient, but vulnerable.

He hoped it survived whatever the Dark Lord planned. Maybe Snape could keep it safe.

That wasn’t the point either. Draco shook his head, then aimed himself at one particular spot on the pitch. It was a barely-visible tiny smudge from where he was, but he didn’t need to see it to know. The Slytherin Quidditch team had got drunk on the pitch one night after curfew following a particularly glorious victory against Ravenclaw. Douglas, the idiot, had sent up green and silver sparks and McGonagall had seen them from the castle. They’d all scrambled for cover, swearing and running as fast as they could; the jostling and the Firewhiskey combined had been too much for Crabbe and he threw up. Copiously.

McGonagall had sent sparks of her own. The fireball had taken care of the mess Crabbe had left, and honestly had been impressive enough that it was almost worth the detention. The grass had never grown back.

Draco aimed the tip of his broomstick at that spot, and jolted forward like a javelin.

 

Dinner that night was awkward; even Nott looked up from his book long enough to trade glances with Zabini. By the end of it Draco had asked for the salt and Crabbe had handed it to him, and Goyle and Draco had exchanged tentative smiles. They’d stay civil, but who knew what else.

Pansy gave him a worried look; he gave a tiny shrug in return. At least he’d got Snape on-side. Maybe he’d even get credit in the end, for assisting Snape with the spell to keep out Potter and his ilk.

Draco ignored the squirming nausea in his stomach at that thought and tried to think clearly. He needed to write to his mother, since it was Sunday.

Merlin knew what he’d say.

A few days later, Snape’s owl brought him another dinnertime note. Draco avoided Pansy’s sharp eyes as he slid the parchment into his pocket. For the rest of the meal he kept his eyes down, trying to compress the smile that kept spilling out around the edges.

He was going to get something even better this time. He was determined, and the password seemed like a good sign.

“Felix Felicis,” he told the gargoyle, grinning, almost bouncing on his toes. It gave him a sour look not unlike one of Snape’s and moved aside.

Snape was waiting for him, a tall black column. Draco couldn’t look away.

“Hello, Draco.”

“Professor.”

A ghost of a smile lit Snape’s face. “Wicked boy. Might you perhaps call me ‘Severus’?”

Somehow it had never occurred to him. The name sounded pleasingly adult when Draco tried it out. “Severus.”

“There you are. Now, strip.”

Draco obeyed, feeling tension leach away as he removed robes, tie, shirt. He let out a breath as he bent to take off his shoes and socks. This wasn’t the outside world, with strategies and shiftings and unpredictable changes. Here, the rules were clear.

No sooner had he had the thought than Snape surprised him: he tweaked Draco’s arse. Draco gave a shocked little noise, springing upright automatically, and surprised a smile on Snape’s face. He couldn’t help but return it.

Draco returned to undressing while Snape groped him a little, distracting him: a hand on his hip, his chest, pinching a nipple. As Draco’s underwear dropped, he found himself trapped against Snape’s chest. Snape stood behind him, his hands making leisurely acquaintance with Draco’s skin; Draco’s head dropped back onto Snape’s shoulder.

“I have such plans for you,” Snape murmured. Draco went pleasantly shivery. He could feel every inch of Snape’s robes against his bare skin - tiny cool buttons, seams, a vial or two in a hidden pocket. He could’ve sketched them by memory. He wondered if Snape had that kind of full-body memory of Draco’s naked body.

He wondered if he’d get to learn Snape’s body by heart.

“So what’re we - ?”

“Patience.” Snape slid from behind him and sat on the sofa. Draco’s face burned as very distinct memories of that sofa - the smell and feel of it beneath him as Snape spanked him - came to mind. He felt himself harden.

Snape gestured, and Draco moved towards him. For all that Snape wasn’t remotely a graceful man, his every movement had Draco hypnotised. Maybe it was his magical strength, or the fierce intelligence in the black eyes. It might have been the sheer force of personality that came through as he ordered Draco to kneel before him.

Draco’s heart was suddenly pounding so hard that he felt sure Snape must be able to see it. Snape’s eyes were playing over him, a smirk on his face. Draco felt his nipples tighten under Snape’s appreciative stare, his cock hardening further. Snape’s gaze, his confidence that he had all the time in the world to take Draco in, was like a caress in itself.

Draco knelt, and he saw something flare in Snape’s eyes behind the control when he did. Draco’s chest was full of heat; his pleasure and desire caught fire off Snape’s, off the knowledge that Severus liked seeing this.

Snape shifted a little, spreading his knees. Draco leant forward almost unconsciously, hunger clawing at his insides. He was hypnotised by the stretch of black cloth over Snape’s crotch. He’d still never seen Snape naked, never watched him come, never even seen his cock. Surely now, surely tonight, he’d get to -

Snape drew a length of black cloth out of nowhere and let it dangle in front of Draco’s eyes. Draco looked up at him in confusion.

“Might be interesting, hmm?” Snape said. “You won’t know what’s coming.”

A blindfold. Draco was hit by a deluge of conflicting feelings. “Oh yes - no - I mean not no, I’m not saying no, I - “

Snape put one hand on Draco’s shoulder; the other held a finger to his lips. “Ssh. Take a deep breath,” Snape ordered. He did it himself, and watching him, Draco mirrored the movement. “All right. Now I want you to suppress your natural instincts for mendacity and tell me the truth. Part of this practice is learning about each other before the ritual; answering a question, even if it’s to say no, is not failing to obey. No need for ‘Potter’.

“Now tell me: what do you think about the blindfold?”

Draco, fully aware of the irony, had to close his eyes before he could say it; things that weren’t about practice or being able to do a ritual at all. “The blindfold might be… might be fun. But I want to see you. To… to...” He couldn’t quite form the words but the soft shape of his mouth spoke for him.

He opened his eyes in time to catch surprise in Snape’s eyes, and then embers becoming blazing heat. “All right. But you’ll need to do something else,” Snape said, his voice hoarse with lust even as he negotiated. “You need to prove you can take something.”

Draco stared in confusion for a moment before Snape flicked his wand. Draco felt a phantom swat on the arse, and flushed in understanding. “Oh.”

Snape smiled. “Oh.”

Snape reached for him, drawing Draco off the floor and into his lap. Surprised, Draco went, and soon found himself straddling Snape. Snape kissed him, and explored him as he did so - all of Draco’s skin was in easy reach for him. Draco made small sounds of surprise and pleasure against Snape’s mouth as Snape’s clever hands traced the muscle of his upper arms, the sensitive nipples, the soft skin of his thighs.

Draco retaliated, discovering Snape’s body in turn: the roughness of scruff that was invisible to the eye, the surprising power in the chest, the pleasingly sensitive earlobes. He was even allowed to unbutton Snape a little; his nipples were brown, and the hair of his chest surprisingly soft, and he shivered when Draco traced the lines of muscle there.

But Draco was hopelessly outmatched. He kissed down to the pale throat, eliciting a delicious growl. Then Draco felt both Snape’s hands land on his arse, squeezing and stroking with intent, and all thought fell out of his head.

Anticipation sent sweet shockwaves through him as Snape slid fingertips between his cheeks. Draco hid his face against Snape’s throat, embarrassed, as Snape stroked his arsehole. He squirmed as the strange newness of the feeling, even as pleasure clenched his stomach.

“What do you think?” Snape muttered hoarsely into his ear. Draco felt that requiring him to speak just now was profoundly unfair.

Snape’s other hand stopped squeezing his arse, and suddenly the teasing fingertips felt slick. Draco squeaked.

Snape chuckled, his breath hot against Draco’s ear. “Good?”

Draco nodded against Snape’s chest. “Good.”

“You’re marvellously responsive, did you know?”

Draco moaned in response as Snape slipped a finger inside, his skin alight with it. As Snape pressed another finger aside, Draco made more sounds: these of surprise, at the intensity of it. He melted like wax in Snape’s hands; he felt his toes wrinkle with it.

And he was gloriously surrounded by Snape’s scent, they were face-to-face. Snape was sweating and panting and he wasn’t trying to hide from Draco any more. He was pumping his hips under Draco, losing control even as his clever hands touch Draco apart.

Then Snape seemed to touch something new, something that sparked lightning up Draco’s spine. His back bent back and he found himself pumping his hips, searching out more of that sensation. Snape crooked his fingers inside Draco, giving it to him, and Draco quivered and clung to Snape as he was subjected to dizzying pleasure.

He was aching now. Draco leant forward to lick and suck at Snape’s earlobe. “Let me come,” he said into Snape’s ear.

“Tricky now, are you?” Snape said back, and made Draco pay: fingering him and pumping his cock until Draco was spasming, barely keeping his balance.

Draco whined. “Come on!”

“I want a little more from you first. Look down there.”

Snape helped Draco to his feet, ignoring the disappointed whine as his fingers withdrew. There was something in front of Snape’s feet, floating a little way off the carpet and at a very definite angle. It was slim and dark as Snape himself and Draco couldn’t even think the word.

Fuck.

“To your knees, Draco. Entirely in your own time… but you’ll need to show you can be fucked before we may proceed.”

When had he Summoned the - the dildo? When had he - this wasn’t the point. Draco folded back to his knees and took a deep breath.

And decided it was time to find the limits of Snape’s orders. What exactly counted as ‘proceeding’? He’d felt Snape under him, hard and ready. Surely if Draco -

He leant forward and continued his unbuttoning. Draco’s hands were sweaty and a little unsteady, but he kept at it, and Snape didn’t stop him. He watched with coal-black eyes, and then he Vanished his own underwear, and all of a sudden Draco had Snape naked in front of him. Draco heard himself gulp as he took in Snape’s cock; he could feel himself salivating.
Snape slid a hand into Draco’s hair. He wasn’t rough, but his hand was iron. Draco wouldn’t be allowed to move forward until Snape let him.

What Snape did next left Draco with immense sympathy for the Gryffindors’ whines about inhumane bastard Potions teachers. He hunched his hips forward, and brought the head of his cock close enough to smell. He teased, pressing forward enough to even nudge at Draco’s lips, giving him a feel of hot soft skin that twitched as Draco breathed, and then drawing back. He played, letting Draco stick out his tongue, ravenous, then withdrawing.

Draco was shaking with frustration. “You, you bastard, come on - ”

“You know what you need to do.”

Draco took a deep breath, fighting the humiliation. He felt behind him, finding it - the cool wood against his fingertips was almost a shock. Then he sunk himself down.

It was almost embarrassing, how easy it was, how open and slick and desperate he was. He froze, trembling from the sensation, all thought blown out of his mind, and then Snape pushed his cock into Draco’s mouth.

Draco sucked desperately; the heat and weight on his tongue was glorious. He had to clutch at Snape’s knees to stay upright as Snape fed him his cock and the dildo began to move inside him.

He’d done this before, but he hadn’t done this. He’d never got to taste Snape, to feel him gasp and feel his thighs shudder and hear him growl deep in his chest. Snape’s cock twitched on Draco’s tongue as he bobbed up and down, sucking eagerly, feeling pleasure twist inside him as the dildo did its work.

Snape stroked his hair, the approval in the motion like sunlight.

The dildo was slim but much more solid than Snape’s fingers, and Snape groped for his wand and began to play with it, controlling it by magic. Draco felt it shift inside him, turning slowly as Draco tried to retain his sense. Then it found the spot inside him, and pressed there until Draco was gurgling in the back of his throat, twitching his hips, his fingernails gouging into Snape’s knees.

“You make the most delicious sounds when you’re being fucked,” Snape told him, voice gravelly. “They’re even better when they’re muffled by my cock.”

Draco whimpered.

“You can come.”

Draco came instantly, shaking and half-screaming, wracked by it. He was face-down in Snape’s lap, shuddering, overwhelmed, as Snape slowly withdrew the dildo. The sensation drew a last series of whimpers from Draco’s swollen mouth, oversensitive as he was.

He was still shuddering as Snape dragged him back onto his cock. Draco sucked, unskilled but passionate, desire in every touch as he stroked Snape’s tight, heavy balls. Then he felt Snape come, felt him shiver and heard the low cry as Snape came into his mouth. Draco gave an answering moan.

Snape drew Draco up to him. Draco clung, shutting his eyes to take in Snape’s scent - Snape would smell of him now - and how Snape’s chest heaved and how he held Draco back.

They stayed there together for a long time, while their breath evened out and their sweat cooled. Draco felt emptied out, like his thoughts had slipped away and left this shell, these sensitive outsides to be touched. Snape traced the shape of his ribs, the bumps of his spine. Draco pretended to be asleep, almost purring under the touch.

Even so, it was he who raised his head an unknown time later and said, “I should get back to Slytherin.”

Snape looked distinctly regretful. His mouth was still red and an unworthy part of Draco hoped he’d left a lovebite. “Unfortunately, yes.” He reached for Draco even so, and Draco caught his hand and gave it a kiss. Snape’s palm tasted of ink, and he shivered when Draco licked a line across it.

