Title: And Malfoy Makes Three
Author: the_con_cept
Team: Dragon
Genre(s): Humour
Prompt(s): Ménage à Trois and baby blues
Rating: NC-17
Warning/Kinks: *Threesome and references to Mpreg. Also, this is very much a threesome fic; that is to say, there is Snape/Harry, but it’s really Snape/Draco/Harry.*
Word Count: 40,000+ words.
Summary: Snape completely misinterprets Harry's oblique hints about a baby.
A/N: Much thanks primarily to my betas Angela_Snape and Carpet_Diemon (without whom this fic would have fizzled out), with help from Cira_Arana, Team Dragon, and much admiration for Joanwilder and the Mod Supreme Djin7.

And Malfoy Makes Three

Good God, the man sounded like a foghorn. The new Minister for Magic, Archibald Addleton, stood at the head of the table, mooing about the wizarding economy and rebuilding a sense of trust in the government—all the usual nonsense. His big, watery brown eyes looked plaintively at them all and his whiskery jowls shook as his lowing voice exhorted "Donate! Donate today! Please, give generously to the M.O.A.N. fund!"

Snape did moan at this. The newly formed Ministry's Orphaned Adolescents Non-profit fund was a blight. The brats should go out and get jobs. Of course, Potter had insisted on attending, and Potter was probably going to shower the organization with Galleons; Potter, who knew so many orphans and felt responsible for all of them.

Why was Potter so obsessed with disgusting little imps, anyway? They always ran about with runny noses and drooling mouths, looking drunk and dim-witted. Babies, toddlers and children! Worse than lions and tigers and bears, in Snape's less than humble opinion. He hadn't liked them when he'd been in the ghastly position of having to teach them, and he liked them even less now that he simply brewed potions for a living and had no dealings with the monsters. He sometimes suspected this was because he was getting old and crotchety, but Potter assured him that he'd always been crotchety.

Snape stifled a bored yawn behind one hand and tried not to look too abysmally apathetic. This wasn't at all what he'd expected years ago when he wanted so badly to be recognized and admired by the Ministry and the world at large. Instead of the glamour and admiration he'd anticipated, Severus found that Ministry dealings were usually big, expensive, extremely dull affairs where long-winded morons stood and blathered without end—and asked for money.

Why on earth had he ever been pleased that Potter bothered to bring him back to life? Death would be an improvement, and markedly more exciting than another damned fundraiser.

A sharp movement caught his eye and he glanced over to see Potter and Malfoy glaring at one another. They'd been seated next to one another, possibly because of the aesthetic delight of the juxtaposition of Malfoy's pale perfection and Harry's rather darker good looks.

Of course, looks weren't everything. Someone very stupid had drawn up the seating plan, apparently.

Even as Snape eyed them discreetly Potter jolted and snarled silently at Malfoy, who suddenly jerked in his seat. This went on for a few moments before Snape smiled fiendishly as a fond daydream spilled into reality;playing footsie, my fine young lads?

Snape covered his mouth with an elegant hand, trying not to snort with laughter. Over twenty, both of them, but whenever you put them together they reverted to pigtail pulling and other pubescent tomfoolery. He wondered what would happen if the Minister or one of the other esteemed guests realised what they were doing. Minerva was there; she'd probably give them a stern talking to, not that it would do any good.

Harry yelped suddenly, and Snape arched an eyebrow. Probably a Stinging Hex under the table; Draco was looking self-satisfied and most of the rest of the table was starting to flick curious glances at the boys. Such little monsters. Speaking of horrid children.

Potter looked over at Snape, who arranged an appropriately fearsome scowl in response. Behave yourself, he mouthed.

Harry bowed his head, blushing furiously, and waited for everyone's attention to drift back to the Minister. Snape was probably the only person who witnessed Harry's hand snaking out—Draco surely didn't see, or he wouldn't have jumped so high when Harry pinched him.

Snape turned his laughter into a cough. He had no doubt it was subconscious—the flirting—but in any case it was extremely amusing. The two had grown up with their rivalry, and Snape had encouraged it. It entertained him endlessly. It probably made him a sadist, but there was nothing he enjoyed more than playing two people against each other and watching them become enraged. Plus, the unresolved tension was rather delicious; Snape raised his scotch to his lips, drinking in the sight of Draco squirming in his seat, Potter's set jaw and flushed face . . .

"Jolly good stuff, isn't it?" a voice interrupted, and Snape suddenly sat up very straight, clearing his throat.

"Better than the company," he said icily to Slughorn, on his left. He tried to look intimidating, unapproachable and a little prim, and not at all as though he'd been ogling two of his dinner companions and mentally undressing them.

The man merely chuckled. "L'chaim," he replied cheerfully enough.

"Hmph," Snape retorted, swigging a warm mouthful of liquor.

"I hear you're doing well," Slughorn said, refusing to take the hint.

"Potter and I are doing tolerably well," Snape replied haughtily.

Slughorn laughed "I should say so! Of course, I'd imagine you aren't doing quite so well as some would have us think," he added, tapping the side of his nose and winking.

Snape had no idea what the man was talking about, and said so, adding, "Are you that deep in the cups already?"

"I meant the Skeeter article. Apparently you re-discovered the formula for the Philosopher's Stone. Mind sharing the secret with me?"

Snape choked on his scotch and glared at the man. "Don't be absurd! That woman's daft, and a menace, besides. I can assure you that if I'd discovered a way to create a Stone, I'd be a good deal better off than I am now."

"Only pulling your leg, old chap," Slughorn said, but Snape rather doubted this, because as soon as Snape was finished insisting he'd never done such a thing, the man lost interest in him and started up a conversation with the wizard seated across the table. Hah, yes, joking indeed. He was just angling for a hint at how to do it himself.

Snape sighed and turned his thoughts back to Harry—and Draco. They did look splendid together. They'd look even better on a bed. Particularly if there weren't a stitch of clothing between them.

Such impossible thoughts. Attractive as Draco was, he was also the scion of Lucius Malfoy and therefore very much Off Limits, and always had been. Potter, luckily, was currently the scion of no living man, and could therefore be buggered at will. Moreover, he seemed to enjoy it. Willing as the boy was, however, he was just a tad prudish in bed, and Snape did not think he would be eager to take a turn with Draco Malfoy just for Snape's viewing pleasure.

Almost certainly not.

Well, he probably wouldn't, anyway.

Even if they did enjoy taunting, pinching each other and playing footsie under the table. Hmm. Perhaps not such a thoroughly improbable prospect, after all. Snape would have to mull the idea over; it certainly had appeal.

A sideways glance caught Draco elbowing Potter roughly, Potter glowering at him, green eyes afire. They tussled a bit more, a shifting, slipping, very full contact encounter, until a shrewd server slipped in between them to serve dessert. They subsided, still pouting, panting and slightly pink.

Some things played on the palate far better than scotch. However, as scotch was all Severus had on hand, he turned his attention to it.

Snape tried not to look back down the table and ignored the burning that curled and slithered, snakelike and insidious, through his belly. Was he jealous? Perhaps. Was he intrigued? Enormously. Given the opportunity, would he take advantage? Snape licked the smoky aftertaste of liquor from his lips. Yes. Oh, yes. But it was a silly thought—a fantasy built from vague impressions and tendrils of lust. Improbable, to say the least. Laughable, even. Snape was becoming a dirty old man. Better not to think about it.

Still, if Potter ever hinted, even so much as hinted at the idea . . .

Snape swirled his drink round in the bottom of his glass, smirking a little. He watched Draco aiming his fork to spatter Harry with whipped cream . . . very tasty. He tried to turn his attention back to his drink and ignore the boys' play, but again and again in his head, his mind churned up images of Draco and Harry and mountains of whipped cream, and no table at all, but a very large bed . . .

Snape's breath tickled Harry's neck, causing the feathery hair there to flutter against Harry's skin and sending a delicious shiver down Harry's spine.

Harry tried to pull himself together—he'd promised himself he'd ask the man tonight. He thought hard about how best to say it. "Snape, I want to adopt a baby," was probably too forward. Besides, they were in the middle of lovemaking. Sure, he wanted to bring the subject up when Snape was in a good mood, and Snape was never in a better mood than when he was thrusting into Harry, but Harry thought he should broach the subject carefully anyway. Between the exertion and the surprise, he might give the man a heart attack.

"Um, Severus?"

"Mmmm?"

Oh, how nice and growly and rumbly that was, with Snape pressed up against Harry's back. Harry tried to suppress a shiver of pleasure. "You know, sometimes it gets lonely around here when you're out," Harry said, turning to kiss Snape.

Snape blinked a little. "Aren't we feeling needy?" He turned Harry's head again so he could worry the soft skin behind Harry's ear.

Squirming, Harry tried again. "I was just thinking that, you know, we've been together for a while. . ."

"Almost three years," Snape agreed. "Ever since you realised I wasn't completely dead and finally got round to reviving me."

"Uh-huh," Harry said, anxious to return to the subject at hand. "Well, you know, when two people have been together for long time, um . . ."

Harry's eyes unfocussed as Snape's slick, clever tongue danced down his spine.

There was a pause in the action as Severus said, "You were saying?"

Completely distracted, Harry tried to blink away his bemusement. "Was I? Oh . . . uh, just . . . there comes a time . . . you know, it's only natural that you want to . . . wow, do that again! Er, I mean, might be time to sort of expand things a bit . . . ah, the sound of little feet . . ."

"You want a dog?" Snape mumbled.

Harry, head thrown back and toes curled, grunted a little. "No. And more, please," he added in a gasp.

"A cat."

"Ohmygod. No—not a—cat."

"No gerbils. I can't abide gerbils."

Harry gave up. "Snape?"

"Yes?"

"Never mind. Don't bring up gerbils during sex, okay? Just go back to the thing with the tongue, all right? That was good."

After they'd cleaned up and were getting ready for bed, Harry made another attempt. "Snape?" he said, head resting on the man's thin chest.

"Hmmm?" Snape replied drowsily.

Harry drew patterns on Snape's stomach with his fingertips. "Don't you think we have enough love in our hearts for, you know, more?"

"I don't know what you're on about," Snape answered with a great yawn.

"I'm talking about—I'm talking about our future," Harry said with sudden inspiration. He sat up and Snape smiled faintly, gazing up at him.

"Hopefully your future involves a comb," the man said. "You've no idea what a shock your hair is at the moment."

"Leave off combs," Harry said impatiently. "I'm talking about planning for the future. What is our legacy going to be?"

Snape stared. "Well, you're the man who killed the Dark Lord. You want more than that?"

"No—I mean—as a couple. Snape, don't you ever feel just a little bit empty? Where are we going to be in five years? Ten years? Will it always be—you know—just the two of us? Wouldn't it be nice if we, er, thought about . . ." God, he just couldn't flat out say it. He couldn't! Harry tried to approach the thing from another direction. "You know, if something happened to me, I'd want to know that you were still taken care of. And that you weren't alone. Wouldn't you want that for me, too?"

Snape looked thoughtful and rather discomfited. "I think I see what you're getting at," he said slowly, with a deep frown. "Though I must say it's a bit unexpected. I thought you were satisfied with our life together."

Harry squirmed. "I am. More than satisfied. That's the whole point. I feel like we've got such a great life that it's only right to share it—to, er, expand it a bit." He gave Snape his most beseeching, wide-eyed look. "You don't have to say yes, not right away—"

"Well, it would be rather difficult in any case," Snape said. "Even if I agreed, I should think there would be, well, a lengthy period of adjustment on all parts. And I can hardly snap my fingers and conjure up a whole extra person."

"Oh, sure," Harry said. "It'd definitely take some work! But don't you think it'd be worth it? I mean, in the long run? Snape, we have so much to give. It just seems such a pity if we don't make an effort to—er, share this love, this home," he said earnestly. "Come on; there's room for one more, isn't there?"

"I never would have dreamed—well, perhaps in my wildest fantasies, I thought perhaps—but I never expected—" Snape broke off and shook his head a little, his face pale. "Well, I—suppose—" he looked at Harry for a long time and let out a sigh. "I do want to make you happy. Very well," he said finally. "Which would you prefer, male or female? I assume male," he added.

Harry was overjoyed. "Oh, it doesn't matter to me at all!" he assured the man. "As long as it's healthy."

Snape looked momentarily puzzled, but then shrugged. "Yes, I suppose I could see where that would be important."

"I'm just not sure where to start," Harry confessed.

Snape nodded. "There's always . . ." he began hopefully, but then bit his lip and paused. "I might have a lead, if you really do trust my judgment," he said. His eyes glittered with a strange slyness as he glanced sideways at Harry.

Harry hugged him hard. "I do," he replied. "Completely. And boy or girl, black or white—it doesn't matter to me at all. Whatever you want, Snape. I just can't believe you're really agreeing to this!"

Snape looked up at the ceiling, his face faintly worried. "Neither can I," he admitted.

If Draco'd had a choice in the way his father discovered his sexual preference, he would have preferred to be dressed and not in a state of, as he would have said, dishabille, which was to say buck naked and on his knees, pleasuring a man he'd met in a club.

Alas, he'd simply left coming out of the closet too late, and this meant Lucius Malfoy pounding down his door at four in the morning demanding to know what the awful racket was and—well. 'Good morning, Father. Surprise! As you can see, I'm a homosexual,' wasn't an option, not least because Draco had his mouth full.

"What is going on?" Lucius demanded.

Draco wasn't certain where to start.

"I think I can explain," Pierce offered, but Lucius gave him a look of such venom that he quailed.

"Get that thing out of our house!" Lucius Malfoy snarled, looming above them and jabbing a finger at Draco's guest.

Draco stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and cleared his throat delicately. "Um. It's not polite to point," he noted, an observation met with a flat stare.

"Is this the reason you've yet to marry and produce an heir?"

"Well, not Pierce in particular, though I suspect he's symptomatic of my, er, general reluctance," Draco replied. Pierce—hell, Draco didn't even know his last name—was sidling circumspectly toward the bed where his trousers had been dropped.

Lucius took a deep breath, a tic causing a muscle in his jaw to twitch. "And do you feel the urge to befoul our home this way often?" he demanded.

Ah, Draco knew the answer to this one. "No," he replied quickly. "It's just that, well, a man has . . . certain needs. I'm afraid this is one of mine."

"Draco, it is time for you to learn the difference between a need and an indulgence. Family is a need. Honour is a need. Tradition is a need. Those are requirements. Having a—rent boy—and pandering to a base desire to engage in bouts deviant carnal hedonism—those are not needs, Draco. Those are ridiculous extravagances. I know I have spoiled you—"

"You think I'm gay because you spoiled me?" Draco interrupted, hardly able to believe what he was hearing.

Lucius blinked a little, looking off balance and pinching the bridge of his nose. "It is obvious I made some sort of desperate mistake when raising you," he said.

Draco looked at his feet, stomach roiling. "You don't think that, perhaps, I just happen to be homosexual—that is, without any interference or logical cause? You don't think it's just possible I might have been born this way?" he asked loudly.

Lucius waved a hand dismissively. "Whatever the origin, the result is the same. I'm absolutely ashamed of you. You know your mother has gone to great lengths to introduce you to appropriate young women, and you've put her off again and again, apparently merely to satiate other, less salubrious whims. You've shirked your duty as a Malfoy. I insist you cease this disgusting behaviour immediately."

Draco blanched. "But I've been discreet—" he began to protest.

"Discretion may be the better part of valour but it does not produce heirs. This is an unhealthy hobby for a man of your age and good social standing. You will no longer engage in such things, is that understood?"

They stared at each other for a long moment as Pierce meekly slipped out of the room. "No," Draco replied in a clear, firm voice, surprising himself. It wasn't even as if he had anyone whose company he particularly desired; he simply wasn't being accustomed to being denied.

"I beg your pardon?" Lucius said, nostrils flaring.

Draco swallowed hard. "I understand the need for secrecy and discretion, but I really don't see why I should give up such a harmless habit completely, and anyway I'm not certain it would be that easy."

"Harmless? Harmless? And what of my reputation? What of your mother's reputation? Have you given any thought whatever to her in your selfish excess?"

Not generally when I have a man's cock down my throat, Draco wanted to reply, but he couldn't force his mouth to form the words. His father looked dishevelled and furious, and Draco knew, without a doubt, that such a flippant taunt would earn him the back of his father's hand, if not a curse of some sort. "I have protected Mother from the knowledge and the—the shame of having a homosexual son the best I could," he replied, steeling himself. "I have not returned to the homes of strange men where there might be cameras. I have not engaged in public sex or lewd acts of any kind. When, on the rare occasion I found someone I felt comfortable with, I made every effort to make certain my behaviour stayed behind my own bedroom doors."

"Unacceptable," Lucius pronounced. "It must stop. Immediately."

"I can't just—"

"Then get out," Lucius snarled, suddenly fierce and his temper frayed beyond salvage. "Get out! I have supplied you with everything you could possibly want in life including a good home, a good name, a good pedigree—"

"And a rotten reputation!" Draco roared back, talking over the man. "And all the best society had to offer, like madmen and murderers, and oh, yes, you nearly got me killed dragging me into your mess—"

"Don't you dare judge me!" his father snapped. "Everything I've done in my life I did in your best interests—"

Draco's mouth dropped open. "I'm shocked that such a whopping great lie didn't choke you on its way up!"

"You ungrateful—!" Lucius raised his hand, but Draco stepped sharply back, and after a moment the man seemed to get a hold of himself. "Get some clothes on and get out," he instructed. "You'll leave with the clothes on your back and nothing—I repeat nothing more. You may return when you've found respect for the sacrifices I made for you and the reputation our family is working so hard to rebuild. In the meantime, you can live on the streets and discover what an easy life you've led. When you're ready to be reasonable and give up this nasty way of spending your leisure time—when you are ready to grow up and accept the responsibilities inherent in becoming a man—then you may return. But as of this moment, you do not touch my accounts, you do not invoke my name, and you do not share it. If family means so very little to you, it will cost you nothing to give up. In the meanwhile, do whatever you please, but remember that, as of this moment, you are not my son."

Lucius whirled and strode out of the room. Draco shivered and hugged himself, then recollected he was naked. Well. Right. Of course. He could do something about that, at least. And then he could deal with everything else. He went unsteadily to his closet and selected what he judged to be a good outfit for a rainy morning, sitting on his bed and pulling his boots on in a daze.

He'd just been disowned. Disinherited. Evicted, even, and from the home in which he'd grown up! Slowly, Draco pulled a cloak round his shoulders, nestling his cheek in it and trying to find warmth despite the sudden ice in his stomach.

There was a spot of yelling from somewhere down the hall, and a house elf reluctantly appeared in front of Draco. "T—Tipsy is sorry, Master Draco, but Master Lucius is saying—"

"That I have to get out now," Draco finished. "I know, I know." It was just like his father—utterly ruthless and extremely impatient once his wrath had been incurred. Draco stood up, finding his mouth suddenly dry. He worked his tongue around the inside of his mouth and swallowed several times, but there was nothing for it.

It didn't matter anyway. He had nothing left to say. Setting his jaw, he strode with what he imagined was a regal and unaffected air. He passed his father, glaring at him, and his mother, her face white and her eyes tearing. "It will be fine, Mother," he assured her blandly.

"Out," Lucius said. It was becoming a word of tedious repetition.

Tossing his head and giving his best sneer, he unlocked the front door and stepped out into the darkness. The door slammed shut promptly behind him, cutting short his mother's brief wail.

Draco let out a huff. Let them throw him out. Let them disown him. Even if he wasn't a Malfoy, Draco was still capable and cunning. And he had plenty of friends. It was true Goyle was on the continent at the moment, and had been living there since he and Pansy had been married, but there was still—there was still—hmm. Blaise Zabini? He couldn't really picture turning up on his door in the middle of the night. They'd never been especially close. Marcus Flint? They hadn't even spoken in two years, at least.

The rain wasn't heavy, but it was icy and persistent. It worked its way into every crevice and mercilessly soaked into the fabric of Draco's clothes. Draco hunched his shoulders and tried to think. Where could he possibly go? Was there anyone in the world who might be considered a friend when the chips were really down? He pulled out his wand, tapping the tip gently against his lips as he thought with ferocious concentration. Perhaps he wasn't a Malfoy, at the moment, but he was still a Draco, by the gods, and he would not panic! Thunder muttered in the night, and he straightened a little. Surely there were plenty of men who would fall all over themselves at the prospect of having him to keep. He just had to pick one.

If only he could remember one of their names.

And then Draco remembered the fundraiser a couple of nights ago. Of course! Snape had gone to great lengths to protect Draco, once upon a time. Surely Snape, of all people, would understand.

Snape yawned hugely, glancing up from his notes. There was someone on the other side of the frosted glass door, and he jolted a bit at the unexpected sight. Jerking his wand out, he stared at the figure until it raised a tentative fist and knocked on the glass.

"S—Sir?"

Snape slowly lowered his wand. Draco Malfoy, of all people. "Yes?" Snape replied, careful to keep his voice even. He watched, mesmerised, as the doorknob turned and Draco stepped into the room.

This was beyond fortuitous. This was—this was akin to fate, a process Snape usually discounted in its entirety. But really, what were the odds? First Potter, and now this.

"You look like a drowned—ferret," Snape observed.

Draco's lips thinned. "Thank you," he grumbled. He looked away, shivering. "I didn't think you'd be in the office this early. It's not even five yet."

Snape's eyebrows jerked up of their own accord. "Then what are you doing here? Plan on filching some stores, did you?"

Draco gave him a sideways glance, shaking his head so flecks of water splattered against the wall. "Not at all. You've nothing I couldn't buy," he added with a lift of his lip.

Snape leaned forward, resting his chin in hand. "Then why would you bother coming before you expected to find me here?"

Draco's eyes were nothing like he'd seen them before; the pupils were large and black, like endless, echoing tunnels. His voice, too, seemed to bounce off the walls as he said, "I hadn't anywhere else to go," in a toneless fashion.

"No clubs, no girls, no illicit little back alley shops?" Snape suggested, and Draco looked away.

"I'm afraid that's the sort of thing that got me in this mess in the first place," he grumbled.

Snape leaned back, gesturing to the seat across from him. Even in a Ministry position, Snape was not spoilt, but he had his own lab, his own office, his own desk and an extra chair. Draco sat, looking shifty and shiftless, his collar plastered wetly against his neck. "Do tell," Severus suggested, and for the first time in Snape's memory, Draco's paleness turned to pink.

"I don't really know where to start," Draco replied.

Snape watched him closely, eyes darting to the breast pocket of his jacket, from which Draco withdrew a handkerchief, not to use, apparently, but to twist into knots. Snape's hand rose, unbidden, to rub his chin thoughtfully.

Draco was nervous. It was normal enough; Draco didn't have an exceptional constitution in any case, and any trivial upset was likely to send him into a minor nervous breakdown. But these days, there was nothing to worry about, really. Everything ticked along as smoothly as a pocket-watch. There was no Dark Lord. There was no Order. There were no wrenching decisions to be made. What, then, was the cause of Draco's obvious discomfort?

Draco looked down at his fingers, elegantly winding his handkerchief into complicated puzzles. "Father turned me out this morning," he whispered.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Father turned me out. Because. Because. I'm—like you," Draco said tremulously, glancing up from beneath white-gold lashes.

What was this? Some kind of entrapment? Some kind of joke? Severus said nothing, staring at the boy.

Draco, of whom he'd had such vivid fantasies recently. Draco, who would look so marvellous, so delicious pressed against Harry's equally perfect body. And Potter had known—must have known—and Potter had given him carte blanche. Snape felt as though a whirling vortex had opened up in his head, the room swirling around him. It was just impossible. The next thing you knew, there would be men wearing almost nothing leaping out and showering him with Galleons and Orders of Merlin, and glorious music would ring out all around, and a breeze of uncertain origin would rise up to whip his silky hair out behind him, and there would probably even be a pony. Hah, yes.

"Snape? Snape?"

Snape blinked. "What? I mean, you were saying?"

"He caught me with—another man, you see," Draco said carefully. "And he said I should leave. I should grow out of it quickly or leave." Suddenly Draco sagged, his face falling into his hands, looking exhausted. "I don't think I'm going to grow out of it," he said, his voice muffled. "I don't think I can change. I offered what I could, but it wasn't enough—it's never enough—" he spat bitterly.

"You don't have anything—in reserve, as it were?" Snape demanded, scowling suspiciously.

Draco straightened and his lips thinned. He looked rather like his father—funny, that. "I did have a secret bank account, but he must have found it," he said. "I went to withdraw funds this morning and—he'd shut it down. Perhaps he told the goblins I simply wasn't to have any money. I wouldn't put it past him."

Neither would Snape, on reflection, though the man wouldn't say so. He thought this over for a few moments. Eventually, Snape cleared his throat. "What do you want me to do?"

Shaking his head, Draco sighed. "I don't know," he admitted. "I just hadn't anywhere else to turn." He looked up then, giving Snape his most practised, heartbreaking, pleading gaze.

Snape looked away. Would it really be the right thing to do? He wasn't sure. But Potter wanted this, and Potter was . . . Potter was everything. Snape hated knowing that, hated admitting that even in the silence of his own mind, but he knew he would have done anything, and he knew that if Potter wanted this, Snape would be powerless—Snape would give it.

