Disclaimer: You know the drill- nothing belongs to me but my perverted imagination. Characters, places, etc. all belong to J.K. Rowling.
Warning: This story is of a sexual nature, though it is not explicit. It contains a few swear words, be warned, although I'm sure it wouldn't be the first time anyone's heard them. This story also contains themes of an illicit, possibly illegal, relationship. Take responsibility for yourself, and only read this if you can handle it. Also, this story contains SPOILERS for OotP! Read only if you have finished the 5th book, or desire to have it ruined for you.
Ciao, enjoy! Review please!
Draco Malfoy was only dimly aware of the massive party going on around him.
Just like my mother,he thought bitterly, Dad gets landed in Azkaban, and she throws a bloody party!
How she could feel remotely in the mood to entertain, he had no idea. Ever since school ended, he'd spent most of his days lying on his bed, wondering what it was like to be in the most horrible place on earth. Would they torture him? Would they starve him? Beat him? Taunt him? Would they break him?
It was painful to think of his father in that awful place. He and his father had never been really close. Lucius was too demanding, too critical. He was never one to act affectionate either. But he was still Draco's father. In some way, somehow, Draco loved him- and that was not an emotion he took lightly.
"Draco, are you ok?" someone asked.
He looked up to find Pansy draped around Zambini, looking a mixture of concerned and horny. Her hand was creeping down towards Blaise's rear, and Blaise's huge grin told Draco he was fully aware of this and not in anyway put off by it.
"Yeah, fine," Draco sighed. He looked out the window, but all he saw was darkness. No clouds, no stars, nothing.
Blaise punched him lightly in the arm, "Don't worry, he'll be out soon enough. The Dementers are on our side."
"Yes, I know that. But he's still there now-" Draco snapped, rather annoyed with their sympathy.
"I'm sure he's fine," Pansy said.
Draco swallowed, "You're right. I bet they put him in the luxury accommodations where he gets room service twenty-four seven, and house elves give him massages and shine his shoes. Why, I bet right now he and the other Death Eaters are all sitting around playing a game of cards and smoking Cuban cigars, aye? Aye, Pansy?"
Pansy pressed her frosty pink lips together and raised her pencil thin eyebrows. "Didn't mean to offend you, Draco. But then, it's hard not to anymore. You're so grumpy."
"I'm what?" Draco asked menacingly.
Draco was squeezing his champagne glass so tightly that it cracked.
"I'm grumpy, am I? I suppose I must be. I suppose I'm just being pouty. It couldn't be that I'm worried sick over the fact that my father is in prison, probably having horrible things done to him! It couldn't be that, could it? It also couldn't be that I'm boiling in fucking rage over the fact that it was Harry-Fucking-Potter who put him there!"
"Calm down, Draco. Potter will get his," Blasie said quite seriously.
"I fucking know that, because I'm going to be the one to give it to him. Urg, I can't talk to you two anymore. Go."
Pansy and Blaise looked at one another and shrugged, then walked away. Draco was left alone now in the corner of the ballroom, with his champagne glass leaking gold liquid all over his hand. Inside, he felt in turmoil. His friends were so stupid, they didn't understand at all. They couldn't empathizes because it wasn't their fathers who were in Azkaban. They just thought he was being moody. They didn't know anything.
And, god damnit, he was getting champagne all over his new suit!
He tried to set the glass down on the window sill but he thumped it down rather too hard and it exploded in his hand, sending a bust of pain through his system. Cursing, he realized his hand was cut and bleeding profusely now. Oh jolly good, now his suit would have blood stains all over it. Damn it, it was new, and nice, and silk!
While he was trying to clamp his thumb over the cut area to stop the bleeding, someone laid the tip of their wand over the cut. It quickly ceased bleeding, though it still throbbed. Draco looked up, and gasped.
"Professor!" he half grinned, half grimaced.
Severus Snape stood before him, dressed in dark, heavy velvet robes. His black hair fell all around his face, casting his features into pools of shadow. His eyes glimmered dimly, and a frown fitted over his lips.
"If you follow me to your fathers study, I can brew up something to get rid of the pain," he offered. Draco noticed he was hunching slightly, as if hoping to conceal his large frame.
"Yeah, ok," Draco said, seeing his opportunity to skip out of the party and not get in trouble for it. He looked around and spotted his mother laughing feverishly at something Bellatrix Lestrange was saying. He looked away, hurt that his mother was having such a good time when her husband was in such a terrible place.