“Devil child. Wherever did you learn that?”

“I learn wherever I go.”

When Draco got back to the dormitory, his mouth was swollen and his eyes sleepy; his body was loose. He caught sight of himself in the mirror: it was clear what he’d been up to.

“Have you been fucking Snape?” asked Zabini from his bed. He was wearing an unkind smile. “I mean, I get fucking for advancement, but you wanna go for the biggest beast around. I bet if you bent over for You-Know-Who he’d - ”

“Fuck off, Zabini!” Draco threw a shoe at him and escaped behind his curtains. He wanted to go to sleep thinking about Snape’s hands and cock and eyes, not how Zabini had made the connection and so others would. Not about Crabbe and Goyle’s expressions when he’d said it.

It almost worked.

***

The next time Draco went to Snape, he hadn’t been summoned. But fear was seeping from the stones of the dungeons like slime, and when Zabini made a crack about Draco sleeping with Snape Crabbe had laughed.

Snape looked up when Draco appeared. “Draco.”

“Severus,” Draco said, enjoying the nod of approval he received. “Er. Are you busy?”
“Always,” Snape said, and for a moment exhaustion showed in his face. “I find myself less productive than usual today, thinking about various delicious ways to stretch your limits.”

The idea that Snape had been thinking about him, planning lovely little tortures - Draco smiled, feeling his whole body awaken.

“Still, I think you’re not just here to see me… perhaps to escape others as well?”

The expression ‘he can read me like a book’ had been invented for Snape. Draco swallowed, suddenly nervous; he could practically feel Snape’s hands running over his spine, checking the small print at the back and translating his secret codes. “Yeah, well. Things are weird.”

“Oh?”

“When I got back, after we - the third time I was here. I had a fight with Crabbe, and kind of with Vince as well. And I don’t think we’re going to make up, not like it was before, and it’s just. Things are weird.”

“That’s one word for it.”

Draco blinked, unsure what to say.

“This happened immediately after I’d spanked you and you returned to Slytherin?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” Snape went to one of his bookshelves, and murmured a word. It swung outward, and light filtered across the carpet.

“I’ve felt the need to escape myself, on occasion,” Snape said. Draco was startled by the admission, though he supposed he shouldn’t be - Snape had let Draco see him come, affter all. “Thankfully the Headmaster’s quarters are secure. They’re accessible only to the Headmaster, and to those the Headmaster specifically invites.” He held out a hand. “Come in, Draco.”

It was like being invited into Snape’s mind. Books lined every wall; Draco couldn’t read the text on some of the spines, or even the alphabet. There was a small black fireplace with a fierce fire inside it and a big sofa in front of it.

“This looks familiar.”

“Indeed,” said Snape, his smile tart as early blackberries, and he began to remove Draco’s clothes. This time he did it with his hands, leaving goosebumps in his wake. Draco, greatly daring, reached to do the same thing and Snape allowed it.

Both naked, they stared at each other for a moment, breathing in unison.

“Maybe the blindfold?” Draco said.

“Another time. You’re going to be unable to see what comes next, but not because of a blindfold. You’re going to close your eyes.”

“Close my eyes? But I could just open them.”

“I know.” Snape’s smile was pure wickedness, and Draco abruptly understood.

“So I just have to stop myself from looking?”

“You’re going to surrender using sheer willpower. Planning to do this spell with you has reminded me - it’s always a mistake to underestimate you, Draco.”

There was something fond in his voice.

Snape drew Draco into his lap again, his hands moving confidently over Draco’s body now with an easy air of possession. “Eyes closed.” Draco obeyed.

“You can touch as you like, you just can’t open your eyes.”

Draco took advantage of this, learning the swells and dips of Snape’s body. He drew a pleasing gasp as he found a sensitive spot on his side. Meanwhile Snape played with him, deliberately unpredictable: sucking at his collarbone, stroking down his wrists, pinching his thigh to make him gasp.

Draco reached out and found Snape’s face. He traced the bump of hooked nose, the shape of his lips. He hadn’t known that he knew the shape of Snape’s mouth by heart.

He kissed Snape through his fingers. The kiss began as a spark and quickly became a conflagration. When Snape drew away, Draco tried to follow him, unable to see.

“Ssh, I can’t,” Snape said, his voice rough. “I have other plans for you, and if we continue down this path, they won’t happen.”

Draco’s cock throbbed as he understood how affected Snape was.. “Oh.”

“Don’t look so smug, Mr Malfoy.” Draco’s fingers stuttered on Snape’s skin as Snape played with his nipples. Caresses became licking and sucking until his nipples were hard and sensitive, pouting from his chest as if begging for attention. Draco clenched his eyes shut, gasping, as Snape sucked on one while pinching the other cruelly. Draco wriggled, not knowing which sensation to rock towards; his own voice was in his ears but he wasn’t sure what he was saying.

Snape’s hands slid to his arse and stayed there, stroking him, squeezing him, giving him the occasional swat. Draco sucked Snape’s nipples to distract himself, discovering the different textures and tastes of Snape’s chest while the ache between his legs grew. Finally he was pushing his arse out, begging without words, and Snape relented. “I won’t make you ask.” The deep voice seemed to make something deep inside Draco vibrate in response; he was plucked like strings. “Spread your cheeks, go on.”
Draco ducked his head as he moved his hands back, opening himself for Snape.

There was lightning in his touch. Riding the razor-edge of danger - what Snape might do with no warning - was keeping Draco’s body alive, responsive; and Snape was clever with him. This time, though, he didn’t seek out Draco’s prostate; he teased, grazing it, until Draco found himself writhing atop his headmaster, seeking that pleasure again. He was glad to keep his eyes closed, to hide from the piercing gaze as he wriggled.

Snape withdrew then, and Draco whined, displeased. But the dildo - slim yet unyielding - pressed against him, filling him, easing the ache.

Snape’s hand guided Draco’s to Snape’s hard cock. Draco smiled, eyes still closed, and made an attempt at lazy exploration: discovering the shape and curve with his fingertips. But Snape’s rare groans were addictive, and before long Draco was wanking him as fast as he could. Snape stroked him in return, stimulating Draco from both sides, rushing him towards a finish. Draco’s thighs were trembling, and he was huffing for breath. Snape was rocking desperately into Draco’s grip, and one hand had a bruising grip on Draco’s hip.

“You can open them,” Snape huffed. Draco did, blinking a little, transfixed by the sight: Snape’s face inches before him, drawn into desperate lines as he thrust faster, faster into Draco’s hand and shook through his orgasm.

“Can I -- can I -- ”

“Yes.” Snape, breathing like a bellows but generous in the aftermath, allowed Draco to hide from those piercing dark eyes. Draco buried his head in Snape’s shoulder and smell while Snape’s magic and his hands overtook him. Snape delivered three solid smacks to Draco’s arse, making him clench round the dildo, yowling; he wanked Draco ruthlessly, and then Draco was howling as pleasure shot down every limb, twisted inside him, wrung him out.

Snape took care of the mess, which Draco thought was probably the most polite thing he’d ever seen Snape do. He kissed along Snape’s collarbone as thanks and felt Snape’s chest vibrate underneath him in a lazy growl.

“I can’t stay.”

“Likely not,” Snape said, “and given our current position, you certainly can’t fall behind in your homework. What would people say?”

“Nothing they’re not saying already,” Draco muttered, dragging himself to his feet.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Draco said, jolted by the sharpness of Snape’s voice. “Just, they recognise your owl, so when you send me notes and I come back all…” The wave of his hand took in his rumpled, starry-eyed, exhausted state. Snape’s eyes travelled over his naked form.

“I see.”

“I do my best, you know, I’m a good liar but…”

“Not after one of our… assignations, I suspect.”

“Pardon me?”

Snape laughed. “You sound just like your father when you say ‘pardon me’ in that tone. Bewildered but not caring to admit it.”

Draco crossed his arms and scowled. He wished he was less naked; it was hard to really register one’s displeasure when visibly within ten minutes of your last orgasm.

“Much more charming than he ever was, though.”

Draco allowed himself to be mollified by some kisses along his jawline.

“Even with my protection, it was a mistake to send you back after something like this. Things can go wrong, and you’re vulnerable after - ”

“I’m not an idiot just because I let you - ”

“That’s not what I meant.” Draco refused to meet Snape’s eye. “Draco, this kind of thing - it has an effect. It’s not anything weak in you.”

“I know,” muttered Draco. This wasn’t quite true, so he let Snape stroke his sensitive skin and kiss him until it was.

“Now. Would you like to see the bedroom?”

Draco grinned. “After all this, it can only be an anticlimax.”

More books, a four-poster bed, a peculiar rug with a strange design. No fireplace - that was probably an extra security measure. Draco didn’t have the energy to notice much more. He slid beneath the covers with Snape, surrounded by his smell, and was asleep almost instantly.

Sometime during the night, he felt Snape slip away. By the time he returned, Draco knew he himself should leave. He stole a goodbye kiss and climbed back into last night’s clothes.

Draco closed the dormitory door behind him at half-past six, holding his breath. Zabini sat up and gave him a muzzy glare - “out all night? You’d get detention if you weren’t doing the Headmaster” - before rolling over again.

Draco silently swore.

***

“Get out of my way!” Draco snapped at some third-years who were clogging the corridor.

“Yeah, get out of his way,” agreed a lazy voice. Zabini. “He’s got to get to a special appointment with Snape.”

Draco turned and aimed a glare. It did nothing.

“Is he big, Malfoy?” said Siobhan Murphy. Fucking sixth-years on his case again - it was against all laws of God and man. “Bet he makes you squeal.”

“Bet we could make you squeal even better.” McNair’s hand was on his wand, and Draco had had enough of this.

“You’re really going to threaten me, McNair? When you think I’m fucking Snape?” Draco let his voice raise; he’d already clocked a couple of Dumbledore’s Army Hufflepuffs noticing what had been said, and that couldn’t lead anywhere good. “You think he’s doing me, so try cursing me and see what you get!”

Goyle laughed quietly from nearby, and Draco had to bite down on an answering smile. This was about getting rid of threats, not making his friends laugh.

Nothing wrong with multitasking.

“Come on, then!” he challenged. “See what Snape does to you for hexing his piece of - ”

“Mr Malfoy.”

Draco went rigid. “Professor McGonagall.”

Zabini smirked and dissolved into the crowd with the others while Draco cursed himself. He never ever learnt, he always ran his mouth, and now -

“Step into my office, please, Mr Malfoy.” McGonagall’s eyes were flinty. Draco nodded, petrified, and followed her.

They sat in her office, and McGonagall lit the fire with a flick of her wand. The light played over hair as jet-black as Snape’s; her eyes had the same piercing intelligence that saw right into you. Unlike Snape, Draco was fairly sure that when she looked into him, she found him as low as a worm.

“Have a ginger nut, Malfoy.”

“What?”

“A ginger nut.” She shook the plate of biscuits at him. “You look, if you’ll forgive me saying so, terribly pale and spindly. Like a plant someone’s left in a cupboard.”

“Oh.” Draco was too surprised to be offended. He took a biscuit and bit into it, watching McGonagall as he did so. Her eyes were bright and full of secret knowledge as a cat’s.

He finished the biscuit while McGonagall watched him quietly. “A nip of brandy, Malfoy?”

“What, really?”

“Class is over for the day,” she said, pouring. “And besides, in these times, certain rules must be left aside if we’re to keep going.”

“Um. Yes, I suppose so.” McGonagall handed him the glass and Draco had to fight the urge to toss it back. He needed to keep a clear head to face her.

She sat down in her own chair with a glass before leaning forward to fix him with that predator’s gaze.

“Nonetheless, some rules must be held sacrosanct. There are laws that you cannot break without being held to account; without being changed forever.”

Draco thought of Rosmerta’s blank eyes and how she’d fought his control, and felt cold and sick. He took a sip of brandy. The remembered cries of the Death Eaters he’d punished drowned out the crackling of the fire.

“Mr Malfoy,” McGonagall said, breaking into his misery. “Your sins are not why I wanted to speak to you.”

Draco reflected unhappily that he’d never heard of her being a Legilimens, let alone one who could do it without eye contact. He was just that transparent.

“It’s no secret I’m unhappy with you. But that means nothing in the face of my responsibility to you. You’re one of my students, and you would be surprised what I can and would do to defend you.”

Slowly, it became clear: she was talking about Snape. She was offering to protect Draco from him.

“Don’t assume I cannot help you, Mr Malfoy; I’m very far from helpless.”

“But it’s not just me, Professor McGonagall,” he said. “It’s my - ”

“ - Parents,” she said with him. “Ah.” McGonagall said the word ah like a filthy swearword.

