Fortune's Fool

Fortune´s Fool

...A quiet basement bathroom, lit with fading flickers of light from the green flames of dying torches. Late, or early, two or three o´ clock in the morning whichever way you look at it, clock ticking high up on the wall where it won´t get splashed. Ticking arythmically because it´s broken, everyone knows that, but it´s still a damn good explanation for why you´re so inexcusably late for lessons, boy, and the sound it makes sets all your nerves on edge. Tick...but not quite tock, not just yet, holding your breath until

tock, it comes, then a tick too fast for you to really hear it and there´s a breathing echoing in the room that´s trying to keep pace and sounds by turns a little hyperventilating and then too calm to really be healthy. Sounds nervous, when it´s a little too fast and when it´s a little too slow, as though it´s waiting for something to happen but it doesn´t have much patience...

...Coming from the water. A little murky, its occupant´s been in there a bit too long. A day´s worth of dirt floats suspended and stirred by twitches and the rise and fall of a pale-skinned chest, dirt that jumps and swirls around ripples that bounce the dull green light in blinding flashes around the room, fling it up and over and across and back to the torches it came from in the first place. Breathing becoming more regular now, steadier, resolved. Purposeful. Decisive. A million other synonyms. Not a sound but inhalation and exhalation and the soft slap of lukewarm water on cold stone and warm skin...

...Skin of a body. Eighteen years old. Long black hair, damp and straggly and still a little greasy. Tall and thin and angular and sallow-skinned. Naked, and male. Green light absorbed into bottomless black eyes. Thin-lipped, and hook-nosed, and high cheekboned, so sharp you could slit your wrists on them. Long fingered hands holding a long silver blade and twisting it to make the green light dance upon the walls. Eyes close, deep breath, knife down, skin cut once, twice, three times, change wrist once, twice, three times, blood drips like the water from broken skin and stains. Spreads. Snakes through the water in slowly smudging rivulets, black under green light but at the same time unmistakably red. Breathing faster, then slower. Slower. Echoing. Shallow. Can´t quite hear it, water´s too loud. Figure at the doorway.

Sev? Sev? Oh fuck, no. Sev!

"Sev!" Evan Rosier sat up sharply in bed, waking himself with his own cry. A prefect, he had his own room; there was no one else he would have woken. His slight frame shook as he breathed deeply, wiping sweat from his brow and telling himself it was only a dream, Sev was still asleep next door, there´s no need to fucking panic, Evan. It was only a dream. He had just found his best friend´s dead body in the blood-filled water of the seventh-year bathroom, but it was only a dream. A dream that had left him drenched in sweat and not quite breathing right, unable to get in enough oxygen. A dream that had left him fucking terrified.

It took the Slytherin seventh year a minute or two to calm himself down, to get his breathing back under control and stop himself shaking. He lay back on his pillows, pushing his floppy, dark red hair to one side and staring unseeingly at the ceiling with thoughtful blue eyes. He had never had a dream as real as that one. He had never before woken up and wholeheartedly believed, even if it was just for a moment, the nightly joyrides of his subconscious. He had certainly never woken up and feared for someone´s life.

He knew Sev was next door. Sev, his best friend of six and a bit years. The quiet, dark-haired scholar who had sat next to him on his bed the first night of school and asked him what he was reading. Who had kissed him, clumsily, summer of second year. Who he had given his virginity to, summer of third year. Who he had lost to Lucius Malfoy, October of fourth year. The closest friend he had in the world, and the only person he would ever have dared say he trusted. Of course he was next door. Where else would he be?

Bleeding out in the seventh year bathroom, wrists slashed to pieces. No, think straight. It was just a dream. Yesterday he was fine. All year so far he´s been fine. Severus Snape is not the sort of person who gets suicidal. He´s far too logical to do anything so stupid. What reason could there possibly have been for Severus not to have been lying, fast asleep, in the room next to Rosier´s? The redhead lay quietly, worry flickering across his ethereally pale, elfishly pretty face.

Maybe he should go next door, knock, just in case. But it would wake Severus up, if he was there, and more to the point it was only a dream. For fuck´s sake. Forget it, and go back to sleep. He´ll be there in the morning. Rosier lay and listened to his breathing, counting, keeping time with himself until he fell into a fitful sleep plagued with vague images of scarlet stained water and long black hair.

The next morning, Rosier dressed quickly. A knife blade sparkled before his eyes as he yanked on his robes, dragged a comb through his hair and pulled open the door of his room. Severus and Evan´s rooms were two of four around a small, comfortable study area that was shared by two newly appointed fifth year prefects who were more than a little in awe of their seventh year neighbours. Rosier almost tripped out into the round, green-lit room before stopping short.

