Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Part 1

am very bothered when I think
of the bad things I have done in my life.
Not least that time in the chemistry lab
when I held a pair of scissors by the blades
and played the handles
in the naked lilac flame of the Bunsen burner
then called your name, and handed them over.
O the unrivalled stench of branded skin
as you slipped your thumb and middle finger in,
then couldn't shake off the two burning rings. Marked,
the doctor said, for eternity.
Don't believe me, please, if I say
that was just my butterfingered way, at thirteen,
of asking you to marry me.

by Simon Armitage

Winter 1979

In the end all he could feel was relief.

Severus had waited long enough for this moment, anticipated it with childish, helpless fear, then with a strange stubborn fatalism and in the end with a numb pain that he identified as guilt when Voldemort called him back after a meeting.

"Do you remember the last conversation we had in this room?" asked his Lord softly, standing in front of the fire, the way he did often in the colder months. The Dark Lord did not like the cold.

He nodded.

"You lied to me,” stated Voldemort, turning to look at him.

Severus remained quiet. The sound of a log crackling in the flames made him almost jump. The fear that he thought gone crept back into his mind but also the guilt. He had betrayed the only man he ever looked up to, the man who had shown him what strength, power and courage was.

"What do you think?" Voldemort asked lightly. "Did our wayward friend manage to run far enough? Where do you think might he be now?"

He sighed.

"I apologise. I must seem cruel to you." He cocked his head. "I know I sometimes am. Not as unfeeling as our friend Lucius can be sometimes but ... still, I know my faults."

He moved gracefully to the end of the long conference table and sat down. The black, immaculately polished surface reminded Severus of the surface of the Black Lake.

Severus remained standing near the flickering fire, at a respectful distance. Almost dispassionately he observed his own feelings. Voldemort was so skilled in steering them, like a puppeteer. It was not a disadvantage to have a leader who knew the human soul, he reminded himself. It only chagrined him that Voldemort's words awakened so much in him, were able to get past his defences so easily, that he knew so well how to speak to him, how to make Severus feel whatever he wanted him to feel.

Mostly he knew that he was the Dark Lord’s most trusted soldier, his advisor and confidante. Maybe even his friend. But then at times, in moments like this, he could not help the nagging feeling that he was only another puppet dancing on his Lord’s strings.

"I miss him, too," Voldemort whispered.

Severus turned around sharply.

"You think I do not feel affection?" Voldemort laughed bitterly. "I remember the day Regulus came to me. I remember his face when he said he believed in me, when he swore the oath of loyalty and took the Mark and told me he would never abandon me. I remember all of this as if it were yesterday. Do you really believe that betrayal does not cause me pain?"

He laid his hands on the table.

"It was your right to lie, Severus. You were acting out of loyalty, and I know you didn't mean to betray me. I still trust you more than anyone else."

Severus closed his eyes.

"Yet, I have no other choice."

All of a sudden Voldemort was so close, his breath felt hot on his neck.

"Do you understand?" Voldemort cupped Severus face and turned it around so he could stare directly into his eyes. They were unsettling as always; black, with liquid, molten gold in them, inviting him to fall into their gaze. Sometimes a red light flared deep inside of them, but Severus could not be sure if that was a trick of the light or the reflection of the flames from the fireplace.

"I have to punish you. Some of the others already believe I am far too lenient with you, believe I favour you. I do not need to tell you how very dangerous such an idea is. I cannot afford to have favourites. I love you like a son, but I cannot let the others see that. It would put your life at risk."

"I understand," Severus said.

He truly did.

"I am sorry," he whispered.

"I know."

Severus knelt down. "Please, forgive me."

"I already did." Voldemort laid his hand on Severus’ head. They remained still for several minutes before Voldemort withdrew his hand and gathered his heavy woollen robes.

"I have to call in the others now. As usual I will not be present but Malfoy ... he will do it. Since he is a friend of yours, I trust he won't hurt you."

Severus said nothing to that. He remained kneeling, looking at the wooden boards, his hands on his lap. He closed his eyes in defeat.

Then, Voldemort turned and left the room.

2009

Severus Snape idly held a can of peaches in his hands while attempting to peek through the long Friday night queue at the tall man working at the checkout.

He was working fast, obviously used to this line of work, as he was hastily scanning in the items and packing them with skilled hands. His movements were precise and nearly elegant, but he never looked at the customers. Now and then Severus could see his lips move, when one of the customers asked him something. As far as Severus could see the man answered politely if hastily. He didn't sneer the way he had in the past.

Another employee called out. As the checker turned to answer, Severus saw his face. His eyes, once silver and shining with arrogance and pride, were grey and listless. He could see the thin lips pressed into a tired line. His hair was shorter, the silken mane that had caught the sunlight so many years ago was dull and tied into a pony tail with a grey rubber band.

Severus could not tell if the man had seen him. The man he used to know would have felt his presence, the characteristics of his magic. The man at the counter though was busy scanning apples and didn't probably even see the face of the large, bearded customer right in front of him.

Severus found himself in the queue shuffling toward the man's cash register. The handbag of the woman before him started to sing "The Girl from Ipanema" and she cursed. She fumbled with her bag, rummaging around in it for her keys, then found her mobile phone.

"I am still at Tesco's ... this guy's taking forever," she snapped into the phone. She listened to someone speaking on the other end then continued. "Well, if I am ever going to get out of here before retirement, I'll let you know!"

After the impatient woman paid for her shopping, all the while tapping with her left foot which the man at the checkout graciously ignored, it was his turn and he put the can onto the conveyor belt.

"That’ll be seventy-five pence, please," the man said, not looking at Severus. Severus gave him a pound and was immediately handed the change. Severus began to wonder if he had recognised or even seen him.

The tag on his uniform read "Leo Williams".

"Have a good day, Mr. Williams," he said as he snatched his shopping bag that the employee held up for him. He didn't wait to see if the man looked up or turned to watch his retreating back.

He waited two weeks before he went back. The tall man with the ponytail was at another till this time. It was less busy and he was moving less hastily. He even seemed to chat a little with the customers, smiling at them and joking with the woman at the cash register behind him.

Again, he took a can of peaches and queued up. When he was standing in front of Williams, he said, "Malfoy."

Malfoy looked up only briefly then went back to packing the can. "That'll be seventy-five pence, please," and then he added, "Do you want a bag-for-life with that or just a plastic one, sir?"

Severus blinked.

"When do you finish work here?" he asked.

"We're open from nine to eleven p.m.," Malfoy replied, holding up a thin carrier bag.

"I'll pick you up tonight then," said Severus.

Malfoy said nothing but put the can into the bag and handed it over to Severus. He looked into Severus’ eyes and he could see how much the man had aged in these last few years. He was haggard and bony, and his cheeks a little more hollow than he remembered.

Severus managed to smirk coldly before he fled.

At home in his apartment on Diagon Alley he put the can carefully next to the other one in his cupboard. He lingered for a while in the kitchen, standing indecisively beside the table. He still saw Malfoy’s defeated look in his eyes.

"Please," Malfoy had said, and it occurred to him that these days Malfoy must use that word on a daily basis, must be used to humiliating himself, to begging, to saying, “Please, sir," "Please, madam," "Thank you, sir," "Apologies, madam," the whole day long. The thought excited him, ignited a grim flame of desire in him, a hateful lust that he had thought long burned away with the years.

He had waited for this for too long. It seemed his whole adult life had been a silent, wretched yearning for this moment.

Autumn 1979

He was too late.

Before he had even reached the perimeter of the wards, Severus knew that he was too late.

It was all said in the silence of the sun-baked street, the stray dog crouching in the shadows, the closed shop, the way nothing moved at all.

Everything told him that it was too late, and all he had left to do was to turn around and walk away as fast as he could and not look back.

Moments later he stood in front of the house that looked no different from all the other Muggle houses on the street. It had the same low wall, the same half-neglected lawn, the same little path leading up to the door.

The doorknob clicked a little when he opened it, reacting swiftly to his Alohomora.

Severus pushed the door a little further open, standing frozen on the doorstep. He strained his ears, trying to hear anything.

Every sense, every nerve in his body screamed at him to run away as he stood there for what he thought to be an eternity, listening to his own fearful heartbeat, his ragged breathing.

Finally he slid in, his wand clutched tightly in his right hand.

The air had a crisp, sterile feel to it as if Regulus had cast a charm, which he did frequently to counter the mouldy smell that sometimes emanated from the bathroom and the basement.

He walked through the narrow, darkened hallway that led to the staircase, his wand ready, as he pressed against the walls. To his left was the living room, which looked deceptively calm and peaceful as if Regulus had only gone upstairs to nap. The record player was still spinning and the soft sht - sht - sht sound of the needle hitting the runout was just audible. He flicked his wand at it, and the needle lifted up and went back to its original position.

Parchments were strewn across the sofa, an empty cup sat on the floor. The Westminster clock on the mantle was ticking.

Nothing seemed disrupted.

The sound of dripping water stopped him short before he remembered the kitchen tap that steadfastly refused all magic and Muggle repair attempts.

The kitchen was clear. The unused fridge was standing in the corner, fuelled only by Regulus’ magic. An open book was lying face down on the table.