“And anyway, I’m fine,” he added hurriedly. “Really. I don’t need any help. Or, I do, but Professor Snape’s helping me.”

She snorted indelicately. “So I see.”

Draco hid his flush in the glass of brandy.

“Professor Snape is dangerous, Malfoy. He may lack charm, but that makes him no less of a master manipulator. He’s adept at getting what he wants, no matter the cost to others.”

“I know that,” Draco said, nettled. “I’m not an idiot.” He’d lived among Death Eaters for weeks on end; the Dark Lord had been in Draco’s home for months.

“Don’t feel patronised, Malfoy. Snape is a great spy who fooled me, who fooled Dumbledore, for years.” Draco remembered Snape flinging the curse at Dumbledore like poison: Avada Kedavra! “Don’t assume you know his true motives.”

“I’m not assuming he’s automatically on my side, you know,” Draco said, his tone coming dangerously close to snapping. “We made a deal. Both people get something from a bargain, that’s how bargains work.”

“When one side of the bargain is ‘safety for myself and my family’, that’s not a bargain. That’s extortion.”

“Well it’s my best option, and he’s been, been kind to me. And even if I can’t trust him, even if it turns out he’s using me - it’s worth it if he keeps his promise. And no one else can give me what he is. No one else would.”

McGonagall shut her eyes on a long sigh. She looked suddenly exhausted, slumping in her chair.

“All right, Malfoy.” There was inexpressible weariness in her voice. “You can go.”

He stood slowly. “I’m sorry,” he said hopelessly.

“Don’t be. Not for this, at least.”

***

Snape sent him another note. Draco swallowed as he headed up the stairs to Snape’s office, calculating how to ask if McGonagall had spoken to him.

As he reached the top of the stairs, he heard his name. Instinctively Draco halted, barely daring to breathe, as he eased open the door a touch. Snape was in front of the Floo, talking to someone Draco couldn’t see.

“The Malfoy boy’s worth more alive than dead,” Snape said. “I can’t perform this ritual with anyone else - I told the Dark Lord that. I know he was unhappy that I stepped forward when it comes to that family - ”

“More than unhappy, Severus.” Draco thought he recognised the voice - his uncle’s brother, Rabastan Lestrange. “You’re lucky you pulled that Beltane idea out of your hat - always great at thinking on your feet, you were.”

Severus made an impatient gesture. “The point is, however incompetent the Malfoys have been on occasion, punishing them further would be a mistake. They’re well-known and the other high-born families will be put off to see them scrabbling to survive.”

“As you’ve said. The Dark Lord doesn’t want them sitting smugly like well-fed pets when they’ve failed him.”

Draco’s heart was pounding in his chest like it wanted to escape. He was frozen, staring at the narrow hunch of Snape’s back.

“The only well-fed pet in that house is Nagini. And Rabastan, I am deadly serious. I will be most displeased if harm comes to the boy. I’ll tell the Dark Lord that myself.” Snape’s voice grated like black stone.

“Oh you will? He doesn’t like personal attachments among his followers, you know.”

“Then let the Malfoy boy be a reward, I’ve done enough for him. But killing him would be an enormous mistake.” Draco shut his eyes, clinging to the implacable sound of Snape’s voice as he bit back a whimper. “The Dark Lord has never had much respect for mothers, and that’s cost him dearly before. Killing Draco might break Lucius, but to underestimate Narcissa Malfoy’s maternal wrath - do you remember Mrs Zabini’s sixth husband?”

“While I was in Azkaban. Was that the Frenchman?”

“No, it’s the one who was bumped off six months ahead of schedule after he said wee Draco wasn’t much of a flier.”

“...Ah.”

“Besides, I spoke to the Dark Lord and he agreed before I ever made the deal with Draco. As I’ve said to him, it’s too late to change that now - and I’m uncertain what the effect would be if I broke it off now. The basis of the spell is trust, and if I were to betray him - these are uncertain waters.”

Draco shut his eyes. If Snape found out he’d heard this - but he couldn’t go backwards, Snape would hear him for sure.

“Surely the Dark Lord knows that. His study of ancient magics has been unparalleled.”

“Protection magic and sex magic are both… outside the areas of his interest. Besides, the Dark Lord is - ” Snape hesitated. “On occasion, he has allowed desire - for things like making a proud pureblood scion cringe - to get in the way of strategy.”

“I assume you won’t be telling him that.”

“I won’t be phrasing it that way, no.”

“I’d recommend sticking with the idea of taking the boy as a reward. It’s a way of punishing the Malfoys in itself, if you can make that work while keeping the rest of the vultures away.”

Snape sighed, an inexpressibly weary sound; but Draco heard a smile in his voice. “If I couldn’t keep those plates all spinning, what kind of Headmaster would I be?”

The two men said their goodbyes. Draco stayed in position, his muscles beginning to ache as he waited for the right moment. He closed his eyes, trying to remember what he’d been thinking about before that overheard conversation had torn through his mind like a hurricane, leaving everything upside down in its wake.

When Draco walked into his office, the first thing Snape said was, “yes, I know. Professor McGonagall came to speak to me.”

“Then why did you - ”

“Because this secret cannot be kept, which means it’s time to use the knowledge to our advantage. We needn’t try to be subtle, and you can spend more time here building on trust for the ritual.”

Only someone who had listened as much, and as hard, to Snape’s voice as Draco had would hear the slight breath of hesitation in spend more time here. Draco heard no hesitation at all in his mention of building trust. Snape hadn’t heard him at the door.

Draco kept his eyes down, hiding from Snape’s Legilimency; but he smiled. “Okay. Sounds like a plan.”

“I have many of them.” Snape inserted a slight, lethal pause. “Historically, they’re much more successful than yours.”

“Oi!”

“Such as: I plan to tie you to my bed tonight.”

Draco lost his breath. “Um. I. Then.”

He’d apparently lost his brain, too.

Snape prowled towards him. “Thoughts?”

“You’re right,” said Draco. “Your plans are much, much better than mine.”

A few minutes later, he was kneeling on Snape’s firm mattress, naked, while Snape sent thin ropes curling luxuriously over his wrists and forearms.

“The ropes are primed to respond if you tap your thumbs twice - they’ll release you.” Snape’s voice was a caress, leaving every part of Draco’s body primed and responsive. “If you want to be released, you need only do that.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

Draco thought quietly that with Snape, even not being able to escape might be fun.

Snape moved behind him and there was a sound of wood on wood: something being opened and closed. Draco twisted round, trying to see behind him, but the ropes had reached his biceps by now and wouldn’t let him.

He could only wait for what was coming, quivering like an overbred racehorse. His skin was too sensitive; it would sting like a shock when Snape touched him.

Something soft brushed down his back and Draco flinched.

Snape did it again.

“What…?”

“Suede, Draco. More specifically, a suede flogger.”

Draco’s back went rigid under the soft caress of the strands. Snape chuckled.

“It’s really one of the gentler items I could’ve chosen, Draco. And besides, I think you’ll enjoy it.”

Draco took a deep breath and a harder hold on the ropes. “Okay. I’m ready.”

But Snape continued to stroke him until Draco’s skin knew every inch of the flogger and he was shivering in reaction. Then fell the first blow.

It stung him, but Draco’s jerk was more from shock than pain. The hits continued, steady and solid. Draco squirmed under them as the heat that arose in his back migrated through his bloodstream. Before long, he was gasping with each blow as his hips thrust, seeking friction.

The flogger thudded against him, shuddering through him. Draco’s mind emptied out as the blows got harder; he felt like a drum, vibrating with each hit, nothing inside but air. Heat flared through him, the strokes sending pleasure through him as the ache increased.

He realised he was groaning with each hit. He didn’t know how long it had been happening.

Then the blows stopped. Snape wrapped himself around him, his bony body hard and hot and pushing unmercifully against Draco’s back. Draco cried out, clinging to the ropes, his chest heaving. Snape began to pull on his cock, while the other hand played over Draco’s body: stroking over his balls, caressing his stomach, plucking at his nipples. Encompassed by heat, Snape’s permission passed from mouth to ear like a secret, Draco’s back bent like a bow and every muscle went taut; his orgasm felt wrenched out of him as he yowled, pleasure and pain flaring through him unmercifully. Draco shuddered through it, shaken.

Snape kissed his shoulders as he untied Draco. A firm hand on Draco’s back, guiding him under the covers, made him hiss; he wasn’t sure if it was the pain, or that his body felt unready for more pleasure.

“Ssh. You should sleep now.”

“No. I wanna - ” Draco gestured at Snape’s cock, not quite able to make words.

“Is this total surrender, Mr Malfoy? This kind of disobedience won’t do at Beltane.”

Draco made a rude noise. “Come on, I can pull you off at least.”

Snape lay close to him, heat coming off his body everywhere it touched Draco’s. He might not be a handsome man, but Draco didn’t understand how Snape could fail to catch the eye; vigour was in everything he did. He was twice as alive as everyone else, for all he looked like Death.
The burn of Draco’s back flared again with each jerk of his shoulder; pleasure and pain sending aftershocks through him as he worked Snape. Snape grunted softly with each jerk, a release Draco couldn’t have imagined even a week ago; his teeth were gritted, and Draco would have thought he was in pain if he couldn’t feel Snape twitching in his hand, his hips pumping.  

Snape spurted over his hand, shuddering ungracefully through his end. It left Draco breathless. When Snape opened his eyes, Draco met him with the sight of Draco licking Snape’s come off his hand.

Snape shut his eyes with a groan. “Stop it, I’m an old man.”

Draco’s laugh was interrupted by a yawn. He curled up, warmed by Snape’s nearness, and fell into sleep.

Perhaps it was the conversation with McGonagall that did it; perhaps Snape’s talking over the Dark Lord’s desires with another Death Eater. Perhaps it was the fact that whenever he remembered this was all in the service of the Dark Lord, he felt sick and hurt inside. That night, he had a nightmare.

He was back in Malfoy Manor, among the other Death Eaters. Crabbe and Goyle were there, and then a prisoner was brought in. In the way of dreams, their face was unclear: Loony Lovegood, then McGonagall shouting defiance, then Granger screaming. Then Draco’s father, and he couldn’t see his mother anywhere, where was she? Draco could hear them both screaming. The Dark Lord laughed, the high chill sound that made Draco’s bones quake. His friends pushed him forward, and Draco’s wand was in his hand.

“Go on,” said Snape, and the prisoner looked up.

Pansy -

Draco moaned, struggling out of sleep, twitching under the heavy bedclothes. He blinked as he felt someone move - right, he was in Snape’s bed, it had been a nightmare, Snape was looking at him -

The nightmare spun through Draco’s mind again. Horror shot through him at the sight of Lovegood crying, his father screaming. Crabbe and Goyle there - he’d failed, he was meant to protect them, and now the fucking Dark Lord would get them killed too. Bleary, it took Draco a moment to realise what was happening: why he was seeing images from the dream again as his mind surfaced.

Severus was using Legilimency.

Draco’s body spasmed as panic shot through him. Severus was going to know, Severus was going to see - he was going to know what Draco thought about the Dark Lord. Severus was on top of him, bony but immovably heavy, and so much more powerful than Draco. Severus’ bare chest was against his, his smell in the sheets all around Draco, the intimacy of it sending his mind into a whirl.

In one crash, Draco’s Occlumency shields failed entirely.

For an endless instant, Draco lay terrified, waiting for Severus to go through every secret he’d ever had.

Severus threw himself back, the mattress rocking with the violence of the movement. Draco’s body understood before his brain did - he scrambled backwards, one hand scrabbling for his wand. His hand closed round it and Draco pointed it at Severus, holding it close to his body. Severus stared at him from the other side of the room, panting. Draco’s own breath was wheezing in his throat.

“What - what did you - why?”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Draco, I shouldn’t have. It was wrong.”

“Why did you - you could’ve done it last night if you’d wanted to, I was - ”

“I didn’t want to. There was - you were different last night, there was a new secret in your body language, and I wanted - but I didn’t want to do that.”

“Liar!” Draco’s voice was hoarse and strained; he didn’t sound like himself. But Severus didn’t either. He didn’t look like himself, absurdly naked on the other side of the bedroom with apologetic eyes.

“I was half-asleep, and I’m - I suppose I’m just trained by now, to respond that way to people’s vulnerabilities.” There was scouring loathing in Severus’ voice, but Draco didn’t think it was aimed at him. “I felt you twitching, I knew you were having a nightmare, I wanted to wake you up. Then our eyes met and instinctively I - I’m sorry.”

“I’m supposed to be able to trust you,” said Draco, his voice rising. “The bloody spell won’t even work if you betray me, so how the hell could you - ”

Severus’ face changed. “You heard me - you were listening - ”

“That isn’t the point!” Draco interrupted, fright in his voice. “You used Occlumency against me!”