Draco was the most manipulative little sod he'd ever met. God only knew what he hoped to get out of Snape. Money? Snape had little enough. Acclaim? Again, Snape had none to spare. Could he have found out about—but no. Snape was too careful with it. What, then? Sex? Was it sex? Could it be sex? Some small part of Snape's soul soared up the back of his throat like a wisp of smoke . . .

"What do you want of me?" he repeated harshly.

"I don't know!" Draco snapped back, his expression frustrated. "I need somewhere to go. I need—I need a plan. I need to start over, Snape. Can't you show me? Can't you tell me how you did that?"

Draco looked so miserable, so lost that Snape reeled a little. He'd clean forgotten what it was like, having someone ask questions, having someone want advice—having someone respect him that much. He covered his mouth with one hand, trying to think.

No, he couldn't let his libido run riot. No, he couldn't let Potter's need overcome him. But Draco was—Draco was perfect. Snape could anticipate him, control him, and most of all, enjoy him. Snape had known Draco Malfoy since the boy was a gleam in his father's eye.

And if Lucius had thrown him away, so much the better. Snape was a master of making due with other people's cast-offs. And Potter—yes, he wanted this, too. Potter was lonely. Why not bring home a new plaything for the boy? If he happened to enjoy watching Potter enjoy himself, it was an incidental pleasure, and really, he was only trying to meet the needs of his young lover. Yes. It was perfect. Draco wanted a plan? Snape had a plan. If it wasn't tailored to Draco's whims, well, that was too bad.

He permitted himself to give the young man a careful smile. "I might have a solution to meet all our needs," he said.

Harry floated the last of the paper bags of groceries in, feeling weary. There was nothing worse than trying to do a bit of shopping for supper and being stopped twelve times for autographs—and once to be treated to a dissertation on why he should help Romanian Vampires with their British citizenships. It was maddening.

It wasn't even as though he knew what the Romanian Vampires' problems were. He had a vague notion, but he wasn't part of the international scene. He was a homemaker, plain and simple. Mostly, anyhow. Charity events were different. He often chaired events, but most people he had contact with were pretty high in the Ministry and unimpressed with him; very few stopped and stared or pointed or giggled. He went to fundraisers because he liked to get out a bit and enjoyed making a difference in the world, and anyway Snape loved showing him off, but good grief, outside of all that he just wanted to be left alone.

Sighing, Harry levitated the bags over to the kitchen table, then began to pull out the groceries, sort them and put them away. He'd just pulled out a small sack of tomatoes when he heard voices in the other room.

Feeling suspicious, Harry slowly set the tomatoes down and turned his head. Snape wasn't due home for hours, but he could make out the man's rich baritone floating in from the other room. What the devil was going on? Resisting the urge to draw his wand, Harry took a deep breath and walked down the hall. "Snape?" he called out.

Impossible. No, unlikely. But weird, in any case. Draco Malfoy was sitting on the couch, eating a crumpet. A crumpet! Harry would only have been slightly more surprised to find him eating a web-footed Snorkcracker, or whatever the hell it was Luna Lovegood was always on about. "What's . . . going on?" he asked slowly.

Snape raised his chin, looking triumphant and somehow grim. "Well. I wasn't certain, at first," he said. "I admit I was even a little bit . . . disturbed by the idea. I am unaccustomed to sharing, as I'm sure you know. But—and I'm sure you'll be surprised by the thought—I gave a great deal of consideration to your point of view, and I came to see that you were right. It simply makes sense to ask Draco to stay."

Harry blinked. "What?"

Snape splayed his hands. "I understand that you've been lonely. You weren't cut out to be a househusband. I knew that when I met you. And at the same time, it's been very difficult for you to have any kind of normal life when dealing with the public on a day-to-day basis. It's understandable. You want someone around more often; you want someone with whom you can share your day."

Harry was getting a really bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. Snape didn't seem like he was discussing what Harry had hoped to hear; he hadn't brought up nappies or nurseries or three a.m. feedings or anything about procuring a child at all. What was he on about?

"You want a bit of excitement," Snape continued. You want a bit of . . . fire, I suppose. I can hardly blame you; it's in your nature. I never expected you to settle for a man like me. I imagine I should be grateful that you hit upon the idea of accepting another lover into our home, rather than simply growing bored with me and kicking me aside."

Harry's mouth opened and shut. "What?"

"Harry," Snape said calmly. "I am trying to explain to you that I understand, and though I was . . . somewhat resentful at first, I am not angry. You are absolutely right in every respect. You must know how difficult it is for me to capitulate. I am giving you what you want."

Harry bit his lip, looking from Draco's too smooth and innocent expression to Snape's self-righteously benevolent one and back again. "You are?"

"Absolutely. I've invited Draco to share our bed."

"YOU DID WHAT, YOU IDIOT?"

Snape rocked back on his heels. "What on earth is the matter with you?" he demanded. "Do you know how difficult it was for me to come to a place where I could accept this? You're a young man, I know, and you have needs, but it rankles, it rankles, I tell you, that you feel the need to look outside our relationship to have those needs met. I think I've been more than reasonable—"

"Reasonable? You invite Draco Malfoy here to sleep with—one of us—and you think that's reasonable?" Harry demanded. "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?"

Snape drew a deep breath, drawing his arms across his chest and looking like a great sulky bat. "You were the one who wanted a threesome, Potter. If Draco is not to your liking then you had best deal with it more maturely than—"

"Threesome?" Harry squawked in disbelief. "When did I—"

"You've been dropping hints for weeks!" Snape roared, pointing a finger at Harry's chest. "All your nonsense about how lonely you've been and how we ought to share our hearts and our home and the minute I make the effort—"

Harry stopped listening at this point, because he was focussed on Draco, who was smirking infuriatingly at them. This was ridiculous. He wasn't going to air his dirty laundry in front of Draco Malfoy, of all people. Grinding his teeth, Harry grabbed hold of Snape's arm and dragged him into the hallway. "Listen, you stupid git," he growled. "I was not talking about a threesome. I can't believe you'd—" Pressing a fist to his mouth with one hand, Harry tried to compose himself.

"Then what the devil were you on about?" Snape hissed.

"I wanted a BABY, you pervert!" Harry howled. "A cute little baby! Not a big ugly one like that," he added, gesturing furiously to the other room.

Snape actually fell back against the wall. "You wanted a what?" he croaked. "Are you out of your mind?"

"No, I'm NOT!" Harry snarled. "I just wanted a family! Why is that so much to ask? I wanted something normal, just a picket fence and a chicken in the pot AND A FAMILY TO CALL MY OWN!"

Snape scowled at him. "There is absolutely no need to rupture my eardrums."

"Really? Are you sure? Because when I told you at normal volume, YOU COMPLETELY FAILED TO GET IT! You understand, Snape?" Harry pointed in the direction of the other room. "You get him out of this house right this fucking moment!" he demanded.

Snape looked extremely aggravated, but before he could say anything, Draco popped his head into the hall.

"Please don't fight over me; you can't think how thoroughly traumatizing it is," he chirped.

Harry tried to hex him, but he dodged it easily in a lightning-quick, snakelike movement. "I'll show you trauma," Harry growled.

"Potter, for heaven's sake," Snape sighed. He sounded drained.

Harry spared him a furious look before returning his attention to Draco. "Get. Out," he spat.

"There's only a slight problem with that," Draco responded.

"Yeah? Is it my problem?"

Draco shrugged. "I don't have anywhere else to go," he said quietly. "And it's starting to rain again. Are you going to throw me out in the rain?"

"I'd like to throw you out in a hurricane," Harry grumbled, but felt a twinge of guilt. The weather had been awful lately. Even now, he could hear the pat-pat-pat of chilly rain beginning to hit the windows. "Why can't you just go home?"

Draco's lower lip trembled, his eyes going large and rather tragic. "They don't want me anymore," he said hoarsely, but he raised his chin high.

"Yeah? Since your family's completely at home with murder, mayhem and anarchy, I kind of wonder what you did to piss them off. Mix up your dinner fork and your salad fork?" Harry sneered.

Draco sniffed. "They discovered my . . . preferences."

Harry felt truly puzzled. He knew what preferences usually were, and he couldn't seem to relate them to Malfoy. "What, like, farm animals or something?"

Draco looked outraged. "Like men, you idiot. Just like you!"

Harry opened and shut his mouth. "Seriously?" he said, feeling dazed.

"They don't like me because I'm a homosexual," Draco told him in a slightly too-serious voice, enunciating homosexual. "My father says I am a disgrace to my family and I'm not to use the name Malfoy."

Something boiled in Harry's blood. He tried to tell himself not to get too incensed about it; after all, it was only Malfoy. Draco, if he wasn't allowed to be Malfoy anymore. Still, it bothered Harry. "Your father's a bigoted prick," he mumbled.

Draco cast his eyes down. "I know that. But he is my father. I tried my very best not to give in to my base urges, but—"

"Why should you?" Harry interrupted angrily. "Why can't you just be yourself?"

Draco glanced up momentarily before looking at his shoes again. "Just so," he said with a certain amount of deference. "But I had to live by his rules, you see. I hadn't anywhere else to go. I suffered in silence, but, ah, when I finally couldn't stand it any longer and tried to stand up to him, he—cast me out. Cast me away, like I was nothing to him," he added, looking sad.

Harry knew this was a trick. This had to be a trick. He just wasn't entirely certain what Draco was after. Harry had started off rich—well off, anyway—but it had taken Snape a few years to find steady employment, and Harry didn't even want to try, so they'd used up a lot of his savings. So there wasn't any money to steal. Did Snape maybe have some sort of dark spell Draco might want to get his hands on? It was worth looking into.

Meanwhile, the rain was beginning to drum down on the roof and Draco was looking depressed, and even though he knew better, Harry felt sorry for him. He knew what it was like to have no family, and he knew what it was like to be hated by his family. Neither situation appealed very much.

Draco folded his hands together, head still inclined, looking deceptively pious. "I only need a bit of time to get back on my feet," he said softly.

Harry blew out a frustrated breath. He could feel himself caving, damn it. And he knew better, only . . . it really was rotten of Lucius to go and do a thing like that, if he'd really done it. Harry made a mental note to find out. And it really was raining awfully hard now. And Draco really did look sort of pathetic . . .

"Fine," he grunted. "You can stay, but only a couple of nights," he cautioned. "Only until you get back on your feet."

Draco smiled slowly, eyes glittering. "You'll be glad you let me stay," he purred.

Harry shrugged. "And you can sleep on the couch," he added curtly.

His smile slipped for a moment, but then Draco recovered. "Of course," he said brightly. "You won't even know I'm here. And when you do know, we'll get along like a house on fire. One big, happy family," he said.

Harry let out a disappointed huff. "Yeah, right."

"I'll leave you two alone to arg—to discuss things, then," Draco added. But just before he waltzed back into the other room, he turned and blew Harry a kiss goodbye.

Harry hunched his shoulders, feeling put-upon. Hah. Happy family, indeed.

Draco listened to footsteps walking back and forth above his head. Someone was finally up, then. Probably Snape, since Harry didn't work. God, Draco couldn't believe would be stuck alone all day in Spinners End with Harry Fucking Potter. What had he ever done to deserve this? Well, anyway, what more than anyone else had done? After all, the Dark Lord had actively tried to kill the git, and he didn't have to suffer Housewife Potter. Draco hadn't even tried to really hurt him. Much.

Draco fell back into his memories for a moment, smiling as he relived all the relentless tormenting he'd done to his sworn foe. Anyway, though he'd disliked Potter he hadn't really wanted him dead. In his own stupid, stubborn way, Potter was rather attractive.

Snape came down the stairs and looked in. "Up, I see," he said.

Draco sat up. "I never really slept," he admitted. "In spite of the fact that I charmed the couch as soft as pudding. I kept having nightmares about Father whenever I dozed off. When I was little I used to suck my thumb, you see, and he snipped off the tip of the house elf's nose and showed it to me and said that's what would happen if I didn't stop, and last night I dreamt he was threatening to snip off—"

"I think I see where this is going," Snape said quellingly. He looked away, expression briefly annoyed, or perhaps angry. "It would be better to turn your mind to other things," he said in a brisk voice.

"You think I ought to try making Potter breakfast?" Draco asked, ever calculating.

"I think you'd probably burn the house down," Snape informed him. "Don't worry so much. Take your mind off of things. Take a bath, or read a book," he suggested. "I apologise that the situation did not, ah, come to fruition as I postulated it might," he added.

Draco grinned wickedly. "You're seriously apologising for the fact that Potter won't bugger me? Please. I'm giddy with relief."

Snape scowled. "You might have said you weren't interested. We'd hardly have forced you, you know."

"I didn't actually have a lot of other options. Besides, when you hinted he might be interested, I was . . . all right, I admit it. I was intrigued and just the slightest bit flattered. Of course, I should have realized the idiot didn't have such good taste, but staying with you should at least provide plenty of opportunities to torment Potter, and that ought to be almost as much fun as sex."

Snape gave him a disapproving look.

Draco offered his most charming smile. "And anyway, it could be worse. I won't have to pay for anything and I'll get to see such a lot of you, as well," he purred. And he genuinely liked the man. Anyone who could play the Dark Lord as well as Snape had was deserving of a lot of admiration, in Draco's opinion. His enormous . . . vocabulary was enticing, as well.

Snape shook his head, but Draco could tell he was trying not to smile. "Do not say such things in front of Potter," he advised.

"What's he going to do, banish you to the couch?" Draco said wryly.

"Hah. You know, despite it all, he's worth most of what he puts me through. He really can be thoughtful and accommodating, when he makes an effort. Unfortunately, he's just as capable of being an irrational, melodramatic monster. Please refrain from goading him and making the situation even worse than it is," Snape begged.

"Okay," Draco replied. "What time does he usually get up?"

"I haven't the faintest. I'm not usually here to see it. But I'd appreciate it if you didn't wake him, and particularly not in some . . . objectionable way. He's already going to be a complete pain in the arse over our misunderstanding."

Draco tilted his head. "You know I'm very good with my mouth; I could probably convince him to at least try—"

"Don't even talk about it," Snape interrupted, glancing apprehensively upstairs, but when no vengeful Potter appeared he relaxed a little. Then he seemed compelled to add, "There's food in the kitchen, and don't hesitate to take what you want."

"Won't Potter be angry?"

"Most of our daily living expenses are no longer derived from Potter's estate," Snape replied with a glimmering of satisfaction. "And owl me if your father tries to contact you. He could be dangerous."

Draco felt a frisson of pleasure. This was the Severus Snape he remembered; protecting him at all costs, and doing so in a cool and impersonal fashion. How nice it would be to make things a little less impersonal . . . The clock above the bookshelves made an odd noise, like something intimate and mechanical had happened to it, and Snape glanced up.

"Damn, I have to go. I can't say I won't worry, you know. Please try not to be an utter bastard all day."

Draco gave this some thought. "Are you technically a bastard if your father disowns you, or does he have to do it before he marries your mum?"

"Don't start," Snape groaned. "That's all I'm asking; just behave for one day."

The man looked pale and tired; he and Potter had talked long into the night and even into the quiet hours of early morning—Draco could hear the muffled noises of their arguments. He was fascinated, if it came to admitting it. He'd never been with anyone long enough for there to be arguments. "I promise, just for today, that I'll be an angel," he told Snape sincerely. One day, after all. How hard could it be?

But Snape was a pretty good Legilimens, and could read his intentions, if not all the fiddly things that made them up, and this was enough to satisfy him. "You'll be fine," he pronounced. Draco smiled, realizing this was Snape's version of 'chin up, stiff upper lip,' and all that sort of nonsense. "You may have troubles with Potter," he said slowly.

Draco nodded. "I might have to breathe air," he agreed dryly. "I'll try to keep it to a minimum. The Potter-baiting, not the breathing. I'm sure we're all adults here."

Snape looked doubtful, but went to get his heavy cloak and stood adjusting it for a few minutes. "And you'll be a good boy?" he asked in a rather hopeless sort of way.

Draco grinned again. "For a given value of good," he replied. "And I'll make a dishonest effort. An honest effort is too much trouble, and I can't mean it when I don't want to. But I'll pretend to mean it very, very hard! And I'll really, really try not to fight or bicker," he added at Snape's harassed expression, which softened at this.

"See that you do." He kissed Draco briefly and chastely on the cheek. "See you tonight."

Draco beamed. It was such a paternal thing to do. He couldn't remember his father ever kissing him or even patting him on the head before leaving. It caused an unexpected rush of warmth in Draco's stomach. And it meant he was winning, too. Snape, at least, was his ally.

The minute Snape left, Draco leapt off the couch and began to peruse the bookshelves. Potter probably wouldn't be up for hours; Draco could still get a few hours sleep if he worked it right. What he needed was something just simple enough to keep him reading, and just incomprehensible enough to send his mind into pleasant, dizzy little cul-de-sacs. If he found something good, he could keep at it for a quarter of an hour, then drift off with wonderful metaphors dancing around in his head.

After looking closely at the spines of several books, he pulled one out to see the cover. Ah-ha! Just what he needed. A little time with this and he'd count bunnies before drifting off to sleep. He curled up on the couch and brought the blanket up to his ears, poring over the text. If only he could get a house elf—or Potter—to bring him a cocoa, all would be right with the world. For now, he'd settle for the book.

Ten minutes later, absorbed and paying no attention to his surroundings, Draco was shocked out of his lull by a book banged up against his ear. "HEY!" he roared, stumbling to his feet and dropping book and blanket. "Potter? What the hell is the matter with you?"

Potter was breathing heavily, a look of triumph on his face. "I knew it. I knew it! You're only here because of some twisted scheme to get into Snape's stash of books and find some dangerous, subversive text!"

"I'm not!" Draco protested.

"Caught you red-handed, I did! What super secret magical text did you get your fobs on? Something about flying, maybe? Unstoppable fire? Bet you'd like that sort of thing. Maybe something about raising an army of the undead to do your bidding?"

"But I already know that," Draco moaned. "And zombies aren't at all cost-effective. All your cash flow goes to pickled brains."

"What then? What heinous book is this?" He shook it in Draco's face.

"You paranoid pest! It's a BOOK ABOUT BUNNIES!" Draco roared.

"Like I'm going to believe that," Harry shot back. "It's just what you need for taking over the world," he accused.

Draco stared. "Is it, really? I must not have got that far, then."

Harry turned it over in his hands and squinted. "Watership Down?" He flipped through the book. "There are rabbits," he said flatly. "Seriously? You're seriously reading about fluffy little bunny rabbits and their adventures?" he asked Draco suspiciously.

Draco sulked. "I'll have you know that's a rich and allegorical novel. It's very deep and full of complexity." He glanced at Harry. "And it's all about a bunch of fluffy bunny rabbits and their adventures."

Harry was bright red. "You're up to something," he ground out. "And rest assured, I will wiggle it out."

Draco adopted his most innocent expression. "And can I watch when you wiggle it out?"

Oh, dear. Perhaps he ought to grab up the glass of water before Potter's face caught fire.

"I'm going to take a shower," Harry grunted, and dropped the book back on the couch.

Draco followed him to the foot of the stairs. "I'll let you know if they manage to take over the world," he called after him. "I'm guessing it either involves grass or sex!" he added loudly when Harry didn't answer. Potter's shoulders did hunch a little as he hurried away, though.

Draco re-sorted the conversation in his mind. "And did you behave today?" Snape would ask. "Oh, yes. This morning we talked about bunnies," Draco could guilelessly and honestly respond. "Isn't that nice?"

He grinned and went back to the couch and flopped down as he listened to the upstairs water turn on. It had been an exceedingly good start to the day.

Snape trudged up to the front door, threw it open, stormed in and fell headlong over Potter's broomstick.

"Potter!" he roared. "HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU NOT TO LEAVE YOUR THINGS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FRONT HALL?"

Harry appeared as if by magic, wiping his hands on an apron. "I don't know," he said in an icy voice. "Why don't you tell me, since you're the one harping on it."

Snape ground his teeth as Harry glowered.

"It is raining outside, in case you hadn't noticed," the boy added, "and I didn't want the broom getting wet. So I brought it in and set it against the wall. It probably fell over when you slammed the door open like some sort of complete Neanderthal!"

Snape glowered. "I worked fifteen solid hours today to put food on the table, and instead of 'oh, thank you for your hard work, you obviously must love me quite a lot' I walk into a maelstrom—"

"Oh, yes," Harry spat. "Speaking of which, you did notice that it's gone eight? You do have clocks in your lab, don't you? And as for food on the table, would that be the supper I prepared hours ago that's gone stone cold? Hmm? That food?"

"I—had a great deal of work to do," Snape said defensively.

"Tonight, of all nights? Really? So you just decided a few extra hours in the lab would be worth more than supper?" Snape idly wondered if Potter realised how he looked when he pouted, his lower lip sticking out in an irresistible moue. "And you just left me here to entertain Draco all day, all by myself," Harry continued.

"Have you been?" Snape asked wistfully. He wondered what they'd done to each other, and had to edit his own fantasy because, whatever the boys had got up to, it was undoubtedly vicious and horrible, and probably didn't involve any whipped cream at all.

Potter scowled at him. "He's an absolute buffoon. I don't know how you stand him. Do you want food or not?" he added when Snape hesitated in the doorway.

"All right," Snape replied. He stood, dripping, as Harry stomped away. The man sighed, wringing out the ends of his robes. What a terror the boy was.

Draco peeped over the arm of the couch, arching a brow. "That was badly handled," he remarked.

"What was?"

"You spent most of last night having a great big row. So what on earth made you think it would be a good decision to walk in and start screaming at him first thing?"

"I fell over his stupid broom and nearly broke my neck!" Snape snarled. "What would you have me say in that situation?"

"How about, 'ouch,'?" Draco suggested. "It'd invoke more sympathy, for starters. And after a row like that, why didn't you bring him something? Like a bunch of roses?"

Snape huffed. He'd already learnt not to bring things home without Potter's express approval. With his luck, the brat would be allergic. Besides, flowers wouldn't help. What Potter wanted was a cooing little bundle of joy, and Snape wasn't that sorry over their argument.

"And you're late, too," Draco observed. "You do know his anger is in direct correlation to how late you are? He stewed and worried and fumed for the past two hours."

"Don't be stupid. Someone needs to make money," Snape muttered. He whipped off his sodden cloak and flung it at the coat-rack, which bent to snatch it out of the air.

"Uh-huh. You're a coward, you are."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You knew he was going to be crabby, so you put off dealing with him as long as possible. You could have at least owled, but you didn't want to deal with it. Trust me, Potter is just like a scab. Rip it off and watch the blood flow. Only stings for a second."

Steeling himself, Snape straightened his collar and stiffened his spine. "I am not afraid of Potter," he snapped. He'd faced malevolent Dark Lords, meddling old schemers and eighteen years' worth of multifarious ghastly schoolchildren. Surely he could handle one evening of nagging househusband.

Draco smiled slightly. "If you say so. It's kind of funny, actually."

Snape glared as he toed off his muddy boots. "Hysterical."

"No, really. All those years of seeing everyone cringe in fear when you entered the classroom, and now a well-placed word from Potter can near make you widdle yourself."

"Like I said, that's hysterical," Snape said sourly.

"I'm starved," Draco said, ignoring him. "Harry refused to touch a thing until you came home. You do know we're both suffering, don't you?"

Snape, who'd indulged in a late spot of tea and a few biscuits on break an hour or so ago, flinched. "You both deserve it," he grumbled. "Hellions that you are."

Draco merely winked as he walked by, dressed in a pair of pyjamas he'd obviously borrowed from Harry, which were too short and showed a lot of ankle. Snape tried not to ogle and instead went in to eat. He should have known all of this would end in tears. Catch him trying to do something nice for Potter again.

"Why on earth is it so gloomy in here?" Draco asked, causing Harry to shoot him a nasty look. "And pass the wine, if you'd be so good."

Harry watched as Draco rolled up the sleeve of his pyjamas and topped his glass off. He hadn't bothered to change all day, and his hair was nearly as unkempt as Harry's.

"Because it's raining," Snape said shortly, as if that explained the atmosphere inside.

"It's always gloomy in here," Harry grumbled. "I wanted to bring a bit of sunshine in," he added, thinking how a chubby little boy in a high chair would improve the ambiance tenfold, "but no one listens to me."

"It's dark," Draco noted. "It could use some better lighting and a lighter shade of paint. Maybe some wallpaper. Definitely needs some, er, renovating."

Harry stared at him. Such a thing had never occurred to him. This was Snape's house. You couldn't just go renovating Snape's house. Could you?

"Anyway, how was your day?" Draco asked Snape, who also stared, looking every bit as baffled as Harry felt.

"My day?"

"Yes. The bit of time that passed between you leaving for work and coming home. The part you spent in the lab. What was it like?"

"You're asking about my day?" Snape said, shifting in his seat as though he were uncomfortable.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Forgive me. What on earth do the two of you do for conversation?"