He opened the storage room, searched the basement, then made his way upstairs.

The fourth stair on the staircase creaked, and he avoided it, hand on the banister. His shirt was sticking to his sweaty back and he had to wipe moisture from the bridge of his nose.

The door to Regulus' room was wide open. Severus cocked his head, all his senses alert. Regulus usually kept his room locked as he had always been secretive, nearly paranoid in the last weeks.

“Regulus,” he said.

The room was watching him silently as he crossed it to get to Regulus' desk.

He remembered the spell Reg had told him the last time they had met here. With shaking hands he held the wand over the table and within a moment the little drawer was visible.

He pulled it open.

A folded piece of paper was inside and he took it, nearly smirking. With Regulus, seemingly meaningless things bore significance: using Muggle-made ordinary paper and a ball pen itself was a message.

Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.

R.A.B.

Severus sat there for a long time, looking out of the window.

It was too late.

He raised his wand and Incendio’ed the slip of paper, watching grey ash flakes fall onto the desk.

Slowly he walked down the stairs, through the hallway and out of the house, continuing down the street and around the corner until he was on the main street, not looking right or left or turning back, not caring where he went.

2009

Severus Apparated back to London in the late evening hours. In the drunk, gay crowd of youngsters sitting on benches and leaning against the walls, he needn't be overly careful, yet he chose a deserted side street a few streets away from the Tesco to which to Apparate.

He didn't have to wait too long. The door opened and Malfoy slipped out, alone. He wasn't wearing his Tesco uniform any more, only a faded, colourless sweater and grey pants. He looked wearily around and then saw Severus.

Severus watched him come closer. He wanted to feel triumph, satisfaction, maybe contempt, but all he could feel was this an uncomfortable pity. They should have killed him or given him the Dementor's Kiss. They should have allowed him to take his own life honourably. To condemn him to live without his magic, in this Muggle world for which the likes of Malfoy were not prepared to live, was worse than death. They hadn’t even had the mercy to Obliviate him.

"Shall we go to my place, then?" Malfoy said in that pleasant tone of his. "Or did you have other plans?"

Severus shook his head. He pulled Malfoy between two big garbage containers and Apparated them straight into the side street beside the brick building where Malfoy lived now.

"You know where I live," stated Malfoy without surprise. He leant against the red wall to gather himself until the sensation of Apparating ebbed away, a strangely human gesture, and he didn't seem to care about the griminess of the wall.

There was no lift in Malfoy's building, and they walked up four flights in silence together, Malfoy leading the way. The hallway and staircase were littered with cigarette butts, empty cans and old newspapers. Severus gingerly stepped over the corpse of a grey rat. The walls of the stairways were filthy too, more graffiti, partly racist slurs, partly proud sexual declarations ("George buggered Lisa"). The uneven concrete floor was wet from the rain, and there were puddles. It didn’t escape Severus' notice that Malfoy didn't even avoid them.

The utter indifference to his environment unsettled Severus deeper than he would have imagined. It seemed as if Malfoy had never known another life, a life in which there had been house-elves at his beck and call, where the floor had been carpeted and silken rugs had softened his steps.

Why did he not care?

At the door Malfoy paused. There was no name on it, only the flat number, 401. His jaw muscles worked in a peculiar way, but Severus could not see his eyes in the darkness. To him it seemed as if Malfoy was amused. Then he pulled out his keys and opened the locks on his door. An orange plastic dog was dangling on the key chain, and briefly Severus wondered if someone had given it to him, or if Malfoy himself had bought it.

Severus watched the thin, bony fingers work. The hands were clean but lacked the porcelain smoothness they had once possessed.

"So," Malfoy said conversationally, as they stepped into the flat, "how did you find me?"

"That question is beneath even your low level of intelligence," retorted Severus.

Malfoy locked the door meticulously behind them.

"I was told at the Ministry that I would be untraceable," he said. "I was equipped with new documents."

Severus knew this. Unlike others, Malfoy had not even received any school qualifications with his new identity: for the Muggle world, Leo Williams was an unlearned, uneducated man with a past prison sentence and no skills whatsoever. After all, it would do no good to hand Malfoy any opportunities to claw his way back into Wizarding Society as he undoubtedly would attempt.

"’I was told’," scoffed Severus. "Listen to yourself. Since when did you become so gullible?"

Malfoy only eyed him tiredly but didn’t respond. Severus guessed Malfoy hadn't had a choice other than to believe them.

Severus wished, not for the first time, that the man in front of him would be more defiant, more arrogant, more ... like the Pureblood who had taken his innocence and youth and faith. The selfish boy who had made him, once upon a time, into the bitter, caustic, cynical, cruel remain of a man he was now.

He had been waiting for his revenge, and he would not be cheated out of it. Not today, not again.

"What do you want?" Malfoy asked. When Severus only regarded him blandly, he had his answer. There was no need to say anything. Malfoy didn't pretend to misunderstand. He merely went to the fridge that was opposite the entrance and opened it.

Severus looked around.

The walls were yellowed by age. There was a bed in the right corner of the room with a shabby looking knitted coverlet. Some posters stuck on the back of the bathroom door, and two paintings were standing against the wall, one of them framed. He resisted the urge to look closer at them.

The round kitchen table was only inches away from the end of the bed, and a wooden chair was jammed between the wall and the table. A grey couch was facing a small TV. Severus stared at it, trying to imagine Malfoy sitting on that couch watching Muggle TV. It was unfathomable.

The old Lucius Malfoy would have rather died than live like this.

Or, maybe Malfoy was the quintessential Slytherin, simply refusing to die, waiting for another chance perhaps. He didn’t believe that, however. It seemed that Malfoy had in fact given up a long time ago. No one in his right mind would live this life and not try to get out of it. Malfoy had never been overly smart or gifted but not outright stupid either.

Severus stepped closer to Malfoy to study his face, and noted how Malfoy let himself be scrutinised and examined like a horse, a thing without betraying any anger, any emotion. Aside from the wrinkles and the creases there were scars, some of them Severus recognised as curse scars, and a light stubble. Deep lines of sorrow and fatigue were etched into the sides of his mouth and he let his gaze linger on them, pretending a triumph he didn't really feel.

I should feel more than this, Severus thought.

If Malfoy was already used to being treated like an inferior being, it would take the pleasure out of his revenge. He had waited too long, Severus thought, to be deprived of the pleasure of seeing Malfoy humbled and defeated, a powerless squib, who had to work in a Muggle supermarket and who lived in a tiny room in a dubious neighbourhood. Still, he could not chase this disappointment away, the nagging feeling of getting something and realising it wasn't what he wanted after all.

Malfoy took two cans out of the fridge. The cans looked odd in his hand, and the casual way Malfoy opened his drink, pulled the tin lash, emptied it and threw it into a bin near the fridge, unsettled Severus even more. He barely caught the other can Malfoy tossed him.

"If I were you, I'd be careful with my alcohol intake," said Severus. "Your body is less forgiving of toxins without your magical core."

There it was. Finally. Malfoy couldn't quite hide the fury in his eyes. Severus' eyes narrowed maliciously.

Without his magic, Malfoy’s famed beauty had paled and withered and he now looked merely like one of these ageing pretty boys, who had relied on their good looks a little too long and suddenly found themselves beyond forty and without any means and an equal lack of future prospects. There was a slight, very human air of despair in his eyes, maybe one of the reasons why he was so well versed in opening gin and tonic cans single-handedly.

"Do you miss your magic?" Severus asked, not able to resist. He had, Severus mused, a right to uphold his grudges, to hold on to his petty desire for revenge. Only now it felt less a desire than an automated and hollow response. Maybe if he were not to only witness Malfoy's pain and humiliation but the one to contribute to it, to cause it ... maybe it would feel better. Maybe it would make him feel at last.

Malfoy didn't even answer but glanced briefly at him, before emptying his can and tossing it onto the kitchen table. He must have known that this moment would come. Of course he couldn't have been that stupid to think that Severus had forgotten?

"Let us sit down then," Severus said silkily, gesturing at the bed, not at the couch.

Malfoy sat down on his mattress, which gave a loud creak, and looked up at him. No, Severus realised, Malfoy hadn't forgotten. He had anticipated this moment, had known all along that one day Severus would find him and make him pay. Maybe he had even longed for it, for the relief that this would undoubtedly bring. Severus knew how that felt - that kind of waiting.

He went to the fridge to find a whole shelf full with silver cans. The shelf underneath held only an ancient looking margarine, two shrivelled carrots and some jars, and further behind one bottle of gin, the other a very cheap looking vodka. He took another can and tossed it to Malfoy who caught it effortlessly and opened it. Severus walked over and sat on the bed beside him, leaning casually against the headrest and watching Malfoy swallow. Maybe there was still some defiance in him in the way he didn't slouch, but sat primly, upright, and the way he didn't look at Severus.

"How many years since we last saw each other?" Severus asked.

"It's been a long time. Maybe six, seven years?" Malfoy still refused to look at him, but stared at the empty can between his fingers.

"Maybe longer," Severus said.

"Maybe," Malfoy admitted.

