A City Visible But Unseen

8. EVEN ANGELS FALL

Goodness knows I saw it coming

Or at least I'll claim I did

But in truth I'm lost for words

What have I done? - it's too late for that

Sev rolled over and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed so that he was facing away from Marv. He placed his hands carefully on his knees, and spoke to the wall, addressing it as if it were a rather distant relation that he had received a moderately horrible scarf from, and wants to thank them without sounding completely insincere.

'I take it that's not the first time you've played out this particular scenario?' he said, his voice quiet and controlled. It made an interesting contrast to Marv's which, when he spoke, was petulant and not in the least repentant.

'I should sue Peter,' he said sulkily. 'He fucks up my sex life, truly he does.'

'Is he your boyfriend?' Sev asked.

'In the fantasy world he inhabits, yes,' Marv said. Sev felt the bed move as Marv shifted, and heard him yawn. 'Except that in my experience, having sex a couple of times because I was bored, desperate, drunk or all three does not constitute a relationship.'

'It could constitute ours,' Sev observed.

'Possibly,' Marv said neutrally. 'Except that, a, you do not call me up in the middle of the night whining that you love me and b, I could at least substitute lust for desperation. Although yes, drunk and bored could be useful adjectives also.'

Sev stood up, unclear what exactly he was doing, and started casting around the room for his clothes. He had a nasty feeling his trousers were still in the living room, in which direction the sobbing Peter had headed. He had no wish to encounter the mewling wretch, but was in a quandary as regards knowing if staying in the bedroom with Marv would be the more intelligent option. He had a feeling that it wouldn't be, in the same way as a person crossing a busy road has a feeling that yes, that is a ten tonne juggernaut thundering my way.

He knelt down to see if his socks had by any chance made their way under the bed, along with enough dust to dehabilitate a wardful of asthmatics and quite possibly the Holy Grail. He made little headway, unless he counted banging his head off the metal frame. He emerged sulkily, coming face to face with Marv, who was now lying on his side watching him with vague, scientific interest.

Sev had got out of the habit of using the majority of his brain cells when he was in Marv's company, as it was counter-productive. He had no desire to start thinking 'What the hell am I doing?' at inopportune moments. So it was with little more than motor co-ordination driving him that he reached out a hand and placed it square on Marv's firm chest. Marv looked down at it with raised eyebrows, looked up into Sev's face and away again. Sev slid his hand up to hold Marv's chin, turning it to face him. Marv's eyes skittered around the room, occasionally resting on Sev's face but skipping away again. It was like trying to catch a shadow. Sev was fascinated.

It was as easy to hold a handful of sunlight as to try and force Marv to look him in the eyes. He gave it up, not entirely sure what he'd been hoping to achieve in any case. The brain cells that could have told him were currently unavailable, been held hostage by his libido.

'Are you going then?' Marv asked. 'Because if you are I can ring the bar and let them know I'll be in to cover my shift.'

He moved smoothly from a reclining to a standing position, stretching his arms above his head. Sev couldn't tear his gaze away. Marv made for the door. In an instant, Sev was standing, his hands on Marv's hips, pushing him against the wall. Marv was wearing a mildly surprised expression, which Sev observed for a moment before kissing him hungrily.

It was too passionate a kiss to be skilled; Sev's teeth bumped against Marv's lips before he forced them open with his tongue. Marv's hands, which had been hanging loosely by his side, jerked upwards and embraced Sev; he seemed to have little to complain about, despite the cold wall behind him which Sev was shoving him against. When Sev finally broke away, Marv blinked at him.

Sev's face was flushed and his dark hair was spilling into his eyes. He bit his swollen lips before he spoke.

'Don't ring them,' he said.

~

There was to be no avoiding the awkwardness this time. Hermione sat on the edge of her seat and Draco lounged back in his, both of them conveying, by their determined efforts not to, the feeling of extreme tension. It was the sort that should have come with a warning for people with pacemakers and nervous dispositions.

Hermione was in such a state by the time English came around that she could barely focus on Miss McGonagall's lecture. It seemed to be about rabbits. Hermione had no idea why that should be a topic for discussion, unless they were studying Lewis Carroll. If they were, no one had told Hermione. She realised that her brain was rambling, and made a conscious effort to stoppit before the men (and not to be discriminatory, the women and divers representatives of minority religious, social and political groups) in white coats arrived on the scene.

Beside her, Black was sharpening a pencil with admirable neatness and diligence that would have been excessively commendable had it been directed to a rather more profitable activity - his school work, for instance. Hermione felt her concentration spiral away in accordance with the smooth twirls of shavings that Black was producing. Why he felt the need for a pencil, much less a sharpened one, in English class, and moreover when he had graduated to writing in ink over a decade ago, escaped her.

While she watched, he sharpened his pencil to his satisfaction and withdrew it from the sharpener to blow gently on the pointed tip. He then reached out his hand and crushed the spiral shavings, reducing them to so much splintered controlled-Norwegian-forest wood. Hermione felt unaccountably disappointed at this.

He saw her looking at him and raised his eyebrows at her. In doing so he stretched the skin rather disgustingly over his eyebrow bar. Something of Hermione's disgust must have reflected on her face for he scowled at her and hissed, 'What?'