Harry and Snape shared a look. There wasn't much conversation, Harry reflected. Not as such. There were big, loud arguments and epic sexual escapades, and pretty much nothing in between. There was a lot of Oh, Snape, harder! and an equal amount of You greasy BASTARD, but very little Eggs are on sale; do you think I should try a quiche? Harry shrugged a bit, looking back down at his plate.

"My day was fine," Snape said shortly.

"Are you working on anything in particular?"

Snape tilted his head. "Nothing especially exciting. The main thing is trying to turn lead into gold."

"That's a fool's errand," Draco replied with a frown. "Unless you have a—well, you know."

"Yes," Snape replied with a brief smile. "But you never know. And I've been granted a very generous grant and an ample amount of time."

"Ah. Side projects?"

"Several. A cerebral regeneration potion, for one."

"Ah," Draco said, nodding slowly. Harry frowned a little, and Draco raised his eyebrows at him. "It could be a very lucrative field. Traditional potions have had a great deal of success in healing certain things, like wounds to the flesh or bone breakages. Modern Wizarding has had less fortune when dealing with anything related to the brain."

"Really? I never noticed that."

"Potter, do you even have a brain? I'm sure someone must have mentioned that memory charms can have serious consequences, and repeated exposure to Cruciatus can cause insanity."

"Oh. Right," Harry said, thinking about Lockhart, Neville's parents, and Barty Crouch, Sr. "I never thought about it."

Draco smirked. "It wouldn't surprise me to find you've been hit in the head with a curse or two. Anyway, what's your focus?" he asked, turning his attention back to Snape.

"Production of myelin," he grunted in between bites.

Draco rested his chin in his had. "Really? That's fascinating. You're using Lorenzo's Oil?"

"I'm incorporating it as a base, yes."

Harry sighed, feeling left out.

"Potter and I discussed bunnies today," Draco said, giving Harry a sly look and changing the subject. Harry rolled his eyes.

"That's . . . encouraging," Snape said slowly, looking enquiringly at Harry.

Harry shook his head. "We didn't discuss anything," he disputed. "Draco was reading this stupid book and kept popping up to impart knowledge about rabbits that I seriously didn't need. I mean, I'm trying to fold laundry and he wanders in going, 'Did you know rabbits may live and sleep above ground for months at a time?' Or I'm trying to make the meatloaf and he's sitting at the table, babbling about how a 'visiting rabbit may be tolerated in another warren . . .'"

"'And, if powerful enough, may even obtain and hold a place,'" Draco finished, looking delighted. He winked at Snape. "Harry-rah tells me there's a secret to taking over the world in there somewhere, but I haven't found it yet."

Harry found himself blushing and looked away from Snape's amused glance.

"Watership Down? I think not. More to do with getting along with your neighbours, as I recall."

"No zombies?" Draco asked.

"A distinct absence of zombies."

"What a pity."

"If you two are finished having fun at my expense, Draco can help me clean up," Harry said haughtily.

"All right," Draco agreed, rising and taking his plate over to the sink. He must have caught the fleeting expression of surprise on Harry's face because he added, "I'm not completely useless, you know."

"You could have fooled me," Harry said sincerely.

"Oh, shut up, Potter. I'll wash and you can dry."

Harry didn't think Draco would do a very good job, but he seemed cheerful enough about it, standing beside Harry and shooting jets of hot water over the silverware and handing them to Harry to dry.

Snape made himself a cup of coffee and sat at the table, reading the newspaper. "Old Skimblehook died; the bank has a new head goblin," he noted.

"Really?" Draco asked over his shoulder. "That's interesting. He'd been around for centuries, hadn't he?"

"A long time," Snape agreed. "Wonder how that'll affect the interest rates?"

"Who won yesterday's match?" Harry suddenly interrupted.

Snape snorted, but obligingly turned to the sports section. "Kenmare," he said curtly.

"Seriously? Over Puddlemere United? I should have put money on them. That would have been a great return," Harry said with a sigh.

"Ohhhh, didn't Oliver Wood start for Puddlemere this year?"

"Yes," Harry said. "He just came up from the reserve team."

"I had such a crush on him back at school."

"You're joking!" Harry exclaimed. How strange, to think of Draco doing something as human as having a crush on someone.

"What do you mean? Don't tell me you never sneaked a glance or two in the showers, you lucky dog. All I had to ogle was Flint, and believe me, nothing made up for those teeth."

Harry smiled. "I didn't think about it," he said honestly. "I was more worried about Dementors and basilisks and stuff like that."

"And you never looked? Never once?" Draco asked in a sly voice, nudging Harry.

"Well . . . I did think he was kind of cute," Harry admitted. "But really, I had other things on my mind at the time."

"You had all those opportunities to drop the soap, too. What a tragedy."

Harry laughed. "I guess so," he agreed. If he'd known he was gay earlier, he probably would have appreciated Oliver Wood a lot more. "Dealing with, er, being attracted to men, you know, back then, would have made things more difficult, though," he pointed out.

"Well . . . maybe," Draco allowed.

"Are the two of you doing anything interesting tomorrow?"

Harry glanced sharply at Snape, who looked very innocent.

"I'm going to visit Ron and Hermione," he said, very carefully enunciating each word so Snape would not misinterpret this as Draco and I will be filling a big tub with flavoured gelatine and writhing around in it naked.

"I'm going clothes shopping, I think," Draco said.

Snape sighed and fished round in his pockets for some money.

"Thank you," Draco said sweetly. He folded his hands and looked around with an air of calculation. "And then," he said, "I'm going to help around the house . . ."

"It's been a long day. You have to get up early tomorrow," Draco heard Harry say. He glanced over and saw Potter standing behind Snape, his hands on the man's shoulders. "We should get to bed," he added.

Of course, what Potter really meant was I'm not leaving you alone with Draco Malfoy for ten seconds, but Snape misread it as usual and perked up a bit, saying, "Really?" in his dark, sensual voice.

Draco pretended not to notice what was going on and fought off the slight shiver that came with Severus Snape letting a prurient undertone creep into his voice.

"Really," Harry replied, sounding wry.

Don't get your hopes up, Draco thought, glancing at Snape. He's still angry.

But Snape didn't seem worried about it, and indeed Potter even leaned over and brushed the side of the man's face briefly with his lips; not quite a kiss, but not quite a don't forget I'm still bloody furious with you and you're not getting laid for a fortnight because of it, either.

"Please turn the lights off when you retire," Snape said, nodding goodnight to Draco.

Draco smiled a secret little smile and gave them a knowing look, pleased when Harry turned bright pink and fled. Snape stayed a moment longer to shake his head disapprovingly, then followed Harry as if connected by a hidden string.

Draco shut off all the lights and went back to the couch, hunting through his book to find where he'd left off. There were murmurings and mutterings upstairs. He wondered idly if they were still discussing him. Or discussing something else. Or if it was just foreplay.

He lay back and stared at the ceiling, making a mental note to clear out some of the cobwebs tomorrow. Funny how Potter was embarrassed to kiss Snape in front of Draco, even though it was plain he wanted to. And Snape was every bit as reticent. Public displays of affection were obviously not their area of expertise.

That was sort of odd. Neither man was beholden to anyone. Even the pack of Weasels had eventually come round and accepted Snape's role in Harry's life, from what Draco had heard. So they could easily kiss in public if they wanted to. Really, neither of them was the sort of person to whom public opinion mattered a great deal.

Why, then, were they so strangely undemonstrative? Draco would have paid a big sack of gold to be able to run round the house in his underwear and shag any bloke who looked likely, but Snape and Potter were patently not taking advantage of their freedom and independence.

Well, maybe they just needed a shove in the right direction.

Tomorrow he'd do a bit of shopping and start on the house. Funny how the idea of spending Snape's money on himself was kind of arousing. Draco had had flings before, but they generally only lasted a night or two, and they rarely ended up buying him much of anything. There was something subtly delicious about the idea of someone taking care of him. Perhaps Draco had a daddy complex. He decided not to think about it.

Instead he'd think about the future. Perhaps a nicer set of pyjamas and a silk robe to go with them. It certainly couldn't hurt. A lovely cape of grey wool, perhaps? He needed something to keep the chill out in this weather. And a nice outfit or two to fool Potter into thinking he had some intention of finding a job straight away. Not that he wouldn't—he'd need something to get him out of the house eventually, or he and Potter would probably kill each other, and besides, he'd like to show up his father, who always acted like Draco was entirely incompetent and couldn't hold down a decent job.

But really, he wasn't going to try too hard. He might mention a fictional interview or two at the dinner table and then be as puzzled as anyone as to why he wasn't getting any follow up owls, but that was about it, for now.

And by the time they stopped to wonder, Draco would be firmly entrenched, as much a fixture in their lives as that rather hideous lamp in the corner. Speaking of which, that thing was going to be one of the first things to go during renovations tomorrow. An accident, perhaps, or a swift kick or two if that didn't work.

A rhythmic sort of noise came from somewhere above Draco's head. There was a soft moan, and though Draco wasn't sure who made it, he could tell that whoever it was, was very happy.

That was unfair. Why should they be having sex when Draco couldn't? He cleared his throat and cast a quick Sonorus. "Some of us need our rest, you know!" he shouted. The noises instantly stopped.

Draco smirked and went back to his rabbits.

He woke suddenly hours later, heart pounding furiously, fear coursing through him. Had he been having a nightmare? No, that wasn't it. Something was out of place. Something was wrong.

Draco sat up, swallowing hard. He took a few moments to let his eyes adjust to the dim light filtered in from the street. What had woken him? He had a vague impression that there had been a loud noise, but he wasn't certain. His shaky fingers searched the end table for his wand, then scooped it up, squeezing it tight. There, that was better.

"Malfoy?"

Draco jolted, trundling round in the blankets until he could look over the back of the couch. "Potter?" he whispered. Harry was halfway down the stairs, wearing just his pyjama bottoms. "What's going on?"

"Never mind, it's just Snape. I woke up and he was gone again."

"Gone?"

There was a thump from somewhere and Draco bit his lip.

"He . . . does this sometimes," Harry explained, slowly coming down the stairs.

"Where is he?" There was a door off the front room; muffled noises seemed to becoming from somewhere behind it.

"Downstairs," Harry whispered. He reached the bottom of the steps, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other, then finally came around the couch and sat beside Draco. "He—he's sleepwalking again," Harry explained, sounding miserable. "He does it when he's under stress."

"Sleepwalking? Really? Shouldn't we do something?"

Harry shook his even-scruffier-than-usual head. "He told me I never should. He said to just leave him alone and he'll sort it out."

"But he could fall down the stairs or something!"

"He never has. He's lived here all his life," Harry explained. "He knows where everything is."

They sat in silence a few moments, listening to soft thuds and thumps beneath their feet. "What's he doing?"

"I . . . I'm not really sure," Harry confessed. "He generally ends up down in his lab, though. He never breaks or upsets anything," he said. He hugged his knees to his chest, shivering a little, and Draco fished out the end of the blanket and tossed it over. "Thanks," Harry muttered, trying to pull it round his shoulders without getting too close to Draco.

"Do you think he's trying to make a potion or something?" Draco asked eventually. He was dying of curiosity, but if Potter wasn't brave enough to go down into the man's private lab in the middle of the night, Draco sure wasn't about to make the attempt.

"I don't think so. He never gets any of the stuff out. He just sort of bangs around down there, opens and closes some cupboards, that type of thing, then generally goes back to bed. It seems like he just likes to open and shut doors."

"Or he could be looking for something," Draco surmised. "And anyway, it's still dangerous! What if the door he happens to open leads outside and he wanders off?"

"He hasn't yet," Harry objected.

"That you know of," Draco pointed out, and Harry grimaced in silent agreement. They sat, huddled on the couch, trying to think what to do. "How . . . how long does it take?" Draco finally asked.

"Hours, sometimes."

"Oh." Draco shifted, feeling something poking him in the bum. It was the book he'd been reading, and he opened it and tried to ignore Potter's fidgeting. It wasn't that he was frightened, he told himself, it was only that Potter was so clearly upset, and Draco didn't know why. Eventually, he curled up in a little ball with his feet only barely in Potter's lap, and Potter didn't remark, because he was dozing.

And after a while, they both fell asleep that way.

Snape rubbed his temple, going over his charts again. He tried to stay focussed. Unicorn horn—he was on unicorn horn. It wasn't time for the pickled pufferfish parts yet. He was really going to have to pull himself together. He felt as though he hadn't slept well last night. And with morning had come a migraine; he'd got up to find Harry and Draco arguing on the couch. Like children, they'd been making belligerent accusations against each other. When Snape had asked, both had something along the lines of 'He put his feet on my side!'

Merlin alone knew what all that was about.

Snape glanced at the clock; it was gone one. Perhaps he should pour himself some tea and take a break.

"Owl for you, sir," his research assistant said, handing Snape an envelope.

Snape frowned, working a fingernail under the flap. Taking the paper out, he stroked a thumb over the surface; it was high quality parchment. His stomach tightening a little in suspicion, Snape flipped open the paper to reveal Lucius Malfoy's curling, elegant script. It was not accompanied by any noise; the man would not have sent a howler in any situation, certainly not in a deeply private family matter such as this.

"Something wrong, sir?" Michaels, his assistant asked. Although he wouldn't admit it, Snape found Michaels restful and he enjoyed the young man's company. He was homely, lacked ambitions, and was rather stupid except for localised areas of genius, most of which involved potions.

Snape heaved a great sigh. The issue of Draco had turned out to be a lot more complicated than he'd anticipated. "We have a guest," he said hesitantly. "A very . . . demanding guest."

"Fish and guests stink pretty quickly," Michaels agreed.

"The smell is not the problem. It's mostly the cost. Who knew a young man that slender could eat so much? And he's used to the best of everything, which I couldn't possibly provide." Snape also had a sneaking suspicion that he'd better not buy Draco anything he wasn't prepared to buy Potter as well, regardless of whether Potter needed it. It was a matter of competition. Which was all well and good; they were hardly more appealing than when they were battling for Snape's attention. He didn't say any such thing to Michaels, of course.

The stringy young man leaned on the counter, his face screwed up in thought. "The Ministry's pretty stingy, all right," he agreed. He probably understood Snape's position; he only made a fraction of Severus' salary, after all, but then he lived with his parents and had few creditors.

Snape sighed again. "I've been able to keep my head above water, I'm just not certain how long it'll stay that way," he mumbled.

"'Course, if you manage to do what the boss wants and make a new Philosopher's Stone, you'll be home free!" Michaels said with sudden inspiration.

Snape stiffened. "I beg your pardon?"

Michael's brow wrinkled. "Well, you'd get all sorts of accolades and such, right? And they'd be sure to give you a raise. And you'd be famous, and famous people are always rich, aren't they?"

"Not always," Snape huffed, but his fear and anger drained away. At least Michaels wasn't suggesting he'd stolen—would steal from his employer. Michaels gave him a cheery salute and went to get more armadillo bile from the other room.

Snape turned his attention back to the note.

It was about what Snape had expected. Vitriol, mostly, dressed up in polysyllabic words. Threats, too. You're making an exceptionally grave error in judgment, Severus, the parchment read. Since it is impossible to imagine that you aren't aware of my position in this matter, I can only assume you mean to defy me. You were a clever boy, Severus. You grew into a clever man. But I have money. I don't know if I'm as clever as you are, but I needn't find out. I can hire others whose cleverness is not in dispute. I can hire men whose loyalty, intelligence, and ability to eviscerate others is not in dispute. Do you understand? Turn him out. He will come home. I know this, because I have known him all his life. He needs to be taught a lesson, and you will not interfere, if you know what's good for you. Severus shook his head. What a load of cliché nonsense. You have no children. You have no heir, no son following in your footsteps. You can't possibly understand my position. Snape scowled, decided not to read the rest of the missive, wadded it up and tossed it in the direction of the bin.

It exploded halfway there.

As he stood, blinking, ears ringing from the blast, his assistant popped into the doorway that led to his labs. "It wasn't me! I didn't add the venom!" he said, panicked. "I know it's too unstable and you want to do it yourself!" he added.

Snape waved him away. How lucky for him Lucius wasn't capable of writing engaging correspondence. He took a deep breath and swept a lock of hair behind one ear as he considered the situation. Potter wanted Draco gone, and yesterday, if possible.

But Lucius was challenging him. Snape disliked the man immensely and, though Draco was certainly not as pure as the driven snow, he knew Draco alone couldn't stand up to his father. Draco needed him. While Harry had many fine points, including the ability to make delicious bedroom eyes and equally delicious omelettes, he was very independent.

And Lucius had just tried to kill him. True, it was a pathetic, bungled attempt, but the attempt had to be acknowledged. The gauntlet was flung. Snape was angry.

The office door opened again and Draco stood there, smiling. "I brought you something to eat."

Snape looked at him suspiciously. "Eat?" No, Lucius wouldn't try poison. Polyjuice, perhaps, but poison would be stupid, knowing Snape's affinity for such things. "What are you wearing?" he asked the boy.

Draco coloured, but did a little turn. "Do you like? I wanted something a bit different," he said. "To go with my new start in life. It's a Muggle suit. Isn't it flattering?"

It was, Snape supposed. It was silvery-grey and cut nicely to reveal Draco's slender frame and perky—well, the less thought about it, the better. "You couldn't access Gladrags, could you?" he asked shrewdly. "They turned you away."

Draco's bright smile froze. "He . . . must have paid them. I should have anticipated that. No matter," he added with a carefree shrug. "I'm adaptable. Here, have a . . . curry," he said, setting a box in front of Snape. "Anyway, at least I managed to exchange some money into Muggle currency." He handed Snape the remainder of his gold, which amounted to—as far as Snape could tell, since he wasn't used to Muggle money—four pence.

"I wonder if I've been blackballed as well?" the man mused.

"I doubt it," Draco replied with another fake smile. "I imagine they'd have a more difficult time deciding between two titans—two dangerous men who worked on opposing sides during the war."

"Most of them don't believe I really was on the opposing side," Snape remarked as he opened his curry.

"All the more reason to believe you dangerous," Draco pointed out.

"Touché."

"But I'm not dangerous enough to fear, nor rich enough to toady to, so . . . pity, because I needed something to wear on interviews. But he's probably ahead of me there, too," Draco said with a grimace.

"I'll see what I can do," Snape sighed.

This time, Draco's smile seemed genuine, if a bit hungry. "Thank you," he purred, and leaned across the table.

Snape tried to hide his amusement. "Just go home and . . . and try to be of some use, would you?"

Draco recovered quickly. "I can do that," he said, suspiciously cheerful. As he left, he glanced one last time at Snape, his gaze frank and sensual.

Snape looked away and waited until Draco had shut the door before looking up again. He'd never seen anyone be obscene with their eyes before, but somehow Draco had managed it. He sighed again before taking another bite. Potter, Malfoy, and Malfoy, each as dangerous as the other.

There was a ding from the other room, and Snape's assistant appeared. "It's time to add the venom, sir."

"Very well," Snape said, pushing the curry aside and getting up. At least here in the lab, he had his very own slice of sanity.

Harry had a good time with Ron and Hermione. It was nice to see them again, even if they were expecting their second child already and Harry felt a pang of envy each time he looked at Hermione's swollen belly and glowing face. Anyway, they'd spoken at length about Draco and that had been . . . cathartic.

Ron, who'd eventually come round to the idea that Harry liked men, but had never warmed to Snape, felt this was just the excuse needed to leave the greasy bastard. Harry explained patiently that he had no intention of doing that, and to his surprise, realised this was true. He couldn't imagine being with anybody but Snape. The man aggravated him and they didn't have a cuddly sort of relationship, but Snape . . . cared about Harry, Harry was certain of it.

Defensively, he found himself loudly listing for Ron and Hermione all the things Snape had done.

"He went out of his way to try to keep me out of trouble," Harry pointed out. "And he easily accepted the fact that I just sort of moved in to Spinner's End without any discussion. I mean, I wanted to be there and I started bringing things over and not taking them away, and he never said a word. Oh, and when I—when I—sort of . . . admitted my . . . disinclination to work or deal with the public, Snape immediately suggested I stay home and keep house while he took care of the finances. He didn't make me feel bad about it at all." Harry looked down at his hands, remembering how easy it had been and how Snape had seemed surprised Harry was the least bit embarrassed about bringing it up. It doesn't matter, the man had said. I'll take care of everything. And then—in a rare moment of quiet affection—he'd leaned over and kissed Harry's forehead very gently, and that was the last time the subject came up. "And when he thought I was dropping hints about trying something new, he, er, tried to acquiesce."

Ron had argued almost every point. "Sure, he wanted you to stay home. He has complete control over you that way!" and "Hah! He wouldn't have brought Malfoy home if he didn't want it—face it, Harry, it's all about his needs, not yours!"

But Hermione had listened thoughtfully and said, on the balance, she agreed with Harry. She thought Snape really was doing the best he could, and it seemed to her that there was just a bit of trouble communicating. She suggested Harry be more open about his needs. Trite, but probably good advice.

"I am a bit worried about Draco," Hermione admitted.

"He's definitely going to muck things up," Ron said. "And if Snape has anything dodgy, Draco will go straight for it like a fish to a lure. Just you keep a careful count of all Snape's poisons," he warned.

Hermione shook her head. "I don't think we need to worry about that. Snape can look out for himself. But if Lucius is really angry . . ."

Harry dismissed this. "It's just Lucius Malfoy. He's a complete waste of humanity. Besides, he's kind of incompetent," he pointed out. "He never did anything right for Voldemort. What makes you think he'd do any better working for himself?"

Ron roared with laughter. "A self-employed henchman with a long losing streak—yeah, I reckon you've got his number, right enough!"

Hermione didn't look appeased. "Maybe," she said. "But really, Harry; do be careful, would you?"

"I will," he agreed. He arranged a smile. "Thanks for inviting me over. I'm glad you're doing so well," he added. "Ron's a lucky bloke."

Hermione beamed. "He didn't think so when I was being sick every morning and blaming him for it," she noted.

Harry laughed dutifully, fighting back a feeling that things just weren't fair. "Anyway, I should get home. It's harder work cooking for three," he said.

"Tell me about it," Hermione sighed.

Ron walked Harry to the Floo while Hermione cleared the plates away. "She feels sorry for Malfoy, git that he is. I wouldn't," he added in an undertone. "If you want to get rid of him, there are plenty of ways."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's easy, isn't it? There are all sorts of little things you could do to drive him crazy. Find out what kind of food he hates and make it for dinner. Don't let him get any sleep. Get a dog that barks all the time. There are loads of things you could do, Harry!"

Harry smiled. "I'll think about it," he promised.

Harry Floo'd home, still absently turning Ron's suggestion over in his mind. He took about two steps into the room, ran into something about hip-height, and went headlong over whatever-the-hell-it-was. Harry flipped head over heels, flailing, and ended up on the floor facing the way he'd come in.

There was a couch in front of the fireplace. What the hell? They'd never had the couch in front of the fireplace! Christ, did he mistakenly Floo into the wrong fucking house? But no, he'd said, 'Spinner's End,' clearly enough.

Harry got shakily to his feet. "What the fuck?" he croaked, looking around. "Who put this here?" he demanded.

"I did." Harry turned to see Draco in the doorway. "Who'd you think, the Mad Redecorator of Yorkshire?"

Harry turned back to the couch, stared at the thing and said slowly, "Wait a second! That's not even our couch! Our couch is lumpy and tatty and smells of ghastly potions and is kind of evil and eats all the pocket change that gets between its cushions—and anyone stupid enough to go looking for their pocket change."

"Don't remind me," Draco said with a shudder.

"This couch has gold threaded through the fabric!" Harry accused.

"It matches my hair," Draco replied airily.

Harry looked around the room. All the things he'd come to know and—er—know were gone. "Draco, what have you done?" He crossed the room in three swift steps and grabbed Draco by the front of his shirt. "What the hell did you do?" he yelled.

Draco seemed consternated. "What does it look like? I made improvements!"

"Draco! You can't you can't just—" Harry waved a hand about wildly, indicating the new couch, the slightly luminescent wallpaper, the new throw rug, thick and soft and begging Harry to take his shoes off and bury his toes in it—grabbing his ankles and purring, in point of fact. "You can't do this!" Harry shouted.

"Potter, you were in desperate need of help. I saw that—I'd have to be blind not to—and I graciously fixed things for you."

"I never asked you to!" Harry gave the rug a kick, trying to dislodge it, and it whimpered and crept under the coffee table. Harry's eyes darted around. The hideous lamp was gone. The floors had been waxed. Even the massive cobwebs that had embraced the dark corners had been cleaned out—some of those cobwebs had been like old friends! The whole room was so bright and cheery. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Harry exclaimed. Snape was going to have a fit!

"What do you mean? You thought it was too dark, too. Didn't you?" Draco asked, cocking his head in what Harry thought must be well-simulated puzzlement.

"Draco, this isn't your house, you idiot! How would you have liked it if someone visited your place and redecorated without asking?"

"As long as it was actually an improvement, I wouldn't have minded a bit," Draco sniffed. "Of course, there is no improvement on perfection . . ."

"Where—how—"

"Magic, Potter. It was easy! I just transfigured everything that was too ugly for words, which was practically everything."

Harry ground his teeth. "Put it back."

"What?"