Severus Snape was sitting placidly on a sofa, shoe and sockless feet resting on the cushions and a large book on his knees. He looked up at the sound of Rosier´s entrance, and raised a thin black eyebrow at his distinctly dishevelled looking friend. He said nothing, just stared, a hint of a smile on his lips. All of a sudden Rosier felt a little silly.

"Looking good, Evan." The redhead laughed hopelessly.

"Merlin, I´m an idiot." He made his way over to Severus´ couch. The darker boy lifted his feet to allow his friend to sit down, before calmly repositioning them on Rosier´s thigh.

"True enough. Why?" Severus ducked the cushion that was half-heartedly swung at his head. Rosier sighed.

"Oh, no reason. Just in general." Severus nodded solemnly. This time cushion connected with head, and the dark-haired boy gave Rosier the finger. The redhead grinned.

"Don´t push me, Sev. I didn´t get much sleep last night." Severus made a noise of sincere sympathy, but couldn´t stop a mischievous smile from spreading across his face.

"So I heard." This made Rosier sit up.

"Excuse me?" Severus´ smile grew a little more crooked.

"You woke me up. You know, it´s been far too long since I´ve heard anyone shouting my name like that." Rosier smiled at him, but his eyes betrayed the inner conflict he was struggling with. Should he tell him the truth?

"Don´t flatter yourself, sweetheart, it was more like a nightmare than anything else." Severus drew his features into an expression of mock-affrontedness.

"Charming. I´m beginning to regret waiting to go down to breakfast with you." Rosier jumped to his feet, nearly knocking Severus from the sofa. He smiled.

"Liar. Now get some shoes on, and come down with me. I´m hungry." Rolling his eyes, Severus closed his book, taking the redhead´s outstretched hands to pull himself up.

"Accio shoes!" He caught them deftly, one in each hand, and slipped his feet into them, turning to face a still smiling Rosier once he´d finished. "Come on, then. Although I´m still smarting."

"I bet you are. Anyway, I meant nightmare in the genuine sense. I woke up covered in sweat."

"Stop digging right there, Evan."

"You know what I mean. Horrible things happening to loved ones, that sort of thing." Severus snaked his arm around the smaller boy´s shoulders.

"I´m a loved one? Oh, how touching. Consider yourself forgiven for the earlier slight."

"How gracious you are, Sev." The two of them left their common room and headed for the Great Hall.

---*~~~*---

How on earth did he manage to convince me to take NEWT level Divination? I may be good at it, but it´s boring as shit. And easy, to be honest, but I suppose that´s only because I´m probably going to grow up into a true Seer. So Professor Finnigan keeps telling me, anyway. And, of course, as soon as Sev heard that he started nagging me. I was

going to take Study of Ancient Runes but he wouldn´t have it. Insisted that anyone with true Sight needs to have it trained. Otherwise we end up with someone like Professor Finnigan teaching Divination.

At least it´s four lessons a week where I don´t have to bother concentrating at all. In fact, surely if I´m a true Seer, I should know what homework she´s going to set us anyway, so I don´t have to listen. Or something like that. I hope Sev´s having fun in Ancient Runes. I hope he comes back with a ton of homework. Actually, no I don´t. He was in a foul enough mood this morning without being forced to work all night. I wonder what got into him? He hardly said a word to me at breakfast and hardly ate a thing. Although, if it comes to that, he wasn´t all that perky last night, either. Mind you, he never

is all that perky. But he was just the miserable side of sedate.

I suppose he has something important on his mind. But I haven´t seen him that distracted since he and Lucius were teetering on the brink of a relationship. Whatever it is must be pretty big. He´ll tell me when he´s ready. I hope he will, anyway. He usually does. And if he doesn´t want to...then that´s his choice, I suppose. Merlin knows he´s more than capable of handling things on his own. He shouldn´t have to, he

doesn´t have to, but he can and he does. So it´s up to him, really. He knows I´m here. If he wants to tell me, then he can tell me and I´ll try to help. If he doesn´t want to tell me, then I´m sure he´ll have good reasons, and he can sort it out himself.

I just hope he really

does know I´m here for him. I have been for six years, you´d think he´d know by now. But for all he´s so clever, emotionally sometimes he´s slow off the mark. He spends too much time around his books and doesn´t pay enough attention to the people around him. All the books in the world can´t teach you how to trust that somebody loves you. He doesn´t even have Lucius around to tell him anymore. As much as I hate to admit it, that bitchy, arrogant, painfully beautiful blondcan give him something that I just can´t anymore. And yet, the funny thing is, I could before he turned up. How ironic.

Everyone else is writing. Which tends to mean that I should be too.