“You’re right, I - I’m just realising. That was the secret I saw.” Severus closed his eyes, every line on his face deepened with guilt and exhaustion.

“If I was any real spy, I would’ve heard you.”

“Oh, I think you’re pretty great at ferreting out secrets.” Draco’s chest was heaving. He was breathing like he was crying, in long quivering sobs, but his eyes were dry. “You - I was having a nightmare and your first thought was how you could force your way into my brain!”

“I know, I’m sorry. It was my automatic reaction, it wasn’t conscious.” He didn’t say it like an excuse; his mouth was drawn into a sneer of self-disgust. “I’ve been trained - ”

“Don’t say that like it’s something that happened to you.” Draco’s voice was quiet. “I’ve been trained too, and I remember - ”

He couldn’t finish. He didn’t know what he’d wanted to say; if he’d wanted to talk about being able to say no, or not being able to say no. About the thrill of power when Rosmerta’s eyes glazed over or how he’d thrown up afterwards.

Snape heaved in a breath. “If you want to say no, to get out now. I’ll understand.”

“Better exposed than dead.” Draco said it without having to think. “But you - ”

“I don’t want to be this, I don’t get off on forcing my way into people’s minds and torturing them like - ” The Dark Lord’s name hovered between them, unspoken.

“You didn’t torture me.” Draco said it warily; he was manipulative himself. If Severus tried making this about himself, or saying awful things so Draco would have to assure him that they weren’t true - he didn’t know what he’d do. Withdraw, like a snail into its shell.

But Severus looked at him wearily. “I suppose I should’ve done. Gone all the way, found out what you were muttering about in that dream, not looked inside you then pulled back when I realised what I was doing, when - ”

“ - When you felt my Occlumency fail.”

Severus shrugged. The diffident twitch of his shoulders was nothing Draco would’ve expected from him.

Severus had withdrawn. He could’ve pushed, could’ve forced his attention on Draco; and Severus was a spy. Secrets were his stock-in-trade, even nearly meaningless ones like Draco’s.

Draco felt a ridiculous burst of warmth as he looked at Severus. Severus’ eyes were lowered for once, not seeking eye contact, as Draco stared.

Stupid to feel this now. But after being scraped raw, after spending three years having his every vulnerability turned inside out and used against him - to have Severus stumble into such a big one and back off, refuse to hurt him with it…

Draco closed his eyes, steeling himself. He shouldn’t go gooey - it was a small kindness, even as it wasn’t. He shouldn’t -

“You should go,” Severus said. “Think. Sleep. Away from here.”

Draco nodded slowly.

 

A little while later, Draco slipped into his dormitory. Goyle, who could be surprisingly quiet for someone with so much bulk, appeared next to him.

“Fuck, Goyle. What?”

“You’re really doing it, aren’t you.”

“Doing what?” Draco said, too weary to think or have this conversation.

“You know what! With Snape.” Goyle made an agitated, impossible-to-read gesture. “What the hell are you doing, Draco?” His quiet hiss, as they both sought not to wake the other boys, was incredulous.

“What do you care?” Draco said, bitterness seeping into his voice.

“You bloody know I care. I just can’t - you kept keeping me away.”

“I know. I know, that wasn’t fair. I’m glad, honestly. You’ve got Naomi and that’s good, and maybe you can even keep Crabbe out of trouble.”

“Crabbe isn’t the one with a long history of diving headfirst into disaster, Malfoy. And this time you don’t have us backing you up for when your great, elaborate plan falls to pieces.”

“Sometimes my plans work!” Draco said, indignant. “You like my plans!”

“Yes, but - last year you wouldn’t explain and it all ended…” Goyle winced, and at the expression on Draco’s face he considerately didn’t continue. “And you wouldn’t explain this either, and I’m just… I’m worried this is going to be one you can’t recover from. Are you sure it isn’t?”

Draco shrugged at him helplessly. “How would I know?”

Goyle’s expression said very clearly that that was not the reassuring answer he’d been looking for.

“I just… I’m helping Snape with something important, for the Dark Lord. It should help me get out of the doghouse, and even if it doesn’t, Snape’s got my parents and I through the worst of it. I’m just trying to navigate through what I can see.” Draco sighed and sagged against his bedpost, shutting his eyes. “And maybe it’s all wrong. I don’t know. You should stick with Crabbe.”

“I will,” said Goyle, voice quiet and dark as the dungeons themselves. “I just…”

“Yeah, I know.”

 

“Draco.”

He turned and saw Pansy peeking out of an empty classroom. “Pansy, what are you - ”

“I need to talk to you. Quickly, before anyone notices we’re not at breakfast.”

“All right.”

She closed the door behind them and turned wide, worried dark eyes on him. “Draco. The rumours about you and Snape.”

“The Gryffindors have said I was sucking him off for years.”

“The Slytherins haven’t,” she said, her tone tight. “Are you really - with him?”

“For fuck’s sake, I’ve already had this conversation with Goyle and McGonagall. No one was this worried when I was - ”

Draco cut himself off at the hurt he saw in Pansy’s face. She’d been his first kiss. They’d been each other’s first most things, really, and now the look on her face -

“I’m sorry.”

“There are other ways, Draco. I know you want to protect your family, but you don’t have to do this.”

“Why not?” he snapped. “I’ve certainly done worse.”

She looked a bit sick. Pansy had known Katie Bell, they’d been in the Charms club together, and everyone knew Rosmerta. “But Draco, I - I worry about you.”

Draco’s heart felt sore in his chest. “I know. I worry about you too, Pansy, but that’s why we’ve got to keep away from each other. If you just stick with your friends - there aren’t any Marked Death Eaters among the Bulstrodes or the Greengrasses. You’ll be okay.”

“What about you?” She touched his face, and Draco shut his eyes, overcome for a moment by how familiar she was, how long loved. “Draco, Potter can’t win, there’s no chance. He’s one idiot who could barely beat you at Quidditch.”

“Well, good,” said Draco, feeling nauseous. Pansy shut her eyes.

“Right, of course. But - ”

“I know. But Snape’ll protect me. And if you can just keep out of the Dark Lord’s orbit - ”

“I can,” Pansy said. “I’m sure I couldn’t meet him even if I wanted to.”
“I reckon Crabbe and Goyle will be Marked by this time next year.”

Pansy’s face crumpled. “You - you think?”
“Yeah.”

He wasn’t sure which of them grabbed the other, but suddenly they were hugging hard, a tight knot of warmth in the chill of the dungeon. He stroked her hair and heard her make a choked sound that she wouldn’t let be a sob.

Pansy drew back, blinking. “That’s - that’s not the point. The other thing is you have to be careful about Dumbledore’s Army. That Ginny Weasley, she’s ruthless, and if they think you’re a way to Snape - ”

“They’re trying to avoid Snape, not draw him out - and if they did want to, he’s not that hard to find. I was in more danger from Ginny Weasley when I was her way to find out what was happening to Loony Lovegood.”

“Okay, that makes sense.” Pansy swiped a hand across her face. “How’s my eyeliner?”

“Battle-ready.” She was so close again, and Draco’s heart wrenched. “I’m just glad to talk to you.”

“I bet. I’ve seen Crabbe and Goyle avoiding you. Well, you avoiding each other.”

Draco shrugged. “Goyle just asked me about Snape, actually.”

“Well, he doesn’t seem to fit your strategy of avoiding contact with Death Eaters. And I know - I know it’s different for you.” She eyed his arm, where the Mark was hidden under his clothes. “I’m just worried. Potter can’t take down You-Know-Who but he is coming for Snape, they all are, and I don’t want you to get caught in the crossfire.”

“I’m already caught in the crossfire.” Draco didn’t want to worry her further, but he couldn’t keep it only to himself. “The Dark Lord wanted to kill me. To really punish my parents, to make a statement, just for the hell of it - I’m not really sure. Snape stopped him.”

Pansy gave a long gasp like a diver out of air. “Are you serious?”

“I heard him talking about it. The deal we made, I think it might have been to keep the Dark Lord off our backs.”

“Don’t fall into wishful thinking, Draco, you can’t afford it.”

Draco let his head drop back. “I know. And he - he used Occlumency on me. We were both half asleep and he… But he - last night, he could’ve really hurt me, could’ve rifled through my head and found my secrets, and he didn’t.”

Pansy looked at him, her dark brows crinkled, and didn’t reply.

“I don’t know. But I don’t think I can get out now.”

She kissed him on the cheek. “Good luck.”

***

Draco left it for three days. He was waiting to come to his senses; to realise that Severus was dangerous. But then he’d always known that.

He turned what had happened over in his mind again and again, unable to leave it alone. The memories of those brief seconds were jumbled; he’d been half-asleep, frightened, and it had all been over in less than half a minute.

Severus had struck like a cobra and withdrawn just as fast, and the latter half seemed more important.

But it was easy to fancy yourself in love with someone you needed.

Severus hadn’t changed the password. Draco tried not to read into that and failed.

Severus looked more tired than ever when Draco entered. He was hunched over a hulk of an ancient text, his eyes less sharp than usual. “Mr Malfoy.”

“Severus.”

Severus’ face twisted in a way Draco couldn’t parse. His emotions seemed to be written in some unknown ancient language, its alphabet lost; whereas Severus looked at him, Draco felt his own feelings were being shown in semaphore.

“Have you made a decision?”

“I don’t know,” Draco said, frustrated. “It was - if you wanted to do it again, I couldn’t stop you. So maybe I should get out now.”

“Maybe you should.”

“But… it’s what you told me the other night about logic. First principles, what I do know. I know that it all happened really fast, and that you’ve spent so long as a spy - I think it’s like a dog biting you. If you scare an animal, it’ll lash out before either of you has a moment to think.”

“If a dog bites you, you put it down.”

Draco winced.

“And I’m unconvinced that a canine trained as an attack dog can learn to be anything else.”

“I think… if you’re careful. And if you both want it to…”

Severus’ eyes were a starless sky. “Then I suppose the question is, do you want to?”

Draco shrugged helplessly. “I just. I think if you want to make it up to me, you should keep going with this and keep telling the Dark Lord how great and valuable I am. And never do it again.”

“Never,” Severus said. He said it like a spell, the same intensity in his voice as when he cast.

“Then.” Draco had to pause to unstick the words from his dry throat, but his blood was fizzing, his heart beginning to pound; the nearness of danger bringing all those delicious parts of him alive. “Come here.”

Severus moved like magic, like there was nothing between them. He slid his hands to Draco’s neck to remove his tie, and Draco swallowed, their eyes meeting. Severus undid Draco’s cuffs next, stroking the inside of his wrists. Draco shivered, feeling goosebumps rise.

Severus took Draco’s shirt off. His touch lingered at the inside of Draco’s elbow, his shoulder, as Draco shivered, feeling his nipples harden. He’d never known he had so much feeling there.

Severus moved behind him, warm and close, and his voice wove a spell around Draco, holding him still as Severus traced patterns on his skin. “I’ve spent a long time memorising pressure points… the places you strike at an enemy, with a spell as well as a blow.” Draco shivered as Severus’ fingertips stroked up his throat. “Where the connections lie, and your nerves are exposed. Vulnerable.” Draco trembled as Severus caressed his collarbones, down his ribs. “Receptive.”

Draco turned in Severus’ arms and kissed him.

Severus moaned as Draco kept kissing him, cupping his face. Draco felt agreeable power shiver through him even as Severus’ hands worked havoc on his mind. Draco unbuttoned Severus’ robes as Severus went for his belt, both of them losing coordination as they gained more access, touched more naked skin.

Draco wasn’t quite sure he’d planned this. Not so soon.

But as Goyle had pointed out, Draco’s plans had not always worked out well. And at least for tonight, this one was a triumph.

Severus fumbled open the entrance to his quarters. They made their way to the bed as Draco experimented with what he’d learnt tonight. Severus groaned as Draco used his mouth to find Severus’ own pressure points. When Draco bit gently at the inside of one wrist, Severus shouted.

Draco’s hips jerked in response to the evidence of Severus’ desire. Severus dragged Draco back up the bed towards him. Their eyes met and Draco’s breath came louder in his ears with awareness of the risk. Severus’ eyes were black as infinity but Draco saw emotion there, and he thought for once that he could read it.

Severus slid his hand over the muscles of Draco’s chest; flattened it over his pounding heart.

“Come here.” Severus’ hands guided Draco to kneel above him. Then the slick fingers of one hand were stroking between Draco’s cheeks, opening him up. Draco gasped and groaned, wrinkling the sheets in his clenched hands as Severus prepared his body to be fucked. They were face to face, Draco’s arms trembling. Severus was muttering about how beautiful he was, how handsome, while he stroked Draco inside.

Then he pulled back, left Draco achingly empty. Draco groaned. One of Severus’ hands went to Draco’s hip, showing him how to move himself.