There was another silence, thick and ominous. Severus pondered if he should ask Malfoy if he had missed him. Of course, he knew that Malfoy had not. But the question would undoubtedly conjure memories, memories Severus wished Malfoy to look at.

He felt like a cat who had managed to get hold of its prey and now tried to decide how to play with it. How should he go about it, to derive maximum pleasure out of this and cause Malfoy the maximum of discomfort?

He could ask him polite, well mannered questions about his work, his life, about Draco, and watch Malfoy become more and more agitated and tense. In the end, whatever Severus would do, or would order him to do, he would do it with this almost-gratitude, almost-relief of finally knowing what was going to happen. Severus suppressed a shiver of arousal at that idea. Malfoy would comply. There was no question about that. But, how would he comply? Would he be able to maintain that blank, empty mask? Or would he betray himself, his anger, his pride? For it must hurt, must enrage Malfoy deeply that his world was now ruled by the very ones he had hunted like animals his whole life: the Mudbloods, the traitors. And he, once a Lord, a higher being, a pureblood, was banned into the hell of the Muggle world.

Suddenly Severus wanted it to be over with. He could just leave. This existence that Malfoy had to endure was really punishment enough. If he were to leave now, it would be over and he could go on ... living maybe. He could deliver his final words of insult, scorn, gloat a little over him and then ... just leave.

Stop waiting, stop hating, stop aching. He could walk down all those stairs and fling the door open and stand in the night air and breathe and never come back again.

He pulled his can open and drank from the vile concoction. His senses registered four different toxins before he had even swallowed. With a grimace he forced himself to drink. He took a deep breath.

"Undress," he ordered Malfoy in a forced casual tone, then waited. He let out his breath, shifting slightly to hide his excitement.

It had begun.

Slowly Malfoy’s hands rose to his collar. He unbuttoned his shirt, then pulled it out of his trousers, let it slide over his shoulders. Severus emptied the can and threw it on the floor.

Malfoy stood and unfastened his trousers, and they fell into a heap of grey fabric, removing his socks and shoes as well. For a moment he stood in his briefs, then pulled them down, too.

Oh, beautiful Lucius.

He was still beautiful, after all this time. He was still lean, as if carefully sculpted by a loving Renaissance artist. The horrible, flickering artificial light showed mercy for his lines, was strangely kind to the planes of his body.

Only on a closer look could one see that his nipples were darker now, the disks not as round and pink as if painted on. And here and there Severus could see skin sagging, folds and creases where he had lost weight. He was not as firm and supple any more. Standing every day at a cash register was not as good exercise as riding Abraxans were. Or torturing Mudbloods.

"Do you have lube here?" Severus asked, allowing the memories to wash over him.

Malfoy nodded and pointed towards the bathroom.

"Go and get it," Severus ordered. He pondered getting another drink while Malfoy rummaged in the bathroom. When he emerged, Severus told him, nausea and excitement building up in him, "Now get down on all fours, like a good dog."

Malfoy looked into his eyes at the words and Severus held his gaze.

Slowly he dropped onto all fours, the lube held awkwardly in his right hand.

"Very good," Severus praised him. "Now come here."

Malfoy crawled towards the bed until he was kneeling in front of Severus.

"You know what you have to do," Severus said softly. It was good. This was what he wanted. Yes, he wanted this. The pain inside him felt a bit unnatural, he guessed, but he had done worse in his life. It would abate and melt into relief. His cock was already half hard.

Malfoy opened Severus’ trousers and took his cock into his hands.

"Beg for it," Severus said, as coldly as possible.

Malfoy closed his eyes briefly, then looked up at him.

"May I, please?" he asked, starting to gently pull and rub the cock to full hardness.

"May I ... what?" Severus drawled lazily.

"May I suck your cock, please?" Malfoy whispered.

Severus forced a laugh. "Why should I let you suck my cock?"

Oh, they both knew the game. Only their roles were reversed now. It was hard to enjoy the moment because he had to concentrate on his lines. Later, he told himself, later when it was all over, he would watch his memories in the Pensieve and then he could enjoy it properly.

With something akin to satisfaction, he noticed how Malfoy's lips pressed into a thin line before he opened them.

"Because I am a filthy cockslut," he whispered, now barely audible.

"Ah, there you go. That wasn't so hard at all, was it?" Severus patted Malfoy’s cold cheek, barely able to hide his disappointment. He had expected Malfoy to put up a fight. "We all have to face some unpleasant truths about ourselves at one time or another."

Malfoy only nodded, continuing to stroke Severus’ cock, aiming it at his own face and looking up at him. If Severus didn’t feel so sick he might have found that delicious.

"Then, suck," he ordered, and no sooner had he spoken, Malfoy's pink tongue darted out and teased his foreskin.

Malfoy licked his cock, and Severus couldn't help but thinking that he deliberately made a show out of it, the way he was tilting his pretty head to suckle at the underside and mouth the balls, tongue tickling the sensitive skin of his perineum.

Malfoy suddenly lifted his gaze and locked eyes with him, and in that same moment he took him completely into his wet mouth. Severus could feel his prey's lips around the base of his cock and his throat working around the head, straining. But then Malfoy did something else, unhinged his jaw, because all of a sudden his cock slipped all the way in, and it was hot and tight and clenching, like a ...

Fuckfuckfuck, it feels so good, so hot and wet and ...

... and he thrust into that mouth. He reached out and pulled Malfoy's head closer, revelling in the gagging sound he made. He grinned wolfishly and saw tears in Malfoy's eyes. But when he let go, instead of drawing back with relief, Malfoy grabbed his hips and pushed him down his throat again and again, never taking his gaze off him as if daring him, as if he didn't care about the pain, hollowing his cheeks. There was almost a bit of the old Malfoy in there, defiant and arrogant even in his submission.

He could feel Malfoy's aristocratic tongue lapping and curling and could feel the moist, warm suction and he wanted to come inside that sweet mouth. Only, with his last effort he pulled out, grabbed a handful of blonde hair and angled the cock and came all over Malfoy's face and head.

He wiped his cock for good measure into his hair, then let Malfoy lick him clean before he tucked himself into his trousers.

There was no outcry of rage or look of indignation.

Malfoy remained on his knees, come dripping from his face. His eyes were now as blank as they had been before.

"That's a very good look for you," Severus said hoarsely. The pain in his chest was suddenly unbearable and he almost feared he might be suffering a heart attack. He pulled his fine wool coat close and then went into the bathroom where he relieved himself, not bothering to close the door. The noise of his stream hitting the porcelain bowl was the only sound that could be heard in the tiny flat. A small mirror hung in the cramped room. He grimly bared his teeth at the blurry reflection then went into the living room again. Malfoy, to his astonishment, was still kneeling in the same spot, sitting on his haunches, looking at the wall, the forgotten bottle of lube behind him on the floor.

Without saying any further word to him, Severus left.

Summer 1979

The long conference room was empty but for Voldemort who was sitting in an armchair by the fire, looking at the red flames.

"My Lord," said Severus.

"Severus."

Voldemort waved to the chair beside him. "Sit with me, my friend."

Cautiously Severus obeyed, watching Voldemort from the corner of his eyes.

"It's always cold in these rooms," Voldemort murmured, apparently lost in his thoughts.

"Shall I cast a Warming Spell?"

"No, don't bother." Voldemort continued to stare into the flames, his ageless face taut.

"Things on the continent are going well I hear. We have allies in Italy, Germany and France. Malfoy returned yesterday with very good news."

"Yes, he has been busy," Severus replied.

Voldemort said nothing to that.

When the silence became nearly unbearable, Severus finally broke and asked, "What is it you wish from me?"

Voldemort looked at him, his eyes narrowed. "You do not always agree with me, do you?"

"I never disobey you, my Lord."

"I know," said Voldemort. "I know. That is why I trust you so much. You raise your voice against me. You defy me. You question my methods, my logic and my strategies, and you know your advice has been at times invaluable. But you always, always obey in the end."

Severus opened his mouth and closed it again. It would be a mistake to speak now. It didn't escape Voldemort's notice though and he scoffed.

"Always so smart, my Severus," he said quietly. He shook his head as if in disbelief. "My dear, my own heretic."

He reached out and covered Severus’ thin, long hand with his.

"What could it possibly be that I want from you?" asked Voldemort.

Severus closed his eyes. He knew. How could he know?

"Severus," said Voldemort softly. "Can you tell me where Regulus Arcturus Black is?"

For a long time Severus said nothing.

"Does he mean so much to you?" Voldemort asked. "More than I mean to you? And more than all our goals, our hopes mean to you?"

"My Lord ..." said Severus hesitantly.

"I am aware that I am asking you to betray your friend," said Voldemort and suddenly his voice seemed to carry into every corner of Severus’ soul. Startled by Voldemort's words, he looked into the man's face. "Regulus was there for you when you needed a friend. I know that."

Severus nodded.

"But, Regulus betrayed not only me," Voldemort continued. "If it were only about me, I would not ask this from you, my friend." He stood and gathered his robes. "Regulus Black betrayed us, Severus. Not me, but all of us. And he betrayed us not because he stopped believing, he betrayed us because he is a coward. He chose to go to the other side and beg for mercy because he was afraid. That is the worst kind of betrayal."