'Nothing,' Hermione said with the utmost dignity.

They sat in silence for several seconds, Draco looking mildly puzzled as Hermione frowned. She was waging an internal battle, which dignity lost immeasurably.

'I think you owe me an explanation,' she said at last, in a low tone. 'For what happened the other day.'

'Oh, when I kissed you, is it?' Draco replied, not bothering to keep his voice down. Several nearby heads turned around curiously, which was most surprising, given the riveting nature of Miss McGonagall's discourse. 'Well, I reckon that's pretty self-explanatory, myself.'

He regarded her with an insouciant air and leaned back in his chair in a manner guaranteed to infuriate. It worked. Several seconds passed, as Herminone's face took on the expression often described as 'looking like a thundercloud', although it bore very little technical similarity to one.

When at last she spoke it came out as a furious mutter very akin to that of escapees of mental asylums.

'Why?'

This simple word seemed to trigger off a complicated chain reaction under Draco's skin, which rapidly turned an interesting shade of magenta. His face worked furiously, before he spat, loudly, 'Because I FANCY you. I like you, I dig you, I rate you, je t'aime. I only speak two bloody languages but do you want me to draw you a diagram?'

A murmur of shocked gasps welcomed his words. Miss McGonagall dropped her chalk and spent a inordinately long time retrieving it in order to follow the course of the exchange.

Hermione felt her face heat up, as if someone had sprayed a blowtorch at it.

'You only had to say,' she muttered.

'Thank you for the supremely entertaining interlude, Miss Granger, Mr Black,' Miss McGonagall interrupted, hoping her amusement didn't show on her face. 'But if you could keep the lovers' tiffs until after class, it would be most obliging...unless of course we read Romeo and Juliet, when I shall of course get you to read. And please retake your seats...'

Hermione hadn't realised that she was standing. Shamefaced, she sunk back onto her chair. Out of the corner of her eye, she felt Black do the same. He sat with his arms crossed and his face set, but his flushed cheeks and quick breathing betrayed his agitation. Hermione bit her lip.

Draco heard a soft voice say 'Here' and felt something being slipped under his elbow. However, when he turned to look in Hermione's direction, she had her chair scraped as close to the desk as she could be without being cut in half, and was listening to Miss McGonagall with every evidence of rapt interest. Only her slightly pink cheeks betrayed her.

Draco retrieved a piece of folded paper from under his arm and opened it. It was torn from a copybook, and words were scribbled on it in black ink. The writer had shown a blatant disregard for the handy ruled blue lines, for the note cut through them recklessly, often at right angles.

It read: 'Yeah, I fancy you too. Twat.'

He carefully refolded the note and slipped it into his jeans pocket. He dared a glance at Hermione; her brown head was bent over her work, taking down the notes Miss McGonagall was dictating. He made a mental note to copy them from her later.

For now, he tilted back his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. He looked out of the window, at a sky the dirty grey colour of a tramp's underwear, and smiled.

One section of cumulus bore a remarkable resemblance to Rodin's 'The Kiss.'

~

'I now call this meeting to order.'

Sev massaged his aching temples and reflected at the amount of cheerfulness that Bertie managed to instil into those seven words - far too much, in Sev's opinion. He couldn't think of a single phrase containing any of those words that would require such random joyfullness. The fact that Bertie had bent the unspoken rule in Sev's words regarding the amount of allowable enthusiasm one could use in boring situations made Sev's teeth ache.

And where had he picked up the gravel? Sev was sure it was severely unwise to allow a recovering alcoholic access to a potential weapon. He could see Bertie now, waving it about in an off-license - 'Give me all yer whiskey or I'll hit you with this quite small hammer!' It was completely irresponsible.

'...And Remus has had some very exciting ideas for fundraising,' Bertie boomed.

Over the next few minutes, Sev deeply considered gifting Bertie with a dictionary. Surely when he'd said 'exciting' he'd actually meant 'unfeasible,' 'ludicrous' and/or 'criminally insane'. Remus was blathering on about sales of work, slave auctions, raffles and fancy dress balls. Sev was concerned for his sanity. Or perhaps it was Sev himself who was the problem. He was clearly in vital need of his hourly caffeine fix. He started calculating how long it had been since he'd had a cup of coffee.

The most surprising thing, though, was the reaction of his collegues. They were all making sounds and moments of assent and approval. Sev felt like he was sitting at a table with a collection of nodding dogs. They had about as much combined sense as a group of felt-covered plastic canine dashboard ornaments. After a while, Sev was obliged to point out one or two nascent facts.

'You said you wanted to hold a dance,' he said, pronouncing the word with distinct distaste, as if it was a planned convention of homicidal jailbirds in a cutlery factory he was discussing. He allowed a suitable pause to elapse, until all heads were turned in his direction, then he added succinctly, 'Where?'

There was a babble of comment at this, as the lack of a suitable venue hit home.

'I have an idea,' Remus ventured.

As one, the faces of the staff turned to him, as if he was Moses and had just mentioned that he could part the seas in addition to being a dab hand with a chisel. Sev, however, couldn't bear to look at him - there was such a expression of naked passion and zeal in his eyes. It made him feel abruptly old, and tired.