Harry stomped over and began tearing off long strips of wallpaper, gouging his nails into the wall. "Put. It. Back," he snarled.

"Stop that!" Draco shoved Harry away, smoothing the wallpaper back into place. "This took me all day!" he shouted.

Harry batted Draco's hand away and re-ripped the wallpaper.

To Harry's astonishment, Draco backhanded him.

Harry stood there, open-mouthed, feeling his face sting. It certainly wasn't the worst clout Harry'd ever had, but it didn't exactly feel good. Draco was glaring at him, breathing heavily, his hair mussed.

Harry punched him in the stomach.

Draco doubled over, and Harry had just a flicker of satisfaction before Draco launched himself at Harry, and then they were scrabbling and twisting and flailing; Harry considered drawing his wand, but Draco hadn't and anyway it felt so good to just out-and-out slam his fist into Draco's face. Harry felt flushed and furious. He wanted to scream and grab Draco and shake him until he snapped. He wanted to pound some sense into him.

Draco gave Harry a huge shove, and there was that damned rug again, tangled all round his feet, and Harry stumbled back. "You're an ungrateful beast," Draco spat. His lip was bleeding a little. Then Draco did draw his wand, but whatever curse he cast went wide as Harry ducked and darted forward.

He grabbed Draco's shoulders and spun him around, slamming him against the wall. "You can't do this," Harry rasped. "You can't come in here and change things. This is my house, Malfoy. This is my house and my life and Snape is fucking mine!"

Harry could feel adrenaline coursing through him; he could hear his blood pounding in his ears and his whole body was on high-alert. Draco looked just as keyed up; his pupils had dilated and his fingers were digging into Harry's arms, bruising them.

Draco was panting with exertion, his face twisted and angry. "Yeah?" he growled, leaning forward until he and Harry were nose-to-nose. "And who says I want Snape, anyway?" he hissed, then kissed Harry full on the mouth.

Draco's hands fisted in Harry's hair—it hurt—burned, actually, and Harry slammed Draco harder against the wall, pressing him flat against that stupid wallpaper, forcing his tongue into Draco's mouth. He tasted the zing of copper on Draco's lip, but ignored it, questing in the depths of Draco's mouth.

The next thing Harry knew, they were thrusting against each other, breath coming hot and loud. It seemed even louder and more ragged and out of place in the silent perfection of Snape's front room. Harry had Draco pinned hard against the wall, but he couldn't seem to pin Draco's hips, which were rolling and rocking against Harry's body. Hands were everywhere, and Harry wasn't sure if they were trying to claw each other or undress each other or grope each other, or all three at once.

Then suddenly Draco made a noise—a soft, vulnerable, desperate sort of noise, somewhere in the back of his throat. Somehow it surprised Harry enough that he stopped, pulling back and staring at Draco in shock.

Draco's lips were red, his eyes glassy. His hair was in disarray and he looked rather debauched. Harry stared at him, getting a sick feeling in his stomach. Merlin, he'd just cheated on Snape. Sort of. And he'd just kissed Draco Malfoy, and worse, he'd liked it. Harry felt unsteady.

"I'm going to make some tea. Or brandy," he said hoarsely. "Or tea with brandy in it. Or something."

Draco, blinking rapidly, nodded a little.

Harry kicked the rug away again and tottered off to the kitchen. A moment later he screamed, "Draco, what have you done to the tea set?"

Snape came home to discover his entire house redecorated in shades of gold and cream, and found Draco beating Harry over the head with a spatula in the kitchen.

He sank into a chair, sighing heavily. "I take it dinner's not ready, then?"

Harry's wand went off with a loud bang that rattled the dishes—what was left of them, anyway, Snape thought, glancing at the floor at the heaps of broken crockery.

"He started it!" Draco promptly accused. Snape arched an eyebrow at the boy and he fell silent.

"I didn't," Harry disputed. "I came home and he'd—he'd—did you look around?" he demanded, waving at the carnage.

"He broke all the cups and plates?"

Harry reddened. "Well, no—"

"He did that," Draco interrupted with vicious satisfaction.

"I wasn't talking about that," Harry said quickly. "I meant did you look at the rest of the house?"

"Not all of it. What I've seen so far is certainly an improvement," Snape admitted. "Except for the broken dishes, of course." Then another thought occurred to him and he added, with a glare, "Neither of you touched my lab, did you?"

"I didn't touch anything," Harry said coldly. Before Snape could reply, the boy swept out of the room.

"What was that about?"

Draco looked rather ashamed suddenly. "Um, I think I was provoking him. Well, I know I was, in the end, but he really did start it and—"

Snape gestured for silence. "But why is he angry with me?"

"Oh, that? You didn't take his side," Draco replied breezily. "You didn't upbraid me for taking over his house and instead praised my efforts and I think he thinks he's being usurped, but I was really only trying to help," Draco explained. "Or maybe I really was trying to usurp him. I do that sometimes. I can't help myself."

Snape tried to sort this out, but he still wasn't making much sense of it all. Then again, Potter never had made sense. It was one of his defining qualities, actually. Come to think of it, good sense was never one of Draco's selling points, either. "Clean this rot up and get dinner started," he ordered.

"Um, I don't think I'd better do that," Draco answered. When Snape scowled, he waved helplessly. "I mean, I suppose I could clean up, but I think he'd be really angry if he thought I was replacing him in the kitchen as well as everywhere else. Besides, all I know how to prepare are cucumber sandwiches."

Snape resisted the urge to beat his head against the table. "Fine. Do what you can, and I'll go after Potter."

"Good luck," Draco said.

Snape caught up with the boy in the bedroom. Harry was glaring around the room. Snape didn't blame him. It didn't look like their room. The bed—so small it was hardly more than a cot—had been replaced by a lavish, four-postered thing covered in silks and satins. There were mirrors and gilt and splashes of colour everywhere. And where the room had barely been big enough for a bed and a wardrobe, it now stretched out luxuriously, far larger than the house itself could possibly contain. There was an oil painting over the bed; a lithe leopard gazed down at them with feline smugness.

Ah, magic.

Rose petals floated down from the ceiling, and Snape snorted. Then he noticed Potter was still tense, his shoulders curled in. "You have to admit it's better," he noted.

Harry gave him a scorching look. "I would have preferred a nursery."

"Is that what you're upset about?"

"No!"

"Then what's the matter?"

Harry looked away. "Nothing," he grunted.

Snape sat on the edge of the bed, reached out and took Harry's hand, pulling him forward. "What is the matter?" he repeated.

Harry shook his head, then leaned forward, inclining his head to rest against Snape's. "He's just . . . taking over," Harry complained. "Every time I turn around he's making himself right at home and acting like he—like he belongs, and you act like he belongs here too!" he added accusingly.

"Ah."

"Don't you 'ah,' at me," Harry grumbled. "I could have redecorated. I thought you'd have a haemorrhage if I so much as moved a bloody lamp. But everything he does is just golden!"

"You're angry with me for not being angry with him in a situation you'd expect me to be angry with you?" Snape said.

"I dunno."

Hiding a smile, Snape pulled Harry down so the boy was sitting on his lap. "I wouldn't have been angry with you. I know you've been very frustrated. You have a right to be frustrated. I'm sorry things have been difficult," he crooned. Harry liked it when he crooned. Harry always liked it when Snape talked softly in his ear.

Harry made a 'harrumph,' but didn't otherwise reply.

Snape stroked the back of Harry's neck—something else that always soothed him. "Did you enjoy visiting with your young friends?" he murmured.

Harry sighed. "Yeah, sort of. Hermione seems really happy. She's several months along and big as a house, but she's kind of radiant, you know? They're really lucky. They have everything."

"I hardly think a houseful of be-freckled hooligans is paradise. At any rate, our lives aren't too bad either, you know. Perhaps you ought to invite them round to tea sometime."

Harry started. "Really?"

"Well, we've got a place worth showing off now, I suppose. It would rather be a waste not to have people over."

Harry half-smiled. "I guess," he muttered. He squirmed as Snape kissed his way down Harry's neck. "He will be leaving soon, won't he?" he asked wistfully.

"I do hope so," Snape lied. He paused, and Harry shifted.

"What?"

"I . . . received an owl from Lucius today," he said slowly.

"Really? Reconciliation, you think?"

"I'm afraid not. He demanded that I throw Draco out and allow Lucius to teach him a lesson."

"What sort of lesson?"

"Humility, I imagine, though why he thinks the boy is suddenly going to be able to absorb it at this late stage I can't guess. It certainly isn't a hereditary trait, is it?" Snape stroked Harry's back. "He's blackballed the boy from most Wizarding establishments and he's put a freeze on Draco's accounts. He wants to humiliate him. He wants him to come crawling home, admitting he was wrong."

He glanced up to see Harry's jaw set. "I hate him," the boy grumbled. "He's not . . . look, doesn't Draco have any other recourse? Why can't he sue Lucius or something?"

Snape shrugged. "He can't get his hands on his father's money whatever we think about it. Lucius has every right to disinherit the boy."

"It still isn't right! Did you tell Draco about the owl?"

"No. What purpose would it serve?"

Harry leaned against Severus again. "Yeah. I guess it would make him feel pretty awful."

Snape smiled and ran a hand through Potter's unkempt locks. "Always so compassionate," he purred.

Harry chuckled. "It's my saving people thing," he agreed. He sighed softly as Snape tilted his head back.

"Not to be confused with your oral fixation thing," Snape murmured, lips pressed against Harry's throat. He felt the boy shiver and nuzzled him, drinking in his warmth. Harry pushed Snape away, then pulled his shirt off over his head. Blushing furiously, Harry kissed the man.

Snape smiled at him. "Why so coy?" he asked, running a thumb over the crimson heat of Harry's face.

"I don't know," Harry muttered. "It just feels weird, doesn't it? It's like it's not even your room."

"Our room," Snape corrected softly.

"Our room, then," Harry conceded with a shrug. "Anyway, I feel like I'm being watched."

"That would be the Chirotto," Snape said, nodding to the painting. Harry wrinkled his nose.

"Yeah," he murmured, but allowed Snape to push him down on the bed, sliding his hands up the boy's torso.

Snape felt Harry's breath hitch as he grazed the boy's nipple with his fingertip. Harry was biting his lip, looking needy. Snape lowered his head, pressing kisses up and down Potter's hot, silken body. He undid Potter's trousers, slid his thumbs beneath Potter's waistband and slipped his trousers and underpants down.

Harry's hands were above his head, immobile as though he'd been chained that way. Snape found the thought very cheerful, and nuzzled his way down Potter's downy stomach. Harry made breathy moans as Snape licked him, sucked him.

Harry grabbed Snape's head with trembling hands. "Don't—don't," he begged.

"Why ever not?" Snape asked in between long, languid licks.

"B-because I kissed Draco today," Harry blurted. He sat up, looking ashamed.

"Are you trying to get me randy? You needn't."

"Shut up," Harry said. "I mean it. I kissed him—no, he kissed me first—but anyway, we kissed," he said feebly.

"I see," Snape said, reclining on one elbow. "And what happened after that?"

"I went into the kitchen to get a drink and saw what he did to the kitchen."

"And?"

"And he followed me and I threw a cup at his head."

"And?"

"And then I threw another cup and—" Harry's eyes suddenly narrowed suspiciously. "Hey, you were hoping there would be more touching and stuff!" he accused.

"A certain kind of touching," Snape admitted. "I don't think the bit with the spatula counts, unless he was being exceptionally creative with it at some point."

"Snape," Harry ground out. "What is the matter with you? I mean, aren't you angry at all?"

"I'm annoyed that I didn't get to watch. That is what I brought him home for, after all."

Harry flicked him on the ear. "I thought you'd be totally furious with me! Or, well, kind of angry, anyway."

"Right. I should be. It was a betrayal," Snape said soberly, watching as Harry wriggled guiltily. "But I forgive you," he added generously.

Harry's mouth twitched. "Git," he said with affection. "You aren't the least bit annoyed, are you?"

"I might have been," Snape said with a shrug. "But I'm not. Logically, I can see how jealousy would enter into things. And it did worry me at first. But. . . I like the way you look at each other. I like the way you interact. I even like the way you fight. It turns me on. And, well, you're mine. I know that, and I know that you know that," he growled. "There is no force on this earth that could make it otherwise. Not without my consent. You may charitably think of it as a strong trust in our relationship, rather than a smug certainty that I possess you utterly, but either way it's the same thing."

Harry gave the man a crooked smile, and it occurred to Snape that this was one of the longest speeches he'd made in the boy's presence since he'd stopped teaching him. But Potter didn't usually need words. Potter needed his mouth, yes, but generally for other things.

"I'm glad," Harry said quietly. "I've been . . . feeling weird, and I didn't want you to be angry with me."

"I'm not angry with you," Snape assured him. He pushed Harry down on the bed again. This time, when he ran exploratory hands over Harry's naked body and ran an eager tongue over Harry's skin, Harry made no move to resist.

The leopard above the bed watched superciliously, its grey eyes flashing hungrily, and Snape got a tingle down the back of his neck; he quickly sat back on his heels. Harry looked perplexed, but Snape made a quick gesture and the boy didn't speak.

After several long moments, there was a disappointed huff. "What was that?" Potter asked.

"Little devil," Snape muttered. "Confringo!" The leopard painting exploded with a yelp.

"That hurt my eyes!" Draco howled from somewhere downstairs.

Harry sat up with a snarl, but Snape pushed him back down with one hand. "It serves you right! That was a dismal excuse for a spying spell!"

Draco made a noise of petulant affront, but didn't protest. After the painting stopped smouldering, Snape turned his attention back to Harry. "Where were we?" he purred.

Harry yanked the covers up to his shoulders. "Forget about it," he grumbled. "I can't do this when I know he could be watching," he added.

Snape felt a stab of disappointment. If he'd known the revelation would cause a spike in Potter's prudishness, he wouldn't have let on he knew what Draco was up to. "But . . ." he mumbled.

"No," Potter whispered. He turned his back on Snape. "Not until you get rid of him," he hissed.

Letting out a great huff of air, Snape flopped down beside Harry. Bugger that rotten little Slytherin and his voyeuristic nonsense, anyway. Rolling over and staring at the darkened ceiling, Severus wondered if he would ever get laid again.

There was a bang, and Draco sat bolt upright. "What the hell?" he whispered. He'd been having such a lovely dream, too; only to be expected after the, well, interrupted show Snape and Harry had put on . . .

Another noise; Draco could make out a shape in the darkness, and his heart leapt into his throat. Not Voldemort; couldn't be, Voldemort was dead. One of the other Death Eaters? It was possible. Most of them hated Snape, and Draco too. Draco clutched his blanket in both hands, feeling sweat running in rivulets down his back. No, it was Snape. Snape sleepwalking again, that was all. Okay, this had happened before. He just needed to stay calm and keep himself together.

"Not again!" he heard Potter upstairs. There was another clunk, followed by Potter swearing. "Lumos," Harry hissed, and his face came into sight at the top of the staircase, a worried half-moon dimly lit by his wand.

Somewhere in the darkness near his feet, Draco could hear Snape shuffling and snuffling like some sort of animal. He couldn't see the man; he was just a hulking, half-bent-over beast, a living shadow in the darkness.

"Potter," Draco whispered. "Do something!"

Harry came down the stairs, but Snape was already fumbling with the door to his lab, disappearing down the stairs. "It's your fault," Harry grumbled.

"What'd I do?"

"You moved the furniture around!" Harry exclaimed. "That's why he went tripping over things! You're lucky he didn't break his neck." There was a muffled thud beneath their feet and Draco shot across the room, grabbing at Harry's arm. "What are you doing?"

"What is he doing?"

"How should I know? He's asleep!" Harry tried to shake Draco off, but Draco held onto him tightly, his lifeline. What if Snape wasn't the same man in his sleep that he was awake? Draco had seen him play the loyal Death Eater, and he had been awfully convincing. What if Snape attacked one of them, not knowing who they were?

"What happens if you wake a sleepwalker?" Draco asked.

"I don't know. Bad things," Harry said uncertainly.

"Like what? I mean, I've heard that, but I've never heard anything remotely plausible about it. I heard their legs fall off," Draco said. "That's just silly. I mean, really, he'd probably attack us, right? Isn't that the worst that could happen?"

"I'm not sure. Isn't it like how if you die in your dreams, supposedly you really die or something?"

"That doesn't even make sense, Potter. If that were true, who would carry the tale?"

"Ghosts?" Harry suggested.

There was another noise, and Draco gripped Harry's arm harder. "I wish you hadn't said that."

"We should . . . we should go see what he's doing," Harry said firmly. "We should bring him back upstairs. I mean, there's two of us and only one of him, right? Besides, his wand is still on the nightstand."

"But he can do wandless magic, right?"

"Stop being a coward."

"Just like that?" Draco said weakly, but followed Harry to the door to Snape's lab. Harry opened the door and they made their way down the steps, inch by inch.

In the eerie glow of Harry's wand, Draco could make Snape out; the man was opening and shutting cupboard doors. "Snape?" Harry called gently. The man didn't seem to hear.

"It seems like he's looking for something," Draco remarked.

"Probably imaginary potions ingredients," Harry said with a feeble laugh. He edged forward. "Snape? Come to bed. Come upstairs. It's me; it's Harry. I need you to come upstairs with me," he said quietly.

Snape was still rummaging in a cabinet, strange grunts and frightening exhalations emitted from his mouth. Harry bravely stepped forward and took his arm. "Upstairs," he said in a slow, clear voice.

Draco stifled a noise of fear and moved out of the way as Harry tried to steer him towards the steps. Snape obeyed, but stumbled on his way up the stairs. "Give me a hand," Harry grunted, and Draco swallowed and put one of Snape's arms around his shoulder.

Working in tandem with Potter, he helped the man back upstairs, then up to the bedroom, and watched as Harry tucked him into bed. Snape lay rigid for quite a while before his odd breathing slowed and his body relaxed.

"Is he done?" Draco whispered. "Is that it?"

"For tonight," Harry said, sounding tired.

"I need a drink," Draco muttered, tasting bile. He went back downstairs, not overly surprised when Harry followed and poured himself a glass as well. They sat at the kitchen table, quiet for a long time. "What do you suppose he's looking for?"

"Potions ingredients," Harry answered immediately. "What else could it be?"

Draco didn't like to speculate.

"He sure scared you, didn't he?" Potter said with a snort.

Draco didn't answer right away. He found he was shaking a little. "Yeah? You try living with it for a while. Someone powerful and insane and out of control. That's the thing," he added. "You have absolutely no control once they go off like that. You just have to watch your back and pretend everything's normal and hope for the best."

"Or you can fight," Harry said evenly.

"Are you saying we should have cursed Snape?"

"You know perfectly well what I mean."

Draco looked into his glass. "Yeah. But it's not that easy, you know. Dead is forever. You can fight if you want, but dead is forever."

"Unless you become a ghost," Harry countered.

"What is it with you and ghosts?"

"I'm only saying . . ."

Draco sighed and looked out the kitchen window. "It's getting light."

Harry nodded. "If anyone had told me two weeks ago I'd be watching the sunrise and drinking a brandy with Draco Malfoy, I'd have said they were off their chump."

"Indeed," Draco said. He stared out the window for a while. "It's not that bad, though," he murmured.

"In what way?" Harry asked curiously.

"Oh, it's kind of nice, sort of," Draco said, gesturing with his glass. "I mean, back at home, I'd never be able to sit in the kitchen and watch the sunrise—and drink brandy," he said. "Or have anybody to talk to," he added in a much quieter voice.

"There was always your dad," said Harry, who could be counted on to envy Draco's 'family' at every given opportunity. "Your parents."

Draco considered this. "Can you imagine trying to drink brandy with my father and have a relaxing conversation?"

"Not relaxing, no," Harry allowed.

"Me, neither." Draco swished his drink around in his glass. "You're lucky," he said glumly.

"Why?" Potter was obviously humouring him, but again, it was more than Lucius had ever done, so Draco ignored it.

"You have each other. And you're very happy. Even if you don't like admitting it, and even if you're . . . repressed."

"I'm not repressed!" Harry objected, looking owlish with his tired eyes and oversized glasses.

"Outside of the bedroom, you are," Draco said succinctly. He went and poured himself another splash of brandy. "You don't even call each other by your first names, you realise," he added.

Harry looked uncomfortable.

"You could, you know. You could do everything I do, you just think you can't."

"I know I could do anything you could do, and better," Harry grumbled.

Draco pointed an unsteady finger at Harry. "Why didn't you redecorate this monstrosity?"

Harry's brow furrowed with uncertainty. "It's Snape's," he said.

"Wrong," Draco declared. "You're madly in love and practically married, and you moved in together, so now it's your place, too. You have every right to it."

Shrugging, Harry took another sip of brandy, not meeting Draco's eyes. "You don't understand. You've never been in love with someone like this. You never had someone willing to take you in."

Draco felt like he'd been slapped. He actually took a step back, and Potter looked up, puzzled. "I see," Draco spat. He turned away, glaring out the window.

"What's the matter?" Potter asked, sounding taken aback.

"Nothing," Draco answered shortly.

"Something is. If looks could kill, I'd be roasting in my seat. What'd I do?"

"Nothing," Draco insisted.

Harry was quiet for a long moment. "Because you didn't have anyone else to take you in?" he guessed.

"Shut up."

"Oh."

"Shut up, Potter!"

"I didn't mean anything by it," Harry mumbled.

"Just because you're so fucking popular that even Severus Fucking Snape couldn't resist you," Draco said bitterly.

"Oh," Harry said again. "He didn't like me for being popular, though," Harry put forth tentatively. "It actually took me rather a long time to get around that. He thought I was spoiled and selfish and arrogant, but I wasn't. Well, maybe I could be a little arrogant, but not on purpose."

"Whatever."

"You'll find somebody someday, too."

Draco laughed shortly. "Oh, yes. With my father running around putting the fear of God into my suitors, it's a wonder they're not lined up around the block."

Harry sighed. "Your father's a complete bastard."

"Try living with him," Draco grumped. He wandered back over to his seat and sank down into it. "Try living up to his standards," he added.

"Sorry." Harry was looking at him with an odd expression Draco had never seen on him before—not when looking at Draco, anyway.

Draco blinked. "You needn't feel sorry for me!" he exclaimed, glaring at Potter, who rolled his eyes.

"Merlin, sorry I went and tried to see things from your fucking point of view, then," Potter said.

Draco stared at his glass. "I don't need your pity," he said. "I can take care of myself." Funny, but he didn't feel as though he could. Blackballed and blue-balled, he wasn't exactly his usual picture of self-possession. "I'll be just fine," he forced himself to say. "I'm Draco Ma—I'm . . . me." His lips tightened.

Harry leaned forward and reached out as if to touch Draco's hand, but then thought better of it. "Yeah. You're you," he agreed. "And you've made it through worse," he observed. "You'll make it through this. No problem," he added, though Draco wasn't certain which of them Potter was actually trying to convince.

Suddenly Draco felt very tired and extremely depressed. He had best start looking for a job tomorrow, because he couldn't stay here forever, that was becoming clear. Attractive as Snape was and passionate as Potter was, it was plain he didn't fit in at Spinner's End any better than he had fit in at Malfoy Manor.

"I'm going to bed," he said with a sigh. He drained his glass and headed for the couch, feeling Harry watching him, and frowning, as he left the room.

Harry woke to a silent house late the next morning. He crept downstairs, feeling odd. He was used to Snape leaving before he got up, but Draco was being oddly quiet. He found a note in the kitchen in Malfoy's handwriting. It read;

Potter,

Gone to get hair done and attend several interviews. Will miss your sausage.

Draco

Harry flushed and huffed, casting a quick Incendio and watching the note crumple into ashes. "Stupid git," he muttered.

Feeling unreasonably irritable, Harry made himself a quick breakfast of cereal, and then washed out the bowl. He tidied a few things, but the house was pretty much spotless; Draco had done a great deal of cleaning as he'd redecorated. Harry wasn't sure what to do with himself. He'd never felt at loose ends before Draco had arrived; he'd happily spent his time visiting friends, volunteering for various charity functions, keeping the place more or less clean, running errands and dreaming up ways of ambushing Snape for sex the minute he walked in the door.

Funny, but today the house seemed awfully quiet without Draco around. It wasn't the sort of noise Harry wanted—Harry would have liked to hear a child's laughter, or busy himself teaching a little boy or girl how to tie their shoes or ride a broom—but Draco was company of a sort, at least. Harry tried to take a nap, but couldn't sleep. He got up and cleaned out the oven. He flipped through an old Quidditch magazine, but couldn't concentrate on it. He kept looking at the beaters for the Bigonville Bombers, wondering what Draco would think of them. Annoyed, he finally tossed the magazine aside and went into the kitchen, trying to think what to make for dinner.

Harry quite liked cooking. He'd gotten used to doing it back when he'd lived on Privet Drive, and Snape was much more complimentary about his skills than the Dursleys. Often if Harry made an extra effort, like a special dessert, he'd find himself up on the table being undressed and used as a dish.

The very memory cheered Harry up a bit, and he concentrated on wiping away his blues. He got out several recipe books and browsed through them, looking for something good. Yes—that one would do very well. Harry grinned and began making a grocery list.