He frowned and turned to Severus. "If a man stops believing in a cause, then ... I respect that. Believe me, Severus, if you tell me tomorrow that you stopped believing, that you see no hope for us, that you do not dream my dreams any more, I would let you go. I would rather let you go than keep someone who doesn't believe in my vision. Know that. Keep that in mind, Severus." He paused, then leant forward until his lips nearly touched Severus' forehead. "Regulus Black's betrayal was much worse. He betrayed us to save his own hide. Trust me, not even Dumbledore will have anything to do with such a man. What do you believe will happen to Regulus Black once he has served his purpose? He will go to Azkaban, regardless of any deal he has made with Dumbledore. What do you think Gryffindors will think of someone who turns around and betrays his brethren? That they treat him with respect, that they honour their word? For a traitor? Do you really think the likes of James Potter and Frank Longbottom will keep any promise they give a man like Regulus Black?"

Voldemort sank to his knees in front of Severus, taking both of Severus’ hands. Severus could feel the power thrumming, the vibrations and flow of magic swirling in the room. It seemed as if everything, the flowers on the tapestries, the flames in the fireplace, the draped velvet curtains and the intricate pattern of the rug beneath his feet, were moving and coming to life. Sometimes Voldemort invited him to share his magic and, like a snake looking for warmth, Severus’ hungry mind would immediately connect to it and relish that full, thick feeling of magic more powerful than anything he knew flowing through him. Even now, when they were not connected to each other’s minds, he could feel that power singing.

"I am not here for Regulus Black, Severus," whispered Voldemort. "I do not care for him anymore. If I don't find him ... someone else will. One way or another, he is already dead flesh. Whatever you choose to tell me, it won't matter to Regulus Black." He cupped Severus’ chin. "I am here because of you," said Voldemort. "I need to know if you are on my side. Do you understand that?"

His eyes seemed to glow orange, then red. The fire was playing tricks. Severus blinked, stared down at his hands.

"I lose good men every day, Severus. I mourn each and every one of them, as I have mourned Regulus. But Regulus is gone now, and because of his betrayal innocent people, good wizards and witches, will suffer or even die. What I need to know is, are you with me?"

He could feel Voldemort's inquiring, intrusive presence in his mind, his magic trying to anchor, to find something, an image to cling to, words to decode.

Severus raised his face, finally, and made his decision.

2009

A week later he was back at Tesco's. Again he watched Malfoy for half an hour before he queued in his lane. Malfoy worked quickly, without looking at the customers, but when addressed, he answered politely.

Malfoy looked up when he saw the peach can on the conveyor belt approaching him. Severus smirked at him, and Malfoy continued working. When he was scanning the can, Severus asked casually, "Say, Leo, I wonder how quickly I could get you fired from here?"

Malfoy didn't even stiffen at being spoken to like this. "It would depend on your grievance with me, sir," he replied and pushed a button on the cash register.

"I hope you are not dissatisfied with my services."

He gestured to the little screen and said, "That'll be seventy-five pence, please."

Severus tossed him a coin and took the plastic bag Malfoy was holding out to him. The cash register made a little sound and the receipt came out. Malfoy tore it and handed it to Severus, along with his change.

Severus walked around the corner before he Apparated to his apartment and put the can into his cupboard.

Three hours later, he Apparated back into the alley, straightened the collar of his coat and smoothed his hair back. When he turned around, he froze.

Ten metres away from him, Malfoy was standing with his back against the wall, a group of men standing around him. Silently Severus approached, while the men unaware of his presence started pushing Malfoy around. One of them pulled the pony tail Malfoy had tucked neatly away and yanked his head back, the way Severus had done some days ago.

Malfoy let it happen with the same bland mask he had worn then. He didn't even lift a finger to defend himself. Even without magic Malfoy could have at least pushed the men away.

The other man spat into his face. "You fucking poof," he said.

Malfoy said nothing.

"We don't need your kind here," said the third man. He shook Malfoy, and his head lolled against the brick wall behind him.

Severus couldn't hear Malfoy’s response, but the three men laughed. The biggest of them, the leader, grabbed Malfoy’s Tesco shirt roughly and turned him around so that his face was pressed against the wall.

"That's what you like, huh," the man growled. Severus stepped closer.

"A little less conversation, a little more action, gentlemen," Malfoy drawled as if he was discussing the weather and not being ambushed by some bullies in an alleyway. "You are truly sad excuses for street hooligans."

The man slapped Malfoy unceremoniously in the face. "You like it rough?"

Severus thought he could enjoy that. He could enjoy these three beating up Malfoy until he was lying on the ground, and then he could step over to his curled up body. He could catch a good look into Malfoy's face and then leave him there, bleeding.

Severus revealed his teeth in a grimace and even he couldn't say if he felt triumph, mockery or pain.

They kneed Malfoy in the stomach and, wheezing, Malfoy sank down onto his knees, then fell slowly forward, one hand fisted into his shirt.

"Petrificus Totalus," Severus whispered, aiming his wand at the three men who immediately fell onto the ground. He pulled Malfoy away from them, then bent over their faces and cleanly Obliviated each and every one of them.

He stepped back into the darkness of the alley and gathered Malfoy close, then Apparated them back to Malfoy’s block of flats.

Malfoy steadied himself. His face was an impenetrable mask and he seemed unmoved apart from a light shaking of his hands. Severus stepped back from him.

"Can you walk by yourself?" asked Severus.

Malfoy gazed at him with narrowed eyes, as if unsure what language Severus was speaking, then nodded. He pushed himself off the wall and limped into the dark hallway, his gait unsteady. Severus followed. After one flight of stairs Malfoy’s knees gave way and Severus reached out and caught him. Malfoy didn’t shake him off.

They continued to walk upstairs in complete silence. With a slight feeling of relief, Severus saw that the hallway was slightly cleaner than last time and the dead rat was gone.

The first thing Malfoy did, even before he went into the bathroom to clean himself up, was to open the fridge and to drink down two of those atrocious canned drinks like they were water. The shaking of his hands subsided a little.

Severus followed him into the bathroom and watched Malfoy undressing. Malfoy, for his part, ignored Severus until the water sputtered out of the rusty shower head. Suddenly he turned around and fixed him with a blank stare while washing himself.

It was an odd moment: Severus standing there in his coat, and Malfoy naked, water running off his body. The cold, detached way he looked at him, as if he were nothing, merely a servant or a house-elf.

Severus felt a well-remembered nervousness gathering inside him and resolutely he stepped closer to the shower curtain and pulled it aside. The water ran down on Malfoy’s unmoving face like tears on a marble statue. Malfoy cocked his head slightly then he sank wordlessly to his knees, calmly unzipped Severus’ trousers and pulled out his limp cock.

Severus jerked back, one hand running through his hair, with the other zipping his trousers up.

"Stop that," he said hoarsely before he could stop himself. Malfoy regarded him with the same polite blankness he reserved for the customers at the checkout and stood up. Without a word he took a bar of soap and continued to wash himself, still watching Severus.

Severus leant on the tiles, not caring that he was getting wet too. There were water drops glistening on his coat and his suit, like little, tiny glass beads.

Another moment went by and then another and another.

Fuckfuckfuck.

This would not do.

He realised that his hand, balled into a fist, was in his mouth and he was biting his knuckles.

He let it fall.

With a sudden flare of rage, he moved towards the shower again and grabbed Malfoy's arm, violently pulling him out of the shower. Malfoy didn't do anything to defend himself, and Severus’ irrational fury grew.

"What is it with you?" he snarled at him, pushing him onto his knees. "Are you doing that on purpose?" Malfoy caught himself with his hands but then like an obedient servant remained in that position.

"Do you want me to fight back," he asked calmly, looking at his hands, "the way you didn't?"

Severus could hardly breathe. He wanted to kick Malfoy in the ribs, break his face, his arms, violate him, hurt hurt hurt him.

It would still leave him empty. Nothing would fill the emptiness inside him. Severus ran a hand over his face, trying to compose himself. He withstood the urge to clutch at his heart.

He looked at Malfoy's white back, dripping with water, then pulled out his wand and pressed it against his jugular.

"Every Pureblood wizard would have killed himself a long time ago," Severus said. "Isn't this a tradition?"

Malfoy didn't even flinch.

"Why didn't you kill yourself?" whispered Severus. "Why did you allow yourself to become this?"

He pushed Malfoy and dug the wand into the soft spot underneath his chin.

Malfoy fell against the tiles carelessly, limp boned.

"Tell me, Malfoy," Severus moved closer, his lips touching Malfoy’s perfect ear, "why live? Why go through this miserable existence?"

"I am only waiting for Draco to get married," Malfoy replied calmly. "Then, I can work on getting back my magic, my wand and my estate. I still have my connections, believe me. I only need to wait until they're married. Then my position will be ... considerably improved."

"You're delusional," Severus said, but felt cold dread draw up inside him and knotting his insides.

"Are you absolutely sure?" Malfoy asked, smiling. "Look at you. Here you are, full of big words about revenge and I am still alive. Why take your chances? I would have killed you already if it had been you on your knees."