'I thought we could hold it in the old PE hall,' Remus was saying eagerly.

'What, the one in the grounds?' Sev asked incredulously. 'As in, the building that got struck by lightning five or six years ago?'

Remus nodded earnestly. 'I had Sirius take a look at it - the man who fixed the vending machine and the coffee machine?' he addressed the rest of the staff. There was a wave of nods and a chorus of 'yes'es. Sev thought Bertie must be holding himself back from breaking into song and leading his teachers into an impromptu dance routine to 'It's a Wonderful Life.' Sev was beginning to see the value of having a mallet in the room. As it was, Remus was still talking, and everyone there was hanging on his words as if they'd come out of his mouth with hooks and bait attached.

'He's a trained electrician as well, and he said there was only a few basic wiring problems that are easily fixed. He's willing to donate the labour for free, seeing as its all to raise funds for the school.'

Yet again, Sev wondered what exactly Remus had done to earn such unswerving devotion from a man who was now no longer his lover and whom he'd seemed to have grown apart from as a friend. He also wondered if he wanted to know. Marv seemed to be rubbing off on him, Marv with his paucity of speech and brevity of explanation. The sex was good, but the silence was golden. Being with Marv was like being alone, only better; you had the company, but not the pressure to make small talk or even big talk. They'd not yet had one conversation about 'our relationship', their feelings for each other or even the arrangements as regards other partners, except for the slight blip on the horizon that was Peter. Sev hadn't encountered him again and Marv had said at one stage, with something approaching triumph, that Sev had scared him off. He took it as a compliment, for it was clearly intended as such.

He was jolted out of his reverie by the end of Remus' speech. All around him, faces were interested and alert. As he watched and listened with something approaching amazement, one by one people spoke up, offering their services. Binns mentioned that he knew a place selling paint at knock-down prices. Ivy said she was sure she could get her sister to donate some stock from her grocery store to feed volunteers. Marie began to draw up a rota for the cleaning of the PE hall once the wiring was fixed. Staggered, Sev mindlessly signed himself up for a cleaning shift, fitting himself in under the signatures of every other teacher.

'And I'm sure some students will be willing to help,' Remus said happily, and some of the teachers actually nodded in agreement.

Whatever Remus had, it was clearly contagious.

~

Seamus sat on the steps near the vending machine, morosely chewing on a Mars Bar. Beside him, Dean was agog to know how his 'date' with Cedric had panned out. Seamus was just as keen not to discuss it this side of his fiftieth birthday. He was under no illusions as to the reason for Dean's excessive curiosity - he was just making sure Seamus was safely settled, so no move would be made on him again. Seamus smiled sourly, and wondered what would happen when, in the due course of time, they both found themselves single once more. Would Dean want to palm him off on the earliest convenient gay male, just to ensure Seamus wouldn't consider eyeing him up? Did Dean not realise that he was going to do that anyway, as he fancied him and probably still would a dozen girlfriends from now?

'I really don't want to talk about it,' he said finally. 'Nothing happened and I don't think I'll see him again. Not yet, anyway.'

'I'm sorry,' Dean said, after a disappointed pause. 'I guess I just wanted -'

'For me to have a boyfriend, so you wouldn't need to worry about me any more,' Seamus finished dryly. Dean had the grace to blush.

'Yeah, I guess so,' he mumbled. 'Look, mate, if I ever was going to,,, experiment - which I won't be, but if I was - it wouldn't be with you, d'you understand? Things like that can ruin a friendship, and I like being your friend too much to risk it for - basic sexual gratification, I suppose.' He halted, appearing to have run out of words.

Seamus swallowed. He didn't think Dean would appreciate hearing that Seamus was of a completely opposite mind on this one; that he was willing to gamble a friend in order to be able to touch Dean like he wanted to, like he thought about doing when he lay awake at night. Dean didn't want to know about the frustrated tears Seamus had shed for him, for the want of him. So he did what is proper and right in cases such as these, where someone is loved too much to be told that brittle kind of truth. He lied.

'Yeah, you're right,' he said, feeling as if every word was being dragged from him with red-hot pincers. 'I - I don't want to lose you as a friend either.'

That, at least, was true. To an extent. There was a point where Seamus would be happy to trade in their friendship, but it wasn't a place Dean would ever get to. Unless he suffered a severe memory loss due to a sharp blow to the head. Possibly administered by Seamus and a special edition hardback copy of the Silmarillion.

'Sorted,' Dean said in relief. 'I'm going to get something from the machine, then...'

Seamus popped the last bit of his chocolate into his mouth and crumpled up the wrapper. And uncrossed his fingers, behind his back.

~

'What's with the whole Godfather set-up, Pansy?' Padma demanded. It was an accurate description; Pansy, sitting before them with her fingers steepled and a smug expression on her duck-like features, bore a passing resemblance to Al Pacino, but an even closer one to a feudal lord about to condemn a couple of errant peasants to a sound horse-whipping. She surveyed Padma and Lavender with an expression that was right up there on the edge of fiendish.

'I know,' she said, licking her lips, and sat back to survey the effect of her words.

The tone she'd used - a sort of breathy hiss - probably wasn't designed for a return of looks of complete bafflement on the faces of the quarry. Padma curled her lip, and Lavender just look confused, in a pretty way, as she always did.