The Ancient Runes classroom was bitterly cold, Professor Lengua believing it was more conducive to study that way, but Severus Snape didn´t seem all that concerned. His quill lay untouched on the desk before him, slowly leaking ink onto otherwise unmarked parchment, his slightly pointed chin rested on long, tented fingers. Shadow circled black eyes had lost their glitter of active learning, the sparkle that pervaded them in concentration, and had taken on a faraway look that told the mind behind them was elsewhere and deep in thought.

Severus Snape had not slept the previous night. He had lain awake while the sky outside turned from deep blue to chilly grey to sun-streaked cerulean, although living in a basement meant he saw none of this. His nine hours were spent illuminated by a single, unwavering green flame, and morning sun never touched his eyes. When he had dressed he had unwittingly pulled on the robes he had worn the day before, had neither brushed his hair nor bothered to shower. When he went down to breakfast on Rosier´s arm he said little and ate less.

In a dim corner of his mind he knew his friend would be worried about him. This concerned some level of his consciousness, which vowed to say something that would reassure the redhead when they met up after this lesson. It was a vow he would forget very quickly. One level of consciousness doesn´t stand much of a chance among so many already preoccupied with the crooked smile of a pale-skinned, grey-eyed blonde. Tall, but shorter than Severus. Slim without being skinny. Prettier than he was. Prettier than Rosier, with an elegance that pushed him over from just pretty into beautiful.

He wished he were there. Wished he could hear the modulated tones whispering something obscene in his ear. Wished he could feel the hands on his shoulders, reassuringly possessive. Wished that when he went back to the prefects´ rooms that night he could knock on the door opposite his and it would be Lucius that answered, not the lanky, nervous fifth year whose name he couldn´t even remember. Wished more than anything that Lucius was there with him and not at home with her.

Severus stood with everyone else as the bell rang for the end of the lesson, collecting up piles of unmade notes mechanically and sliding them into his bag. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a vaguely unsettled looking Rosier loitering in the doorframe. His mouth curved into an automatic smile and he made his way towards him, Professor Lengua watching him go. The old Ravenclaw would have stopped anyone but Severus and demanded a good reason why they hadn´t paid any attention to a word he had said over the last hour. But the dark-haired seventh year was something of a favourite of his, as he was of so many teachers, and so he let his student leave without saying a word.

...Wet, soaking wet, never took robes off, weighing down in heavy folds and making it hard to move through the water, hard to get close enough to get worst fears confirmed. Swishing and splashing, water and fabric move in awfully similar ways, cloth flows like a fluid but here and now it´s a hell of an ungainly one, with none of water´s grace and smoothness. Feels like running into a force nine gale, can´t move legs right, can´t get there fast enough, not even sure want to get there, don´t want to see it, not close up, not face to face. Face to ashen face. How long has he been there? Droplets on eyelashes, running over cheekbones like still-warm tears. Droplets on lips, but the tongue won´t flash out to lick them off. There now, close enough to see, close enough to touch. To see the gashes leaking life into the water, the closed eyes and parted lips, the straggly hair and silver hoop still in his right ear. To touch the broken skin, run fingers along vein in horrified fascination, feel for a pulse, touch his eyes and nose and cheeks and lips. Sit back, water drenching robes, water that´s filled with blood, his blood, his blood swirling all around and inescapable, his blood seeping through the fabric and clinging, suffocating, soaked in it and oh God I can´t breathe I can´t breathe and please God not Sev not Sev not Sev...

"Fuck!" Rosier gasped desperately for breath, sitting up in bed and running trembling hands through sweat-soaked hair. It was only a dream. It was only a dream. It was only a dream. But it was a dream he´d now had twice, and with Severus in the mood he was there was no way Rosier was just going to sit there and try to calm himself down. Regardless of whether it meant waking him up, he was going to get up and go next door and make sure that his best friend really was where he thought he was. Especially seeing as Severus had not gone to bed at the same time as Rosier had, and the redhead didn´t remember hearing his bedroom door open or close.

Rosier stumbled out of bed, tiredly clumsy as he made his way to his bedroom door. Quietly he opened it, not wanting to disturb his fifth year roommates unless he had to. And there, on the sofa in front of him, lay Severus. On the sofa that Rosier had walked painfully into the back of, eyes unused to the green light that still illuminated the small study area. The redhead swore under his breath, holding himself still as he tried to work out whether he had woken his fellow seventh year. He listened, and heard the deep, even breathing that told him Severus was still soundly asleep. Awkwardly, Rosier limped over to the nearest chair and studied his sleeping friend.

It seemed to be the first sleep the boy had had in days. Dark smudges under the eyes discoloured his sallow skin, which itself had taken on an unhealthy, anaemic pallor. His hair had fallen across his face, and Rosier felt an old impulse to reach over and push it back behind his ears. Regulated breaths slipped from slightly parted lips in time with the rise and fall of his thin, black-robed chest. Even asleep he looked distracted, Rosier thought. As though he couldn´t quite concentrate on the action of maintaining peaceful sleep. He was moving, only slightly, almost imperceptibly, a slight turn of the head or shift of the arm suggesting that his mind was not quite at rest.