Draco’s eyes flew open as Severus slid inside him. Severus was huffing every breath, his hand clenching on Draco’s hip. Draco shifted, and felt Severus’ cock further inside him, pressing nerve ending he hadn’t known he had. He moved his hips instinctively, wanting more, and then Severus was seated inside him. Draco’s heart was beating like a rabbit’s.

Severus thrust up inside him.

Draco began to move, finding a rhythm. Their bodies were in conversation without permission, adapting to each other. Every thrust sent new pleasure zinging through Draco’s body, shooting down every limb. He flung his head back, centred, finding balance and rhythm and chasing his own pleasure. Draco felt Severus move inside him, felt sensation shock him. He clenched inside and Severus gave a hoarse groan.

Severus stroked Draco’s cock and Draco shook atop him.

“Go on, go on,” Severus told him. “Whenever you want.”

Draco moved, selfish, feeling his way. Every twitch of Severus’ hips had him moaning. Severus caressed his inner thighs; Draco groaned, overwhelmed. He was moving faster, barely aware of it, just chasing more and more of this.

Pleasure clawed at him, shook him like a rabbit in a dog’s mouth. He felt himself clench round Severus’ cock again and again as he came; Severus kept fucking him, kept stroking him all through it. Draco was left gasping and overwhelmed, quivering. He folded forward, chest heaving, aftershocks of desire fulfilled still making their way through him.

He opened his eyes and found Severus kissing him.

Severus’ cock was still hard inside him; he whined, oversensitive, as Severus’ hands brushed his balls. “Come on,” Severus murmured against his mouth. He slapped Draco’s arse, and Draco felt him grin at Draco’s flinch. “Show me what you can do.”

“I’m not as easily manipulated as all that.”

“No?” Severus lay back like a pasha, grinning.

Draco snorted in irritation, because he couldn’t say no. Couldn’t resist the chance to wipe that smug grin off Severus’ face, to make him groan and shudder, to watch the smile be replaced by unlovely lines of pleasure. To feel him shake underneath Draco; to see him come.

Severus clawed at him through it, scouring deep lines on Draco’s hip and shoulder. Draco hoped he’d have marks tomorrow.

They panted together, marooned sweatily on the bed. “You should sleep in your dormitory tonight,” Severus murmured.

“Yes.” Draco didn’t move a muscle. He was liquid as honey on Severus’ sheets.

“Draco.”

“I know.” Draco shut his eyes and sighed. “I shouldn’t just fall back in. I should…”

“If you don’t go back now, Potter will win a Quidditch World Cup. And begin a relationship with Miss Parkinson.”

Draco contemplated whether a World Cup for England would be worth Potter’s smug face splashed across every form of media in the known universe, and managed to lever himself vertical. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“If you want more time, take it. But… I hope so.”

Draco caught Severus’ smile. It looked far too tiny and tender to survive in such a hostile environment, flickering amidst the harsh lines and exhaustion of Severus’ face, but it stayed with Draco as he descended to the dungeons for the night.

***

I wished to give you time, but the Dark Lord has shown himself curious about this, and is impatient for news of progress.

-- Severus

It was the first time he’d ever signed a note that way. Draco was idiotically caught by the sight of the name in Severus’ black scrawl; the little intimacy insulated him for a few moments against the fact of the Dark Lord’s attention.

Draco kept the note in his pocket for the rest of the day. When he was in front of Severus again and stripping out of his robes, it rustled and fell to the carpet.

Both their eyes fell to it. Draco blushed fiercely as Severus visibly recognised the slip of parchment.

“I would’ve believed you were just keeping it to burn it later, you know,” Severus said, poorly suppressed amusement in his tone. “If you weren’t so pink.”

Draco grumbled something under his breath. Severus came and kissed him, insinuating clever hands under Draco’s clothes. “Don’t look like that.” He squeezed Draco’s arse. “I like you pink.”

“I just bet you do.”

Severus was thin, and a little shorter than Draco. It was a mystery how he managed to fill the world like this, all-encompassing as a storm. He caught Draco’s lower lip in his teeth as they kissed; Draco let him, and felt the moment of surrender shiver through Severus’ body.

Severus was on him like night falling, and Draco lost track of time, moments slipping away in the heat of Severus’ body against his. Before long they were naked in Severus’ bed, and the animal insistence of their cocks sliding together was sending tiny shocks through Draco.

Severus slicked one hand, and at the motion Draco felt his whole body perk up, leaning towards Severus. Severus laughed, stroking Draco’s cock with that slick hand. Draco moaned, his hips moving without his permission, riding the hot slickness of Severus’ palm.

“You’re going to fuck me tonight.”

Lost in sensation, it took several seconds and a pinched nipple for Draco to take in what Severus had said. “You want - ?”

Severus smirked, eyes hot and intent. “I do enjoy your expressions, Mr Malfoy. Take the slick, now. It’s my own formulation, you know.”

“Of course.” Severus would never use something so intimately if he hadn’t added each one of his ingredients; Draco had learnt several poison-detection spells simply by observing him over tea.

Severus spread his legs. For a moment Draco felt unable to move; lust had obliterated all his higher brain function. Then he was spreading Severus’ cheeks with one hand, and with the other feeling his way inside.

“Good -- good. Keep going - see if you can - crook your finger. A little to the left - ” Draco obeyed, chasing more praise. He was able to make Severus go pleasingly husky; Severus’ thighs clenched around his arm.

“Come on, then. I want you inside.” Severus was sweating, flushed, his cock flushed and rigid against his belly. His voice was imperious as ever. “Now.”

Shudders rippled down Draco’s body as he obeyed, pushing inside. Draco shook with it, fire scorching through him. Severus moved with him, the twist of his hips melting Draco’s brain.

“I - I - oh Merlin. Oh fuck.”

“I concur.”

Severus crooked a finger, and Draco slid upwards for a kiss.

“All right, my boy, show me what you can do. Slow and steady.”

Draco tried, moving in the rhythm Severus set, obeying it even as his mind turned itself inside out.

“Good boy, so good.” The praise delivered in an unsteady voice made Draco’s spine go liquid. “Yes - you’ll obey me even now, won’t you?”

Draco nodded, unable to find words, and found Severus’ cock. It was soon slick with pre-come, swollen in Draco’s hand. Draco kept going, aching inside Severus, starting to shake with need. “Severus, please can I - let me - ”

Severus laughed breathlessly, his eyes shut, black hair sticking to his face from sweat. “Not yet. I’m going to have you stud service me and then we’ll see - ”

“Please, Severus, don’t make me wait - I’m dying here, let me - ”

Draco didn’t know if it was his pleading that did it, but Severus came: shuddering through it with a harsh cry, clenching around Draco. They shook through it together then Severus relaxed, boneless and smiling, closed-eyed. The sight of Severus’ gorgeous satiation only made Draco more desperate, still fucking Severus, wanting.

“Please, please - ”

Severus kissed him. Draco could barely kiss back, everything in him consumed by need, a wildfire raging out of control. “Good boy, Draco, you obey me even in this, did just what I told you - ”

“So please - ”

“You can come.”

Draco wailed as pleasure engulfed him. He was drawn along with it helplessly, spasming with it, a river that had burst its banks. It rushed through every part of him and wracked him, and even when it was over there was no thought in his head. He lay quiet and empty with his head on Severus’ chest, listening to Severus’ heartbeat slow.

“Draco, I think we’re ready for Beltane.”

***

The atmosphere in the Slytherin dungeons was only getting worse. It was like he couldn’t breathe sometimes, like all the ancient stone of Hogwarts was pressing down on his chest. That Sunday found Draco doing his homework in Snape’s office, sprawled in front of the fire battling his Transfiguration homework. Severus had told him that he’d understand it better in the end if he did it himself, and Draco was trying very hard not to pout.

“Why didn’t Slytherin make it so his students didn’t have to do homework?”

“Slytherin expected that if his students didn’t want to do homework, they’d be resourceful enough to come up with a way around it.”

“Hmph.”

Draco wrote a little more before leaning back again. “Do you think he’d be happy with what’s happening? Slytherin?”

Severus paused. “Interesting question. He wanted a pureblood Hogwarts, because he believed the Muggleborn could not be trusted.” His voice turned sour. “That they would choose their own family over the magical world when push came to shove. But he also had no intention of killing Muggles for sport - the purpose was to successfully hide and separate ourselves.”

“That sounds better,” Draco said quietly. Severus said nothing, and Draco wished these discussions didn’t always end in revealing how bad he was at being a bloodthirsty warrior; it couldn’t be at all what Snape the right hand of Dark Lord wanted to hear.

“You know he’s rumoured to be the inventor of the Blood-Ice Potion?”

“Yeah. Did you know he’s rumoured to have only had one ball?”

Severus snorted, laughing. “Because he worked on fertility spells. Even at the time there were concerns about the long-term viability of purebloods, and all the founders wanted more witches and wizards. It’s why they built us such a castle, though it’s never been entirely full.”

They fell into conversation about Hogwarts’ history and the varied ways magical people had tried to up their own fertility, and Draco successfully got all the way to dinner before Severus reminded him about his homework.

It happened more often now, Draco being allowed to claim a corner of Severus’ office or sprawl in front of the fire to talk. Sometimes Severus was away on some unexplained mission, and Draco carefully didn’t ask where or why. At other times Severus disappeared into his quarters, and Draco heard the low rumble of his voice talking over the Floo.

Even now, Draco wasn’t quite sure what Severus did all day and night, or why he always looked so much more tired than Dumbledore ever had. (Though Draco wouldn’t be remotely surprised to hear Dumbledore had been using glamours. No one’s beard was that shiny naturally.) But then - if Severus was co-ordinating attacks on Muggles and planning how to scourge the Mudbloods - well, Draco already knew he was a coward. He would rather not know.

There were other conversations, ones that Draco liked better. Severus was reading about different protection rituals from around the world, and he discussed them with Draco. Watching Severus’ mind work was amazing; he slid thoughts together like parts of a telescope, melded and mixed them like potions ingredients. Severus hadn’t travelled much, however - Draco wasn’t sure why. So Draco told him about what he’d seen and learnt of ancient magic in Bangkok and Sienna and Kumasi.

They didn’t talk about travel that could come later. They made no plans. Tempting the gods was one thing, the Dark Lord something else entirely.

A week before Beltane Draco was curled barefoot on the sofa in front ot the fire, making his way through a mouldy-smelling Potions text, and Severus was writing letters. Draco was making a game of squirming a little against what he’d privately dubbed the Spanking Sofa, and seeing how often he could get Severus to stare.

One of the Headmistresses roused in her portrait abruptly. “The Carrows are on their way up.”

Draco scrambled upright and Severus came towards him, opening his mouth to tell him what to do, but it was too late - the siblings burst into Severus’ office.

“Malfoy,” said Alecto, her eyes narrowing. “What’re you doing here?”

Amycus chortled. “It’s obvious! Snape’s having his end away while - ”

Alecto’s small eyes stayed suspicious. She was cleverer than her brother and sitting reading didn’t fit with Draco’s supposed role. He looked at Severus desperately, and Severus reached without looking and grabbed a handful of Draco’s hair. He pulled and Draco stumbled in close to him, crying out.

“It’s good to have one’s pet around. Warming itself in front of the fire and such.” Severus wrenched Draco’s head backwards. Draco trembled, feeling Severus’ other hand trail down his bared neck, his chest. Amycus was chuckling.

“Suppose he’s gotta find a use for that mouth of his, since he’s not half the curse-caster young Crabbe is. Keep him close for convenience’s sake, eh?”

“I’d have him always naked, if I could be certain I would not be interrupted.” Severus’ voice went hard on the last words.

“It’s important. We think the Weasley girl knows something about the Gringotts break-in.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“If she’s communicated with any one of her brothers, let alone Potter, she could - ”

“Are you suggesting that blood traitor is able to get round our defences? That she and her littermates are more cunning than the cream of Slytherin?”

There was a pause. “We should discuss -- ”

“We shouldn’t.” Severus let go of Draco’s hair and he exhaled in relief. “Malfoy, make me some tea, then ready yourself over there.” He gestured at his desk, and gave Draco’s arse a leisurely squeeze with the other hand. “You should make yourself useful.”

Draco couldn’t make himself look at the Carrows to see if they were buying this. He scurried away to hide his flush in finding the teapot. He clattered china out of a cabinet, not listening, until the Carrows’ harsh voices disappeared in the near-slam of the door.

He turned and Severus held up a warning hand. After a very long half-minute, Severus nodded. His mouth was drawn tight in misery. “I apologise, Draco. That was… most distasteful. I should have anticipated this, and not put us in a situation where humiliating you was necessary.”