'A little more definition, I think,' Padma murmured, staring at the ceiling with a hint of a grin. Pansy's next, impatient words made her smile shrivel and die.

'I know about you two,' she sneered, 'and your little trysts. I saw you in the Leaky Cauldron...and behind the school, kissing and whatnot?'

'You seem pretty well informed,' Padma said coolly, trying to telepathically warn Lavender not to reveal her horror at Pansy's announcement. 'Been spying on us, have you?'

'That's neither here nor there,' Pansy said, waving her hand. (And the huntsmen emerged from the shadows, carrying cattails.) 'What is the issue,' she spoke slowly, savouring her power, 'is what I am going to do about it. Or rather, what you are.'

Padma tried to exchange an incredulous look with Lavender, only to discover she'd gone white as a tree fungus, and was shaking like a rotten leaf. Padma cursed under her breath. Pansy had them now. She turned back to Pansy and took a deep breath.

'This is the twenty-first century,' she braved. 'You can't stop us -'

'Oh, I don't care if you shag every dyke in this town,' Pansy dismissed her. 'I need your help.'

'For what?' Padma asked, clenching her fists.

'You're going to help me get Black back,' Pansy replied, triumphant.

'Are you kidding me?' Padma asked incredulously. 'You saw them in English. It's impossible!'

Pansy's expression darkened forbiddingly. 'Maybe so,' she conceded. 'Although I think, if he was sure she didn't like him, that would be enough. I know him better than you. But however, you know what isn't impossible? Me starting a certain rumour about two people we both know....'

Padma stared at her in disgust. She opened her mouth to retort, but Lavender beat her to it, her voice soft but certain, drawn from deep beneath her pasty, ill expression.

'What do you want us to do?'

~

Sev lay back in his bath with a contented sigh and let the warm water wash over him. He wasn't sure where the urge to bathe had come from. Well, obviously the side of him that had no wish to become a social reject reminded him to clean himself at regular and frequent intervals, but usually this took the form of quick, slapdash and - because he could never work out the timer - often freezing cold showers. But one of his aunts had given him a large flagon of blue aromatherapy bath oil (probably - hopefully - mistaking him for one of his female cousins) for Christmas and he thought he might as well use it as not. He had no girlfriend to palm it off on or anything like that.

The water had stung him with the heat at first, but he was adjusted to it and was beginning to enjoy himself when the doorbell rang.

Cursing colourfully and profusely, Sev reared from the bath like an irritated sea monster, streaming with water. He wrapped a towel around his waist and padded out of the bathroom, dripping water all over his gleaming parquet flooring in his living room. The bell rang again, insistently.

'I'm coming!' he called, adding under his breath, 'you annoying bugger, whoever you are.'

He wondered if it was Marv, but he was certain Marv had a shift at the bar tonight; either that or he was doing his taxi run, something he did for fun rather than as a proper job. It struck Sev as rather odd that anyone would actually drive a taxi willingly in the first place, much less do it for personal amusement, but then Marv was nothing if not unique. Plus he was a terrible flirt. He called it 'studying human nature'. Sev called it 'messing with people's minds' or alternatively 'spying on people when drunk or otherwise incapacitated.'

He tucked the towel more firmly around his waist and opened the door. The noise caused the person standing outside it to whirl around from where they had been observing the opposite wall with a deep and involved interest that could not have been matched had the Mona Lisa been hanging there.

It was Remus.

A very nervous-looking Remus, who was twisting his hands together and biting his lip. A very natty-looking Remus too, in a white jumper which while inevitably woollen looked relatively new, and a pair of black jeans. His short hair had been artfully coiffed by a liberal application of what smelled like Lynx gel. Either that or he was wearing the aftershave, Sev thought, feeling somewhat giddy. He speculated whether this effort was for him, and he hoped not, mainly because he was only clad in a towel.

'Remus,' he said, but it came out as a squeak, so he had to clear his throat and repeat it, feeling like a prize idiot.

'Hi Sev,' Remus said, sounding almost coy, but he sneaked a look from under his long lashes that was quite the reverse of shy and virginal. 'May I come in?'

'Sure,' Sev replied uncertainly, holding the door for him to let him pass through and closing it behind him. The hallway was narrow and Remus took advantage of the fact, or so it seemed, to brush Sev's wet chest with his arm, quite firmly.

He made his way into the living room and after a glance of confirmation in Sev's direction, seated himself on one of the black leather couches.

'I might just...ah, go make myself presentable,' Sev said uncomfortably, rather aware of the fact that the towel was slipping again and that rivulets of water were pooling in the hollows of his hips.

Remus raised his eyebrows. 'If you must,' he said, with the ghost of a cheeky grin. 'Mind you, you're fairly presentable as it is, to be honest.'

Sev gulped and blushed; the towel slid even further southwards. 'Yes, well, back in a sec,' he muttered, and dashed into his bedroom.

When he emerged, Remus took one look at him and then stared fixedly at the table. The last few minutes had offered him ample reminders of where he was (in Sev's house) and with whom (Sev himself). He'd had a good five minutes to become well and truly flustered at both thoughts.