The customary sharpness of the redhead´s blue eyes was dulled by interrupted sleep, but the mind behind them was alert and watchful enough. It was alert enough to see that the darker boy was sleeping with his head on a piece of paper, obscured too far to be readable and leant on too heavily to be extractable. It was watchful enough to notice the empty wineglass on the floor beside the sofa, and the stains of wine spilt on carpet looking just that little bit too much like -

He´s just asleep. Nothing more. Because it was only a dream. Listen, you can hear him breathing. You can

see him breathing, see his chest rising and falling. He´s alive, and he´s asleep. And it´s a good thing too, I suppose. Even now I can see that he hasn´t slept much recently, this´ll probably do him good. Has he done this every night? Every morning he´s always the one waiting for me to go down to breakfast with, but then he always has been. I´m used to him being up before me. But now he´s starting to look like he hasn´t gone to sleep in the first place.

I´m scared for him. Really scared. There´s obviously something wrong, and he won´t tell me what it is. I wish I could trust him to talk to me if he needs to, but I just can´t. How can he possibly be coping with this alone when he looks like this? He clearly needs some help, but what am I supposed to do if he won´t talk to me? I can´t force him to tell me something he doesn´t want to. At the same time, I can´t leave him to go on like this. I can´t remember the last time I saw him eat something properly. I can´t remember the last time I saw him look relaxed.

Hell, if nothing else, then this needs to be sorted out for my own mental health. It´s painful to watch him like this, painful to be this worried. I wonder if he´s ever known how much he means to me. Have I ever told him? Some things never change, you know? I lost him to Lucius and I´ve gradually come to accept that as I´ve seen how happy they are. But some part of me still feels like I have a hold on him, a hold that not even Lucius fucking Malfoy can break. I still feel like a part of him is mine. Some things I suppose you never forget. I´ve certainly not forgotten how to worry about him.

He looks terrible. It may only have been a dream, but he certainly looks like death. And if he carries on with his current sleeping and eating habits, he´ll get there. What if that´s what he wants? Merlin. Surely nothing could have happened that could have driven him that far? Surely he´s too levelheaded. But what if he isn´t? What if this is it, this is my dream? What if I find him naked and bleeding in the bathroom tomorrow evening? Oh, God. The Sight. This wouldn´t be the first time I´ve had a prophetic dream.

Maybe I´m paranoid because I´m tired. But it´s happened before. I can´t take a chance and wait for him to talk to me. I have to sort this out, and I have to do it soon.

---*~~~*---

Thursday, 8^th November

Dearest Severus

Are you coping without me? I hope not. I hope you´re missing me insanely, every minute of every day. That´s certainly how I´m feeling. Malfoy Manor seems excruciatingly empty without you, and I have nothing to distract me from your absence. At least you have school to keep you occupied, and, I suppose, Rosier, as much as I hate to admit it. I, however, am stuck with an empty house and the dubious and occasional pleasure of Marcus and Serena´s company. The two of them are positively vomit inducing, and seeing them together just makes me miss you even more. My God, listen to me. I sound like Lestrange. You see what our separation has done to me?

For all I´d love to think that you´re missing me just as much as I miss you, I hope seventh year is going well for you so far. I trust you and Rosier have between you taken up my position as most intimidating and awe-inspiring student at Hogwarts. If anyone was going to fill my shoes, I´d love it to be you.

Is it strange there without me? Do you look around the school and remember everything we´ve done together? Can you look at the manacles on the Common Room walls and keep a straight face? What about Professor Evans´ desk? It´s certainly strange here without you. All of a sudden the house seems full of memories. I can´t go anywhere without seeing echoes of you. In a strange way I almost hope Tom starts me working soon, at least then I´ll have something to take my mind off you.

I wish I could say that this letter was just an opportunity to stay in touch with you, but I have a reason for writing. I suppose I have news for you, although I´m not sure you´ll welcome it. I don´t have to ask you if you remember Narcissa, do I? Daughter of friends of my parents. The two sets of relatives have been forcing the two of us to meet more and more recently, and last week I found out why. My parents informed me that it has been decided that Narcissa and I are to be engaged.

Please don´t hate me, Sev. There isn´t anything I can do about it. I have to marry, you know that. There isn´t anyone else who can carry on the family name. It´s what´s expected of me. I´ve tried to talk my parents around, but they insist. I´m trapped, Sev, don´t you see? And it isn´t my fault. If I could marry you, I would, but it just doesn´t work like that. You know that you mean more to me than anyone else in the world, and you always will, I promise. I love you. I don´t love Narcissa. I like her well enough, and if I have to marry a woman I suppose I could do worse. But this is nothing more than a marriage of convenience, and she knows that as well as I do. She isn´t stupid, she knew I was gay within an hour of meeting me. But she´ll go along with it as I will, because neither of us have a choice.