"Follow me," Snape said, and he lead them out of the vast ballroom into the main hallway. Snape knew his way around from numerous visits. He was a close friend of Draco's father's. Draco didn't know whether or not they'd been friends in Hogwarts, but if they hadn't been, they were adept at acting as if they'd been on good terms forever.
They stopped before a large, dark oak door. Snape pushed it open and walked through, going straight to the cupboard holding their potions supplies. While Draco settled himself over a large, red leather couch, Snape pulled down a miniature cauldron and set to work mixing ingredients.
"I'm surprised to see you here," Draco said to the silence quickly filling the room. "I expected you would lay low after everything that's happened. Wouldn't want to get in trouble with Dumbledore."
"I'm not worried," Snape responded breezily. He looked up once, his eyes catching Draco's quickly before he looked away and buried his face in his hair.
Silence once again flooded into the room. Draco made as if to look around, playing with a drink coaster, and occasionally watching his potion's master fuss over the little black bowl. A few minutes later, something fizzy and green overflowed its edges. Snape plucked the cauldron up and moved to wear Draco was lounging.
He dropped heavily onto the couch next to Draco and took Draco's thin, white fingers into his own. Draco pulled in a breath as he felt Snape very carefully touch his fingers one by one, examining them closely. He then folded Dracos fingers into his fist and lowered his hand into the potion.
"You have hands like your father," Snape said matter of factly.
"I suppose. I never really looked," Draco admitted.
"You miss him," said Snape. It wasn't a question.
"It's funny too, because it used to be whenever I was around him I wished I wasn't. But now that he's gone, I just wish he were back," Draco explained.
"He has that effect on people."
"Not on my mother," Draco blurted. Then he hurried to explain, "She just doesn't seem to really care. She's been throwing all these parties, and running around, going on shopping excursions, socializing with everyone. Laughing, having fun. It's as if she doesn't even notice that he's gone."
"Maybe this is her way of dealing. Maybe this is her way of filling up her lonely hours without him," Snape said.
Draco nodded. It made sense. "I just wish she'd talk to me about it. She acts as if nothing is wrong."
"If you could talk to someone about it, what would you say?" Snape asked. He was leaning against the arm of the couch now, arms stretched out on either side of him. His robed were parted to reveal that he was wearing a black shirt and black pinstripe slacks underneath. He also wore a pair of deep green suspenders. He looked like an Italian mobster, Draco thought fleetingly.
"I don't know, really," Draco said carefully. "Nothing much, just that I'm worried about him, and that I'd really like to murder that brat, Potter for doing this."
Something sinister flashed in Snape's eyes, but was then quickly replaced by an impassive expression.
"I know you hate him, as well," Draco said, swishing his hand in the bowl. It did feel a lot better, although he now had a prickly, flushed sensation in his fingers. But he didn't think that was from the potion…
Snape sat up and leaned closer to Draco. He clasped his fingers in front of him and said, "I dislike him very much, as I disliked his father. But I don't hate the boy. Hate is a strong emotion, Draco. One cannot hate something without having loved it first."
Draco snorted, "That's a load. It's easy to hate. It's especially easy to hate Potter- and no, I've never loved him."
Snape leaned back, and asked suddenly "Who have you loved?"
Draco was momentarily started at the question. But actually, he was grateful that someone- anyone- was listening to him. And he'd always been fond of Snape as a teacher. He respected him, and was sort of enjoying the attention from him in these intimate surroundings.
"Hmm," he thought, "My father, my mother. Maybe I loved Pansy once, when we were dating. But I was a child then, I didn't know better. I wouldn't do that again. Wouldn't go through that."
Draco laughed bitterly, "Love can be dangerous."
"Yes it can."
"If I didn't love my father, this would be so much easier. I wouldn't feel this way…"
"How do you feel?" Snape prompted.
Suddenly Draco looked at Snape suspiciously and snapped, "What is it to you?"
Snape grinned lazily and shrugged, "Nothing. You just said you wanted someone to talk to. It's had to have been rough for you."
"Since when do you care?"
Snape stood up, and Draco fell back into the sofa. Snape stood over him like a shadow.
"Caring is not quite the word, Draco," he said, then turned to leave.
Draco jumped up, his blonde hair falling into his face. He laid his wounded hand over Snape's shoulder and said, "Wait."
Snape turned, and was suddenly very close to Draco. Something in him turned around, and he felt as if the fizzy potion had entered his veins. Snape continued to stare at his coolly, a slight smirk playing on his lips.