The button of Sev's jeans was open and his white T-shirt clung to his damp skin. Sev ruffled his hair, trying to air dry the dripping ends, completely unaware of the effect he was having on his visitor, despite the rosiness of Remus' cheeks. Blithely, he sat down in the chair across from Remus, lolling with his legs flung over the sides.

'Aside from the granting me the pleasure of your company, is there any reason why you interrupted my bath?' he inquired lazily.

'You were having a bath?' Remus said, thinking fast so that the tempting images would not overwhelm him. He was not helped by the fact that Sev chose that moment to stretch out his arms behind his head, dragging up his T-shirt a good few inches and exposing his navel and the dark line of hair below it. Remus swallowed and looked away resolutely.

'As it happens I was just passing through,' he said. 'I'm going to a school reunion dinner...and as I was in the area I thought I'd call in and tell you your rota times for this Saturday.'

'And what are they?' Sev asked. His voice made Remus look at him once more; he was scratching his stomach and for a second his fingers dipped beneath his waistband. Remus' breath now became more uneven as his throat constricted.

'What?'

'My rota times,' Sev reminded him patiently, sticking his hands into his pockets and allowing Remus' head to clear enough to reply.

'Ten o'clock till one o'clock,' he said. 'Are they okay? We can swap them if you need to.'

'My social life isn't that hectic,' Sev laughed. 'Not at ten am on a Saturday, at least. Is that all?'

'What? Oh, yeah.'

'So.' Sev tilted his head back and regarded Remus with narrowed eyes. 'You came all this way to tell me that?'

'No, I was passing through, like I said,' Remus replied defensively.

'Okay, fair enough.' Sev thought for a moment, then smiled brilliantly, making Remus grateful he was sitting down, as otherwise his knees would not have been in a position to support him, being under the baleful influence of a brain who felt they should be all weak and watery at this point. Which they were; the cases are few when the needs of the knees outweigh the needs of other, more disruptive organs. 'Cheers.'

'I wanted to see you,' Remus blurted out - his knees, had they anything to do it with, would have cringed. Sev blinked.

'Okay,' he said in consideration. 'For any particular reason? To marvel at my beauty, perhaps - or the fact that it is gone so desperately walkabout? I reckon I left it in the womb along with my real right foot which can bend it like Beckham.'

'Huh?' Remus shook his head, unable to take this on board, as Sev's smile and his hands and his legs and his stomach - oh lord, his stomach - were taking considerable precedence. 'You're beautiful,' he added irrelevantly, not realising Sev had referred to this in the sentence he hadn't listened to.

Sev stood up. His jeans - loose as a result of the undone button - pooled around his narrow hips, in imminent danger of sliding off. Remus watched raptly, hoping that they would.

'I reckon you need your eyes checked, mate,' Sev said kindly. 'By no stretch of the imagination, up to and including Monty Python's, could you describe me as beautiful. Maybe, just maybe, if you were comparing me to a bullfrog, then yes. Although not to other bullfrogs, of course.'

He ran a hand through his hair again, the movement succeeding in dislodging his jeans even further and providing Remus with a full-frontal view of his left hipbone. With considerable effort, Remus dragged his eyes up to Sev's face - becoming a little sidetracked on his jutting collarbone - where Sev was looking down at him with a distinctly worried expression.

'You look a bit flushed, Remus,' he said with concern. 'Are you coming down with something?'

'You,' Remus uttered with a groan. Sev pressed a cool hand to Remus' forehead, making him jump.

'Yeah, you're burning up,' Sev said. 'You might be getting a fever. You should go home and rest, I think. Here, do you want a drink of water?'

'Okay,' Remus said, fearing that any prolonged contact with Sev's skin would provoke an unwonted explosion. Sev moved off and Remus quickly twisted around to watch his arse as he walked away. Once he disappeared into the kitchen, Remus sunk back into his chair and closed his eyes, trying to focus on calm, blue thoughts.

The coolness of a water glass pressing against his hand roused him, and he curled his fingers around it without opening his eyes. Abruptly his fingers touched against Sev's, and he swallowed a gasp. Quickly, he raised the glass to his lips and drank off the refreshing cold. Cold shower. Good thought.

'Will you be alright to get home?' Sev was asking, with depressingly maternal trepidation.

'I'll be fine,' Remus dismissed his anxiety with a wave of his hand. 'I just got a bit overheated, that's all. Sorry to be an inconvenience.'

'Oh, you weren't,' Sev assured him sincerely. He leaned over Remus and touched his forehead again, his thumb slipping down to graze Remus' cheekbone. 'You're a bit cooler now.' He held his hand there for a moment longer, while Remus looked him straight in the eye. This seemed to disconcert him, for he dropped his hand and stood back. Remus felt a pang of disappointment.

'I'd better go, or I'll be late,' he said. 'Thanks for the water and stuff...I guess I'll see you tomorrow.'

'Unless I get terribly sick and can't come in,' Sev suggested, sounding cheered up by the thought. Remus smiled wanly. He needed to get out of there before Sev's jeans reached a seriously high-security zone.

'I'll let myself out,' he said. Sev nodded amicably.

When Remus was gone, Sev meandered back into the bathroom and stripped, running more hot water into the bath. He stepped in, thinking very depraved thoughts about Remus' hot, flushed face and the tightness of his jeans. Baths, after all, were even more enjoyable than he had previously supposed.