Draco shrugged, despite his still-bright blush. “I understand. I kind of wish you hadn’t pulled my hair, but I get it. We both need them to believe we’re… that it’s like that.” If the Carrows got suspicious and poked around, especially before the ritual was complete - if the Dark Lord suspected he was being manipulated, he would take great offence. It had to be shown as just the usual Death Eater politics.

“Still. To have to treat you badly so as not to rouse their suspicions was - ”

“Treat me badly?” Draco interrupted. “All you did was imply you were going to fuck me over that desk.” He came close enough to smell Severus’ scent, smirking up at him. “That doesn’t sound like treating me badly at all.”

Severus raised an eyebrow as he reached out, drawing Draco in.

“Have you thought about it before?” Draco said, teasing. He leant in but didn’t kiss Severus, employing his best flirtatious tone. “Maybe having me under the desk, sucking you off while you make your big important Floo calls - ”

Severus leaned in and sucked gently at Draco’s earlobe, a shivery little hello. Severus bit him, and Draco’s voice abruptly petered out.

“You’ve no idea what I’ve thought about.”

Severus’ voice vibrated against his throat. “Oh?”

“Mmm.” Severus worked his way over Draco’s neck, kissing and biting him, making Draco squirm and gasp in his arms as Severus’ mouth brought blood to the surface. “I’ve imagined tying your arms behind your back and making you suck me… giving you a time limit, and watching you work and feeling your throat around me.”

“Do I make the time limit?” Draco gasped, struggling out of his shirt.

“Usually.” Severus’ hands moved over Draco’s skin, plucking his body like strings, making him moan. Draco stripped Severus in return with unsteady hands, seeking the pale, dark-furred skin. “Sometimes you fail, so I spank you until my handprints cover your hide.”

“Doesn’t sound like much of a disincentive.” Draco gripped Severus’ hard cock. Its heat against his palm, Severus’ eyes slipping shut as Draco stroked him - they moaned together.

“But you don’t know the best part.” Severus backed Draco towards the desk, bending him back over it. Draco was abruptly flat on his back and screamingly vulnerable. Severus slid Draco’s trousers and boxers off together, and gave his hard cock a leisurely stroke. Draco’s back bent. “I haven’t given you permission to come yet.”

Draco swore, and Severus chuckled, eyes bright with lust. He swooped down, teasing Draco’s nipples, tugging them with his teeth while Draco reached for his own cock. “Ah ah.” Severus grabbed Draco’s wrists, holding them flat against the desk. Draco could feel very important parchment crinkling under his back. “You see? I’d spank you until you were begging to come.”

Draco arched, desperately trying to get some friction against his cock. Severus kept teasing. “I’ve thought about making you wear nipple-clamps while you lie about here reading Quidditch magazines… little bells, so I’d know every time you moved.”

“I suppose then I’d have to be punished for interrupting you.”

“I suppose you would.” Severus abandoned Draco’s now-scarlet nipples. “Come on, bend over the desk.”

Draco obeyed, and felt Severus’ foot kick between his ankles. “Wider.” Draco spread his legs, exposing himself fully as he bent over the Headmaster’s desk. Severus’ hands stroked his arse, and Draco pushed into his hands, wanting more attention.

Severus slicked him inside, made him open and ready to be fucked. Every movement of Severus’ fingers sent shivering vibrating down Draco’s limbs, made the lust inside him coil tighter. Draco was ready but Severus kept teasing him, making Draco shift and dance on his feet as he was fingered.

Finally Severus gave in to Draco’s imploring, and thrust inside. Draco gasped in relief and clung to the desk as Severus moved inside him.

“Would you do this to me in your old classroom?”

Draco felt Severus’ cock throb inside him. “Of course. The next time you wrecked a Gryffindor’s potion and sat there looking smug, I’d make you pay, keep you dancing on my cock until - ” Severus took hold of Draco’s cock and began to stroke him. Draco wailed, trying to follow Severus’ rhythm, the sensation overloading him. “Yes, until you made that noise, that delicious sound you make when you’re being fucked.”

Severus’ mouth was on Draco’s shoulder, sucking lovebites into his skin. Draco moaned as each thrust of Severus’ cock punched pleasure into him, desire jangling along every nerve. Severus was still talking, muttering everything he’d like to do to Draco into his skin until it was imprinted there; a litany of desire like a new Mark. Draco didn’t know when he was given permission to come; his body was overtaken by Severus fucking him, his mind by Severus’ groaned descriptions of all the ways he’d like to play. Orgasm hit out of nowhere; Draco didn’t know he was coming until he felt himself clench round Severus, felt himself spurt over Severus’ hand, felt Severus growl and fall over the edge with him. The world went bright as they came; gasping, still shaking as the waves of pleasure receded, Draco was left blinking as he craned for a kiss, like he’d stared directly into the sun.

The room was safe again, an oasis of happiness and respite amidst the madness.

***

Beltane was a Friday that year. On the Wednesday night Severus gave Draco his instructions. They mostly weren’t very specific; this kind of ancient magic was more free-flowing than the codified Latin spells modern wizards generally used. Besides, Draco’s surrendering himself to Severus, trusting in his decisions, was integral.

There were some iron-clad orders even so. Severus explained them as he gave Draco a slow, leisurely blowjob, and refused to let Draco come until he could recite them back perfectly.

Just before midnight on Thursday night, Severus led Draco from the castle into a distant part of the grounds. They walked to the top of a small hill, Draco grateful that even in the Highlands, the mud had subsided by May. His heart was beginning to pound.

They’d both worked for this for so long. What if it didn’t work? What would the Dark Lord say? What would Severus say if Draco failed him?

There were piles of wood to either side. Severus swooped his wand and they caught fire. Two great wild fires began to grow, unconstrained by hearths, and Draco and Severus stood between them.
The fire behind him made Severus a dark figure; Draco couldn’t see his face.

Severus vanished both their clothes, and Draco inhaled at the sensation of Severus’ magic surrounding him.

“You know what to do.” The words were implacable but Severus’ tone was kind. Draco nodded and knelt. He kept his eyes on Severus; it helped him to hold out his arms and open his hands.

Severus moved his wand and arms in great commanding, complex arcs. Ribbons of flame emerged from the two fires, wrapping around Draco’s arms. He held still, letting them bind him in place. Severus stalked behind him.

“Remember you can make this stop if you choose.”

“I know,” Draco said. “Potter.” The name brought a throb of guilt to his throat. He didn’t want to stop Potter or the Order of the Phoenix or Dumbledore’s Army - that was the secret, shameful truth of him. He’d never hated Potter half as much as he hated the Dark Lord now. And he even suspected that if he said no now, if he turned away from all their efforts, Severus wouldn’t withdraw his protection. Severus would be angry, but he wouldn’t take cruel revenge.

Yet Draco loved Severus, and he knew Severus loved Hogwarts. It was in every story Severus had told him of the school’s thousand-year history, it was in the very way Severus touched its stone. It was his home, and Severus would want to keep Hogwarts out of the war, as far as he could.

It was that thought which decided Draco. He’d brought the war inside the castle, been the turncoat who allowed its invaders in. He owed Hogwarts.

He lowered his head.

“Are you sure?”

Draco knew Severus could hear the fear in his voice when he said, “yes.” He wasn’t sure why Severus stroked his hair, one soft brief movement, before taking his place once more.

The first blow hit, burning like whiskey as it goes down. The leather felt warm as it thumped onto Draco’s back, though Draco couldn’t tell if he was imagining that. Either way, as the flogging began, it sent heat and pleasure throbbing through him, crawling up his back to spread all through him. Severus warmed his skin, steady and calm and ruthless, until Draco’s back was glowing with warm pain. He knew he was sweating; his cock was hard. Draco leant into the flames, letting it happen.

He was warmed up in every sense, and now the blows came harder, faster. Severus’ voice rang out. “You brought invaders into Hogwarts. It has been a safe haven for a thousand years, and you brought down its defences.”

“I know.”

“As Hogwarts’ representative, as its Headmaster, I have bound you. I will punish you.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Draco felt sure he should say something more formal, more appropriate for an elemental ritual. But Severus kept flogging him, and the blows seemed to push all other words away. He was caught, and he’d hurt Hogwarts, and he was -

“Sorry, I’m sorry, Headmaster.”

“You will never move against Hogwarts again?”

“Never.”

“You give this pain freely, in service of the school’s defences?”

“Yes.”

“You surrender to me, Headmaster of Hogwarts, entirely?”

For a moment Draco couldn’t speak. Severus delivered a series of thumping thwacks, heat flaring over Draco’s skin, pain growing. “Do you?”

“Yes! Yes. I promise. I swear.” He was on the edge of crying with earnestness.

Severus knelt in front of him and kissed him. The familiar taste brought Draco back. His back was burning, his shoulders aching from their raised position. Severus ran his hands down Draco’s hot back as he kissed him and Draco shivered in reaction; his cry was half pained, half lust-filled at Severus’ evident enjoyment.

“Good boy, good boy.” Severus pressed his hands against Draco’s back more strongly and swallowed his cry. “All right, lie down.”

Severus’ hands and the flames guided Draco onto his back. The bonds were more supporting than constricting now, and Severus kissed him once more. But the rough grasses against Draco’s back kept the ache of his flogging alive, kept him aware of his punishment.

Severus’ eyes were dark. “When I plotted this, I thought I’d be attacking Hogwarts’ defiler. Be making you surrender.” He slid down Draco’s body and opened his mouth. “This way of surrender is much… more.

“You may orgasm when you wish.” Severus’ hot mouth opened round Draco’s cock, sucking him in. Draco yelped, his hips snapping off the grass. Severus held his hips down and went to work: impossibly skilled, tongue and cheek and palate and throat all making Draco’s thoughts melt like waxwork. All that experience and power was brought to bear, all Severus’ close observations devoted to bringing Draco pleasure. He squirmed, crying out; he tugged at the fiery ropes, unable to escape the overwhelming pleasure. Severus sucked and sucked until Draco came helplessly down his throat.

Severus stayed in place, his tongue hot against Draco’s soft cock. Draco whined, struggling against the ropes and Severus’ grip on his hips. “Too much, too much.”

Severus drew back, licking his lips. “All right, dear student. I am your Headmaster, after all.” His wand was in his hand, and suddenly more ribbons of fire emerged from the flames. Two of them wrapped round Draco’s ankles, wrenching his legs apart. Severus’ eyes dropped to take in the sight of Draco exposed, and he blushed furiously. “It’s my duty to protect you, I believe.”

“Yes,” said Draco vehemently.

A trail of fire moved over Draco’s chest, centimetres from his skin. “Do you trust me?”

Draco looked away from the flame, into Severus’ eyes. “Yes,” he repeated.

Severus smiled darkly. “Brave boy.”

Draco shut his eyes. He didn’t know if it was a show of trust, or so he wouldn’t have to watch Severus deciding whether to hurt him, or both. He felt Severus’ hands on him then, waking his body from its post-orgasmic lethargy, danger bringing his skin alive. Every touch of Severus’ skin to his sent pleasure through Draco.

Severus kissed his face, his jawline, the underside of his chin. Draco shivered at the insistent touch, the proprietary hand on his stomach. Severus drew back, watching Draco’s face as he stroked him. Draco hissed through his teeth as he squirmed, making the pain in his back flare.

Severus played with his nipples, stroking and pinching and teasing until they were pouting from his chest for attention. Then Severus stung them with a brief touch of the fire. Draco jerked, crying out, and Severus gave the gravelly chuckle that meant he was really hard. Draco panted, watching his own chest rise and fall, knowing it was too much temptation. Sure enough, Severus did it again: an easy flick of his wand before he watched Draco squeal and twist in reaction.

“Hold still.”

Draco tried, he tried, but he couldn’t. Severus stung him again, and again, until Draco was rigid as a board. He managed to hold himself steady for the last spark, gritting his teeth, and Severus rewarded him by kissing and sucking his aching nipples. Draco wasn’t sure if it was a reward or further hurt. He was hard again, but Severus played a little longer, pulling at the strings of him until Draco unravelled in Severus’ hands.

“Let’s - now. Come on, come on, fuck me!”

Severus slapped him - not hard, but it was a shock that made Draco’s cock throb. Severus held Draco’s chin in place for a moment, their faces close together. “You’ve a dirty mouth, Mr Malfoy,” Severus said softly, teasing him, before a slick finger teased at Draco’s hole.

Thank Merlin, Severus was impatient now. He teased Draco open, drawing cries from him; he was burning inside, half out of his skin. But then Severus’ fingers were replaced by his thick cock. Draco was gut-twistingly aware of his vulnerability, his legs held open for Severus’ intrusion; lust scorched his stomach, flared down every limb.

“I’ll keep you safe,” Severus said. It was sudden and inelegant, his voice hoarse. “I swear. I’m sorry, Draco, I’ll make sure you’re all right - ”

“I know. I trust you.”

Severus kissed him, his fingers bruising against Draco’s skin.