Severus swallowed. He could imagine that. It was only a matter of weeks until Draco and Ginevra Weasley announced their wedding date. And then Malfoy could begin to claw his way back into Wizarding Society, and with the support of his former allies, friends ... he would manage.

"Remember how we used to taunt you?" Malfoy purred. "We all knew how the Marauders had their fun with you, Snivellus. We pretended not to know but we just didn't care. After all, it was only you." He laughed.

There was a little craziness in that voice. It confused Severus, that slight hysterical edge. He didn't think that he ever heard that tone in Malfoy's voice before.

"I made a bet with the others in my seventh year that I would make you fall in love with me, would make you my little catamite." Malfoy paused, then continued, "At least someone had the mercy to put a cock inside your skinny little arse and give you a good fuck. Has anyone ever fucked you like that again? Given you that feeling of complete bliss, made you wail and scream and beg?"

"Shut up!" Severus snarled, and the curse formed in his brain, could almost see its green haze.

"You enjoyed yourself so much. After all you always had a submissive streak in you, that much was obvious." Malfoy glared at him, then pulled himself up onto his elbows. "Look at you, you filthy son of a blood traitor, you dirty Muggle. Do you really think you can deceive anyone? After all these years? You still reek of Muggle, Snivellus, underneath your potions and magic. No matter how hard you try, the likes of you will always stick out like a sore thumb, you worthless cocksucker." He drew in his breath sharply and his eyes looked wild for a moment. "No matter how much you humiliate me, you will still remember how I took you, and how you begged for it, whined and begged for cock, spreading your legs."

Severus clenched his teeth.

Malfoy looked up at him with a delighted, mad grin on his face. Severus had never seen that expression on him before either.

"You remember," insisted Malfoy, still smiling, "as if your body can't let go of the only time someone touched you voluntarily! Of the only time you experienced ... intimacy. No, the body doesn't forget things like that."

Severus backhanded him and Malfoy's head snapped back. When he looked up at Severus again, there was a red bruise on his cheekbone.

"You still want me. You miserable, lonely soul, despite it all, you yearn for it. That's why you're here. If you were here for revenge, you would have killed me already." Malfoy scooted closer on his knees in a horrid parody of seduction and submission. "If you kill me now, this will stop. You'll be able to sleep in peace for the first time. Do it now and you'll never wake up in the middle of the night again; you'll never feel that humiliation again!"

Severus' breathing slowed. He carefully pulled his wand back and got up. Malfoy frowned.

"But then ... you are your mother's child, I guess. The offspring of a whore who sucked Muggle cock. Did you know she offered herself to strangers? She didn't stop after you were born, I heard. My father had her once ... in Knockturn Alley. Like you, she was begging for it. Like mother, like son, hey?" said Malfoy in the conversational way he had always been so skilled, but followed Severus’ wand with a desperate glance. "Tell me, do you think you could have got it up for Lily if she would have let you fuck her?"

He got up, wincing, and Severus remembered that he must have at least one broken or bruised rib from the thugs. He aimed his wand again and began healing Malfoy who hissed at him, suddenly furious. "Stop healing me, you traitorous coward!"

"What if I were to share my memories of our little tete-a-tete with the world? Sell them to the Daily Prophet? You sucking cock and kneeling in front of me. How would you like that?" purred Severus while stroking Malfoy’s healed skin. “How would that help your grand plans?”

He pushed Malfoy away with his boot.

Malfoy got up and walked to the fridge, but this time he didn't bother with the canned gin and tonic and pulled the half empty bottle of gin out instead.

He poured some, too much, Severus thought, and offered the drink to Severus who took the glass.

Severus wondered if he could ever be free.

Malfoy poured himself a glass and drank it down, then he poured some more.

He put the glass down on the table. "Let's get on with it, shall we?" he asked casually.

Severus kept himself from flinching, from asking "What?"

"You want to fuck me," Malfoy said. "The way I fucked you once. You want to punish me. You want to taste blood."

Severus regarded him under heavy lidded eyes. He didn't like the buzz of the gin, the bitter taste.

"And you'll let me, just like that?" he asked.

"I have no magic anymore. I don't have a choice. Why postpone the inevitable."

Severus nodded to himself. Yes, why indeed?

"If you are trying to deprive me of the satisfaction by refusing to fight, you need to choose another tactic," he said, putting the glass down. "If you are attempting to take control by initiating your punishment, you are sadly mistaken, Malfoy. I know what you are doing, and it will not work."

I will go through with this. I won't back down.

Maybe this moment bore too much sadness. If he closed his eyes and forced himself to remember all the pretty lies, all the humiliation, the betrayal .... A slight touch made him open his eyes.

Malfoy stood in front of him. He laid a single cold finger on his lips, a strange and unfamiliar gesture.

Then he slowly fell down to his knees and laid his long, bony hands on his thighs. Malfoy sighed inaudibly, then turned to him with the arrogant smile he had worn as a fifteen year old boy. It was probably another mask, but the time Severus had cared about such trivialities was long over.

He concentrated on the present.

With an almost wicked smile, Malfoy slid his belt out of the loops, then rolled it carefully and handed it to Severus. Numbly, he took the belt, then felt his trousers being unbuttoned and unzipped, and the fabric slide down to his ankles. He didn't want that.

Malfoy rubbed his cheek against his groin.

He resisted the urge to touch Malfoy’s hair like he would pet a cat and so gripped the belt.

He wasn't hard. He wasn't aroused. There was no use denying it. Malfoy didn't comment on the softness of his cock but instead took it in his mouth and sucked and licked gently, first in a mechanical way, but when Severus’ cock remained stubbornly limp for the next minutes, Malfoy added small moans and closed his eyes and caressed his balls, and finally, eventually, he managed to pull a half-hearted erection through sheer force of will. Then, Malfoy turned around on his knees and leant forward, laying his forehead on the rug, reaching behind and parting his cheeks.

Malfoy’s hole was still so inviting, so small and delicate and pink, Severus thought. If he were only hard he could just grip his hips and ram it in, push mercilessly through the dryness and tear his flesh, make him wail and sob and grit his teeth.

The belt slid down to the floor.

"You'll get there as soon as you hit me," Malfoy said softly. "You'll feel it as soon as you start. You only have to start."

"Get there?" Severus asked numbly, looking down. "Feel ...?"

"The satisfaction. The surge of power, the rage," Malfoy explained, still holding himself open. "The relief."

"You're doing this on purpose," said Severus through gritted teeth.

Severus knew he needed to find the boy that Malfoy once was but something about this thought filled him with dread. Somewhere underneath this tired, defeated version of Lucius Malfoy must be the murderer, the seducer, the heartless, cruel boy that had once shattered him.

He too was tired and longed for something with all his black, empty heart, and for a long time it had been atonement and revenge and death, the sweet absolution of death, but things were never that simple. What his twisted mind wanted revealed itself in his dreams, in his restless moments, the tiny gaps between thoughts.

Lucius.

Like a little child he wanted to whisper: "Why did you have to go and do that to me? Why did you force me to hate you? Why, why, why?"

Because in the end, it all had been so ridiculously futile. Their former king, their Lord was dead meat now, food for worms, and with him his dreams of eternity. All that was left were aimless chess pieces, scattered from a deserted board.

He would have died for her, he used to tell her with a sneer on his face, a snarl that wanted to balance out those pathetic words.

I would fucking die for you, Evans.

She had died because of him. So many had died because of him, because of his error in judgement, because he had put his trust in the wrong people, because of his cowardice.

No, this was not only his fault.

"I don't want to fuck you," Severus finally said. "I look at you, and I can't even get it up, you disgusting piece of filth."

He pulled Malfoy up, who winced a little. His knees were red and Severus could see the pattern of the rug on the knee caps. He had to force himself to yank him, like a prison guard would handle an inmate.

He pushed Malfoy, who seemed to have no will of his own, onto the bed. He pointed his wand and the fridge opened. The bottle of gin flew into his hand. He unscrewed the lid and drank and then gave it to Malfoy, who did the same, his eyes on Severus.

Then, he set the bottle down.

There was a storm raging inside Severus, a sick, deep hatred boiling inside of him, and Malfoy would not let him ... near. With all his meek obedience he kept Severus at bay, but he would not let Malfoy succeed, he would not let him play this dirty trick. Malfoy would not escape, because he still had to pay.

And suddenly, Severus kissed Malfoy, tasting the cheap gin on his lips and something salty, wet. He pulled him close, his damned hair all over his hands. Strangely Malfoy did try to resist this time, did try to pull away, murmuring, "No ... please ... no."

So you don't mind the belt ... but kissing Snivellus ...

Something in Severus' chest roared with triumph at those words. At some point, though, Malfoy must have realised how useless it was to fight and he gave in, his hands settling on Severus’ back and holding him in place.

Severus didn’t know how long they kissed. He should not lose track of the time, he scolded himself. He could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, could feel Malfoy’s heart echo the mad rhythm, and he felt grim satisfaction at that.

Not that untouchable after all.

Malfoy let himself fall back on the mattress, pulling Severus with him. Little alarm bells went off in his brain, but it was too late.