~

'Come on,' Hermione cajoled. 'How bad can it be?'

'What are we measuring this against?' Blaise sulked, dragging her feet. She was dressed incongruously for her, in tracksuit pants and a black polo shirt, her rather sallow skin devoid of its usual dead-white makeup and her dyed black hair bound back in a ponytail. 'For example, its obviously not as bad as, say, living in a third world country. But on the other hand, in comparison to pretty much anything else, its pretty damn ghastly.'

'Ghastly?' Hermione rolled her eyes. 'What kind of a word is that? We're doing some cleaning, not talking about chintz curtains.'

Blaise looked blankly at her.

'Would it kill you to make an effort? For the sake of the school?' Hermione's voice had a sudden bite to it. 'We are getting a dance out of it.'

'Whatever.,' Blaise sighed. Hermione stopped dead, causing Blaise to run into her, as she'd been staring sullenly at her feet as she walked, a method of ambulation perfected by ice-cream-deprived four-year-olds the world over.

'Look,' Hermione sighed. 'If you really don't want to do this, then fine. Go home.'

'Seriously?' Blaise asked suspiciously. Hermione nodded. 'Where's the hidden catch?'

'I'm not selling insurance, you know!' Hermione exclaimed. 'There is none.' She let a strategic silence engulf Blaise, and then, as she opened her mouth to speak, added sweetly, 'I'll tell Harry you said hello, shall I?'

Blaise almost tripped over herself - in eagerness and untied laces - to catch up with Hermione as she walked swiftly away. 'Harry's going to be there?' she panted.

'Of course,' Hermione said, the picture of innocence. The one with the label below it that reads 'Picture of Innocence -What it Doesn't Look Like.' 'He volunteered. A lot of people did. Unlike you,' she added pointedly.

'I did,' Blaise said quickly. 'Just - quite recently.'

'Better late than never,' Hermione said, solemn.

'I'm surprised you could spare the time,' Blaise challenged. 'Aren't you missing vital study?'

'I scheduled around it,' Hermione said smugly. 'Come on.'

Mrs Sinistra was standing at the door to the PE hall, looking flustered. When she spotted Hermione and Blaise, her expression cleared. 'Ah, excellent!' she said. 'I need someone to help with the painting - how are you at it, Hermione?'

'Not bad,' Hermione said. 'I helped my dad do our kitchen last year.'

'Good enough for me,' Mrs Sinistra said. 'Come with me and I'll get you some overalls and gloves. Blaise -'

Mrs Sprout appeared at the door, wearing a mournful expression and a soapy pair of Marigolds.

'Is there anyone available for the wash-up?' she wanted to know.

'Oh, pick me, pick me,' Blaise said. 'I know how to do that, at least.'

'Jolly good,' Mrs Sinistra said heartily.

Blaise smiled grimly at Hermione, who twinkled back wickedly, and followed Ivy. Hermione raced after Marie's retreating back. They passed several of the dressing rooms, doors wide open and emitting a strong smell of Cif. Hermione spotted her Chemistry teacher in one, on his hands and knees, scrubbing the grouting with a fierce expression. Hermione giggled, and feared for the mould.

~

A few hours before, Sev was asleep with his head on Marv's chest. His regular breaths warmed the skin over Marv's ribcage. Every so often, he snuffled in his large, crooked nose. Marv stared straight ahead, looking at nothing, and mindlessly dragging his fingers through Sev's tangled hair. His other hand drifted up and down the soft skin of his upper arm, playing a concerto.

Sev woke with a start, his eyelashes brushing Marv's chest as he blinked rapidly.

'What time is it?' he croaked.

Marv held up the arm that wore his Tag Heuer on it, and squinted. 'Um...half-past nine.'

Sev sat up with a jerk, thrusting Marv off. 'Shit!' He rolled off the bed and staggered sideways in the wonderful unco-ordination of the barely-awake. He bent over and started combing the floor for his clothes.

Marv rubbed his elbow where he'd banged it off the iron bedpost. 'Where's the fire?' he asked, wincing.

'In school. Your bloody brother and his crackpot schemes...' Sev ducked down and retrieved his trousers, pulling them on so that he wouldn't have to meet Marv's eyes. There was a brief silence, in which Marv, unobserved by Sev, yawned.

'Um, Sev?' Marv asked at last. 'Why are you wearing my trousers?'

~

Hermione was togged out in a pair of luminous yellow overalls, which looked like the ones belonging to the school caretaker, over her old jeans and T-shirt, trotting obediently behind Mrs Sinistra as she led her down to the storage room.

'Now, there's newspaper on the floor, so don't worry about splashes,' she was instructing as they entered the room. 'The main thing is to get the paint on the wall, it's a base coat, doesn't have to be perfect. It's not the Mona Lisa you're painting at all, Black! Get a bit more on the brush, there's a good chap!' She turned to Hermione and handed her a roller. 'There you go. I'll be down the corridor, finishing off the hallway, if you need me.' She patted Hermione on the shoulder and swept out.

Hermione advanced into the room. Draco turned to face her.

'Hi,' she said, as a winning conversational gambit.