Suddenly everything Draco had felt for the past month came spiraling over him. He felt so lost and confused. So full of hate and heart break. Fear and pain. He felt weak, so fucking weak. Everything he was feeling flashed in his stormy gray eyes a second before he collapsed.
Snape caught him. He held the boy awkwardly, all too aware of how close he was. He moved his arms under Draco's trying to balance him.
"Draco? Are you alright?"
Draco's eyes opened a slit, and a silvery tear began to bubble in the corner of one eye.
"No," he said hatefully. "I'm pathetic."
"I am, I…I can't take it, Severus! I don't want Mum to know how worried I am. What would she say if she saw her husband's son crying like a fucking baby? What would my father say?"
Snape shook his head, and pulled Draco closer. He rested his blonde head on Snape's shoulder and sobbed freely for a moment. The he sniffled and looked up and said, "I'm starting to act like that girl who's always crying in the loo. What's her name? Dead boyfriend?"
"That's the one." Draco shook his head, "I'm sorry for doing this to you."
Snape caught his gray eyes in his black ones and said truthfully, "It's alright. You needed someone."
Draco lowed his head, and for some reason, Snape lowered his lips and kissed his forehead softly.
Draco moaned slightly. Shaking, horrified at what he'd done, Snape tried to pull back, but it was too late. Draco looked up, touching the tip of his perfect nose to Snape's rather overly large one. Draco blinked away his tears and his lips fell open. Then he leaned in quickly, and nipped at Snape's lips lightly, then pressed forwards and kissed him.
Draco kissed him deeply, as if he wanted something more. He opened his mouth and Snape breathed in his air, before Draco filled the gape between them with his tongue. He pressed his thin body against his teachers, pushing them both back against the wall.
Suddenly Snape took charge. He rolled them over so that Draco was against the wall, and grabbed his hands and pinned them up. He growled and licked inside of Draco's hot mouth. Draco's tongue slid like velvet over his own.
Draco's hands crept down Snape's front and parted his robes. Snape allowed Draco to push them from his shoulders. Draco's thin, artists fingers began to work down the buttons of his shirt.
"Wait," Snape said against his lips.
"No," Draco growled, "I want this. Please."
"You're sure? You want this- with me?" Snape asked cautiously.
"Of course," Draco said breathily.
Snape lowered his head, letting his hair fall into his face, "You don't even know who I am."
Draco's hand shot up and pushed the hair from Snape's face and said, "No one knows, because you're always hiding."
Snape blinked twice before Draco slide down the wall, ripping open the rest of Snape's shirt. Draco's fingers were now working fixedly at the fly of his pants. He reached back up and flicked the suspenders off his shoulders, then pulled down Snape's trousers.
Snape looked down, watching. Crouching down, Draco looked so small, like a fragment of his father. But then Draco stood back up, now stretched to his full six feet in height. Snape realized that Draco was not a piece of his father at all, but something else entirely. He was his own man. He shoved Snape away and removed his jacket and shirt quickly, revealing his glowing, white skin. He dropped his pants quickly and grinned sheepishly.
He pushed past Snape and grabbed his hand, tugging him towards the red couch. Snape responded by shoving the fair haired boy down onto the couch first. He looked around the room, and spotted what he wanted- the faux fur blanket draped over a chair opposite them. He pulled it over himself as he climbed over Draco.
They were surrounded, cocooned in together. Snape took a chance and cupped Draco's face gently, and kissed him softly.
Draco turned away.
"What?" Snape growled throatily.
"Why?" Draco asked.
"Why do you care about me?" Draco asked.
"How do you know I do?" Snape replied.
Draco looked back at him and his eyes were a sea of emotion. "I just do," he said.
That morning, Draco woke up curled against his professor's warm chest on the floor or the parlor. They had moved off the couch after the second round last night, and settled on the floor for a breather. Which had obviously turned into both of them sleeping until morning.
Sunlight streamed through the windows. It was no longer dark and ominous outside. It was clear, and Draco could see out into the forest surrounding his house.
He turned back to Snape, who was still sound asleep. Wrinkles creased where his eyes were fastened closed with a dusting of black fringed eyelashes settled over them. His lips were curved into a frown. Draco ran his finger over his nose, following the downward curve. He blinked hard, knowing what he'd done last night had been wrong. Very wrong.
Snape groaned in his sleep and turned, his hair falling over his face like a mask. Only then did Draco sit up and scoot out from under the fur throw.
He stood up and walked to the large window, leaning against the frame and looking out over the gardens to the forest, and he thought about his father.
But that morning, for some reason, Draco didn't feel so lost without him.