I´ve told her about you, you know. She understands. I think the two of us will get on well, as long we don´t have to carry on too much of a physical relationship. I can live with her, at any rate. But I´ve told her that I´d rather be with you, and she´s fine with that. She´s even said that once we´re married, you´ll be welcome at the Manor any time. I don´t know if that´s any consolation.

Please forgive me, Sev. I can´t help this. It´s my duty, and I can´t get around it. But it doesn´t have to change our relationship, does it? Narcissa doesn´t mind. I still love you as much as ever, and I still miss you terribly. It hurts me that you´re not around, I feel empty without you. Please, come to the Manor for Christmas and I´ll prove to you that this doesn´t change anything. I love you more than anything, although you may not believe it.

Yours always

Lucius

Every time Severus reads this letter, it seems like the first time. He has read it an average of three times a day since it arrived, exactly a week ago. Every time he reads it the words slip from his head in the amnesia of denial, because the thought that this is actually real is just too painful to even contemplate. If he sits and thinks about it he wants to cry, he feels a gut-wrenching, desperate misery that hurts in the worst kind of way, a dull ache that never seems to go away and stops him concentrating on anything around him.

He knows Rosier is worried, but he can´t bring himself to care. Nothing really seems to matter to him any more. He has spent six and a bit years to date hopelessly in love with Lucius Malfoy, three of them actually in a relationship with him. With Lucius he has been happier than he has ever been before in his life. He has never loved anyone so much. And now he´s getting married. To a jumped-up, inbred bitch of a pureblood who doesn´t even know him, who certainly doesn´t love him, not the way Severus does. Lucius can never mean as much to this girl as he does to Severus. So why is it her he´s marrying?

He can´t sleep, can´t eat. He hasn´t written back to Lucius yet, and he supposes his lover will be starting to get concerned. But Severus just thinks, let him. Why should he care about Lucius´ feelings when Lucius obviously doesn´t care about his? How can Lucius feel anything for him if he´s willing to just stand back and let this happen? As if it hasn´t been difficult enough to merely cope with not seeing him. Now he´s getting married. He fluctuates between hating him with a burning passion and loving him so much the world around him ceases to exist and Lucius is all that matters. Life seems to have no meaning without him.

Now, sitting in the small study area outside his bedroom, he is reading the letter again in case he got the wrong idea the first one hundred times he read it. Just in case he missed the postscript at the bottom that said, only joking. And to stare at the words "I love you" and try to make himself believe that Lucius really means it. This is how Rosier finds him, desperate, despondent and desolate on the sofa, crumpled paper in his hand and a deadened look in his eyes.

"Move your legs." Severus jumped as though Rosier had slapped him at the sound of the redhead´s voice. Obediently he drew his knees protectively up to his chest. Rosier looked down at the newly vacated space, then up and around the room. He moved to check that the fifth years´ rooms were empty before pointing his wand at the main door and murmuring:

"Alohomora." Satisfied that no one would now bother them, Rosier sat down at Severus´ feet, studying his friend´s ashen face with a gaze of shrewd, analytical concern that flushed the darker boy´s cheeks.

"Come on, then." Severus continued to stare at the paper in his hand.

"What?"

"You know full well what." Severus didn´t reply. Rosier leaned towards his, eyes full of worry. "Please, Sev. Talk to me. Tell me what´s wrong. Tell me why you haven´t been sleeping. Tell me why you haven´t been eating. Tell me why you´re wearing the same robes as you did yesterday, and why you haven´t washed your hair in days. Tell me why you haven´t laughed in a week, and why when I talk you hardly seem to listen. Tell me what´s happened." Severus´ voice was a flat monotone.

"There isn´t anything to tell." Rosier´s voice rose as he did from his seat.

"Don´t give me that, Sev! How can there be nothing to tell? You´re moments away from a nervous breakdown. How can nothing have happened?" Rosier ran long fingers exasperatedly through floppy red hair, tone becoming calmer. "Do you have any idea what this is doing to me, Sev?" The darker boy met his friend´s eyes for the first time. "I´m watching my best friend put himself through hell and I have no idea why. And because I have no idea why, I can´t help you. And it´s killing me. I´m so worried about you it´s painful. I´m not just worried, I´m scared. I´m scared because you can usually handle anything you need to by yourself, but now I can see you falling apart. Please, Sev. Let me help you. For your own sake, tell me what´s wrong." Rosier had talked himself out and was now watching Severus´ face. The dark-haired boy was looking at Rosier with eyes showing a depth of feeling that terrified the redhead. When he spoke, it was in little more than a whisper.