'Hi,' he returned, smiling. 'There's a second paint tray there for you to use.'

'Okay,' Hermione said cautiously. 'Oh, you've one wall done!'

'Yeah,' Draco said. 'If you take another one then...we have to do a second coat, I reckon, so I hope you haven't got any urgent appointments.'

'I'll just have to call Bono and the Pope and say I can't make it,' Hermione said, heaving a sigh. Draco grinned.

Hermione bent down to dip her roller in paint, unaware that Draco was watching her. He cleared his throat self-consciously and turned back to his wall.

Hermione reached up to sweep the paint against the wall, inadvertently spraying herself with droplets of paint.

'Shit!'

She put a hand to her face to rub off the spots, but only succeeded in striping herself like an Indian chief.

'Don't bother,' Draco advised. 'We've got turps, leave it till the end to get it off.'

'Oh, right. Thanks,' Hermione said.

'No problem,' Draco said, stifling a grin at her earnest, paint-smeared face.

They both turned back to their respective tasks, Draco whistling softly. After a few minutes, Hermione sneaked a look in his direction. He was crouched down to fill in an awkward corner. While she looked, he glanced up, caught her eye, and smiled briefly in acknowledgement before turning back to his work.

Soon, Hermione realised that she was whistling too.

~

Blaise followed a fretting Mrs Sprout down the hall into the kitchenette.

'I have someone else rostered in, but I don't know where they are,' she said worriedly. 'I must nip out for more biscuits and bread, the morning crew cleared us out.

'It's fine,' Blaise said, when she could get a word in edgeways. 'I have washed dishes before.' 'Really?' Mrs Sprout said, sounding vaguely astonished. She picked up a plate of Marietta biscuits and tipped them into the sink, which was brimful of grey, sudsy water, and slid the plate into the bin with a tinkle of breaking china. Blaise, her eyes bugging, gently nudged her out of the kitchen before she could precipitate a world war. No wonder anyone who did Biology feared for their lives. Mind, they probably learned more on-the-spot survival techniques than Amazon trekkers.

Blaise found another pair of Marigolds under the sink and donned them before wrinkling her nose and starting to scoop the rapidly disintegrating biscuits out of the sink.

'Hi,' said a male voice from the region of the door. 'Sprout told me to report for washing-up...oh, I see it.' The mountains of teacups and tottering towers of plates were a little hard to miss.

Blaise, with a handful of soggy digestive, stood stock still, her heart thumping. That voice sounded extremely familiar.

'Grab a tea towel, Harry,' she said, with admirable poise. She dumped her load and returned to the sink, draining the water and running the tap to fill it again with water that looked less like it had come from a lake in Chernobyl.

'God, how many people did they have?' Blaise asked twenty minutes later, as Harry handed her another stack of saucers.

'Well,' Harry said, leaning closer to her confidentially and unknowingly sparking off half-a-dozen complicated and quite fizzy hormonal reactions. 'I heard Hagrid was part of the first crew...'

'Oh, bitchy, Harry!' Blaise said in admiration, and Harry blushed rather shamefully. 'I like it! Again, again!'

'I meant to say before,' he said, pushing his glasses up his nose. 'Look, about the other day, with Lupin - I didn't mean to stalk out. I'm sorry.'

'No worries,' Blaise shrugged. 'I actually - went and had a talk with Ron. Sorted a few things out.'

'Really?' Harry grinned in relief. 'I'm glad you're not mad at me.'

Blaise managed not to blush, herself, then.

She lifted a soapy saucer from the water and balanced it on the rack. 'Last one,' she said in relief.

'You have nothing to complain about,' Harry said, flicking the tea towel at her. 'Drying is the hard job, it takes twice as long.'

'If you didn't waste your time chatting about it you'd have it done,' Blaise said idly, stripping off her gloves.

'Fine, I won't talk at all,' Harry said, pretending to sulk.

'I didn't say that,' Blaise retorted. 'Here.' She whipped the tea towel out of his hands and dried the plate in a few seconds, adding it to the gleaming pile on the rickety table. 'Now.'

'Sweet, you feel for it,' Harry said gleefully, and Blaise opened her eyes wide, realising she'd been played. She reached over to slap his arm, and ended up slipping on a splash of soapy water instead. Her feet went from beneath her, and she shut her eyes, preparing herself for the impact that never came.

A pair of arms were about her waist, steadying her and setting her on her feet. She opened her eyes and looked into Harry's concerned green ones, a few inches away.

'Are you all right?' he asked.

'Fine!' she said shakily, and feeling like an idiot. 'Just slipped, that's all.'

He didn't move away, however; she could feel the edge of the sink behind her, and curled her fingers around it for support. Harry moved closer as she leaned against the sink; she could feel the warmth of his body radiating through her thin T-shirt. His hands were still resting on her waist.

'You have gorgeous eyes, you know,' he said, his voice husky.

'Really?' Blaise asked in surprise.

'Yeah...a sort of marine blue. I've never seen blue eyes that dark,' he said, peering in closer. She could feel his breath on her face. It was warm, and smelled faintly of mint Listerine.