Since when had it been too late?

Ten minutes ago, when Malfoy handed him the belt, it had still been his game, hadn't it? When had he let Malfoy take control?

But another voice insisted that it didn't matter, that it had never mattered.

He was hard all of a sudden, aching, aroused, his desire spilling in moisture leaking from the tip, pulsing, and Malfoy’s hands stroked Severus’ flanks then rested on his hips.

They looked at each other and couldn't look away. He could never, ever look away, Severus thought, and that thought felt like a prison door falling shut behind him.

Malfoy unbuttoned Severus’ shirt, then pushed down both of their trousers in a slithering movement. Severus could feel Malfoy’s foot steady itself on his calf, and then they were both naked.

With one hand Malfoy groped for the bottle of lube that had rolled under the bed and opened it, then he sat up so he could reach down. Severus propped himself up on his arms and watched as Malfoy began to prepare himself with the practised movements of a man who knew anal penetration, avoiding his eyes now. When he pushed his finger into himself, he raised an eyebrow and Severus felt the overwhelming urge to trace that eyebrow with his lips.

Oh.

Like a fifteen year old school boy, Severus forced himself to hold himself off. He could hardly breathe, the pressure was so intense. There was the smell of sex and arousal and the slick noises of Malfoy’s fingers in his own arse. And as if that wasn't enough, Malfoy slid the other hand over his body and caressed his nipple.

When it came to sex, Malfoy had always been very clever.

Severus took Malfoy’s cock and started stroking it, and soon Malfoy’s breathing became harsh and irregular, and he lifted himself off the bed, grinding against Severus.

Severus knew he shouldn't do this, because it wasn't revenge.

It was too late of course, and he couldn’t prevent that strange, upsetting clenching in his chest when Malfoy finally looked up and pressed himself against him and said, "Yes."

And when Severus, dazed as he was, didn’t understand immediately, Malfoy reached down and grabbed Severus’ cock and pushed himself against it. For a moment Severus' heart stopped beating. Breathlessly he slid in. He clung to Malfoy, held onto him because the world began spinning and he felt they were sinking into an unknown darkness together, or were lifted into the black night, two bodies entwined with each other, devoid of gravity.

He didn’t want this, he told himself, even as he took hold of Malfoy’s waist to steady himself. He did not want this.

Malfoy raised himself off the bed, keening, his legs circling Severus’ waist, muttering.

Severus had intended to punish Malfoy. But now he felt nothing could stop the flood of desire and sadness and raw feeling that poured out of his chest, all this fucking emotion rolling off him, running like liquid fire through his veins, the clawing feeling and the sensation of being torn into thousand shreds.

It was burning hate and murderous lust and despair and fear and contempt, and then it was ...

Severus could not bring himself to end his thought, to look what was underneath it all.

"Damn you, Malfoy," he whispered and in a final violent thrust sheathed himself completely.

Malfoy said only, "I know," and pressed himself up, as if to encourage him to thrust harder, to hurt him.

"Do you need the pain?" Severus growled, unable to understand why his voice didn't obey, why he felt like suffocating. Oh, how he loathed that unbearable sweetness.

Malfoy only held him tighter, stroking his head, and Severus could not hear what he murmured. He wanted to push this man away and kick him; hurt him; destroy the face that still held so much beauty, even now; mar his features; scratch that beautiful skin off him and reveal the ugliness underneath.

They moved together, frantically. They were one now, as if connected to one heart, one pulse.

"You want to atone?" hissed Severus, furious. "Is that it?"

Malfoy nodded, panting, gasping when one of them shifted and clenching tight.

"We both need to atone," he whispered, cradling Severus’ head and kissing him.

Severus shook his head, but he couldn’t hold off the wave that had begun to roll towards him, the liquid heat in his groin. He was incapable of fending off the absolute loss of control now and he screamed - he screamed and then it seemed he couldn’t stop coming.

Oh, God help him, he could not stop feeling.

He felt Malfoy become so very tight around him. Malfoy looked with strangely bright, glittering eyes. He gasped "Severus" then closed his eyes. His head fell back and he didn't move.

Severus waited until his elbows pained him, then dared to shake the other slightly.

Lucius.

"Malfoy," he said, as clipped as possible.

Slowly Malfoy opened his eyes and shifted to look at Severus. Severus closed his mind and hardened his gaze; he would not give Malfoy the satisfaction. He blinked the softness in his gaze away until his face was blank again.

Dazedly, Severus thought he did not want to know why this fucking hurt that Lucius Malfoy had never looked more beautiful than in these few moments of post orgasmic bliss, so ... innocent ... like a child.

Like a lover.

"Sleep now," Malfoy murmured. He was staring off into nothingness, his hand playing idly with Severus’ sweaty, black hair, carding his fingers through it. Severus was ashamed of the way his body leant into this caress without consulting him.

He felt his eyelids droop and his limbs grow heavy.

He shouldn't.

What he should do was humiliate Malfoy further by getting up, wiping his cock, getting dressed and leave.

He closed his eyes only for a moment.

He woke without a start, without changing his deep breathing, a habit that had saved his life more than a few times. He remained still until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Slowly he could make out the kitchen table, the fridge. Beside him he could feel Lucius Malfoy, shifting slightly on the bed. Carefully he monitored his breathing without letting Malfoy know he was awake.

Fingertips settled on his hairline. With the utmost effort he restrained himself from gripping Malfoy's wrist.

The fingers stroked his face now, very lightly.

He forced himself to lie still, to endure the touch, waiting for what Malfoy had planned next. But, nothing else followed. Malfoy only petted his hair, and from the corner of his eye he could see his pale face and the gleam of his eyes.

After a while he shifted and moved, and immediately Malfoy lifted his fingers and held his breath, as if fearful to be caught. Then after an eternity he felt Malfoy relax and move closer to him.

Panic gripped him.

I do not want this.

Malfoy was, and had always been, a liar and an opportunist, an unfeeling, cruel and spoiled schemer and manipulator. It would do no good to relax in his presence and to fall asleep like an idiot. With a jerk he rose and, for good measure, shoved Malfoy away against the wall.

"I have to go," he said. "I'll be back next week, same time."

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. He began to dress himself with abrupt, furious movements.

In the darkness Malfoy got up and picked something up that was lying on the floor.

"Don't forget this," he said and held out the belt. Severus took it without thanks and looped it back into the waistband of his trousers.

Malfoy got back into bed and covered himself with the blanket. When Severus realised that he was searching his mind for words that would allow him to stay a little longer beside the warm bed with Malfoy in it, he turned on his heels and left.

He spent the evening working at the Ministry until midnight. The day after he had dinner with Potter, Granger and some colleagues who worked in the Auror department.

The next day he Apparated to London, but he held himself back before going to Malfoy's apartment. Another week, he told himself. It was the rule that he had established.

He returned to his apartment in Diagon Alley.

The day after he Apparated to Tesco’s. He lurked without entering, feeling a bit strange standing outside the glass doors. Before Malfoy could see him, he left.

One day later he stood in front of Malfoy’s block of flats, his fingers twitching to push the heavy entrance door open.

He took a deep breath and then returned to his home.

"Mr. Snape?"

Severus' head snapped up and he glared viciously around. Nine amused faces were turned towards him. Auror Ronald Weasley was frowning at him. He schooled his features into a bland mask and raised an eyebrow.

"I was asking about your opinion on case, er," Weasley lifted a corner of a parchment and read: "M12-36"

Severus nodded shortly. Potter shot an amused look towards Weasley, then him.

Of course, he had no idea what Weasley was talking about.

"The matter requires further consideration," he said adjusting his robes. They suffocated him these days.

Weasley frowned, then tossed the file aside. "Anyway," he said, casting sidelong glances at Severus, "our next case would be E28-92."

Another voice, Shacklebolt, chimed in, and as the dark voice continued talking, Severus’ thoughts wandered off again. Granger argued with Potter and Weasley about a case, and in her annoyingly clear and crisp voice she began citing Wizarding Laws. Her bright Auror robes hurt Severus’ eyes.

After the urgent matters had been thoroughly discussed, Weasley brought up the upcoming elections. Severus stifled a yawn and attempted to feign interest.

“Wolfe-Brown is a war victim and people can identify with him,” Weasley said in that thoughtful tone he adopted around Granger to appear more mature. “His plans to restructure the Wizarding economy are quite sound. Did anyone listen to his speech on the wireless last Sunday?”

Potter and Granger frowned.

“To demand reparations that would drive countless Wizarding families into financial ruin is not a sound plan.”

“Countless Dark Wizarding families, former supporters of You Know Who. Someone has to pay for the, you know, damages, the losses. It’s only fair to make those pay who caused the suffering.”

“Wolf-Brown is deliberately sowing hatred. He is fuelling the resentments against former Death Eaters and Purebloods and using the general atmosphere of distrust and cries for revenge for his own personal agenda –”

Potter interrupted before this exchange could become an argument, leaning forward and talking in his soothing, and yet disturbingly cheerful, Head Auror voice. Granger and Weasley looked dismayed at his intervention, but shrugged.