Midway through, there was a tapping at the window and Harry looked up in surprise. Warily, he let the owl in, but kept his wand out. If Lucius was trying something, Harry would be ready. But the owl merely dropped a note in a mixing bowl on the counter and took off again, and when Harry unfolded it and read it, his smile widened.

Harry went to the store, stopped by to see Hermione and envy her growing belly—well, sort of—then visited Mrs. Weasley just for the fun of it. Mrs. Weasley fussed over him and wanted to know when he'd next come to dinner.

"Sometime soon," he promised. "For now, why don't you join us next Saturday for supper? We're, um, having a few people over." I hope, he added silently.

Mrs. Weasley beamed at him. "Oh, Arthur and I would like that. But you mean, join you at . . . Severus' house?" Harry couldn't miss the way her lips pinched just a little.

"It's my house, too," he forced himself to say. "Spinner's End. We've made some changes. I'd like you to see it. It's actually very nice."

"Well—well certainly," she said, obviously still just a bit uncomfortable. "It's so good to see you!" she added with a more cheerful smile. "You're doing well?"

"Oh, yes. Everything's great," Harry said, reflecting that it wasn't a complete lie. He was more or less happy with Severus, and as long as he got rid of Draco by next Saturday, everything would be just fine.

"I'm glad to hear it," she said, giving him a hug. "You just come by anytime you need company. I worry about you in that house all alone. You should be married with lots of kids by now, not turning into a hermit."

Harry winced. That wasn't fair at all. But the Weasleys always had children in spades, and he was sure Molly wasn't trying to make him feel bad. She just didn't realise how much he wanted a family of his own. "I should go. I need to get the bird in the oven," was all he said.

"All right. Take care of yourself."

By six, dinner was ready and no one was home. By seven, Harry was beginning to get peeved. It was inconsiderate of Draco not to keep them up to date, and Snape—right after they'd had a fight about this very thing!

Eventually, Harry went into the other room to sit on the couch where he could see the front door and pounce on the first person who walked in. He found Watership Down with a bookmark Draco'd put in it, picked it up and began to skim. After a little while, he dozed off.

Just before eight, the door opened with a bang and Harry bolted up, jolted out of slumber. He blinked blearily at Snape, standing at the front door. "My apologies," the man muttered. "It's that damned wind . . ." Apparently a gust had caught the door and slammed it open. Harry could see, out the front window, another massive storm delivering its nightly package of wind and rain. There was a small tree out front being lashed to and fro in the gale. Snape took off his sodden boots, his expression tense.

"You're late," Harry said.

"I'm sorry. There were . . . unexpected difficulties at the office," Snape told him.

"Like what?"

Snape looked up sharply, as if he were trying to judge whether Harry was interested or merely annoyed. "My assistant was poisoned," he said.

Harry stared. "What?"

"My assistant was poisoned. I'm not entirely certain why, or by whom, but I intend to find out."

"Is he dead?" Harry asked, sitting forward.

"No. Merely ill."

"Could it have been an accident?"

"Perhaps. But of course I had questions to answer," the man added bitterly, coming in and throwing himself dissolutely in the overstuffed armchair Draco had provided.

"What do you mean? You mean you're a suspect?" Harry demanded indignantly. "They can't really consider you a danger! I'll go down tomorrow and talk with—"

"Don't," Snape cut him off. "I took the serum and answered . . . some of their questions. I told them I was not responsible, at any rate, and they had no choice but to believe me."

Harry settled back with a frown. "Ruddy idiots," he grunted. "If they don't know you better than that by now—"

"Enough," Snape said quietly. "Your unswerving, if rather naïve loyalty has been duly noted and is appreciated."

Harry made a face at him, but then smiled a little. "I'm glad you're all right," he said in a soft voice.

Snape's dark eyes swallowed him whole. "Indeed," he purred. Harry shivered. Snape only looked at him like that when—

There was an odd 'boing' and Harry glanced up at the clock above the mantel. "What—?"

Before he could finish speaking, Draco stepped through the fireplace and dusted himself off. "Hello, lovers. Did you keep dinner waiting for me?"

Harry frowned. "Yes. It's Chicken Cordon Bleu."

Draco waltzed off to the kitchen with Snape just behind. "It smells wonderful," the man said, and Harry felt warmed by the praise.

"I hope you like it."

"I'm sure I will."

Snape snaked an arm around him as they walked down the hall, giving him a playful glance. Harry felt Severus pinch his bum and pushed him away, laughing. Harry felt cosy and at home again, and he completely forgot about looking up at Snape's clock and seeing, shocked, a hand labelled Draco Malfoy pointing at Running just a little bit late.

"He has to go," Snape announced when Potter turned off the light and clambered into their bed.

"What? Draco, you mean? Seriously?" There was an almost suspicious silence. "Why?"

"I thought you wanted to be rid of him."

"I do," Harry answered reluctantly.

"You haven't developed, ah, 'feelings' for him, have you?"

Harry snorted. "I've developed sympathies," he retorted. "I feel bad sometimes because I think he's . . . I think he's kind of lonely."

"He loves himself too much to ever really know loneliness," Snape said cynically.

"That's not true. Anyone can feel lonely, especially when their family doesn't want them. I mean, I'm sure Lucius spoiled him, but I don't think he ever acted like he actually liked Draco." Harry was quiet for a few minutes. "Which is too bad. I mean, if I had a son, I'd be sure to appreciate him. How could you not love your only child no matter what? How could you not be crazy over him?"

"Over Draco?"

"Well, er," Harry said with a shrug. "You know what I mean. Even Draco. If I had a baby I wouldn't care if it grew up to be gay or anything else. And I think Draco really wanted to please the man, and finally realized he just couldn't. I think he's here because he's lonely."

"I'm unconvinced," Snape told him.

Harry shrugged. "Anyway, why on earth are you so hot on . . .you know. The idea of the two of us. Or is it just him?"

"No," Snape answered immediately. "It's the both of you. Together. Lithe and languid with large, limpid eyes—your messy dark hair against his glossy, silvery blond . . ." He made a fluid gesture as if to signal the start of a play. "Can't you see it? It's so vivid in my mind's eye. You'd be sitting in an armchair, flipping through a magazine, looking bored. It's a sweltering summer day and you've nothing to do except try to stay cool. Perspiration is plastering your hair to your face; a trickle creeps down the back of your neck, beneath your white collar. You lift your magazine to fan yourself with one hand, and with the other you undo the first few buttons of your shirt.

"Then Draco comes in, drinking a glass of something. Iced tea? Lemonade? Pink lemonade, yes. You can hear the tinkle of ice as he sips it and the glass is fogged and slippery from condensation. Oh, but there's only a little lemonade left; he swishes it round and tilts his head back, and your scorching green eyes narrow. You're too thirsty, you can't pass it up."

Harry was gazing, wide-eyed, mesmerized. He ran a tongue over his lips and swallowed.

"Draco looks surprised when you get to your feet. You know he was teasing you, drinking the last of the lemonade right in front of you, and you aim to punish him. You grab his wrists and pin him against the wall, the glass clattering to the floor. You're so close you can feel the heat of him, feel the strong, desperate hammering of his heart. You lean in, your face flushed. Everywhere is heat. You're sweltering, and he's only making you hotter. You're absolutely flooded with it; burning with it."

Harry squirmed, and Snape hid a smile.

"You press your parched lips to his. His mouth is hot, but when you deepen the kiss, you find one sliver of slippery coldness. There's one last melting ice cube, and your tongues battle for it, swishing and slithering over each other until it dwindles away to nothing. But his mouth is still wet and sweet, and you linger there, an assault transfigured into a kiss as smoothly as if by magic. You tug his shirt loose, sliding your fingers up. You expect cool porcelain; he's pale, after all, but instead his body is warm, his skin is soft, and you can feel the flutter of his pulse. You grind against him, mouths working at something much more important than words, and you slide a thigh between his long, coltish legs. You've let go his wrists but he still seems unable to move, save to wrap himself around you, to try to urge you closer. He undulates against your firm thigh, riding it. He's squirming and rutting against your leg, and still you haven't broken that desperate, feverish kiss."

Harry pressed his fist to his mouth, eyes focussed on something that wasn't there.

Snape could make out the tent in Harry's jeans. He was beginning to feel a little overexcited himself. "A noise rises from Draco. You can't get him undressed in time; it's too much. He's got the top button undone on your denims, but the feel of his fingers sliding down to work your zip almost undoes you. You push his hand away, thrusting against him. You've swollen to full hardness in the confines of your pants, but when you nudge yourself against him, you feel an answering hardness. He's wearing only light cotton; you can't work out how to undo it, but it's easily ripped open, and then you're against him. You manage, with one shaking hand, to ruck his shirt up and jerk his pants down, and you expose yourself, hot skin against hot skin."

Snape could hear Harry whimper softly, but by this time he had his eyes closed.

"You draw back to see his face; his eyes are half-shut, his eyebrows knotted. He's biting his lower lip as if he doesn't want to give you the satisfaction of making a noise. Oh, but you'll break him of that. You summon lubricant and smile wickedly as it comes to rest in your palm with a satisfying thump. You upend the bottle, watching its pearlescent whiteness spill over you both. Now when you thrust, there's no friction, and it feels delicious. Your cock slips and slides against his, both stiff and pink and purpling at the head. You've never been so hard. Your balls ache and your prick throbs with pleasure. You look down and see the lubricant dribbling over you both. A glossy sheen coats both rigid cocks. You reach down and squeeze them together. You have Draco's full attention now. He's up on his toes, a hiss escaping from behind his teeth. You press harder against him, rubbing your slippery stomachs together, feeling his prick, warm and heavy, against your own. You still have a free hand, don't you?"

Harry nodded dazedly, looking almost apprehensive.

"What do you do with it? You run it through a drizzle of lubricant, reach into his pants, past his warm, downy balls, to find that tight little pucker, that ring of pleasure. Now Draco's making noises. He's mewling, whimpering, shaking his head and begging you. Give him what he wants, Harry. You slip a finger into him, marvelling at the heat and constriction, and yes, that's done it, you feel it tighten even further, sucking you in, until you're both crying out, and his heels drum on the floor, and you're coming in thick ropes—"

Harry made a strangled noise and Snape cut off. "At least, that's how I usually picture it," the man said in an offhand way, looking at his fingernails.

"It—it is?" Harry's face was flushed, and he sort of swayed back and forth, like he was desperately off balance. "Like that every time?"

"No, not exactly. There's also the snowball fight where you manage to pin him to the ground and enjoy a bit of frottage, melting the ice all round you, and there's Draco in the maid outfit and you're the stable boy and you catch him stealing from the master of the house—me, obviously—and bring him to my feet for a nice round of riding crop punishment, and there's the one where you catch him in the showers after a Quidditch match, and of course there's always the dinner where you pin him to the table for dessert."

"There seems to be a lot of me pinning him," Harry observed.

"Naturally. And penetrating him, eventually, if I get that far. I like the idea of you penetrating someone. As long as it's not me," Snape added firmly.

"No, it's never you," Harry agreed, looking frustrated. He loosened his collar with one hand, trying very hard to look unimpressed by the whole thing.

"The idea of the two of you is delicious. You would look wonderful together."

"You are such a freak." But the response lacked heat and somehow Potter didn't seem as though he meant it anymore.

"No, really. I couldn't possibly be the first person to notice the delicious contrast of your purity and his . . . spoiledness," Snape explained.

"He's the one who's a pureblood," Harry pointed out.

"Another delightful contradistinction," Snape said with relish. "He's the Fortinbras to your Hamlet. Or possibly the Hamlet to your Fortinbras. He's certainly whinier, isn't he?"

"Be nice," Harry admonished, trying to hide a smile.

"You come to the rescue of anyone being abused, whether they deserve it or not," Snape noted.

"That's one of the things you like about me."

"Yes. It makes you more easily manipulated," Snape said with a chuckle.

Harry punched him in the arm, but not hard. "Anyway, he's . . . handsome enough. Now that his cheeks have filled out a bit and he's not quite so pointy," Harry added.

"A raving endorsement of his natural beauty," Severus noted wryly. "If you had never met me and had to have a one night stand, would you consider him?"

"If I had to have a one night stand? Like if I had a sex addiction, sort of thing?" Harry answered, sounding amused. "Okay, I suppose. If I had to, I could stand to sleep with him. If he didn't open his mouth." Harry shrugged very nonchalantly, but Snape noticed the bulge in his pants hadn't diminished at all.

"Really? I find the act much more enjoyable when your mouth is open and receptive," Snape teased.

Harry laughed. "Okay, fine. Sexually, I admit he could be pretty hot. In a purely physical sense, yes, I could . . . well, I mean, you know. I reckon I could see it. He's just not my type."

"Not your type?" Severus repeated.

Harry ran a hand up his thigh. "You know; tall, dark, protruding at the proboscis . . ."

"Lovely," Snape said dryly, but allowed the boy a kiss.

"Are you really going to tell him to leave?" Harry asked. Snape couldn't tell if he was worried or relieved.

Snape turned his head. The moonlight was almost blue, filtered through gauzy curtains. "I can't afford to keep him," he admitted.

Harry sat up immediately. "Are we having money problems?" he demanded. "Tell me. I can always go back to work, you know," he added.

"Back to work?" Snape repeated. "As what? Are you going to hire yourself out as a bounty hunter? A bona fide Dark Lord destroyer? Something like an exterminator, for those hard-to-deal-with pests? You're not exactly eminently qualified for other employment, you know," he added severely.

He could almost hear the boy frowning. "I know. But I could do something. I mean, every little bit helps, right?"

"Wrong!" Snape snapped. "Your job is to cater to my every whim. I don't relish the thought of you doing anything else."

Harry laughed. "You're odd sometimes, you know that?" After a pause, Harry leaned over and nuzzled Severus. "You and your pride," he added. "You know, the Ministry did offer me a small salary for organizing so many charitable fundraisers on their behalf."

Snape grunted.

"I could easily take them up on it," Harry offered. "I could work for the Orphans Fund. I could play with the orphans all day," he added wistfully. "That'd be fun."

Damn it. The money would help, but he liked having Potter at his mercy, money-wise and in every other respect. He didn't feel like a man when he couldn't keep a pathetic orphan in the lifestyle he was accustomed to. People would laugh behind his back. "Perhaps," he muttered.

Harry kissed him again. And . . . again. Yes, that bulge in Potter's pants was a sure sign of impending adventure. Snape pinned him to the bed, kissing him deeply.

"No crazy sex romps up there!" Draco called from downstairs. "I can hear a French kiss from a mile away, you know! And I've got a very delicate constitution and listening to one's former professor fuck one's former school mate is the sort of thing that leads to psychiatric counselling!"

Harry growled. "What the hell would you know about psychiatric counselling, anyway?" he shouted back.

"Malfoys know a LOT about psychoses and whatnot!" Draco returned. "We're usually the cause of them in others!" he added cheerfully.

"How does he—"

"Spells and charms for spying," Snape said blandly.

"We have got to get rid of him!" Harry whispered fiercely.

Snape sighed. "I know. Believe me, I know."

Harry rested his head on Snape's shoulder and cleared his throat. Snape recognized a build up to a difficult subject and reminded himself to keep his temper in check. "Oh, by the way, I have some good news," the boy said.

"Really?"

"I got an owl today. M.O.A.N. wants us to host a small fundraising dinner!"

"What, here?"

"Well, they don't want much. Just, you know, getting people together, maybe cocktails, a bit of food . . . someone else will do the speech."

"And the exhortation for money?" Snape couldn't stop himself. "I could use a few Sickles myself," he grumped.

"It'll be fun," Harry said, and Severus could hear the slight desperation colouring his voice. "Please? I'll get to see people and they'll see me, and, um, the house, and they'll think I've really done well for myself, won't they? I've invited the Weasleys," he added.

Ah, so that was where this was going. Harry had been crestfallen when the red-headed monsters declined to welcome Severus into the brood with open arms, and the boy had probably been scheming for a long time, looking for just such an opportunity.

"This won't make me bosom buddies with my mother-in-law, you realise," the man pointed out in a dry voice.

Harry wormed his way up until he could rub his face against Severus' neck; a sure ploy for affection and capitulation. "Stop being silly. They'd like you if they spent time with you," he added, the lie utterly unconvincing to them both.

Severus let out a long breath. "Very well," he intoned. Harry trilled in happiness—the closest Snape would come to a reward while libido-dampening-Draco was still in residence. Snape permitted himself the luxury of stroking Harry's downy head.

Where on earth was he going to get enough money to host a dinner party?

"I am amazing," Draco announced at dinner the next night. Harry and Snape both stared at him, but he refused to feel cowed. "I'm a marvel. Give me a medal," he added, when no one rose to the bait. "Or a kiss. Or a blow job."

Finally Harry made an exasperated sound and rolled his eyes. "Okay, okay; I'll bite. What did you do that was so fucking fantastic? And I warn you, if sex or dark magic is involved—"

"Don't be stupid," Draco said dismissively. "Wonderful quiche, by the way," he added, thrilling to Harry's embarrassment. "I merely solved all our problems," he told them.

"Yes? You found out who poisoned Michaels?" Snape asked hopefully.

"What?"

"My assistant. My former assistant, anyway. He won't come back to work because he's convinced I'm trying to kill him. As if he'd still be alive were that the case," the man added in disgruntled tones, stabbing his salad.

"I have no interest in Michaels," Draco said, then paused. "Unless he's gorgeous?" he added hopefully.

Snape grunted a negative.

"Rich?" Draco said, somewhat less hopefully.

"Not unless he hides it particularly well."

"Such is life," Draco said with a sigh. "No, my big news is personal. I've got a job!"

"Seriously?" Harry exclaimed. "I thought Lucius—ouch," he broke off suddenly, glaring at Snape.

"You thought my father what?" Draco asked suspiciously. Good grief, were they actually trying to be tactful?

"I . . . thought . . . he kept you from learning any useful skills besides whinging and lounging and complaining about the service," Harry said.

"Oh, good save," Draco replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Whatever. The point is, I got a job."

"Where?"

"Ministry. Shacklebolt needs a sort of assistant."

"I'm surprised he, you know, trusted you enough," Harry told him.

Draco looked over at Severus, who was concentrating awfully hard on his plate, considering he seemed more of a meat and potatoes kind of man. "Severus put in a good word for me," he admitted.

"Oh. Oh! That's . . . great," Harry said, sounding relieved.

"You needn't be so happy about it," Draco told him with a scowl. "I'm not going anywhere. Not until I've saved up a bit of money, anyway."

Harry and Severus both slumped a little. "You're always welcome here, of course," Harry said diplomatically and only clenching his teeth a little.

Draco graced him with a smile. "Thank you. Such manners you've developed! Must be my wonderful influence," he added as Harry gave him a dirty look. "Anyway, I'm sure you're glad we'll be able to go to the Kestrels game."

Harry blinked. "What?"

"I got tickets."

Snape looked panicked. "What? Where? How much?"

"Relax! Blaise Zabini gave them to me. He never really liked Quidditch anyway."

"I can't particularly blame him," Snape noted.

Draco blew out a huff of air. "What's not to like? A bunch of muscled, sweaty blokes zooming around on their broomsticks with windswept hair, every last one of them dying to get their hands on the little golden ball?"

"Draco," Harry said in a warning voice, but his eyes were crinkled with amusement.

"I'm allowed to look," Draco protested. "Besides, if the Kestrels win this they tie the Magpies. If the Magpies lose, Puddlemere rises in the rankings. That's worth it, isn't it?" he asked earnestly.

Harry's eyes glittered thoughtfully. "I hadn't even thought about that, but you're right. Do you really think the Kestrels have a chance? Their seeker keeps getting injured."

"Are you joking? Monroe returned last game and breezed past the competition. He's in the best shape of his career. They definitely have a fighting chance!"

"Wow!" Harry exclaimed. "And if they win and the Magpies lose and Puddlemere beats Portree, then—"

"God, enough," Snape finally moaned. "Can't you revel in your sub-mental sport in private when I'm not around?"

Draco smirked at him. "You really want us enjoying ourselves together when you're not around?" he teased.

"Draco!" Harry burst out, looking scandalized, but unable to contain a laugh. "Don't plant ideas in his head!"

"Hah. Tell me you never considered it, Potter," Draco challenged. "You, me, a bottle of wine, a big broomstick and a couple of balls?"

Harry kicked him under the table. "Stop it," he growled, but his cheeks were flushed a lovely shade of red and his eyes were still sparkling.

Draco gave up the argument while he was still winning—more or less.

Snape sighed. "Any extra money you make would be useful," he said grudgingly, as if revealing a state secret.

"Understood," Draco noted. "Happy to help."

Somehow, though, the discussion of money had poisoned the atmosphere, and the rest of the meal was eaten in awkward silence.

That night, Draco woke to Harry shaking him. "What's going on?" he asked blearily.

Harry looked like a ghost; he was dead white and his eyes were haunted. "Snape's gone!" he exclaimed.

Draco sat up, but before he could say anything the whole room was illuminated, then went pitch black. And angry rumble shook the house. It sounded like another wonderful night outside. "Have you checked downstairs?"

"Yes! I looked everywhere!" Draco cast Lumos and looked up at Potter, whose lips were set in a thin, miserable line. "The back door was open," Harry suddenly blurted. "I must not have checked it. I guess it wasn't locked."

"Good god, Potter," Draco moaned. "Why can't you find some other midnight hobby for the man to engage in?"

"Very funny," Harry grumbled. "And you're the one who keeps interrupting our . . . couture."

"I think you mean coitus," Draco corrected with a laugh.

"It isn't funny," Harry snapped. "He could catch his death out there, and it's all your fault!"

"My fault?" Draco repeated in surprise.

"You're the one who moved everything! He always used to do everything by rote, and he never had a problem. Now look what's happened! We have to go after him."

"All right, calm down," Draco said. He got up and went and grabbed Snape's cloak. "He can't have got far. Put something on."

"We don't have time for that," Harry said stubbornly. Draco shrugged as if he would let it pass, then grabbed Harry's cloak and stuffed Harry into it as Harry struggled. Finally Harry huffed and let Draco draw the thing around him.

"Quidditch matches you might win," Draco said. "But when it comes to the 500-yard dressing or undressing of any male in the room, I'm unbeatable. And Snape would kill me if I let you catch cold," he added as Harry glowered and straightened the cloak.

Harry threw open the door and dragged Draco outside. "Let's split up. You go that way, and I'll go the other way."

Before Draco could say anything, Harry had legged it off into the night. Squinting in the rain, Draco looked around. The storm was fierce. There were a few trees nearby that swayed back and forth, like supplicants to an angry god.

Feeling his heart drumming in time with the ferocious raindrops, Draco cautiously made his way up the street, his wand held high. Menacing shadows seemed to lurk everywhere, but now and again a flicker of lightening would reveal them to be nothing more than hedges or old motorcycles. "Snape?" he shouted. "Severus?"

Surely Snape couldn't sleep through this. Even though he thought he'd drown in his own fear, Draco managed to stumble to the end of the street, then turn back. He poked into bushes as he made his way and looked over fences, but nothing looked like Snape. He didn't know what to do. Everything was moving in the wind, and the dark and the rain made it very hard to see anything clearly. What if he'd passed right by the man and didn't even see him? Merlin, what if something really had happened to him? Snape was one of the few people Draco could really count on. More than that, he respected, liked, and even lusted after the man. He couldn't imagine the world without him. And Potter would fall apart! Confused and badly frightened, Draco went back and forth across the street, calling Snape's name, but there was no response.

Finally he made his way back to the front stoop, where Harry was waiting, his face agonized. "I can't find him anywhere. What if something happened to him? What if he's hurt?"

Draco saw movement from the corner of his eye and grabbed Harry by the shoulder. "Look!"

"I didn't see anything!"

"It went around the corner of the house!"

Behind his rain-drenched glasses, Harry's eyes lit up. Draco snatched the back of his sodden robe. "Don't!" he said. "What if it's a trap? We should be careful!" he shouted over the wind and rain.

Harry shook his head, spattering Draco with raindrops. "I don't care! If someone's waiting for me, or hurt him to get at me, I'll make them pay!" He set off at something like a run, squishing through the muddy yard as Draco followed, an Unforgivable hovering on his lips, just in case.

"Snape!" Harry threw his arms around the man. Unbelievably, he still seemed to be in a stupor. He was at the side of the house, opening and closing the shutters. Thunder crashed and Draco flinched. "Help me get him inside! Hurry!" Harry yelled.

Draco grabbed an arm, but even with the two of them, it was a struggle to push the man back up the steps and through the front door. The coat-rack courteously shut the door behind them, the howl of the wind gone in a click. Draco gave Harry a shaky smile. "Well. That was an adventure, wasn't it?"

Harry gave him a watery grin, still clinging tightly to Snape's hand. The man dragged him further inside, making for his lab. "He still wants to go down," Harry fretted.

Draco winced as Snape banged his shin on the coffee table. "Should we open the cellar door for him?"

"I want to get him dried off," Harry protested.

"You can't really stop him," Draco pointed out. Snape opened the door. "We might as well let him finish up. The sooner he goes down, the sooner we can get back to sleep." Harry heaved a sigh, but followed them down to the lab.