Carefully, he moved one hand up her waist to her arm, and from there to rest his fingertips lightly on her exposed collarbone. Blaise shivered at the long-awaited contact. She could feel his leg pressing against her knee, firmly but not insistently. She shifted so that it moved to brush her inner thigh. His face was a hairsbreath from her own. She brought her hand up to touch his cheek -

'Here at last, lovies!' Mrs Sprout's voice floated in from the hall. Blaise and Harry sprung apart, the latter looking at his feet and blushing, the former glaring in the direction of the door as if hoping it would spontaneously combust. 'Cor, but that took a while. Got some bickies and a few sliced pans in the end, though...'

She bustled in, setting out her purchases and ignoring the murderous looks she was receiving.

~

Sev knelt with his head under a bench, scrubbing fiercely at a particularly nasty patch of mould that was refusing to shift. It had been quite comfortably ensconced there for the last half-decade, spawned many new generations of little mouldinis, and was now the sole survivor of a huge mould clan that Sev had, in the last few hours, totally exterminated. It was determined to put up a good fight before yielding to the inevitability of a wire brush, and in the meantime, Sev was developing a severe muscle cramp.

Remus had been standing in the doorway, watching his rear, for a good ten minutes before Sev registered his presence. This was occasioned by considerable pain, as Remus chose to address a 'Hi, Sev' to him at the same moment he was withdrawing his head from beneath the bench, causing him to look up instinctively and as a result whack his head off it.

He sat back on his haunches, clutching his head in pain, while Remus hastened forward.

'Are you all right, Sev?' he asked.

'I have a hump from scrubbing floors for three hours and now got a possible concussion. Yeah, I'm flying it,' Sev said mordantly, pain not predisposing him to be particularly civil.

'I reckon you can leave it now, this place is sparkling,' Remus commented.

'It's not,' Sev contradicted him. 'Look at that mould under there!'

Remus knelt down beside him, and peered in the direction of Sev's finger. He frowned, and looked closer, before sitting back.

'I hate to have to tell you this, Sev,' he said seriously, 'but there's nothing there.'

Sev's face took on an affronted expression. He gestured expansively at the spot of mould on an almost inaccessible angle of grouting. 'Can't you see it?' he demanded. 'Look! It's winking at me!'

Remus raised his eyebrows, but refrained from commenting. Sev glared at him, clearly hearing what he wasn't saying.

'Are you going to help me, or just watch?' Sev asked grouchily.

'Um, watch, I think,' Remus replied, smiling.

'Fine then, get out of my way,' Sev commanded, disappearing beneath the bench again. Remus sat down on top of it and swung his legs up so that he was reclining just over Sev's head, with an ideal view.

After several minutes' hard work, Sev withdrew from under the bench with utmost caution - to avoid thumping his head again - and tossed the wire brush into the bucket of scummy water.

'You're very - house-proud, aren't you?' Remus ventured.

'If you mean fanatic, say fanatic,' Sev snapped, wincing as his muscles protested vigorously at being stretched. 'Ouch, I have some crick in my neck.'

'Sit down.' At Sev's suspicious look, Remus rolled his eyes. 'Sit down and I'll give your neck a massage. It's the least I can do - you didn't clean this place, you sterilised it. You could give birth here - or eat off the floor.'

'Preferably not all at once,' Sev murmured, sinking onto the bench beside Remus and immediately releasing all his tensed ligaments, so that he lolled like a rag doll. His eyes fluttered shut, and he didn't make a sound when Remus nudged him so that he was facing sideways, his cheek pressed against the welcoming coolness of the wall.

Remus' fingers dug into the soft skin of his neck, expertly arraying themselves along the pressure points with his thumbs unerringly seeking out the sore spots just above Sev's shoulder blades. He moved them in slow rotation, pressing and squeezing the skin until Sev was almost weeping with relief. At last, the fingers stopped moving, but remained in place on his shoulders. Sev slumped beneath them, feeling the chafed, relaxed skin of his shoulders and neck settling into more comfortable alignment. He flopped his head back and around and smiled at Remus, his dark hair sweeping across his forehead and into his eyes, making him blink.

Remus appeared to be having some trouble breathing, and his hands had not moved, except that they were now encircling his neck, the tips of his fingers stroking the downy indent below his ears. Sev stared at him, a little unnerved. Remus reached a hand up and brushed the hair out of his eyes, lingering too long against the skin.

'Cheers,' Sev managed, as Remus' other hand moved down his chest, the fingers hooking into the space between his shirt buttons.

An amused cough interrupted Remus' explorations, and Sev couldn't decide if he felt relieved or disappointed. He twisted his head. Blaise Zabini was standing at the door, wearing a carefully blank expression.

'We've started making sandwiches, sirs,' she announced, feigning an intense interest in the ceiling as they both came to their feet, clearing their throats uncomfortably. 'If you're - ahem - hungry, that is.'

Sev mumbled, 'Actually, I'd better get going.' Before Remus' mouth had formed a protest, he had slithered past Blaise, and was gone.

'Don't say it,' Remus said weakly, as Blaise's face twitched. 'Just don't.'

'I'm as silent as a roomful of post-concert Metallica fans,' she promised. He was almost at the end of the corridor when she added, thoughtfully, and quietly, 'Or at least as temporarily hoarse.'

And she grinned, a little.