After the meeting he stood up and swept out of the room, ignoring Potter who tried to get his attention. It was of course impossible to ignore Potter. Some people refused to be ignored. Or like Potter, they ignored being ignored.

"Severus!"

Severus, pretending not to hear, sped up and strode toward the Ministry Floo system. Just before he could grab the Floo powder, Potter's hand was on his arm and was not withdrawn, even when Severus directed his strongest glare at it.

"Harry." He nodded curtly, cursing the day he had allowed him to address him with his given name; it had been a moment of temporary insanity, incidentally brought on by the news of Albus Severus’ birth some years ago.

"I was only worried about you," Potter said, gazing at him from under thick black eyebrows. "You haven’t seemed yourself lately."

"There is nothing you have to concern yourself with," Severus replied. "Now let go of me or I swear I’ll bite your hand off."

Potter withdrew his hand. "That was quite original. I don’t think I ever heard that one," he said. "Anyway, if you’re overworked, we can arrange for an assistant."

Ever the helpful Gryffindor.

Why don't you just fuck off and—

Severus shook his head, a bit shocked at his own thoughts. What the hell was he thinking? What was wrong with him?

Another wave of intense dislike rolled over him. Malfoy. The man was poisoning him from the inside.

He was going insane.

"Severus, are you sure you're okay?" Potter's worried voice washed over him.

"Yes, yes," he managed and reached for the Floo powder. "Just let me be!"

Potter stepped back and the last thing Severus saw before the Floo yanked his body and mind was Potter's worried glance.

The night air of Southwark was tinged with the light smell of gasoline, probably wafting from a nearby gas station. He could hear the faint noise of cars zooming past. He walked several streets to clear his thoughts, then found he was standing right in front of Malfoy’s building.

The Tempus he cast revealed it was nearly ten o'clock. Sometimes Malfoy had to work late, and he wouldn’t be expecting him today. Especially not so soon after their last ... meeting.

He tilted his head back to have a look at the windows on the fourth floor.

Ah, the light was on. Something turned in his stomach. He recognised that feeling as nervousness.

He really needed to check Malfoy’s work schedule, he thought as he walked up the stairs, then he could plan his visits better. Once or twice he nearly succumbed to the temptation of simply Apparating straight into Malfoy’s apartment, but in the end he decided against it. The idea of Malfoy sitting alone in his room and hearing that knock and having to get up to open the door like a house-elf was, in a way, enticing.

There were noises in the hallway emanating from the flats on either side, muffled voices and the sound of a stereo or a TV, the shutting and opening of doors, steps over or beneath him on the stairs, and some quiet shuffling. Somewhere in that building teenagers were lurking around and one could never be careful enough. If he Apparated here, the Ministry would appear immediately and there would be an endless row of questions. They might take Malfoy away from him, and he couldn't have that, not before he was finished with him.

He grimly marched up the last flight of stairs. At least he knew now why Malfoy still had shapely legs.

Leaning against the creaky banister to catch his breath, he heard music and a woman's voice through Malfoy's door. It took him a while to digest this unexpected fact. He hadn’t even considered Malfoy would entertain guests, that he even had anyone to entertain.

Friends? Malfoy? Could he afford even to pay a prostitute?

Severus composed himself, straightened his coat and adjusted his felt hat, then knocked imperiously and somehow stronger than he intended.

There was a short silence, then the woman's voice in an inquiring tone could be heard, and a chair creaked. The door opened, casting light into the dim hallway and pouring over Severus’ white features. Malfoy had his hair tied back and his cheeks were flushed.

There was the briefest moment of surprise on Malfoy’s face, a slight widening of his eyes, Severus noticed with satisfaction.

"Good evening," Malfoy said softly after a while. "Would you like to come in and have dinner with us?"

He swung the door open and moved out of the way to reveal an elderly woman sitting at the table, her cheeks flushed as well. She was faintly familiar but Severus couldn't place her immediately. She looked a little too plain to be a prostitute.

"This is Margaret. We work together," Malfoy said. Confused, Severus mechanically took her hand and shook it.

She cocked her head, but before Malfoy could say anything, Severus said, "Simon ... Slade. Please, call me Simon."

"Hello, Simon." Margaret shook his hand again and then sat back down. She sat on the bed, Severus noticed, the round table moved closer to the bed so she could lean her elbows on it. A delicious smell wafted from the middle of the table and Severus' stomach nearly gave a small growl.

"Would you mind sitting on the bed, Simon?" asked Malfoy, glaring a little at him. "I would offer you my seat but the chair is a bit unstable ..."

"Come and sit with me!" Margaret said jovially. "I won't bite you!" She laughed and moved a bit toward the end of Malfoy’s bed.

"I am not interrupting ...?" he inquired. The situation was so odd. Who was this woman? Wizard-Muggle Liaison? A spy?

"Nonsense," said Margaret in a manner that reminded him very much of Molly Weasley.

Was this a date? Severus knew that Malfoy liked women better than men, but hadn't he always preferred rake thin, blonde, Scandinavian looking ice queens?

Maybe it was difficult to pull them when one was working at the checkout in Tesco's.

He sat down, the table now a little too high for his comfort. Malfoy poured him a glass of wine, then Margaret and then himself.

"To our new guest!" Malfoy clinked glasses with Margaret, smiling at her, and then with Severus. Severus waited until both Margaret and Malfoy had drunk, then sipped a little from the glass, concentrating on the taste. He performed a wordless cleaning spell on the glass in case Malfoy had treated it with something and wiped his fingers on the blanket.

"So, how do you know Leo?" she asked. "Did you go to school together?" He looked at Malfoy who merely shrugged and sipped his wine with dainty little sips.

"Yes, we went to school together," he confirmed stiffly.

"Do you live in this area?" she asked, smiling.

"Yes," he said.

"Oh, which street ..."

"Would you like something to eat?" Malfoy asked, already putting together and passing plates to his guests. It was chicken and salad.

"Thank you." Severus put down the plate, but couldn’t bring himself to eat, not before he saw Malfoy put some of the chicken onto his own plate and eat a forkful. Only then did he begin. He caught Malfoy smirking lightly and making a show of eating the salad.

When Margaret reached over to take a napkin, the luxuriously stitched hem of a robe nearly fell into her salad. Giggling she shoved the expensive fabric up. When she noticed Severus staring, she told him, "Leo gave this to me! Lots of other things, too," and she pointed toward an opened bag. He could see the end of a silk scarf that had belonged to Narcissa, some jewellery, and a fine wool cloak.

"It’s just taking up space." Malfoy sighed. "It's not as if I can afford to waste space here."

"You know I can just imagine you strutting around in these dresses," Margaret said affectionately. "You gorgeous queen!"

Severus nearly choked on a leaf of rucola.

"Alright there?" She slapped him on his back.

"Thank you ..." said Severus faintly, then composed himself.

"Oh ..." She looked from Severus to Malfoy. "Oh, Leo. Did I say something wrong? I didn't mean to imply that Leo here is—" she said hastily, but Malfoy cut her off.

"It's alright, Maggy, he knows, of course, that I am bisexual. After all, Simon and I are old school friends. He knows all about me." He winked at her and Margaret laughed, relieved.

While Severus was eating and enjoying the tasty chicken, Margaret and Malfoy continued chatting. She was a Muggle, with no magic whatsoever, and here was Malfoy behaving as if she were his best friend. Once or twice he even nudged her.

Severus’ thoughts were racing. Malfoy knew that Severus was an employee of the Ministry since after the war. Maybe this was an elaborate ruse to trick him into believing that Malfoy was reformed and a Muggle-lover.

Yet, Severus had to admit that Malfoy hadn't even known Severus would come by tonight.

The room, Severus noted, emanated a warmth that Malfoy Manor had never possessed. There were a few books, cushions on the bed, a warm rug on the floor, and candles throwing off yellow flickering light. A tea service was laid out on top of the fridge, while Malfoy had pinned postcards on the door. He eyed the small painting that was leaning against the door to the wardrobe, a blur of colours and wild brush strokes.

The room was shabby, but with some jealousy Severus noted that in some ways it was cosier than his own home.

"... and then he got into a rant because he claimed he had these discount tickets from the internet, and Sally just went mad!" Margaret was saying when his mind returned to the table

"Still no reason to tell him ... well, the things she said," said Malfoy, a little haughtily.

"Ooooh! The things she said!" Margaret immediately made fun of Malfoy's arrogant pose. "Come off it! She said 'fuck off, you wanker’! You heard her."

"Well, Sally can be forward. Like you."

Severus had no idea who Sally was or what they were talking about, but the lull of their voices made him sleepy. He realised he hadn’t slept well for the last few nights and relaxed against the headboard.

They continued to talk about Tesco, Malfoy patiently listening to Margaret ranting on about some customers. They even discussed the proper shelving of items and assured each other numerous times that the new inventory logistics system was a big pile of crap. Just when he was about to drift off, he heard Margaret teasing him about some supposed admirers.

"You're a pretty bloke," she said. "All the cute chicks are always standing in your queue."

“Yes, my job is a ruse to pull all the gorgeous birds,” Malfoy teased her.

“And the cute guys.”