"You can´t help me. Even if I told you, you couldn´t help me." Rosier was practically crying with frustration.

"But how will you know if you never tell me? Please, Sev. Do you want me to beg you?" A ghost of a smile flickered across Severus´ face.

"It wouldn´t be the first time." For all his worry, Rosier couldn´t help smiling.

"True enough. But don´t change the subject." Severus said nothing, just continued to twist the letter in his fingers. Rosier pressed on. "Is it me? Is it school stuff? Is it a personal problem? Is it Lucius?" The redhead knew instantly that he had hit on it. A look of intense pain flickered across Severus´ face at the sound of the blond´s name, and he drew his knees a little closer to him. "Sev?" Rosier murmured, gently. "What´s happened? Have the two of you had a fight?" Wordlessly Severus handed his friend the letter, meeting his eyes unblinkingly. Rosier flinched a little from the raw emotion that shone from them and bent his head to skim read the letter. His eyes widened as he reached the end and he bit his lip anxiously. He looked up.

"Oh, Sev." He couldn´t think of anything else to say. His friend´s face had grown cold and impassive, and he shrugged.

"I suppose I always knew it would have to happen." His voice sounded dead. Rosier felt nothing he could say would sound anything but clumsy, but he had to try.

"If there´s anything I can do to help..." He let the words trail off, unsure exactly what he was offering. Severus laughed humourlessly.

"I already told you. What can you possibly do to help? There isn´t anything anyone can do. This is Lucius´ responsibility, one that he can´t get around. He says it himself: it´s his duty. So how can you help me?" Rosier took a gamble. He was rarely sentimental with Severus, knowing he didn´t appreciate it. Now seemed like a good time, though.

"I can be there for you." The gamble paid off. Severus´ face softened.

"You always are, I know. And I appreciate that more than you can imagine. But right now..." He didn´t seem to know how to finish the sentence. "This is between me and Lucius, and it isn´t something I have any control over. This is the way his life has turned out, and I will just have to live with that." He stood, straightening out his robes and pulling out his wand. "Alohomora." He turned to face a hopeless looking Rosier. "Now, if you don´t mind, I´m going for a bath. You were right when you said I hadn´t washed my hair in days." Rosier watched him leave helplessly, a look of trepidation on his face.

"Sev." The boy turned just as he reached the door, eyebrow raised quizzically. When Rosier spoke, his voice was quiet. "Do you love him?" The response was barely audible.

"More than anything."

"Then how can you just sit back and let this happen?" Rosier wondered if Severus knew that he wasn´t just talking about Lucius. The darker boy smiled crookedly.

"What other choice do I have?" He left the room before Rosier could say another word.

In the bathroom Severus undresses quickly, because if he takes too long over it then he will start to remember how many times he´s done this under Lucius Malfoy´s appraising grey gaze, how many times Lucius Malfoy´s long-fingered hands have saved him the trouble and done it for him. As he lowers himself into the bath he hears the echoes of moans and gasps ringing around the room, sees blondhair half damp with sweat and half with bath water, feels slippery skin sliding over his. He realises that he left his letter with Rosier but knows his friend will just return it quietly to his room.

He has read it so many times he knows it off by heart, can see the words dancing in front of his eyes in Lucius´ elegant, black-inked scrawl. He has read it over and over until the words have almost but not quite lost all meaning. Absently Severus wonders how much longer it will take before the words mean so little to him that he can read them without hurting. He has never hurt this much. He has never felt a hopelessness comparable, nothing like this incessant ache that borders on despair. He has never felt anything that he has never felt he could stop.

But he can stop this. He can stop it with the razor blade that glints in his hand, the sliver of silver that he twists between his fingers. Why should he bother to carry on living if every day is going to be this torturous? For he doesn´t think he´ll ever get over this, doesn´t think he´ll ever be able to look Lucius in the eye without wanting to cry or ever see Narcissa without wanting to kill her, slowly and torturously. Why should he have to live every day in agony because the man he loves more than anything belongs to someone else? It´s the easiest cure possible.

So why does he put the blade down? A million and one reasons that flash before his eyes as he presses the blade to his wrist, but he doesn´t remember all of them. He remembers Evan, tears dripping from his blue eyes, and Lestrange with his arm around him. He remembers hearing Evan tell him he´s there for him, remembers the look in his eyes as he left their common room. And most of all he remembers Lucius. Thinks of Lucius without him. Thinks of what he knows the news would do him. Because deep down, he knows that Lucius loves him, and so he puts the blade down and begins to rinse his hair. The pain and insecurity take approximately thirty seconds to return in full force.