He flung his head back, sobbing for breath as Severus moved inside him. All he could see and smell and taste was the stars in the night sky, the fires around them, the grasses beneath him, and Severus. Severus was huffing in Draco’s ear, groaning, Draco’s own cries a desperate counterpoint. Severus’ hand stroking his cock, his face close to Draco’s, his heat inside - it was like a landslide, sudden and savage and leaving an entire landscape changed behind it.

Severus stared at him, dark eyes burning into Draco. Draco gazed back. They looked into each other, and Draco wasn’t afraid.

Severus’ groan turned guttural, his rhythm stuttering. The knowledge that Severus was about to come sent Draco over the edge with him, thrashing in his bonds, fire inside and out.

When he came, he saw a blaze of white light.

***

Draco didn’t really remember what happened after that, or how they got back to the castle. He only came back to himself when he heard Goyle’s voice.

With a jolt, he recognised where he was: outside the Slytherin common room, leaning heavily on Severus.

“What do I say if someone sees us - ”

“Say he was with me, and that you don’t know anything else. That shouldn’t be difficult, given you don’t.”

“I - ”

“If you can’t look after him, then don’t. I must leave urgently to see the Dark Lord, but better he’s alone in my quarters than alone here.”

“No, no. Don’t leave him on his own, he looks awful.” Draco managed to crack his eyes open as he was transferred to Goyle. “I’ll take care of him.”

“Greg - ” Draco muttered.

“Ssh. Come on, I’ll get you to the dorms.”

“Go on, Mr Malfoy.”

Too exhausted to think, his feet barely obeying him, Draco leant into Goyle’s warm strength and familiar overused aftershave smell. It seemed to take an age to cross the cold stone. Crabbe was in the common room still, his face stone as he watched them. There was something closed in his eyes.

Then Draco was flopping onto his mattress and Goyle was stealing his shoes.

“What’re you - ”

“Stop kicking me, Malfoy, I’m trying to help. Merlin, he messed you up. I tried warning you, Draco, I did, and now you’re - ”

“I’m bushed, that’s all. Lea’ me ’lone.”

“Fine.”

Draco went limp. The last thing he heard was Goyle’s voice. “You’d better come up with something I can tell the Carrows when you’re tired and fucking up tomorrow. You know you’re a better liar than me…”

***

“Draco.” Severus’ eyes widened when he saw him in the doorway of the Headmaster’s office. “You - you do know that the orgasm spell ended with the Beltane ritual, yes? You don’t need to - ”

“I do know that, actually. Haven’t tried it out yet, you exhausted me last night.” He delivered his best dirty grin. That grin had got him his first hand job, courtesy of Pansy, but Severus just looked away.

“And our business is concluded. I will continue to keep you and your parents safe from the predations of our more… unbalanced colleagues. You more than kept up your end of the deal.”

“Yes I did.” Draco came inside, since it became clear that Severus wasn’t going to invite him in. He wondered about Severus’ manners sometimes.

“Draco.” Severus’ eyes were wide now. He stood up as Draco came closer, moving round the side of the desk. “Your obligations to me are over.”

“I know.” And Draco was close enough to trace a finger down Severus’ jawline, to touch the thin, mobile mouth. “Don’t you ever think about anything other than obligations?”

Severus hesitated, then laughed. “Not really, no.”

“No thoughts about pleasures?” Draco let his fingers trail down Severus’ front.

“Not… especially. Not these days.” Severus eyed Draco’s fingers as they neared more dangerous regions. “I imagine as a spoilt, cheeky brat, you rarely think about anything else.”

“You’ve got me.”

Severus’ eyes flashed, and Draco found himself caged between the wall and Severus’ body, abruptly gone from predator to prey. “Indeed I do.”

***

They dozed in bed together afterwards. Draco was still exhausted by the spell, and Severus seemed constantly tired anyway.

“The fire was fun,” Draco said, surfacing briefly. “Maybe we could try that again.”

“Perhaps.” Severus smiled at the ceiling. “I met a man who juggled fireballs in Covent Garden once. I asked him how he did it.”

“Mmm?”

“He said the key was to keep moving quickly, so that the fire was never in one’s hands long enough to burn. In retrospect - ”

Severus broke off. Draco prodded him. “In retrospect what?”

Severus sat up, his face ashen. “It begins, Draco.”

“What? What begins?”

“A signal - yes.” Severus scrambled out of bed and began dressing. He threw Draco’s clothes at him. “Keep hidden, Draco. Not here - we don’t know who will come, and you won’t be able to get out. Find some corner of the dungeons and hunker down for the night.”

“But what’s happening?”

“I don’t know yet. But I suspect the disappearing students will reappear tonight, and perhaps many more witches and wizards looking for a fight.” Draco’s heart went cold. “I think tonight Hogwarts may need the protection of our ritual.”

Draco gulped.

They left Severus’ office together. They looked at each other for a moment, and Draco touched Severus’ face.

Then they turned and ran in opposite directions.

Draco wasn’t going to hide alone. He sprinted for the dungeons.

Crabbe wasn’t in the common room. Draco was torn between fear for him, and relief that he wouldn’t have to decide whether to risk warning him. He buttonholed Goyle, pulling him aside.

“Where’s Crabbe?”

“Him and some of the others got called to help the Carrows. They think some of the Dumbledore’s Army lot are back in the castle. Dunno why though.”

“I think they might be right. You’ve got to get undercover, find somewhere to hide until this is finished.”

“All right, come on.”

“No, I think - I’m involved in this, in what’s coming, I’m going to try to stay out of the way but I don’t know if I can. Maybe you should - ”

“This again? Malfoy, you kept giving us orders and keeping your secrets all last year and look what happened! You kept all those secrets and… Look, it’s not your job to protect me or Crabbe.”

“Yes it is!” Draco’s mouth ran ahead of his brain, but it was true. Who cared if they were bigger than him? He was the leader, and that made it his job to make sure they were okay.

Goyle rolled his eyes. “Then it’s my job to protect you, too.”

“I -- fine, never mind, can we please just find somewhere to hide? Not underground, I think, maybe an empty classroom on the ground floor - ”

They managed to find somewhere, and holed up under the window. Draco aimed his wand at the door while Goyle peeked outside.

They waited, caught in a haze of silent panic. Nothing happened for a long time. Draco’s thoughts switched between meandering crazily and revolving around the Dark Lord and Potter like water going down a drain.

“Shit, Draco!”

Draco knelt up and saw Severus flying over the grounds. No broom, no Thestral, just soaring in his black cloak. Draco was torn between terror of what might happen to him - what he might be going to do - and sheer wonder.

There were calls to go to the Great Hall from ghosts whizzing up and down the corridors. Draco and Goyle caught each other’s eye and moved to stand on either side of the door, ready for anyone who tried to make them move.

“I know that you are preparing to fight.” Draco’s whole body cringed in horror at the sound of the Dark Lord’s voice. It took him a moment to understand that the Dark Lord was outside Hogwarts, perhaps massed with the other Death Eaters. His parents would be there, readying themselves to fight.

“Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me.” The cold voice, horribly enlarged, echoed through Hogwarts’ corridors. Draco and Goyle stared at each other, horror-stricken.

“Potter’s here?” said Goyle, as it finished.

“The Carrows will be looking for him, with Crabbe and the others. I - ”

Draco gasped like the air was being sucked from the room, like his life was being dragged from his lungs. He fell backwards against the wall, slumping down. Goyle cried out in panic, kneeling next to him, but Draco couldn’t speak.

Magic was leaving him. He’d never felt it like this before, barely been aware of it. But now his magic was flowing from him in wrenching great handfuls. It didn’t hurt exactly, but it was - he was being emptied, energy disappearing. He could smell bitter herbs -

No, he couldn’t. It was Severus. Draco could feel him.

Goyle left him to run to the window. Draco blinked, eyes blurring, as Goyle swore. “Draco it’s - there’s a wall - it’s golden, it’s magical, all around the school! Between us and the Death Eaters! They must have done it, made a barrier - ”

Draco made a sound like he’d been punched. This was the ritual, this was what they’d done, and Severus was using it against the Dark Lord.

He could see it through the window now, a wall of golden fire around the castle. Defending them from invaders. He could still smell Severus, could almost taste his skin. This was something they’d done together, that neither could have done alone.

Something wonderful, instead of something terrible.

But surely the spell wasn’t affecting Severus like this, and he’d lied -

A final rush of magic left him, and Draco fainted.

Goyle was shaking him, calling his name.

“I’m all right,” Draco said, the words mush-mouthed, barely intelligible. “The wall - ” He couldn’t keep his eyes open.

He opened his eyes again to find himself lying on the floor. Goyle was standing over him with his wand out. “What - ?”

“Draco! Oh thank Merlin you’re awake. It’s almost midnight, I don’t know what’s going to happen. The Dark Lord’s not attacking the barrier yet, but he will, I don’t know if they can’t find Potter or if he just won’t go.” He knelt next to Draco and helped him heave himself up to lean against the wall. “Are you okay?”

“Not really, I don’t - I think if I stand up I’ll fall down.”

“What happened?”

“Last night, when Severus brought me back. This is what we’d been doing.” Draco made an aimless gesture, but Goyle understood.

“The barrier? But that means Snape - !”

“I know,” Draco said. “Or rather, I didn’t. I thought it was. I dunno.” It took him a moment to notice his eyes were shut. “And now it’s - he didn’t mention this part.”

“I’ll keep everyone away.”

Draco lost consciousness.

Goyle was shaking him. “Draco,” he hissed. “I can hear Alecto Carrow coming with some Slytherins. What do I say? What do we do?”

“Muh?”

“Draco, I can’t do this without you!”

At the fright in Goyle’s voice, Draco forced himself awake. He could hear them coming too now - dimly, but Carrow’s voice carried.

“Greg you should - I mean you’re great at Unforgivables too, you should - you should go.”

Goyle shook his head. “No, Draco, you utter utter idiot. I’m not leaving you.”

“But this isn’t - Goyle, he used this against the Death Eaters. He stopped the Dark Lord getting in. It won’t hold them out forever, so hiding with me isn’t safer than being out there with the Carrows.”

“I know that, I’m not an idiot. I’m not leaving you.”

Draco gave up fighting him as a waste of energy. “Okay, we could - let’s tell them Dumbledore’s Army knocked us out and left us in here. Except - right now being incompetent isn’t…” He stopped whispering, they were too close now. He could recognise voices - fifth- and sixth-years, and Carrow ordering them to check every room, to look inside cupboards and under desks. There was panic in Goyle’s eyes now as he saw in Draco’s expression that he didn’t have a solution. They stared at each other and waited to be found.

The door creaked open, and Crabbe was there.

Draco saw his face go slack with shock. Draco and Goyle looked at him pleadingly, unable to speak for fear they’d be heard. Crabbe’s eyes flickered over them - Draco sprawled against the wall, Goyle’s wand in his hand.

Crabbe stepped away and raised his voice. “Nothing in here.”

Draco and Goyle clutched at each other, disbelieving, as the door closed.

“He actually - ”

“Shut up!” Draco hissed back, unable to stop beaming.

 

It struck midnight. The battle began.

Draco was drifting in and out of consciousness; it didn’t hurt, he was simply too tired to stay awake. Goyle was peering out of the window, watching.

“They’re battering the barrier but it’s holding. It only works one way, though, I can see people cursing the Death Eaters through it. Can’t see my dad, though, or yours. Maybe your mum kept them out of it.”

“Fuck I hope so,” Draco muttered into his chest, drooping. “Neither of my parents have wands, if they’re here - Merlin. They’ll be looking for me.”

“We’re not looking for them, Draco. Not now. The Death Eaters’ll be through the barrier any minute and if we get caught in that - ”

“I know.”

He almost wished he was fighting rather than sitting here, waiting. Severus was out there, maybe his parents too. Crabbe. Pansy wouldn’t be, she’d be clever enough to avoid fighting or risking her life for this. Dumbledore’s Army was probably fighting too, like idiots.

“It’s your mum!”

“What?” Draco levered himself up in time to see the golden barrier fall. The Death Eaters came forward in a rush of black like scorpions, and there amidst the crowd there was a glimpse of blonde hair.

He collapsed against the wall again with a groan. “Merlin.” Panic squeezed his chest. “Goyle, I’ve got to go. They don’t have wands, and -

“What’re you going to do? You couldn’t reliably walk to the Great Hall, let alone fight, and if they’ve clocked who made that barrier then we’ll be getting hit from both sides. We need to hold tight for now.”

Draco turned to Goyle, ready to unleash a flood of venom. He stopped at the expression on Goyle’s face. He was covered in sweat, dread in his eyes. Goyle’s father was a Death Eater. He’d be out there too and Draco knew he wasn’t a great wizard.

Draco swallowed and slumped.