“Maybe the cute guys are standing in my queue because of the cute girls and not because of me.”

"I think he's asleep," Margaret whispered to Malfoy after a while. "Shall I just leave? I can see you like him ..." She giggled.

"Shut up!" hissed Malfoy. Somehow, even with his eyes closed, Severus sensed Malfoy's cheeks flush with embarrassment.

Later he was woken up by Margaret and Malfoy roaring with laughter. He nearly banged his head on the headboard.

"Oh, gosh!" gasped Margaret. "Oh, I am so sorry! I laugh like a vulture, I know that. Are you all right?"

Severus was more than irritated about the fact that he, a former spy, had fallen asleep like a child. In Malfoy’s apartment.

Both of them laughed and chatted again, and Severus noticed that two empty bottles were standing on the table.

Malfoy's voice was a little louder now.

"I swear to you that Miller likes you," Margaret said. She turned to Severus. "So, we're at the pub and Miller asks Leo, ‘Okay, so you’re gay, right?’ I was like what!? You can't just say something like that.” She made a theatrical gasp and laid a hand on her heaving bosom. “And Leo gets really angry and asks in a really deep macho voice, ‘what business is this of yours?’ and puffs himself up like this!” She blew up her cheeks and her impersonation of a menacing and insulted Malfoy was so good and spot on that even Severus couldn't help smiling. He covered it up with a cough.

She laughed. "He looked so funny. You should have seen him."

Malfoy frowned at her, drawing his brows together. “I did not look funny! Miller was sufficiently cowed.”

"Yes, yes, right," she corrected herself, but rolling her eyes. "Very cowed. He nearly peed himself!"

"Margaret ... "

"And then Miller said, "Because you look incredibly good. Only gay men are that stunning."

“Margaret ...”

“And then Leo makes this little wave with his hand ... and he says in his girly voice, 'oh, really?' ...” She paused to put her left hand on her hip, then imitated with astonishing skill Malfoy's affected movement with his hand and the tossing of his hair.

She laughed again, and Malfoy crossed his arms in front of his chest, obviously embarrassed. Severus avoided looking at him.

“Miller was completely dazed the whole next day, staring at you and your ass.”

Lucius Malfoy shrugged. “Miller isn't my type.”

Margaret threw a cushion at him. “Don't break the poor boy's heart.”

Severus smiled a little again, despite himself, then cursed himself when he felt Malfoy's gaze resting on him.

"Well, Miller is cute, but he’s not alpha male material.” Margaret leant forward and made a rude sign with her hand that looked as if she was describing a very small ... appendage.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I do not care to hear those kinds of details.”

Margaret stared open-mouthed at him then howled with laughter. “Since when don't you care about that?” But then, she caught herself and went still. Casting a cautious glance at Severus she said, "You know what, Leo? I’ve had too much to drink and I'm an old bore. Heaven knows why you put up with me." She mouthed, "I am sorry," to Malfoy.

"More wine?" said Malfoy pleasantly, rolling his eyes.

"Yes, please," she said eagerly, and they both chuckled.

Severus, leaning against the headboard, could not stop himself from wondering. He knew now for sure that this woman was genuinely a friend. How on earth had Malfoy, former Pureblood wizard, made a Muggle friend?

What would she think of her friend if she knew how many lives he had taken.

Malfoy was more Muggle now than he, Severus, had ever been. The only Muggle he had ever known well had been his dad, and his dad’s Muggle ways had been mysterious to him and his mother, and often enough he had not known what to say to him, how to treat him.

Malfoy, of course, had no such difficulties anymore it seemed. His old life was in tatters and maybe his new existence wasn't as miserable as Severus had thought it was.

A while later Margaret finally got up to go home, giving a token protest at Malfoy's offer to escort her down. Malfoy helped her into her coat as the nights were still chilly and then looked at Severus.

"I have to go, too," Severus said stiffly, but Margaret dismissed it with a drunken wave. "He'll be back in a minute!" She leant forward and stage-whispered into Severus’ ear, "Don't let him off the hook.. He's such a darling."

Malfoy hissed, "Margaret!"

Then, they were out of the door and Severus heard them walking down the hallway. "That was unnecessary," he heard Malfoy grumble, but Margaret chirped back, "I think he likes you. He looked at you a lot ..."

Their voices trailed off as they descended and then the heavy door opened and closed.

Severus went to the window and he saw them walking to the corner where she hailed a cab. Before she got in, she turned around and tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear and kissed his forehead. Malfoy bent down to her and she hugged him.

Severus pulled away from the window and went back to the bed. After a while he could hear Malfoy's steps, and then the door opened and Malfoy was back. He closed the door and leant against it, his chest heaving.

Slowly Severus approached Malfoy, and then, following an irresistible urge, laid a hand upon his chest, felt his heart pounding.

"The stairs," said Malfoy. "I always get breathless ... four flights of stairs. Not an easy feat in my age." His pupils were dilated from the alcohol and his lips were wine stained.

Malfoy covered Severus’ hand with his own. Then, as if he had just remembered, he pulled it back and instead began lowering himself onto his knees.

"No," said Severus quietly and pulled him up again. He averted his eyes, feeling Malfoy's questioning gaze on him.

Severus shook his head. He wanted something else tonight.

"What are you using this poor woman for?" he asked viciously. "You are buttering her up for something, aren't you?"

Malfoy’s head reared back at that, as if Severus had slapped him, then looked at him sideways. "Maybe," he said. "What is it to you?"

Severus shrugged. "It is only reassuring to know you haven’t lost all your talents. Your ability to charm hapless humans."

Malfoy’s smile was cold now. "Some things you never unlearn."

Somehow they were kissing again, and Severus didn't know who had started it, who had moved first. Very likely it had been him. Malfoy, the fool, always closed his eyes when he kissed and Severus studied the purple lids, the thin blue capillaries, the shadows under his eyes, the eyebrows drawing together.

Then, they were naked on the small bed and moving against each other, and the whole time Malfoy’s heart was beating frantically against the palm of Severus’ hand until Malfoy pulled his hand away from his chest with a forced smile and guided it to his cock. Severus realised that Malfoy was probably afraid and didn’t want him to know.

"Does it hurt you to hurt me?" asked Malfoy suddenly.

"You know it does," growled Severus, "but it won't keep me from doing it. And, it won't keep me from enjoying it nonetheless."

"Of course," whispered Malfoy. He suddenly pulled himself against Severus and they were so close ... so close. Like snakes seeking warmth.

Malfoy groped for the bottle of lubricant on the night stand and opened it with one hand. He began to stroke Severus with it, sliding his warm, wet hand, the skilled fingers on his hardening length.

Severus gave an involuntary little purr and Malfoy smiled into the juncture of his neck. He could feel his moist breath ghosting over his skin.

"Faster?"

"Yes ... faster ..."

Malfoy stroked faster, twisting his hand a little as Severus’ eyes fluttered shut.

"Lucius ..."

Malfoy moved, slithered, spread his legs and suddenly Severus’ oiled cock pushed against Malfoy’s hole. He could feel the inviting heat, the caress of the soft skin and the twitching.

He poured the slightly sticky liquid onto his shaking fingers, itching to stretch Malfoy, to feel that tight hole around him.

Without any warning, Malfoy pushed himself onto Severus cock, and the tightness robbed Severus of any coherency. Too tight, too hot ...

"Oh fuck ... fuck ..."

It must have hurt Malfoy like hell, but he was relentless. He put his other hand on Severus’ arse and pushed him, egged him on, then raised his hips against him and wrapped his legs around him. There was a wild look in his eyes.

He came, swearing, crying, almost sobbing, Malfoy holding him tight through it, so close, like he never wanted him to leave, like he wanted this, the pain and the tearing.

After a while, when Malfoy’s even breathing told him that he had fallen asleep, Severus fumbled for his wand and crouched down between the pale thighs and whispered healing spells. He felt like an idiot lying on his elbows, pointing a wand at Malfoy's bits. After a while he thought the damage was mostly undone and got up to get a wet towel to wipe away the blood and spunk that was trickling out.

When he got back from the bathroom, Malfoy was awake and Severus froze, narrowing his eyes at the strange expression Malfoy wore.

"What?" he inquired brusquely.

"I thought you had left," said Malfoy.

Severus realised that he had hidden the damp towel behind his back. With a sneer he threw it on the bed. “Clean yourself up, you made a mess.”

He began to dress himself, searching hurriedly for one of his socks.

"You don't have to leave immediately," Malfoy said in his friendly host-of-the-manor tone. "You cannot Apparate from here, and the night is a bit chilly, even for the walk down to the next alley."

Severus was tempted. It almost sounded like an invitation.

"Looking for more pain, Malfoy?" he sneered.

Malfoy said nothing. When Severus looked up he saw that he was lying on his back, hands resting on his chest, as if he were a dead pharaoh lying in a tomb.

Severus gave up on finding the sock and slipped on his shoes, one of them uncomfortably cold now. Malfoy’s gaze lingered on the bare ankle, the bit of bone and flesh and skin that peaked out under the hem of his trouser leg.

He left without looking back, like the other times, knowing that Malfoy was staring at the wall, into nothingness, not seeing him at all.