Don´t panic, Evan. He isn´t suicidal yet. Yet. Oh, Merlin, who am I kidding? I don´t know what he is at the moment. For all I know, he really

has gone into that bathroom to slit his wrists, and there´s nothing I can do about it. Not a single fucking thing. Merlin, I feel so fucking helpless. I can´t just sit back and watch him destroy himself, not over this. It´s obvious how little this marriage means to Lucius, but Sev just can´t see it. I´m not sure I´d be able to. If I was in the same position and heard Sev was getting married, I´d be devastated, whatever reassurances he gave me. I just have to find a way to convince him Lucius still loves him before it´s too late. I can´t talk to Lucius himself, he´d be in even less of a position to think about this rationally. As soon as I tell him Severus is unhappy, he´ll flip. He´s always been the more volatile one, and the idea that Severus is unhappy will do to him what the news of his engagement has done to Sev. No, if I want help, I´ll have to go to Lestrange. Despite everything, despite last summer, and despite Serena. He´s my best shot.

---*~~~*---

Severus Snape sits in Arithmancy and doodles on his parchment. It is nearly a fortnight now since he remembers paying enough attention in lessons to have taken notes, but at least he´s no longer carrying Lucius´ letter into every class with him. As far as Rosier is aware he burnt it not long after his friend returned it to him, at least, Rosier came into his room last Monday and could smell burning and he hasn´t seen the letter since. Neither of them are really sure what this has achieved, but Rosier wonders if it´s helping Severus deny to himself that it ever happened and Severus thinks he did it because he hates Lucius Malfoy in an all-consuming kind of way. So for him it was cathartic, he supposes.

Does Severus really hate him? Not even he knows. He´d like to believe he does because it would make his life an awful lot easier. After all, if he hates him, then why would he give a shit if he´s getting married? Which is precisely why Rosier doesn´t buy into it. Since Rosier sat him down for a `talk´ Sev hasn´t really said much about it, just a few half-heartedly snide comments about Lucius and Narcissa that Rosier laughed at in the way a sympathetic friend does. Although Sev hasn´t said much about anything really, which worries Rosier a little. He´s still too quiet for Rosier´s liking, he´s frightened there´s something dangerous going on in Severus´ head that he won´t find out about until it´s too late.

At the moment only Severus knows what´s going on inside his head, and he intends to keep it that way. But if Rosier was to hazard a guess then he´d say Sev was confused, because he wants to hate Lucius for what he´s doing to him but can´t stop being hopelessly, dizzily in love with him. It´d be a pretty good guess, although Severus has taken recently to believing that he hates Lucius unequivocally. This, however, doesn´t explain the stabbing pain he feels whenever he imagines (as he can´t help doing) Lucius at the altar, Lucius in a morning suit, lifting Narcissa´s veil and kissing her. It doesn´t explain why he still dreams about him, dreams of violent eroticism that force him awake, exhausted and sticky with sweat and semen.

And of course Rosier would never in a million years be able to put his finger on the way Severus feels as he walks from class to class to the Great Hall and the dungeons through the Common Room to his bedroom, each and every day. He has no idea that Severus is floating as though in a dream, because nothing is real to him but Lucius and the letter (or the ashes of the letter, which he kept in a jar) and his own, torturous pain that nothing can shake him out of. The sort of pain that hurts so much that every day you wake up and you just want it to be time to sleep again, although even sleep isn´t all that much of a relief because you dream about him so vividly that it hurts even more to wake up and realise he´s not next to you anymore. When you´re not living your life, you´re just living through it, waiting for each day to pass because that´s 24 hours less pain.

This is what Rosier can only guess at as he watches him, studies the ashen skin and dark circles under vacant hollows of eyes and sucks the end of his quill, pretending to look studious as he bends his head to draft his letter to Lestrange.

Marcus

It seems years since I´ve seen you, although I know it´s only been a few months. It´s amazing how slowly time can pass when it wants to, even when as much has been going on as there has been. I hope you´ve been enjoying your relatively newfound freedom from academia, that you and Serena are well and happy, both separately and together.

I wonder what you´re thinking as you read this, Marcus. Are you missing me? Are you wishing you and Lucius were back here so instead of reading this letter in the comfort of your own home, you could be listening to me talk in our own common room? Are you wishing I was there with you? Or are you just wondering why I´m writing? In which case, I suppose I should tell you.

I´m presuming that by now you´re aware that Lucius is getting married. To be perfectly honest, I would have thought you´d have written by now on the subject, but I suppose you have your own reasons for that. Perhaps Lucius warned you off. Perhaps you just didn´t think it was a good idea under the circumstances. Whatever the reason, Lucius wrote to Severus to tell him two weeks ago. It must have been the hardest letter he has ever had to write. It was certainly the most devastating news he´ll ever have to deliver.