"I suppose you're right," Harry said reluctantly. "God, I was so scared. He could have walked off a cliff or something."

"It was only a bit of rain. Anyway, the lab is almost worse. I don't know how you can stand it," he complained. "This place gives me the heebie-jeebies."

Harry shrugged. "I can take it, because I . . ."

"You?"

Potter blushed hotly and pushed his glasses back up his nose, dripping and looking defiant. "I love him."

"Ah. I register my extreme disapproval and shake my fist at you!" Draco replied as Snape rummaged round various cabinets.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Well, isn't that what you were afraid of?"

After a moment, Harry shrugged. "Maybe. Or that it'd sound really soppy," he added.

"I suppose," Draco allowed. "But romantic, in a way," he told Harry.

"Really?"

Snape was struggling with a door; it was a small, locked cupboard partially hidden behind another cabinet. There was a puddle forming round his feet as water cascaded from his sopping robes. "Better open that for him," Draco advised.

"I hate doing that," Harry moaned. "I feel I'm invading his private space!"

"How many times do I have to remind you; it's your space, too!" Draco shoved Snape out of the way and flourished his wand. To his surprise, the door stuck. "I think it has a spell on it."

"We should leave it alone," Harry advised reluctantly.

"Why?" Draco asked, drying his hair with a quick spell.

"You don't get it," Harry said. "He grew up here. It's his. I mean, he's probably been down here a million times! I've been here maybe five or six times altogether, and he wasn't wild about that. He deserves . . . you know, some respect. Some privacy."

"I don't respect anyone's privacy," Draco retorted. "Besides, aren't you the least bit curious?"

"Well . . . yes," Harry said slowly.

"Good!" Draco said. He cast another spell, and the door slowly creaked open. Snape's hands darted into the dark space and felt about for a minute, then withdrew holding the most improbable object; a ratty old stuffed bear. "What the devil is that?" Draco muttered. Snape's spidery hands skittered over the balding animal, squeezing and feeling for a few moments. Then, satisfied the thing was whole, or at least as whole as it could be with one eye missing and its nose half-chewed off sometime long ago, he stuffed the thing back in and stumbled back to the foot of the stairs.

"He must have had that in there forever," Harry said in an awed voice, pulling it out. He fingered one crooked ear. "I know his father was horrible to him."

"Was he?"

"Yes. This was very likely his only companion. And he hid it down here—for all these years," Harry murmured, his expression wrought with sentiment.

"Don't start crying," Draco warned. "Tears cause me to do horrible things."

"Like what?"

"Like retch."

Harry sighed and put the bear back away. "I never knew," he whispered. "He must have been so lonely. No wonder he . . ." Gulping, Harry looked away. "No wonder he's so hot on the idea of us," he muttered. Harry was lost in his own little world, shivering in the clammy air, his wet hair plastered to his head, rain trickling down his nose. He looked half frozen, his nose red with cold and sentiment.

Draco shook his head and hesitantly put an arm around Potter, who shockingly didn't pull away, but sagged against Draco for a moment. Well, at least Draco couldn't get any wetter. "All right," Draco said. "Let's get Mr. Nostalgic back to bed," he suggested. "And I don't think we should mention this to him."

Harry nodded. "You're absolutely right." He let Draco help him get Snape back upstairs and into a dry nightshirt, then tucked in. Harry crawled in beside the man, tenderly stroking his lank, still-damp hair. He bowed his head so his forehead touched Snape's and whispered something Draco didn't quite catch—the gist of it seemed to be a promise that Snape would never be lonely again—and Draco edged away, feeling he'd intruded on something far more intimate than sex. But the movement caused Harry to remember him and look up. "Thank you," he told Draco with sincerity.

"Sure," Draco said. "I'm always up for a game of wander-around-trailing-after-the-insane-sleepwalking-ex-Death-Eater," he said cavalierly, but Harry refused to rise to the bait. Instead, he gave Draco a blinding smile and touched him gently on the cheek. Draco hurriedly backed out of the room, stopping only a moment to turn the light off and watch enviously as Harry kissed Snape goodnight.

He had to get out of this place. It was ghastly and warm and fuzzy and it was seriously warping him. He didn't belong here at all.

"Potter," Draco said with a frown, "I'm going to have to acquire a new wardrobe. I mean, the Muggle look could conceivably be brought into fashion—by me, of course—but it's such a pain and anyway I need a nice comfortable set of robes in reserve. Besides, this bit feels odd. What's it called again?" he asked, adjusting his outfit.

"That's the cummerbund, I think," Harry told him. "Why on earth do you even have a cummerbund, anyway?"

"I just told the tailor I wanted an outfit for an extremely rich young man who aspired to spending all his time surrounded by other extremely rich young men."

"So he gave you a tuxedo?" Harry said.

"Is that what it's called? I do look fabulous in it," Draco noted, looking down at himself.

It fit Draco like a glove, and Draco looked every bit the gorgeous, rich playboy in it. It was definitely odd to see him wear it day after day, though having lived in the Wizarding world as long as he had, Harry barely batted an eye at it.

"Anyway, it doesn't seem to be the sort of thing I could wear while filing the paperwork, is my point," Draco told him.

"Yes, that's true. But how are we going to get you anything else?"

"It's easy, Potter. Just come with me."

Harry had reservations about being alone with Draco, but they were alone here, and in any case dinner was all planned, the house was clean, the plants were watered, Snape was at work, and Harry was just a little bit bored. Why not? What could it hurt? He just had to be careful not to do anything where they would end up rutting against a wall. That shouldn't be too difficult, right? Other people seemed not to do it without even trying. Still, other people didn't have Snape's stupid fantasies planted in their heads.

They ended up at Madam Malkin's, trying to face down the squat witch herself, who looked flustered. "I can't, you see," she told them. "I'm sorry, but I've got a family."

Harry bristled at this—how dare Lucius threaten people that way just because his son was gay?—but Draco put a hand on his arm. "Never mind, love. I'm not buying anything, you understand? We're here to pick out some outfits for Harry."

Harry blinked. "We are?"

Draco gave him a look. "Potter, I can easily adjust them once they're bought, can't I?" he whispered in Harry's ear, causing him to shiver.

"You mean, like, with magic?"

"No, I mean I'm a wizard with needlework. Of course with magic, you dolt! Just pick out some things that would look good on me, pay for them, and I'll . . . well, once I've got my first paycheque . . ." He grabbed Harry's arm and steered him to a footstool.

Harry got up, then looked in the mirror and realised Draco was still holding onto his arm. He flushed and shook him off. "Never mind," Harry told him. "I need a nice outfit anyway."

"To impress Snape?" Draco teased.

Harry gave him a look. "For the dinner party."

"What dinner party?"

Harry shrugged and adjusted his robes as Madam Malkin went off to get a bolt of fabric. "Um, the one I'm having Saturday."

"You're joking! You never told me about any dinner party!" Draco said, eyes flashing accusatorily. He was nose to nose with Harry, scowling, and it crossed Harry's mind that it would be awfully easy to lean down and breach the gap between them. Draco seem to realise this too, because he suddenly looked a bit self-conscious and backed off.

"Well, you're not the only one who knows how to throw one," Harry insisted, not mentioning the near-miss.

"Really? What are you serving?" Draco asked casually.

"Um. I was thinking maybe crown roast of lamb?" he suggested. "With Belgian endive?"

"And?"

"And what?"

"What else?"

"Er . . . a salad? And, um, some potatoes on the side?"

Draco looked shocked. "And that's it? What about the first course?"

"I hadn't thought about courses. Does it have to go in courses? Why can't you just serve it all at once?"

"What about drinks? What about appetizers?" Draco grilled.

Harry shrugged helplessly, out of his depth. He liked cooking, but he'd never really entertained before. "You mean those little hot dogs on sticks?"

Draco pretended to faint dead away, and Harry laughed. "Okay, genius; you come up with something, if you're so clever."

Draco straightened immediately. "For starters, come out with a soup . . . maybe Vichyssoise. Then the salad. Something nice," he added sternly. "Julienne beet, carrot and apple salad. With maple walnuts."

Harry gaped at him. "That sounds . . . good," he remarked as Madam Malkin came back with some robes.

"Let me help," Draco ordered. "Not these, the dark blue. Yes." He was such a bully sometimes. He grabbed a set of robes and threw them over Harry's head, knocking his glasses off so that they hung by one ear.

"Draco . . ." Harry shifted from foot to foot as Draco adjusted his clothes. Smoothing his hands down Harry's chest, he suddenly seemed to realise what he was doing and froze.

Neither of them said anything as Madam Malkin went to get her tape measure and another bolt of cloth. "Sorry," Draco muttered to his feet.

"Yeah. Um." Harry cleared his throat.

They watched a young mother come in with twin girls, outfitting them for Hogwarts. Harry watched with building envy. They were really cute; one wore her hair in braids, the other in pigtails, and they both looked absolutely wild with excitement to be getting ready to go off to school. They chattered and whispered, and giggled when Harry waved at them.

"Don't talk to strangers," their mother chided.

"He isn't a stranger. He's Harry Potter," one girl noted.

Harry gave the mother a bashful grin. "They're really something," he said to Draco, who smiled a little.

"Yeah. You're really pining for one, aren't you?"

Harry quickly changed the subject. "So, what else? For the dinner, I mean."

Draco gave this some thought. "It's important to alternate," Draco lectured. "Something rich followed by something light. That way you don't overwhelm the palate." He still seemed a bit ill at ease, but he was hiding it pretty well. Harry felt relieved. If they could just get past that stupid kiss . . .

"Really? I didn't know that," he said loudly, over his own thoughts.

"Potter, you've no idea. Haven't you ever thought about how important a clean palate is?"

"I brush my teeth," Harry pointed out. "Regularly."

"Not amusing."

Harry was beginning to feel panicked. What if he totally blew the dinner party because he didn't know what he was doing? "I'm really out of my league, aren't I?" he asked hopelessly, putting his glasses back on.

Draco reached up and straightened Harry's collar, looking at him critically. "You clean up well enough," he said. "I think you can pull it off."

"Seriously?"

Draco offered a smile. "With a little help, of course."

Snape came home feeling tired. He was working a lot of overtime, and he was still barely making ends meet. He'd loved the idea of a casual threesome, but he'd never considered the costs involved! Well, at least he was saving on lubricant. He and Harry hadn't had sex in weeks. Even though Draco no longer regularly interrupted things, Harry didn't feel comfortable. Not with Draco in the house. He went on about the brat being a third wheel, lonely, or a guest. It was very odd. Snape even came home early one day hoping to beat Draco and have at least a quick shag, but Harry had been out arranging some damned charity Quidditch match.

Just Snape's luck.

Tonight, it sounded as though Draco had got home first. He could hear the boys in the kitchen, talking excitedly. Harry was all wrapped up in the idea of a dinner party, and Draco was in his element, as well, planning decorations and menus and drinks, all of which Snape would have to pay for, damn it.

And still no expectation of sex. Snape poked his head in the kitchen. "Is supper ready?"

"Shhhhhhh!" Draco hissed, looking outraged. "You're going to ruin the soufflé!" Harry leapt for the oven as Draco pushed a bewildered Snape back out of the room and steered him to the sofa. "Potter's spent hours on that thing. And if it doesn't rise correctly, let me remind you that you probably won't get a chance, either."

"Not that I ever do, in any case," Snape grumbled.

Draco patted his arm. "I'll go fix you a drink. And I'm sure dinner will be ready soon. Have a bit of patience, will you?"

Snape drowned himself as Draco returned to the kitchen with Harry, talking about flower arrangements and hors d'oeuvres. Shaking his head, Snape got to his feet and stole quietly down the hall until he could peep in the kitchen door.

Harry and Draco were both bent over the table, heads together, whispering excitedly. Something about orchids. Which was a shame, really; why couldn't they get this animated over the idea of edible underpants?

"What about these?" Draco suggested, and Harry 'ooohed.'

"They'd be perfect in red," the boy countered.

Draco looked astounded. "That's just what I was thinking!" he said with a soft laugh. "So definitely these, then?"

"Yes, absolutely!" Harry returned.

Part of Snape wanted to laugh, but really, it could be worse. They were getting on, and there was a . . . sort of softness there that he hadn't seen before. It wasn't sex, exactly, but there was definitely something pleasant there. It made a flame of excitement lick up Snape's belly, and he returned to the other room to indulge in his drink.

That night, he again tried to convince Potter to engage in intercourse.

Harry bit his lip as Snape licked his fingertips. "I can't," the boy said. "Not with him downstairs. It just isn't right!"

"Don't you want to?"

Harry sat up and reached out, cradling Snape's face with both hands. "Yes, I really do. But I feel bad."

"Why?"

"I don't know." Harry looked confused. "Can't we set him up with someone or something? I'd feel better if I knew he wasn't all alone."

Snape considered this. "There's a young man heading Accounting who's very handsome. I suppose I could try to arrange things. Would you like that?"

Harry stared at him silently for a long moment, then lie down on his side. "No," he said in a strangled voice. "I don't think I would. Don't ask me why."

Snape shrugged and settled down on the bed as well, glaring at the ceiling in frustration. Something was going to have to give.

"So . . .only a few days left," Draco said as Harry got some bowls out to prepare the night's dinner. "Are you excited?"

"Nervous, more like," Harry replied. They were standing almost on opposite ends of the kitchen. They were an arm's length apart at all times, Draco noticed.

Draco tried to think of something innocuous to say. "But you've been to dinner parties before," he pointed out. "Like at the Yule Ball, remember?"

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, but I wasn't in charge or anything. I was just there I don't know anything about hosting parties."

"Nothing?"

"Well, the Dursleys had important guests for dinner, once," Harry mused. "But I didn't learn much from that unless you count flattering people to the point of making them sick. Oh, and not dropping the pudding," he added dryly.

"You'll be fine," Draco assured him. He went to pat him on the shoulder, but stopped short.

Harry gave him a tight smile. "You've been decent about all of this," he said. "Helpful, I mean."

With a slight lift of his shoulders, Draco let his hand drop. "I guess it's nice to feel I'm useful," he said.

"You're useful at work, aren't you?"

"Not really. They keep a pretty close eye on me. I mean, I am the son of a former Death Eater, you know. Hell, I'm a reformed Death Eater myself. They're careful about me and they don't give me a lot of responsibility."

Harry looked away. "I think you've changed a lot. They'll see that, eventually."

"And be overwhelmed by my amazing decorating and entertaining skills? I'm sure I'll really shoot up the corporate ladder once they realise my abilities," Draco said.

"You're good at other things, too," Harry protested.

"Like what? I'm terrible at fighting, worse at spying, only moderately good at the filing . . . I'm not exactly Auror material," he said.

Harry squinched up his eyes, obviously trying to come up with something good Draco had done. 'Sneaking Death Eaters into Hogwarts' was probably a subject best to be avoided. "You're good at, you know, talking," Harry finally said. "Explaining things and stuff."

"Really?"

"I've noticed Snape and I don't fight so much when you're around," Harry added. "Whenever we start to light into each other, you settle things down. And whenever he says something that comes off as rude or angry, you usually manage to find a way to tell him what he's doing wrong and how to say it better." He grinned. "You translate from Bastardese really well."

"Into Dimwittian," Draco countered, but he couldn't help smiling. "Diplomacy. Yeah, that's not bad. I could probably do something like that, if they let me. And I speak passable Gobbledegook."

"That could be really useful!" Harry said, sounding impressed. "I mean, in the financial world, that's very valuable, isn't it?" Draco tried to look modest, but it was difficult. "Pass me the American cheese, would you?"

Draco wrinkled his nose. "Potter, American cheese, like so many other things introduced by that nation, is an abomination. What are you making?"

"Macaroni and cheese," Harry said. "And I'm trying to follow the recipe, if you don't mind." He reached for the block of cheese, but, risking life and limb, Draco snatched it away.

"Use cheddar instead," Draco advised.

"Draco, no! Hand it over."

Harry tried to take the cheese away, but Draco stood on tiptoe and held it out of his reach. "I'm afraid I can't let you do that," he said "You'll thank me someday." Harry was so close that Draco could feel his presence even if he shut his eyes.

"Draco," Harry protested, laughing. "You're such an idiot. Just hand over the cheese, and no one gets hurt," he added, giving Draco a sharp poke in the ribs.

"No. Nothing you say or do will make me surrender the cheese. I'll withstand torture, if I have to. Eating American cheese is torture," he added with a shudder.

"Give it," Harry demanded. Draco only held the block higher. Harry got up on tiptoe as well, but Draco had longer arms. Harry made a face at him as they stood nose to nose. "Draco," he said, but Draco shook his head.

"I regret that I have only one life to give for your casserole," Draco said gravely. Harry's eyes were crinkled with amusement, his mouth crooked up. Draco felt something funny in his stomach. If only Harry could always look like this. Then Harry's eyes softened a little, his expression sliding into something more serious. He was looking searchingly at Draco as if seeing him for the first time, or maybe just liking what he saw for the first time.

Then Potter leaned forward and kissed him.

Draco dropped the cheese, which thankfully landed on the floor. "That was cheati—underhanded," he complained.

Harry looked mournfully at his ruined cheese. "Five-second rule?"

"Not on your life!"

"You moved my cheese."

"I saved your macaroni," Draco countered. Harry kissed him again. They stared at each other. They weren't angry, they hadn't been drinking, and Snape wasn't watching furtively hoping for something to happen. They had no excuses.

Draco leaned forward and kissed Harry.

Harry kissed back, his hands settling lightly on Draco's hips.

It was strange, to stand in the middle of a kitchen, kissing someone silly. Draco had never done it before. He rather liked it. It was sort of cosy. He hesitantly reached up, threading his fingers through Harry's hair.

Harry seemed to like that, because he gave a quiet sigh and his lips parted.

Suddenly, it wasn't so cosy anymore. Suddenly it was urgent that he experience as much of Potter's tongue as humanly possible, and Draco did his absolute best. One of Potter's hands was planted squarely in the small of Draco's back, holding him close, and Draco could feel Potter's erection growing.

Draco dug both hands into Harry's hair, and Harry was moaning and writhing against him. "Oh, my god," Draco gasped as they broke off for air.

"I know," Harry agreed, nodding and panting hard. His hair was a mess and his eyes were wild.

"Please do that again," Draco begged, and Harry threw himself on Draco again.

They knocked a chair over, and Harry undid the front of Draco's robes. "I wish Snape were home," Harry groaned.

"That would be hot," Draco concurred eagerly. "That would be very hot and I think he'd like that." He kissed Harry again, harder.

"Mph," Harry said, one hand on Draco's arse. "It would be hot," he said wistfully. "God, he'd be so turned on . . . I'm turned on by the thought of it," Harry added.

Draco nodded, shutting him up with another kiss. The idea of Snape watching made him squirm in a happy sort of way; it made him flush, his whole body feeling like there was something on fire deep inside, hissing and spitting and sizzling, making Draco ache with the need for more.

"Fuck, I—we—need—Snape," Harry whimpered in between kisses, and groaned as Draco bit his earlobe.

"Indeed?" said a deep and very amused voice from the direction of the back door. "You seem to be progressing just fine without me."

Draco and Harry sprang apart like cats doused with a bucket of water.

"He started it!" Draco exclaimed immediately.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, looking upset.

"You needn't—" Snape began, but Harry cut him off.

"No, I should be. I really should."

Snape shook his head helplessly. "Why?" he asked in an exasperated voice.

Harry waved his hands around, like he was trying to explain through charades, as if I just had Draco Malfoy's tongue in my mouth and I feel guilty even though you like it could be expressed in hand gestures that weren't obscene. "Because—I'm—I'm a total hypocrite," he finished lamely.

"So what? Snape's a voyeuristic pervert and I'm a manipulative brat. We all have our little flaws," Draco told him.

Harry ignored Draco. "I've been angry with you for weeks for foisting him on me, acting like I'm so great and I'd never think about something like that," he said softly to Snape.

"This is a stupid thing to get all worked up about," Draco told him. "You know Snape doesn't care, and anyway it's no big deal. It's not like you were about to run off and elope with me; it's just sex."

"Shut up," Harry said, eyes suddenly fiery.

"No, really," Draco argued, but Harry shoved him away and pushed past Snape.

"Where are you going?" Snape demanded, suddenly alarmed. He tried to catch hold of Harry's arm, but Harry shook him loose and stomped off in the direction of the Floo.

"I'm going out," he insisted. "I need to think!"

Draco couldn't make out what Harry said as he stepped through the flames, but he and Severus shared a worried look. Thunder grumbled ominously outside.

"I'll go after him," Snape said. "I don't like him being out on a night like this."

Draco nodded. "If you don't get back in half an hour, I'll have a look as well," he said.

It was past midnight when Harry finally got up the nerve to return. He'd gone to a pub he knew, a Muggle one, hoping he wouldn't be followed. And he hadn't been. He sort of wished they'd been able to find him. After the fourth beer he was kind of depressed and feeling stupid. It didn't matter that he'd kissed Draco. Snape was turned on by it. He wasn't upset with Harry. So why should Harry be upset? No one else cared. Certainly Draco didn't; it hadn't meant anything to him, anyway.

Harry sighed. He suspected that might be part of it. He had a hard time with the idea of just having sex for fun, with no strings attached. Snape had been his first lover, and though he could be brutal and rather wild, there was no question of his affection for Harry. So the idea of someone, well, using him—that was sort of painful.

The house was quiet except for the crackle and pop of the flames. "Er, hello?" Harry called out.

Draco rushed in from the other room. He was absolutely drenched. "Potter?" He looked ready to keel over with relief. "We've been taking turns searching for you," he added. "It's a terrible night out there! Where the hell have you been?"

"I—just had a couple of drinks," Harry said. "To help me unwind. Where's Snape?"

"Out looking for you. And frantic, too, I might add," Draco said crossly. "He went to the Weasleys' and Granger's and even back to the school."

Harry felt his cheeks heat. Snape must have been really worried. "Sorry," he said. Then he saw the valise by the front door. "What's that?"

There was a moment of silence before Draco forced a bright smile. "I got an owl from the Ministry while you were gone. I'm afraid they want me to leave right away. They're sending me to France," Draco said.

"For a holiday?" Harry asked, taken aback. "Well—that's nice—"

"No, Potter. Not on holiday. Permanently."

"What? Why?"

Draco shrugged. "One can only imagine. I can easily see why they'd want to be rid of me, though. After all, I'm a former Death Eater and an embarrassment to them all. Naturally they'd prefer to settle me into some position on the continent where they won't have to deal with me anymore."

Harry frowned. "Can they do that? Legally? Why don't you fight it?"

"Potter, we both know there's no point in that," Draco answered. "I don't belong here. There isn't any place for me, remember? It's just as well I leave, and France is as good a place as any. Better than most, because their wines are superior. And the two of you can live happily ever after, and that's what we all want, isn't it?" Draco's mouth twisted in an odd smile that suggested what he really found amusing, just at this moment, was himself.

Harry felt his eyebrows raise high in shock. Draco was trying to be gracious. Draco was bowing out. It was so unexpected and out of character that Harry honestly didn't know how to respond. "You don't have to go right away, do you?" he croaked.

"Look, Potter, I'll send you a pornographic postcard when I get there, all right? No need to get all noble on me. You know perfectly well that I'm capable of taking care of myself." He tried to fake a smile, but Harry could see it was flimsy and false.

Harry let out a long breath, shrugging. "Well. Yes, of course," he said, feeling awkward and miserable. This was goodbye, then. He'd wanted to say it for such a long time, and now the words stuck in his throat. "Take care of yourself," he managed, feeling his face heat up as he looked at his shoes.

Draco was quiet for a long, long moment, and when Harry finally looked up, Draco merely sighed and leaned forward. He kissed Harry chastely on the cheek. "All my love to Severus," he said, regaining some of his cheek. "Or half of it, anyway," he added with a wink.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right," he said, but Draco was already walking away, flipping Harry one last casual wave. "But—but what about my dinner?"

"Well, you don't need me for that, really."

"Yes, I do!" Harry insisted.

Draco's face coloured. "I—I can Floo back for that," he said. "I mean, are we wizards, or are we wizards?"

"I suppose that's all right."

"See you then," Draco said.

Harry nodded and watched him go, his stomach a tight little ball. "Yeah. See you."

So that was goodbye, then.

There was something rather horribly disappointing about it.

Snape very carefully added the goat's blood to his potion, but by that time the other mixture was beginning to boil over. Snape could hear the hissing as it bubbled over onto the flames. Growling in frustration, he set his first potion aside and scuttled over to save the other.

It was a goopy mess. Damn it, he thought, waving his wand and Banishing it. He needed another assistant!

It was late again when he got home, and he held up a hand to forestall Potter's fury even as he walked in the door. "I know, I know," he grumbled. "I'm late. I've had a bad enough day; don't start in."

Harry gave him an annoyed look as the man struggled out of his cloak. "We do have a party tomorrow, you realise. I could use a bit of help."

"Potter, I'm not an entertainer," Snape complained. "And might you at least wait until I get my shoes off?"

Harry huffed, then went into the kitchen. Snape followed, feeling testy. "What's supper?"