An endless time later, Goyle’s voice came again, small and frightened.

“I think Potter’s dead.”

Draco felt like he’d been dropped into an ice lake. He was swamped by the freezing chill of that knowledge. The Dark Lord had won and there was no Chosen One any more, no resistance worth the name.

And soon the Dark Lord would surely find out about Severus, and about him. Draco was going to die.

“We have to go. We have to find our parents.”

Goyle’s mountainous shoulders shrugged like a landslide. “Yeah.”

They met no one as they went, only rubble and blackened stone. But it was far from silent: the roar of battle from the Great Hall clamoured through the castle. By the time they were in the corridor above the Entrance Hall, it was deafening.

Then they heard people screaming Potter’s name. Draco and Goyle came to a dead stop at the top of the Entrance Hall’s stairs, clutching at each other’s arms, as the joyous screams rang out.

It wasn’t over. He was alive.

The Great Hall went silent, but for one voice. Draco would’ve recognised that voice anywhere, however adult Potter sounded now.

“Severus Snape wasn’t yours. Severus Snape was Dumbledore’s.”

Draco knew it was important, knew it changed everything, knew it had reverberations beyond what he could see or imagine. But the question of Snape’s true allegiance fell away in the face of that dreaded word: was.

Potter kept talking. Draco’s eyesight went dim.

***

Afterwards, there was a great deal to do. Lucius was arrested, and Draco and his mother greased wizards’ palms and paid long visits to Wizengamot members and lobbied hard for the court to consider questions of coercion. Draco also suspected his mother wrote a begging letter to Potter, but he took care not to know for sure so he wouldn’t have to have an opinion one way or the other. Then Draco was arrested, but he was kept in a single cell so the other Death Eaters couldn’t take an interest in him. Draco was quite sure that was down to Potter, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind.

It had been fifteen days since Severus was killed. Draco kept having to remind himself not to refer to it that way in front of other people. It was the day the Dark Lord was defeated.

An hour or so too late, Draco thought, hating Potter viciously.

He could hear other prisoners at night, shouting or wailing or howling pointless curses at the newly human guards. Draco hoped his own voice was lost in the noise.

He wasn’t allowed visitors, but there were letters. His mother sent updates on the status of his case and news of his father’s situation, and mints. Goyle sent him short missives about Naomi and the photo of Draco in the Prophet. Pansy sent him something tear-stained. She was the only one who dared to mention Severus. She wrote his name onto the parchment and told Draco she was sorry, and Draco made ugly, choked sounds as he read.

It was like being wrenched in half. His heart was being torn by Severus’ absence, but slowly, so that he heard every strand of muscle go. All he did was sit in his cell but he was always tired. He wrote back to his mother and Goyle. He wrote several letters to Pansy but didn’t send any of them. The emotion in them laid him wide open; it seemed secrecy was a hard habit to break.

Draco still wasn’t sure what his parents knew.

He dreamt about Severus almost every night. About talking to him, Severus telling him about mermaid magic, Draco sharing stories of Istanbul. About Severus fucking him, surrounding him until the two of them together was the universe. Severus’s fingers trailing fire as they moved over Draco’s skin. He dreamt about Severus’ cock in his mouth, about Severus spanking him, about Draco making Severus come.

He dreamt of Nagini killing Severus and woke crying.
Draco was allowed to leave Azkaban to be at his father’s trial. He sat between two Hit Wizards. His mother sat to one side, stretching out so she could hold his hand.

There were mutterings when his father was brought out. Not many people had seen him in public this last year, and Draco hoped there might be some sympathy votes in his gaunt, hollow-eyed expression.

The eyes of the Wizengamot stayed hard, however, and the witnesses left a mounting pile of damning testimony. The gallery became more restive as the day wore on, until Lucius’ defence could hardly be heard over the sound of witches and wizards snorting and jeering. They heard about torture and murder and conspiracy. It was probably true, Draco knew, but he prayed the Wizengamot wouldn’t believe it.

“We’ll now hear from Headmaster Severus Snape.”

Draco’s whole body clenched. His portrait? It had been done before but -

“Simply Mr Snape, these days.”

He was there. He was walking in and taking his place before the Wizengamot. The court went into uproar but Draco couldn’t move. Severus was there, his walk just as usual, the line of his shoulders, his hooked nose. His voice, like Draco’s dreams -

The Hit Wizards grabbed Draco’s shoulders and jerked him back down. Draco cried out as the back of his head smacked the wooden bench and Severus turned. Saw Draco.

They stared at each other from across the room and Draco saw Severus’ fingers flex. Severus swallowed, his mouth quivering. That loss of control, coming from him, was -

“Mr Snape,” said the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Draco should know her name - did know her name, an entire strategy session with his mother had been devoted to the question of whether she’d take a bribe - but everything Draco knew had fallen out of his head. Everything except Severus.

Severus sat down in the witness’ chair, across from where Draco’s father sat chained. He stared at Severus as if his eyes were about to fall out of his head.

“Mr Snape. It’s a pleasant surprise to see you alive.”

“Thank you. I confess to being a little surprised myself.”

Severus’ voice was a little deeper than usual; more scratchy, like when he cried out for Draco. He looked thinner than before.

“In fact, without Minerva McGonagall’s aid the night the Dark Lord fell, and Poppy Pomfrey’s care since, I undoubtedly would have died. I built up my immunity against that snake’s poison, but preparation only does so much.”

“Indeed. And now you compound our surprise, after being revealed as Dumbledore’s man, by testifying on behalf of Lucius Malfoy.”

Draco felt he could hardly contain more shock; he was brimming with it. Conflicting emotion shook through him like an earthquake. He hadn’t the faintest idea what was written on his face as he drank in the sight of Severus alive. It was all he could do not to shout, or scream, or laugh aloud.

“Yes. And on behalf of Draco Malfoy, and Narcissa Malfoy if she ever needs it.”

“Why?”

Severus caught Draco’s eye for a fraction of an instant. “It’s my duty.”

There was a silence. It became clear that was all Severus was going to say.

“Then you assert that Mr Malfoy was indeed coerced into his service to the Dark Lord?”

“Coercion is too weak a word…”

Severus continued, but Draco couldn’t take it in. He simply sat, soaking in the familiar cadence of Severus’ voice, the movement of his hand, the slight living flush of his face. Alive.

And everything was possible.

***

His father was sentenced to eight years in Azkaban. Given everything, it was a gift. Draco hugged his mother, both of them shaking, and then his father was permitted a brief embrace with them both.

When Draco was brought back to Azkaban that evening, there was a letter waiting for him.

My dear Draco,

By now you will have seen that I’m alive. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you.

Minerva came to claim my body the night of the Dark Lord’s defeat, and found me breathing. Unsure of who might come seeking vengeance, she told only Poppy Pomfrey. I remained unconscious for over a fortnight as they healed me; when I regained consciousness, you had already been arrested.

I’m keeping my promise to protect your family. To protect you. To keep plausibility, we cannot reveal what’s between us until this is over and you are set free.

I felt if I came to you in prison, I would not be able to hold to this truth.

Remember you are free.

Yours,

Severus

Draco didn’t write back. When he tried, his head filled with riotous confusion; anger and relief and love and bitterness. During Draco’s hearing, Severus told them that Draco had worked with him for weeks on the spell that had defended Hogwarts and that he couldn’t have done it without him. Which was all true, Draco supposed. Severus’ intervention saved him and Draco was set free.

Severus said not a word to him and Draco tried not to feel resentful.

Draco told the truth at Crabbe’s hearing, but focussed on the truth that might have been forgotten: the pressure and the fear and the pronouncements of his elders. Crabbe got six years, but only that. They nodded at each other as Crabbe was led out.

That night Draco and Goyle demolished a bottle of his father’s whiskey. Neither of them sure whether it was celebration or commiseration. Draco promised himself he’d visit Crabbe in Azkaban.

Maybe they couldn’t be friends the way they had been. In another world they’d have been friends for life, and Crabbe would have stood up for Draco at his wedding. In that world neither of them would’ve tortured another person, and Crabbe wouldn’t have found out that he liked it.

In this one, they’d have monthly visits and Draco would make sure he found a job when he got out. And maybe that would be enough.

Goyle passed out, and Draco found himself writing a letter to Severus at two in the morning. It was a ridiculous letter, and Draco was sure his grammar was appalling; it wasn’t like a letter at all, but like a transcript of the dozy conversations they’d had over homework and the Sunday Prophet, or between orgasm and dropping off to sleep. It was about whiskey, and Quidditch, and his mother’s redecorating. It was about Crabbe.

The last line was an invitation.

***

“Master Malfoy! Master Malfoy!”

The squeaking voice of the house elf made Draco feel like his brain had sprained. He woke, flailing, and slowly realised he was lying upside-down in an armchair in his father’s study with his head hanging off the seat. He managed to wrangle himself upright with difficulty. “What? Merlin, it’s barely seven. What?”

“Mister Snape is here to see you.”

“What?”

Draco ran straight past the house-elf, hangover forgotten. Severus was standing in the foyer as Draco launched himself down the stairs.

“It would be a dreadful waste if you chose this moment to fall down the stairs and crack your head open,” said Severus. He wasn’t smiling, but it was in his voice and his eyes, peeking out like the sun from behind a cloud.

Draco came to a dead stop before him, unable to take that next step. Drinking in the sight of Severus, pale and dark and alive.

Severus stared back at him for an instant, then reached out. Draco went, his hands abruptly on Severus: his collarbone, his chest with the feel of his heartbeat, his back. Severus’ hands were on him in return. Severus’ mouth was at Draco’s neck, his jawline. Severus inhaled him, while Draco told himself with touch that Severus was here, alive.

Severus’ mouth came up to meet Draco’s. They stood in the foyer kissing, breathing the same air, for long minutes, unwilling or unable to step away.

It was like Draco was coming back to life himself: his skin waking up, sensation shooting down every limb, warmth rising in his chest. Anger.

He drew back, glaring. Even now, snake-eyed and hurt, he couldn’t quite make himself let go of Severus’ arm. “You avoided us until it was all over. I suppose you’re a hero now, so you wouldn’t want to - are you expecting gratitude because you held up your end of the bargain and defended my parents, even in court?”

“No!” Severus exclaimed. “Draco, I - ”

“I know, I’m being unfair, you wanted to wait so they wouldn’t think you were lying for me - ”

“I wanted to wait because now the deal is over. You can choose - we both can, without thinking about - ” Severus made an unreadable gesture. “You don’t need me anymore. So the question is - ” And here his voice, so confident as he explained, eloquent as always, went very slightly shaky. “If you want me.”

Draco’s hand tightened on Severus’ arm.

“That’s not the question. It’s not even a question.” Draco watched his own hand travel up Severus’ black-clad arm, feeling muscle and blood beneath it. “It’s whether… whether…”

He gave Severus an appealing look but Severus said nothing, waiting for Draco to speak. His eyes were intent; it made Draco feel like one of Severus’ books. Confusing and a little foxed and written in a peculiar language Draco might be, but Severus would not be defeated. He would make himself understand.

“Whether something that started in the middle of all that horror can survive now.”

Severus nodded.

“You lied to me from the beginning. And I didn’t know - I couldn’t think about it, not really, not when you were dead. But you lied to me.”

“I’m a spy,” Severus said quietly.

“But I would’ve helped you! If you’d told me the truth I would’ve wanted to help, to protect Hogwarts from him - ”

“It’s easy to say that now,” Severus said, cool and sharp.

Draco felt his face crumple and Severus reached towards him. Draco stepped out of his reach.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have - ”

“You knew I hated him - ”

“Not more than you love your parents,” Severus said. “Or your friends. And I didn’t realise how much you hated him, not at the beginning. I’m sorry, Draco, I am. Even if I’d known for sure you could defend yourself against the Dark Lord’s Legilimency - I couldn’t take the risk, I couldn’t hope that you’d say yes.”

Hurt was a stone, pressing down on his chest. “Would you - if you could do it again, would you - ?”

Severus’ eyebrows creased; the lines of his pained expression were deeply etched into his face. “I - no. I’d keep the secret.”

Draco shut his eyes, feeling himself slump. “But it was - you used me. I know it was to do something important, I know. But the Dark Lord would’ve killed me if he’d found out and I never even got asked.”

Severus looked stricken. “I know. These habits of mind, of secret-keeping, of being the only one who knows… they’re calcified. I don’t know if they can change.”

“I do. If we make them.” He paused. “I understand, I really do. Or I’m trying to. But the war is over. It’s not about protecting people from horrible death any more. It’s about not lying.”

Severus’ face was chalky. “A new challenge for me.”

Draco smiled a little, coming closer. “The war is over.”

“It seems so.” He looked a little shell-shocked. “I never expected to survive the war. To be negotiating the rest of my life.”

"The war is over."

Severus reached for him. "Say it again."