"Cod," Harry answered.

"I hate cod," Snape complained.

"Then you can go without!" Harry snapped, yanking his plate away.

"All right, all right; you don't have to be like that." Snape took the plate back and began picking at his supper, glancing at Harry from the corner of his eye. Though things had been smoothed over, Potter remained sullen and tense. Snape knew Harry was worried about Draco, and couldn't admit it, and that made things worse. Snape was worried, too. "Pass the butter dish."

Harry pushed his glasses up and scowled. "What's the magic word?"

Snape glowered at him. "Which one? Pass me the butter before I paddle you," he snapped.

Harry banged the dish down in front of him. "You're doing it again."

Snape glanced at him, feeling bewildered. "What am I doing now?" he asked, exasperated.

"You're deliberately—look, you know perfectly well what the magic word is!"

"I don't! I don't! I have a vocabulary of something like four-hundred thousand odd words, and I have no idea which one you're referring to!"

Harry shut his eyes. "I meant 'say please,' you giant git."

"Please?" Snape felt very much inclined to say please at the moment, followed by begging Potter to start making some sort of sense. "Why the devil do you suddenly want me to say 'please'? It's never bothered you before when I didn't."

Harry gave him a dirty look. "Tomorrow we're having people over, and I want to know you can behave with grace and dignity in public. I want to know you can be polite, instead of a great surly prat all the time."

Snape snorted. "I'm not usually the one we have to worry about being polite or dignified, am I?" he challenged. "Remember the last little festivity? It nearly deteriorated into another world war between the courses."

Harry scowled, but then his face softened a little. "I think Draco and I will get along better next time," he muttered.

"I should hope so. I saw the two of you last time. You came this close to getting a forehead full of whipped cream, you know."

"He wouldn't really have done it," Harry insisted. "Unless I'd done something first." They ate in thoughtful silence for a few moments. "I hope the flower arrangements come in time tomorrow."

"Stop fretting," Snape advised. "Anyway, what a trivial thing to worry over! Do you I've been having to deal with? I ruined two potions because I haven't any assistants."

"I haven't had any assistance round here, either," Harry grumped.

"I mean it. Michaels is still in St. Mungo's and anyway, he has these spasms now. And I've advertised, of course, but I haven't had a bite."

"There's a thought," Harry said, brightening. "I'll hire some help in the kitchen tomorrow! Maybe Dobby!"

Snape realised they were talking about two totally different things and not listening to each other at all. Then something struck him; "Where are you going to get the money for that?"

"Oh, come on! It's only for one night!" When Harry made doe-eyes like that, blinking his ridiculously thick lashes and looking desperate, Snape was completely helpless. Ruddy manipulative brat.

"Fine. I'll expect sexual reimbursement," he added.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I can't understand why you're having trouble finding help," he remarked. "It's not like you're demanding or anything."

"You are well-rewarded for putting up with me," Snape informed him.

"Yeah, right."

"I'll have to run another ad," Snape sighed. "They're all just paranoid."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, my last assistant was poisoned, I'll admit, but it's not something that happens very often. Certainly not if they're being careful, anyway."

"Are you sure that's all it is?"

Snape shifted uncomfortably. "I admit there are certain ridiculous rumours about my former occupation that would be better put to rest, but there isn't much I can do about them."

"What kinds of rumours?"

"Oh, you know. All the crazy, asinine things people are willing to believe about a former Death Eater. Like I'm really a vampire looking for a personal donor, or that I'm researching dark magic, or that I've discovered some of Nicholas Flamel's old texts and created another Philosopher's Stone and I'm keeping it secret, working to become another Dark Lord. Preposterous stories like that."

Harry shook his head helplessly. "I don't understand how people could believe things like that," he said. "It's so unfair. I mean, you're a hero."

Snape preened a little. "You know, I think I'm ready for dessert."

"Well, I'm sorry you don't like the cod, but I had a recipe I wanted to try."

Snape sighed. Draco would have picked up on a piece of innuendo like that, no problem, and would probably be nudging Potter and wiggling his eyebrows. "No, Harry. I mean, I'm ready for dessert. As in, something sweet?"

Harry frowned. "You're not getting any strudel until you've at least eaten your vegetables!"

Snape put his face in his hands. "Have you ever considered getting a small dog or something to baby? You've got this irrational urge to mother that comes out at the worst times."

Harry gave him a cool look. "I did consider something like that once," he grumbled.

"Look, I don't want dessert."

"You just said you wanted something sweet!"

"That isn't what I meant!"

"You never say what you mean," Harry complained. "I keep your house spotless and chair countless organizations and fix your dinner every night and then you expect me to read your mind, as well!"

"I don't think my needs are so very unfathomable," Snape said wryly. "You're the one thick as a short plank," he added.

Harry glowered at him. "You're not getting any dessert tonight at all," he warned.

Snape groaned. "Is that in reference to the strudel, or to my intimations of intimate activity?"

Harry stared. Here they were, on opposite sides of a small table, and they might as well be on separate continents for as well as they were able to communicate. Despite his earlier disavowal of the ability, Potter seemed to read his mind. "I wish Draco were here," he sighed. "Because he always seems to be able to decipher the situation, whereas I don't understand you at all."

Snape nodded wearily. "This is true. I have a suggestion."

"What is that?" Harry responded as he began to clear the plates away.

Snape reached out and caught Harry's arm, pulled him down and kissed him hard, trying to forgo any misunderstandings. When they stopped for breath, he pushed Harry's fringe back and looked deeply into his eyes. "Let's skip the strudel and go upstairs, where I will, without the use of metaphor, fuck you stupid."

Harry laughed. "Yeah, that sounds good."

"At least we can do that, now," Snape added. "Without interruption."

"Yes," Harry answered. "What a relief." Funny how the boy didn't really sound all that thrilled about it. If Snape were going to admit it, he wasn't really all that thrilled to be rid of their guest, either. Harry leaned on Snape as they climbed the stairs. "Do you miss him?" the boy asked.

Snape kissed him on the top of his messy head. "Yes," he confessed. "Just a little."

Harry sighed. "Me, too."

Draco straightened his cummerbund, then took a deep breath before knocking on the door. "Hello," he said with studied nonchalance as Harry threw the door back. "I brought wine." Harry was wearing an apron, but he'd had his hair done and looked very handsome.

"Thank you." They looked at each other awkwardly. "Come in," Harry finally said, stepping back. "You know, you could have just Floo'd on over."

Draco waved a hand dismissively. "What, just barge into people's lives and expect them to drop everything and entertain me? What sort of person do you think I am?"

Harry laughed weakly. "How's, ah, France?" he asked as he led the way back to the kitchen, where several house elves were hard at work.

"Hmm? Oh, I haven't even left, yet," Draco admitted. "I'm still trying to find suitable lodgings, and anyway there's tons of paperwork."

"Then where are you staying?"

"Oh, at the Leaky Cauldron," Draco said. He caught Harry's look of worry and gave a cavalier shrug. "Certainly it's not the Ritz, but it'll do for a couple of days, right?"

Harry turned away quickly. "Come see the dining room."

"What dining room?" Draco followed him out back—or where 'out back' should have been; Potter had added an entire wing for his party. Draco let out a whistle. "Not bad at all!"

Harry grinned. "I got the idea from you—you know, in the bedroom." Draco raised his eyebrows and Potter flushed. "I mean—how you stretched the bedroom," he added quickly.

The doorbell rang. Harry looked panicked. "The first guests!" he squawked. "But it's early!"

Draco grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around. "Calm down," he ordered, undoing the apron. "I'll stall them; you run on upstairs and finish getting ready. Take a few deep breaths. It'll be fine."

"Thanks," Harry said, throwing him a grateful look.

Draco tossed the apron to a house elf and went to answer the door. "Mr. and Mrs. Weasley!" he said in obsequious tones. "How good to see you!"

They looked surprised to find him answering Harry's door. "We thought we ought to get here early in case Harry needed a little help," Mrs. Weasley explained.

"Ah. Well, I think Harry has everything under control, but it was well thought of," Draco assured her. "Won't you come in and have a drink?" he added as the coat rack bent and politely helped them off with their cloaks.

"Thank you," Arthur said. He seemed a bit stand-offish, but Draco expected that was only natural, since their families were mortal enemies. However, apparently the lure of Draco's Muggle outfit was too much. "My goodness! Is that a tuxedo?" He excitedly began to poke and prod Draco, who kept a smile plastered on. "I've heard of these things!" he told his wife. "You see," he added, opening Draco's jacket. "It has a cummerbutt underneath."

"Cummerbund," Draco corrected absently. The most groping he'd had in a month, and just his luck it was Arthur Weasley. "Excuse me a moment," he added as the doorbell rang again.

"That would be Ron and Hermione," Mrs. Weasley said.

Draco was taken aback. "My, aren't we looking . . . luminous?" he settled on as Hermione beamed at him. It was somewhat more polite than 'rotund,' anyway. "Potter didn't tell me you were expecting again. Do come in and have a seat." Ron followed, glaring suspiciously.

"How are you, Draco? I was very curious when you decided to move in with Harry and Severus," Hermione told him. "Whatever happened to Goyle?"

"Gregory?" Draco said. "Oh, he married Pansy and moved to the continent. We haven't spoken recently; bad memories," he confided.

"I'm so sorry," Hermione told him. She sounded sincere.

"Well, we send each other cards at Christmas," he said. "But it's always awkward when we get together. There's a big hole," he added softly.

"Considering Crabbe's shape, yeah, I'd think there would be," Ron snorted.

Draco glared at him, but rose above it. "Your parents have already arrived," he said, nodding to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

Harry came down shortly after, looking trim and sexy in one of the robes he'd picked out at Madam Malkin's. He went round hugging everyone, kissing the girls on the cheek, and telling them he was glad to see them. He couldn't seem to stop patting Hermione's belly and saying he'd be happy to look after the new baby when it arrived, his expression wistful. "It kicked, Draco!" he said at one point, excitedly. "Feel that!"

Hermione grinned as Draco tried to keep Potter from planting his hand on her stomach. "Potter, if you want to feel someone kick you, I'd be happy to oblige," he grunted. "Stop that." The doorbell rang again and Draco excused himself with great relief to answer it.

He opened the front door, then promptly slammed it shut again. The doorbell rang more insistently. Draco rushed off and dragged Harry away from his hellos. "Potter, you imbecile!" he hissed. "My father is at the front door!"

"I know that," Harry whispered. "The Minister said I should invite him."

"You can't go inviting my father round!" he exclaimed, giving Harry a shake.

Harry brushed him off. "I don't like him, either," Harry said. "But I was hoping the two of you might be able to settle your differences. After all, it's been weeks and he must miss you by now. It's only been a day and a half and I already miss you," he added sadly.

Draco paused. "You do?"

"Snape does, too. I can tell, even though he doesn't talk about it much." Harry looked at him fondly. "You do liven a place up," he pointed out with a crooked smile.

"Yes, but my father is the absolute opposite," Draco said. "Besides, he can't come into Spinner's End!"

"Why not?"

"Because—because it's Snape's house! What if Snape has poisons or cursed items or secrets in here? Or what if my father wanted to plant evidence to make it seem like he did? You know what Malfoys are like!"

"We'll just keep an eye on him, then," Harry said. "And he can't get up to much. What's he going to find? Books about fluffy bunnies and their adventures?" He patted Draco on the shoulder. "I'm going to check on dinner. Keep answering the door, Draco-rah, and if you see any Death Eaters or Dark Lords or anything like that, just take care of them, would you, and come and tell me when everything is all right?"

"Hah," Draco said under his breath, but went back into the other room to find Mrs. Weasley had answered the door, and Arthur Weasley was apparently having a glaring contest with his father. He worried for a moment that it would erupt in violence and ruin Harry's party. "Mr. Weasley," he said loudly, "have a look at my silver cufflinks. See, Muggles use them to keep their sleeves together!"

"Will wonders never cease!" Arthur declared. "They have the most ingenious ways of making do without magic, don't they!" He peered closely at Draco's wrists, and Draco felt a great flood of relief as his father swanned off to stand next to his mother and sneer at the rest of them. "Do you suppose their sleeves fall apart if they don't put these on?" Arthur wondered.

Soon Snape came in, carrying an armload of flowers that apparently the florist hadn't had anyone to send over. He looked furiously at Lucius and shoved the flowers at Draco. "Centrepieces," he hissed. "Take them in the other room." Draco stumbled off, his arms full, and saw Snape sneak through the crowd and down into his lab.

He returned a few minutes later, in time to greet the Minister and Kingsley Shacklebolt, as well as their wives, and usher everyone in to dinner.

Draco charmed and chatted while Harry tried to keep an eye on each course and nervously gulped at his wine. The menu was Draco's idea, and superb, even if he did say so himself. Even Draco's mother complimented the Vichyssoise. When the main course was served, Draco popped up to help carve it. "Roasted phoenix stuffed with fresh foie gras and franconia potatoes," he announced grandly. "That's phoenix served by Draco nobilis, in case you didn't notice, so that ought to settle any disputes of which is the more formidable creature, I might add."

"It's pheasant," Harry corrected sternly.

Draco stuck out his tongue and made a face at Harry. They both stole a quick look at Snape, wondering if he'd step in if they began to misbehave, but he looked distracted and nervous.

"So, how have you been, Minister Addleton?" Draco asked politely.

The man dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. "Oh, very well," he said. "Of course, there are always small crises to be dealt with. Rumours and whatnot. Will you credit it? There's actually talk going around that someone created another Philosopher's Stone. What a load of tosh!"

Harry bristled at the mention of this rumour. "Yes, I'd heard something about that," he said coldly. "I do hope you're quashing such gossip."

The man waved a hand. "Has to be investigated, don't you know?" he said. "Can't let people think we're burying our heads in the sand. Such things can be dangerous."

Harry looked unhappy and picked at his food. "Well, I suppose that's true."

"But we're vigilant!" the Minister assured him. "Always in the process of stamping out the undesirables."

"Or transferring them," Lucius Malfoy spoke up, looking smug.

Harry leapt to his feet before Draco could grab his arm. "So it's your doing!" he growled. "I might have known!"

"Potter, shut up and sit down!" Draco whispered fiercely.

"I had nothing whatever to do with my—to do with that creature being reassigned," Draco's father said evenly. "The Ministry recognized its duty. I'm sure the Minister was simply acting in the best interests of our society by ridding itself of a dangerous and deviant ex-criminal."

Draco blushed hotly, feeling everyone staring at him.

"You can't treat him like that!" Harry snarled at the Minister.

"Now, see here—" the man began, but Harry was having none of it.

He pounded a fist on the table. "How can you do that when other more dangerous criminals are right next to you?" Harry demanded, pointing at Lucius.

The Minister, seated across from Harry, dropped his napkin. "I never—"

"Yes, you ought to send the whole lot away," Ron put in. He was on his third glass of wine, and Hermione shot him a look.

"Potter, be quiet!" Draco pleaded as Harry snarled.

"No, I will not be quiet!" He stood up and angrily got up on his chair, then stepped onto the table. "You all listen to me, and listen closely! I've spent the past month with Draco Malfoy sleeping on my couch and he seems just fine to me! You can't send him away—you can't just sweep him under the rug," Harry went on angrily. "Draco may have made mistakes, but we all make mistakes. The best thing to do with a mistake is learn from it." He glared up and down the table, fists clenched. "And I don't care what you say; Draco Malfoy belongs here."

There was a stunned silence from the gathered guests.

"Mr. Potter, I can assure you that we had no intention of sweeping anyone under the rug," the Minister said, blinking a little. "We offered Mr. Malfoy the French posting because he put in for a transfer."

"He—what?" Harry said, gaping.

"He put in for a transfer."

Harry spun around, staring down at Draco, whose shoulders were shaking in suppressed laughter. "Draco . . ."

"You're standing in my franconia potatoes," Draco pointed out.

Blushing furiously, Harry moved his foot off of Draco's plate. "You absolute rat bastard!" he hissed. "You lied! You told me you were being shipped off like some sort of—like you weren't—like you didn't have any say in the matter!"

"No, I merely gave you that impression. I told you that they wanted to be rid of me, and it's probably true. I'm not especially popular at the office, you know. Well, it's hard to be popular when you're so handsome and rich. Anyway, I misled you a bit—but I didn't lie."

"I hate you," Harry ground out.

Draco flipped him an odd smile. "Really? Despite the fact that you leapt into the middle of my dinner plate and dressed down the Ministry when you thought they were sending me away from you?"

Harry obviously didn't know what to say to this. He glanced at Snape, who was rubbing his temples with both hands. "You—you planned this from the beginning! You're trying to seduce me! Or Snape! Or something!" he said.

"By moving to France?" Draco replied, looking surprised. "Potter, I am a wretch, a sinner and a villain of the highest calibre, but even I couldn't predict that by leaving I'd compel you to grandstand on a table and declare your love for me. I never thought I'd say this, but you're giving me far too much credit."

"I never said—that!" Harry protested.

Draco continued to smile at him, something funny and warm rolling through him. "No, you never did," he said agreeably.

"Potter, if I may speak with you a moment in private?" Snape's growl interrupted.

Harry's shoulders slumped. "Yeah," he said. He navigated past Draco's glass of wine and hopped down from the table, Draco offering his hand to help him keep his balance. Well, this was wonderful. Harry had managed to make a complete ass out of himself and now Snape was probably furious as well.

As Harry cleared his throat and tried to scrape the now-mashed potatoes off his boot, Draco whispered in his ear. "Try pre-emptive meekness on him. He doesn't know how to handle that. He always winds down much sooner if you just nod and agree with him."

Harry brightened. He could probably do that if he tried. "Thanks," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

"Hey—where's my father?" Draco suddenly said.

Snape stiffened. Sometime in the middle of all the tumult, Lucius had slipped out. "My lab!" Snape exclaimed, and ran into the other room, Draco hot on his heels. They caught up to him in the kitchen. "Where do you think you're going?" Snape demanded.

Lucius looked innocently surprised. "I was answering the call of nature," he said reasonably. "I don't need an entourage!"

"Liar!" Snape exclaimed. "I know very well what you're after!"

Lucius's eyes narrowed, and Draco knew that Snape had put his finger on it. Draco's father drew his wand. Draco could picture it; Lucius would claim self-defence, and he'd probably get away with it, too. "Petrificus Totalus!" Snape fell to the floor, striking his head, but Draco could see his father wasn't finished. His wand was still drawn, and Draco knew this time he'd kill. No one would ever be able to prove Snape had been petrified first.

Well, it was a short life, but a merry one. And this way, Snape and Harry would always remember him fondly.

He threw himself in front of Severus.

Snape woke up on the clean, starched sheets of a hospital bed. Harry was hovering over him, looking anxious. "He's waking up!" Draco was immediately at Harry's side. For once the boys didn't look so very different; they were both pale, red-eyed, and sporting extremely tousled hair.

"You're all right," Snape observed. Draco nodded, looking self-conscious.

Harry put a hand on Draco's shoulder. "As if I'd let anything happen to him."

Snape licked his lips. "That bastard cursed me, didn't he?" Harry and Draco both nodded.

"But it's okay," Draco added quickly. "He's under guard on the other side of the hall."

"Ah," Snape said with satisfaction. "Then I managed to get the git, squeezing off a hex from the hip even as I fell?" he asked.

Harry coughed. "Er, well, not exactly."

"No? Then what happened to him?"

"Narcissa," Harry explained. "When she saw Draco leap between the two of you and realized he would take the brunt of the curse, she bashed Lucius over the head with our teapot. Which is ruined, by the way. It's got a great dent in the side."

"Narcissa Malfoy took Lucius down with a teapot?" Snape repeated.

"She was a bit of a mess," Harry confided. "Mrs. Weasley had to sit on her while Shacklebolt wrenched the teapot away. It was the only way could get her to let go without removing her fingers. She was kind of hysterical."

"Um, apparently she's also been talking quite a bit, with Father out," Draco put in. "I'm afraid Father was the one who poisoned your assistant. I am sorry about that," he added.

Snape looked paranoid. "Was he anticipating I would let my assistant go and hire you?" he asked.

Draco shook his head. "According to Mother, he was only trying to poison you. Er, again, sorry about that," he repeated. "He'd heard the rumour that you had created another fabled Philosopher's Stone and he wanted a chance to find it, but he knew you'd have wards all over Spinner's End. With your death, they'd expire and he'd be able to get in. But then Harry stupidly went and invited him over and he saw his chance and took it."

"Well, how was I supposed to know he'd believe something that far-fetched?" Harry griped. "But the nice thing is, after Narcissa came forward, lots of other people started to, as well. They talked about how Lucius threatened to harm their families if they let Draco in their shops, or hired Draco on, and Mr. Borgin admitted selling Lucius the poison."

"He didn't brew it himself?"

Draco snorted. "That would be bordering on work. We have people for that," he spat.

"Anyway," Harry put in. "Mr. Michaels is not happy about his poisoning, so he's willing to be a witness."

"You mean there's going to be a trial?"

"Shacklebolt's sick of Mal—Lucius getting away with everything. The Ministry's kept letting him loose, blithely assuming he must have learned his lesson this time, and then he just goes and does something else. There's going to be a trial. Attempted murder, for a start. Hopefully there will even be some jail time." Harry looked at Draco out of the corner of his eye. "There will be if I have anything to say about it," he added.

"And a civil suit," Draco mumbled.

"What?"

"Well, Michaels is filing one. For lost wages and mental suffering and lots of other things. And why shouldn't I? I'm the one who really missed out on the wages, since no one would hire me."

"You'd have to be able to prove someone would have hired you otherwise," Snape noted. "Anyway, I don't think you can prove lost wages unless you actually started out employed."

Draco shrugged. "Just mental anguish, then. Harassment. Something. I'm sure there's something I can prove."

"We'll see," Snape told him.

"Anyway, now that things have settled down, Draco's coming back to Spinner's End," Harry said, changing the subject.

"What?"

"We talked it over, and I think it's the right thing to do."

"What?"

"Snape, he needs us. It's obvious he'll only get into trouble if we leave him alone. Besides, think of all the fun we'll have," Harry added with a leer.

Snape goggled at him. "What happened to 'Prudish Potter'?"

"I'm not prudish! There are lots of things I'd like to try, but you never brought them up!"

"Why is it always my job to bring them up? You never take the initiative!" Snape complained.

"All right, all right," Draco interrupted. "I'm sure now that I'm here, we'll all try plenty of new and exciting things! And some of them will involve bondage and horsewhips," he added pensively.

Harry and Snape exchanged a brief look. "Maybe," Harry allowed.

"As long as I'm not the one being tied up," Snape added.

"But if I give you what you want, then you have to give me what I want," Harry suddenly told Snape. "And I want a baby!"

"Never," Snape said with a gulp.

"Severus . . ." Harry warned, his eyes narrow.

"But—but—you don't want to pass this nose on to your children, do you? They won't thank you for it, I can tell you that."

"I thought we'd adopt," Harry said. "Otherwise we couldn't have a baby, could we?"

"Of course you could have children! There are potions for that," Draco exclaimed. "You could carry it, Harry. And Snape, you should pass on your classic profile. And all your other good traits! You're brilliant. And sexy. In fact, we should have children together."

"No way!" Harry shouted. "You can't do that! It was my idea!"

"Potter, it's only logical," Draco told him patronizingly. "I have better genes." He turned his head from side to side to show off his profile. "See? With my looks and Snape's brains, our children would be vastly superior. Whereas your children are all going to be stunted, near-sighted, and saddled with saviour complexes."

"I don't care! I want a baby!"

"Well, fine," Draco huffed. "I suppose you can have one as well. But I'm having the first."

"What? Why?" Harry demanded, outraged.

"Because I'm almost a month older than you. My biological clock is ticking, Potter. You'll have to wait your turn."

"I won't!" Harry snapped. "You're always coming in and turning things upside down and making it all about you! Not this time! I get to go first. Snape was my lover first, remember? You haven't even slept with him yet!"

"A minor detail," Draco sniffed. "Anyway, why are we even arguing over this?"

Harry tilted his head to the side. "Because that's what we do?" he suggested wryly.

"No, no; I meant there shouldn't even be an issue. I don't see why we can't conceive at the same time."

"Really? Do you think that would work?" Harry said, voice filled with uncertainty.

"ABSOLUTELY NOT!" Snape roared. He rubbed his temples as they glared at him. "There is no way in hell I'll ever agree to that! I don't even like children!" he added plaintively.

Harry looked upset and ready to argue, but Draco placed a serene hand on his shoulder. "Severus," he said sweetly, "you may have won occasional arguments in the past with Potter, but you forget you're dealing with the combined forces of two extremely powerful and unyielding wizarding lines. You cannot stand against a Potter and a Malfoy—not when we're both on the same side," he pointed out.

Snape groaned.

Draco turned his attention back to Harry. "Boys or girls?"

"Can we decide that?"

Draco gestured to the bed. "Our lover is a first-rate potions master! Of course we can decide that!"

"Then I want both," Harry said thoughtfully. "Eventually. Can we have twins?"

"I don't see why not."

Snape rolled over in his hospital bed and buried his head in the pillow. With any luck at all, he'd suffocate.

"I wish he would have let us come and get him," Harry muttered, pacing in front of the fireplace.

"You know that would have made him feel like an infirm old man," Draco said. "He wanted to come home under his own power. Anyway, why are you so edgy? He's only been gone a week."

"That's not why I'm edgy," Harry replied. He stopped pacing to stare at Draco. "You're nervous, too," he insisted.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Draco crossed, then uncrossed his legs at the ankles. "A little," he admitted.

Harry went and perched beside him. He was careful not to sit too close to Draco or look him in the eye. This was silly. Soon they'd be—they'd really be in bed together, and things were about to get a lot more awkward if they didn't loosen up. "Everything's ready?" he asked.

"Yeah." Draco nodded to the nightstand, but Harry blushed and found he couldn't look. Instead he stared straight ahead. There was a mirror across from them, and he gazed at their reflections; they were just sitting there, looking well-groomed and uncomfortable, like they were waiting for an important interview.

Harry laughed a little giddily at the thought, and Draco gave him a brief, disconcerted glance.

Then Draco folded his hands and looked down at them, chewing his bottom lip. "What if he changes his mind?" he asked quietly.

"He won't," Harry said.

They glanced at each other, then looked away.

"Um. Do you think we should warm up?" Harry asked hopefully.

Draco tried to hide a smile. "I thought you wanted to wait." In the past week, during Snape's absence, they'd had a few close calls, but hadn't succumbed yet.

Draco's lip was curled up at the corner, an amused, shadowy little quirk that seemed to tease Harry, who twisted his hands in his lap. "I know I wanted to wait for Snape, since it was his idea, but he'll be here any moment now," Harry noted. "And we should be all—you know—ready for him," he added.

The other corner of Draco's mouth turned up at this until he was very nearly smiling. "What if he's not in the mood?" Draco asked, but his eyes were dancing.

"Then seeing us together will put him in the mood," Harry shot back. "Nothing turns him on faster than the idea of the two of us together."

Draco leaned back on his elbows. "All right, Casanova," he said evenly. "What did you have in mind?"

This brought Harry up short. "Um. A glass of champagne, for starters."

"I thought that was for Snape."

Harry set his lips in a stern line. "Yeah? So's this," he pointed out.

"Too true." Draco accepted his glass and watched, arching a brow, as Harry drained his glass, then started on another. "Merlin, Potter; if you keep that up you won't even make it to the sex. You'll have passed out before Snape even gets home."

Harry sat beside Draco and there was a frozen moment as they each sipped their drinks, plotting the next move.

Harry felt something silken against his ankle; he looked down to see Draco's slippered foot brushing against his own. His face grew warm as Draco's toes trailed down his instep. Trying to suppress a smile, Harry glanced over. "What are you doing?"

"Footsie?" Draco suggested, his own smile sly.

Harry laughed. "Um. I'm not really sure how that's supposed to go," he confessed.

"Too subtle for you?" Draco sat up, setting his glass on thin air, and leaned over to kiss Harry's neck.

The room was suddenly too hot, and Harry's pyjamas, silk and, according to Draco, very sexy, were suddenly too constricting. "Oh," he said in a stunned sort of voice as Draco kissed his way down to Harry's collar, slim fingers tickling their way inside. "We should—we should probably wait for Snape."

"Too late," Snape's voice said as he stepped through the bedroom Floo. "What's all this?" he added.

"We were going to start without you and surprise you, but Draco kept stalling," Harry said.

"I like that," Draco said, affronted. "I did nothing of the sort. I was totally game for a bit of foreplay. You were the one making excuses."

"Ah, sniping at each other already," Snape noted. "It's good to know some things never change." He smiled at Harry, who returned it tenfold, giving Snape his most innocent, winning grin.

"I'm glad you're home," he purred.

Draco laughed.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's just—I've never seen you turn on the charm like that."

Harry shrugged. "I can, you know. When it's worth it."

Snape still loomed above them, looking amused. "Are you enjoying the champagne, Potter?"

Again, Harry could only shrug. "It's okay. It's sort of tickly," he admitted. He noticed the way Snape's dark eyes suddenly raked Draco's body. Draco was only half-dressed; he was wearing a silvery robe, and that was about it. Harry was just contemplating this when Snape's dark voice seemed to curl like a wisp of candle smoke into his ear.

"Tickly, is it?"

Harry looked back at the man, his eyes round. For the first time he thought he knew what Snape meant, even if he wasn't saying it in so many words. "Yeah, sort of fizzy and tickly," he said slowly. "Want to try some, Malfoy?"

Malfoy, who was looking from one to the other suspiciously, frowned a little. "I've already got a glass, in case you forgot pouring it."

Harry felt his lip twitch. "Yeah, but you aren't getting much of a buzz so far, are you?"

Draco arched a brow. "Are you suggesting there's a better way?"

Harry's grin broadened.

"On your back," Snape ordered Draco. Harry stomach jumped excitedly at the command; he loved the harsh sexiness of Snape's voice.

"And undo your robe," Harry added.

Draco flopped back on the bed, but refused to undo his clothing. "Not until I know what you're up to," he insisted.

Harry looked up at Snape imploringly, who obliged him by kneeling on the bed beside Draco. Draco looked up, eyes startlingly round and uncomprehending, as Snape gently took his wrists and pinned him to the bed. "Undress him," he instructed Harry.

"Two on one doesn't seem very fair," Draco commented as Harry loosened the knot in his silk belt. Harry noted, however, that his voice was husky and he didn't seem the least bit upset. Draco was—well, Draco was gorgeous. He was slim and pale and somehow delicate. Harry told himself it was the golden flickering candlelight making Draco seem so very soft, but he couldn't deny that Draco's skin was deliciously translucent and perfect, nor that his lips were flushed pink, either from want or from the champagne.

"Tell me two on one isn't what you're looking for," Harry challenged in a dry voice.

Draco's milky shoulders rose and fell. "Well, when you put it that way . . ."

Harry leaned over Draco, the stem of his glass held gingerly between two fingers. He glanced up at Snape momentarily. "This might make a mess," he warned.

"Oh, and the ensuing wild sex won't?" Snape replied, black eyes glittering. "Go on."

Draco arched as the glistening crescent of champagne rolled out, spilling over his body.

Harry lowered his head and lapped at the bubbling golden liquid pooled in the hollow of Draco's stomach. Draco made a soft noise, drawn out like the sweetest note ever played on a human instrument. Harry followed a line of dribbles up Draco's chest, tongue dancing in splashes of champagne.

When Harry flicked a tongue over a pebbly nipple, Draco writhed, but Snape held him down tightly. Harry glanced up, sharing an avaricious look with the man. How nice to have control, how wonderful to take, take, take . . .

Snape took Harry's chin and tilted his head back. The man was more than capable of cupping Harry's face with one hand and holding Draco down with the other. Harry's mouth tried to form a question, but Snape kissed it into oblivion, his strong tongue sweeping all Harry's thoughts away. Harry and Draco were wearing thin silk outfits; pyjamas for Harry and a robe for Draco, but Snape was dressed in thick black robes, and Harry buried his hands in them, fingers diving into their warm depths and twining into the fabric, trying to pull Snape deeper and deeper into the kiss.

Harry could feel as well as hear Draco's moan of need.

As Snape broke the kiss Harry glanced at Draco, who looked like some sort of exotic virgin offering, though Harry mused that you'd probably have a difficult time finding anyone less innocent. Still, his fine, silvery hair spread out against the bedsheets in a halo and he twisted, still caught, trembling in Snape's firm grip.

Snape let go of Harry's chin to reach out and summon the bottle of champagne, and tipped it just above Draco's mouth.

Yes.

Harry leant forward and sipped the heady potion from Draco's mouth, tongues slipping against one another until a rivulet of champagne ran from the corner of Draco's mouth. Harry drew back for breath that quickened and was suddenly lost as Snape dipped his head and pressed his own molten mouth to Draco's.

Harry never would have expected to be so turned on by such a thing. There was Snape, ugly by some standards, but handsome in a sharp and riveting way by Harry's. And there was Draco, utterly submissive, a waif-thin trickle of light overpowered by a descending axe of darkness. Draco mewled, hips thrusting this way and that against frictionless air, and, mesmerized, Harry reached out.

Draco gave a great cry and bucked, suddenly substantial and dynamic, and Harry's blood sang with power. He had complete control over Draco. Or, well, as much control as Snape was willing to give him.

Harry grabbed the glimmering bottle of champagne from Snape's hands and upended it over Draco, grinning as he keened and thrashed.

Snape broke the kiss and gave Harry a look, and Draco raised his head, gasping. "Potter, have you no idea? That stuff is cold," he added breathlessly. "And it trickles and bubbles all over the place. I can feel it," he noted, his eyes rather distant.

"I can take care of it," Harry murmured cavalierly, licking his way up and down Draco's body again as Snape watched approvingly. "Tastes sweet," he added, flicking his tongue to catch a droplet that had escaped and run down his chin.

Abruptly, Snape let go of Draco's wrists and Draco looked up at him in panic. "What are you doing?"

"Sooner or later you have to take responsibility for your own actions," Snape informed him.

Draco stared, wide-eyed. "Why?"

Snape looked vaguely unimpressed, but said nothing and instead moved behind Harry. Harry could feel the man's warmth and presence and trembled when a long finger lightly grazed the nape of his neck. "Your turn, I think," the man growled.

Harry stayed obediently still as Snape undressed him, fingers skilfully unfastening buttons and skimming his pants down his hips.

Draco watched with unabashed interest, and Harry could feel a blush creeping up his neck. By the time he was fully nude, he felt as though his whole body were prickling, flushing under the watchful, greedy stares of the Slytherins.

He tried to shrug and sort of wrap his arms around himself without being obvious, but Snape gripped his wrists, stopping him short. "No," he ordered, and Harry obeyed, his stomach tightening with pleasure. "Shall we show Draco how we play?" Snape whispered. Harry felt the vibration in the shell of his ear, and he squeezed his eyes like a contented cat, nodding.

Harry clenched his teeth around a groan of pleasure as Snape tweaked a nipple to red, aching hardness. He tried not to mind Draco, tried not to think about it as Snape rolled his tender flesh between thumb and forefinger, watching it grow ever pinker and stiffer.

"You love that, don't you?" Snape murmured in his ear.

Eyes shut tight, Harry nodded wordlessly and felt a sharp slap against his left haunch; Snape had given him a smack. "Yes," he choked out. "Yes, oh, yes, I like it," he added.

"Good," Snape said, and used both hands to turn Harry's head towards him, kissing him in a hard, possessive sort of way. Harry could feel the thrust and roll of Snape's tongue in his mouth, feverish and fluttering against his own.

Harry was pressed against Snape's body now, his bare skin hot against the itchy wool of Snape's robes. Even so, he couldn't help but undulate, trying desperately to thrust himself against the man. He'd almost completely forgotten Draco.

Then Snape broke the kiss, breathing heavily, and turned Harry's face. Harry blinked; Draco's face was inches away, his eyes dark, lips parted shamelessly so that the tip of his tongue could sweep over his lip enticingly. "Kiss him," the man hissed, and Harry did as he was told.

There was no noise to indicate it, but Harry was certain—certain—that somehow, Snape's soul kindled like a match. He could feel, deep inside, the satisfied melting of butter on a hot skillet. Snape wanted this, and oh, how nice it felt to give.

The man was hard and unbending, pressed against Harry's back, and Draco was a puddle before him, yielding and malleable. It was beautiful; Harry had submission and dominance on either side, as much as he liked.

He swept his tongue over the roof of Draco's mouth; they'd had raspberry sherbet for dessert, and he could still taste the lingering tart-sweet on Draco's palate. His blood quickened and he ran hungry fingertips over Draco's ribs, his nipples, his collarbone, learning each delicate bump and curve.

Just as Harry was beginning to relax into the kiss, a new sensation broke over him like the wet slap of a wave at sea.

Snape had gripped him in one hot hand, only—only he was pressing Harry flush against something else, something throbbing and silky and—oh, it had to be Draco—it had to be Draco. Harry trembled, feeling Snape's long, clever fingers wrap around their cocks, squeezing them together.

"Accio lubricant!" a voice snarled, and Harry realised it had to be Snape's, even though it was much too hoarse and too desperate. From the corner of his eye, he saw the small, faceted cordial of iridescent lube skim through the air into Snape's eager hand.

He felt the oily, glossy liquid run warmly over his prick and balls. Snape's hand was moving now, pumping him, pumping Draco, pumping them together in a slick, tight embrace.

Harry broke off to gasp, and felt the puff of Draco's breath on his cheek. They were rutting against each other, and Harry could feel Snape's dark, searing gaze eating him up, spiralling up his spine and trickling through his veins.

Snape pushed him down, held him, and Harry could feel the man jostling him as he fumbled his way in the dim candlelight, searching for Harry's entrance. He mounted Harry quickly, no hesitation or embarrassment, and Harry revelled in the moment; this is how you do it he thought fiercely at Draco.

Harry cried out at the welcome sting of Snape's cock stretching him, slipping up and into his channel and pushing him against Draco. Snape's heavy weight against his back meant that Harry could no longer manoeuvre, but that was all right because by now his brain had short circuited in some sort of erotic haze and he no longer knew what to do, anyway.

He was reduced to rutting against Draco, feeling Draco buck up against him, and the searing pleasure-pain of Snape ramming into him. Harry didn't understand how Draco was getting anything out of this, but he seemed to do just fine; his smoky eyes bored into Harry's as he rippled, his body neatly contorting to bring his slender frame into increasing contact with Harry's firm stomach and firmer prick. They rocked against each other, pinned tightly together so they could barely flutter.

Somehow, the constriction heightened Harry's pleasure until he no longer knew where he ended and his partners began; Snape plunged into his body, grunting and murmuring filthy things in Harry's ear, and Draco canted and slithered beneath him, aligning their cocks and driving them together.

Harry gasped as Draco's wet lips touched his ear; then he heard a slick, breathless sound just beside it. Draco and Snape were kissing, wetly and feverishly. Snape's hips were thrusting mindlessly and Harry felt an echo of Snape's pleasure sputter through him, and then—oh—

A surge of white-hot desperation boiled up, spurting out through his twitching cock.

Draco bucked up, his hands going past Harry to grab Snape's bum and tighten there, slamming him into Harry and forcing Harry to ram into Draco . . .

For a moment, there was stillness, then Snape pumped again, and Draco's heels dug into the bed for purchase as he thrust upwards. Harry was sore and tired, but held his breath and wallowed in one last moment of joy; he felt like a conduit, a pipeline for lightning. Then Draco's hands slipped and scrabbled and found Harry's back and dug in. Draco gave a vivid cry and buried his face in Harry's shoulder, and Harry held him tightly.

Harry felt Snape's kisses flutter down his spine, until finally Snape, too, came with a roar. They lie together, collapsed and broken like an auto collision, until Snape went to get the flannel.

"I still want a baby," Harry muttered mutinously, curling his way into Draco's arms.

"Piff," Draco responded tiredly. "That's the easy bit," he assured Harry.

Harry pulled back, craning his neck to look at Draco, who was blurry. Harry reflected that he must have lost his glasses at some point. Strange that he couldn't remember. "Yeah?"

Draco smiled a little and touched Harry's cheek with the back of his hand. "Yeah. I was the hard part."

"You sure were," Harry said agreeably.

Draco laughed. "No, really. He wouldn't have taken me in if he didn't think you wanted it. He really loves you, you know."

Harry beamed at him. "Oh, you both do," he said in a self-assured way.

Giving Harry a half-smile, Draco pushed Harry's fringe out of his eyes. "I reckon Snape was right about you," he muttered.

"Snape is always right," Snape declared as he returned to bed, tossing the flannel to Draco. "What was I right about this time?"

"Potter's unending arrogance," Draco responded promptly as he cleaned himself and a very limp and dozy Harry off.

"Hah, yes," Severus said, crawling in beside him. He kissed Harry softly. "Unfortunately, you learn to love him anyway," he added.

Harry gave him a myopic, pleading gaze. "Enough to give him a baby?" he questioned.

"Good God, not that again," Snape sighed.

Draco tilted his head so that it rested on Harry's shoulder and gave Snape his most winsome smile. "Don't worry, Potter. He can't resist forever."

Snape glared indolently at the both of them. "I really wouldn't bet on it," he spat.

Several Years Later . . .

"I'm home!"

"Thank goodness; the baby has a cold again. Here, take her, would you?"

"But—" Snape tried to protest as Harry shoved the toddler into his arms.

"Don't argue!" Harry told him. "Draco and I are trying to plan for Junior's birthday this weekend."

Snape groaned. "Why can't Narcissa watch her? That was the whole point of moving into the Manor, wasn't it? That she'd have access to the brats whenever she wanted?"

"Hush," Harry admonished. "She's been watching them all day because I was catering a party, and she needed a nap. Six kids are a handful, you know?"

"Do I ever," Snape grumbled, but carried little Cissy into the den while the boys trailed at his heels.

"Daddy's home!" Andrew was yelling. "Daddy, I learned how to say the alphabet backwards today! Z, y, x, t—no, wait . . . z, y, x . . ."

Snape sighed and dropped into his favourite armchair. Draco ducked in to deposit a glass of scotch in his hand and kiss him on the cheek. "I want another girl," he announced.

"Oh, no," Snape answered.

Harry followed Draco around, prattling about the party while Draco argued logistics. "You can't serve chocolate; little Freddy Weasley's allergic to chocolate," he was telling Harry. "Granger will have a fit!"

"What about strawberries?"

"Junior doesn't like strawberries," Draco objected.

"Daddy, look what I can do!" Reckless Hellion the Second, otherwise known as Harry James Potter Jr., was shouting as he stood on his head.

"Don't do that," Snape hissed at him. "If you fall over you'll break something and Draco will kill me. Or you'll hurt yourself, and Harry will kill me."

"Pick me up, too, Daddy," Andrew said, climbing up the back of the chair. "I can hang upside down. Look! Look at me! I'm upside down! Are you looking? You're not looking!" As though they smelled blood in the water, the other children immediately attacked.

"Me, too!" Junior immediate shouted, clambering up and pulling Snape's hair.

"Ouch. Stop that!" he scolded. "You're a bunch of hooligans! What are your mothers teaching you? I'm not a jungle gym," he complained.

Draco winked at him. "I don't know about that," he said. "I quite like to use you for recreational activities. Better not let her do that," he added, nodding to his daughter.

Snape looked down to see Cissy smiling brightly up at him, sticking her chubby fingers into his scotch and poking his ice cubes. "Stop that!" he whispered, pulling her hand out and drying it with his robes. "Potter will flay me alive if he catches me letting you do that!"

Harry looked over and Snape tried to adopt an innocent expression. "Balloons or petting zoo?" he asked. "Hagrid has some baby unicorns he'd love to show off."

"Whatever you want, dear," Snape said weakly. He glanced up at the clock on the mantel. Every single one of the hands representing his children was pointing at Swarming Over Father. Draco's hand was with Harry's, pointing to In Conversation, while Snape's hand was hanging forlornly down and pointing to Suffering Everything With Dignity. "Isn't Lucius' parole hearing coming up this weekend?" he asked, perking up. Hearing about Lucius in prison always did worlds of good to cheer him up.

"The Minister says it'll probably be another year or so," Harry assured him. "And anyway, he's softened an awful lot since Draco brought his first grandchild around."

"I still wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him," Snape grumbled.

"Well, you won't have to worry for a while," Harry said with a shrug. "He doesn't seem to be in any great hurry, anyway. Minimum security prisons are actually pretty nice, from what I hear. There's a rumour he's taken up croquet. And they've offered him work furloughs but he won't agree because of the work part of it," Harry added.

Snape snorted. "What's that smell?"

"Oh, sh—shoot," Harry grumbled. "The roast is burning." He jumped up and ran off to deal with it.

After a few moments, Snape carefully peeled the children off of him and snuck down into his new private lab. He checked to make sure none of the boys was following him, then ducked behind a cabinet and opened the secret door.

"Teddy beaw!" Cissy exclaimed, reaching for it. Snape quickly unzipped the back and pulled out the small red stone. It warmed his palm and seemed to glow from deep inside.

"Good grief, do you still have that thing?"

Snape whirled around, heart thundering. "Draco? You—knew?"

"I'm not stupid, and I'm not nearly as soft in the head as Potter is. I didn't believe for one second that you were pining for your old teddy bear. I went and snooped and found out the truth the minute you and Potter left me alone in Spinner's End. How did you manage it?"

"I found a secret compartment in Dumbledore's desk while I was acting as Headmaster. And the papers were charmed to look innocuous enough, but I knew they had to be something unusual; why else would anyone hide them so well? Nicholas Flamel's own notes . . . not enough to do much with, I thought at the time, but they intrigued me."

Draco smiled crookedly. "I could see why you'd want to know more about them. But after you had an inkling, why not stop? Why did you ever get the urge to create such a thing?"

Snape stared at him. "Are you insane? The challenge alone made it irresistible. In any case, it took me years, and I'm not sure I ever really believed I'd be able to do it. But once I had it . . ."

"I'd hoped you had the good sense to destroy it before we moved into the Manor," Draco told him with a disapproving scowl. "You know you can't keep it. What if Potter found out?"

Snape's shoulders slumped. "I know. I've meant to destroy it, but I found I couldn't. I could still sell it, you know," he suggested. "We could always use the money," he added wryly.

"We get along okay. Ever since I took on the job as your assistant, we've kept our heads above water." Draco stepped closer. "Besides, do you know what it could cost you?" he asked gently. "Are you willing to pay that, because you were too greedy to destroy it? It might not cost you me, but it would certainly cost you Harry."

It was true. And because of the possible consequences, Snape had never used it, not even for mere gold. He'd certainly had his fantasies, but these came juxtaposed with thoughts of Harry's reaction. Harry thought Snape a hero in spite of it all. How terrible it would be to lose that, and to be the one to shatter that faith. Snape knew both he and Potter had been through a great deal in their lifetimes, and though they were both a bit dented and damaged, Harry made a great effort to live without cynicism. Though Snape could not emulate this, he saw the value in it.

Sighing, Snape let Draco take the Stone out of his hand. "You're right," he admitted. "Go ahead."

Smiling, Draco leaned up and kissed him softly. "Potter would be awfully proud of you."

"You're not going to tell him, are you?" Snape asked, suddenly suspicious.

Draco beamed. "Probably not," he replied. "But it will be good blackmail material for the next twenty years or so, won't it?"

Snape groaned.

"Another girl," Draco ordered. "With Potter, this time."

"With Potter?" Snape repeated in surprise.

"Can't you just see it? With my nose and Harry's eyes? And could we add in your smile?"

"Oh, I see," Snape grumped. "You want me to create a concoction that allows all three of us to contribute to her genetics. You realise you're only asking for a revolutionary new potion?"

Draco slipped the thing in his pocket and waved a hand dismissively. "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't already know you were up to the task," he said, disappearing up the stairs.

Snape looked down at his daughter, who smiled up at him adoringly, a little dimple appearing in one cheek. "Teddy beaw," she repeated in a serious voice, chewing its ragged ear.

"Yes, yes; you can have it," he said with a sigh. She had him wrapped around her chubby little finger, she really did.

"Are you coming?" Draco called down.

"Yes, I'm coming," he replied. Tonight he'd have to come up with a ground-breaking new potion. With any luck, it would make up for the lost value of the Stone.

Harry and Draco were waiting for him at the door. Harry smiled widely when he saw Cissy holding Snape's old toy. "I'm so glad you finally feel secure enough to give that up," he told Snape, kissing his cheek.

"Yes, of course," Snape said. Wrapped around their little fingers, he thought. Every last one of them. He went back to his chair and allowed the monkeys to swarm him again.

"Of course he agreed," he could hear Draco telling Harry. "I told you he would. I always know how to get my way!"

Snape shook his head sadly. He was broken, exhausted and outnumbered. "I wuv Daddy," Cissy said charmingly—a sly manipulation she'd got off her father, Snape had no doubt. Still, she really did love him. They all did.

"You know, I never should have agreed to any of this," he told her conversationally. "No one listens to me anymore." Cissy looked up at him with big, round eyes. "But you do, don't you?" He kissed her cheek. "Someday when you're all grown up, you'll take my side, won't you? And you, too, Junior?"

"Sure, Daddy," Junior answered, not listening at all, and trying to stuff a wad of bubble gum in his brother's ear.

Snape looked over his various progeny and dreamt of a future army to overrule his spouses in every dispute, eyes gleaming madly. He laughed a little and rubbed his hands together.

"Daddy's doing that evil laugh again," Andrew informed everyone.

"Just ignore him; he does that sometimes," Draco advised. "Let him have his silly fantasies."

Snape put his feet up and went back to dandling his daughter on his knee and drinking his scotch. On the whole, things really could have been worse.

THE END

Don't forget to close this window to go back to vote and review!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Severus Snape and other Harry Potter characters belong to J.K. Rowling, her lawyers, handlers, editors, personal umbrella carrier, pedicurist, and those guys in the suits from the WB. The Snarry Games and its participants want nothing to do with that lot or their money. Okay, we'd take their money, but they aren't offering. Web space doesn't come for free, ya know?