I´m sure you can imagine what the news has done to Severus. Perhaps, like me, you think that Lucius should have told him in person. Maybe you think a letter really was the best option. Either way would probably have had the same result. He´s heartbroken, Marcus. I´ve never seen him like this. Since he got the letter he´s hardly strung a sentence together, I haven´t seen him eat a proper meal in days and I

know he isn´t sleeping properly. He´s withdrawn completely into himself.

I´m scared, Marcus. I don´t know what to do. I feel so completely helpless. I´m watching my best friend destroy himself and there isn´t anything I can do to stop him. You know as well as I do that this marriage means nothing to Lucius, I could tell that much just from his letter and I´m sure he´s told you the same. But Sev just can´t believe this, he won´t let himself. I don´t think he feels life is worth living anymore if he´s losing Lucius to Narcissa, and I know how stupid this will sound but I´m genuinely terrified that he´s going to kill himself. I´m having a recurring dream that I find his body, wrists slashed to pieces in the seventh year bathroom and please don´t despair of me, but you know I´ve had prophetic dreams before and I´m worried, Marcus. Really worried.

Sev hasn´t been in contact with Lucius since he got the letter. Sev hasn´t written for obvious reasons, and I´m assuming Lucius is just giving him time to get used to the idea and keeping a tactful distance. He´s probably well aware of the welcome he´d receive. But he doesn´t realise how dangerous this situation is. If he can´t convince Sev soon that he still loves him, then I don´t know what he´s going to do to himself. That´s why I need your help. We need to get Lucius here, and we need to do it soon. If you can bear to be parted with Serena, please come to Hogwarts. And don´t bring Lucius into it yet.

Evan

"You haven´t changed." Rosier looked up from his Arithmancy homework at the sound of the familiar voice. A tall, athletically built brunette with sharp brown eyes was lounging against the doorframe, surveying the seated redhead thoughtfully. Rosier couldn´t help a smile of relief.

"It´s only been three months, Marcus."

"True enough." Lestrange pulled himself from the doorway and took the chair next to Rosier´s, closing and locking the door behind him as he did so. Looking around the room, he nodded in the direction of his old bedroom. "What are the new boys like?" Rosier shrugged, putting down his quill and sitting back in his chair.

"Pleasant enough." He smiled dryly. "But you and Lucius are hard acts to follow." Lestrange grinned, but his eyes remained serious.

"Damn fucking straight we are." His eyes continued to roam around the room, though Rosier´s were fixed directly on him. "So how´s life going without us here?" Rosier laughed humourlessly.

"You mean apart from my best friend growing steadily more suicidal?" Lestrange met the redhead´s glittering blue eyes, smiling crookedly.

"Sorry, Evan. I suppose the attempt at small talk was a little tactless." Rosier waved a dismissive hand. "So where is he, anyway?"

"Extra credit Potions project. I hope, anyway." Lestrange raised an eyebrow at the concern in the younger boy´s tone.

"You´re that worried?" Rosier nodded. Lestrange sat back, seemingly thinking this over. "I would never have thought...I thought their relationship was unshakeable. I know this seems a pretty big obstacle, but I would have thought Severus could trust that Lucius loves him. I never would have thought he could be that irrational." Rosier looked at him curiously.

"Wouldn´t you be? If Serena told you she was marrying another man for convenience´s sake only, wouldn´t you be irrational about it?" Something in Rosier´s voice made Lestrange flush and avoid his gaze.

"I suppose I would be. Especially if we were as serious as Severus and Lucius." Rosier raised an eyebrow at this, but said nothing. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them, broken eventually by the redhead.

"What do you think?" Lestrange looked up from studying his fingernails.

"About what, Evan?" Rosier shrugged hopelessly, voice taking on a note of desperation.

"About everything. About why he´s doing it. About whether he loves her. About whether he loves him. About what the hell I´m supposed to do to stop Sev slitting his wrists in the bathroom." Lestrange sighed, meeting Rosier´s eyes again.

"What do I think? I think an awful lot. I´ve spoken to Lucius about it; I knew when he sent the letter to Severus. I know Lucius doesn´t love Narcissa. I know this is nothing more than a marriage of convenience. I know she knows he´s gay, and doesn´t mind that he´s insanely in love with Severus. Still. Sev can believe what he wants, but every time I speak to Lucius I can hear in his voice how much he cares for him, even without him telling me. Which he does with irritating frequency, I have to say. That´s what I know. What I think...I think there´s more to the marriage than meets the eye. Lucius´ parents are sympathetic to his relationship with Severus, and regardless of having to carry on the family bloodline, I just don´t think they´d be as insistent about this as they are being. So I think they have an ulterior motive. Lucius is too angry with them as it is to see this. I also think that the marriage will work well. Lucius and Narcissa are similar people and will make good friends, even if nothing else. But that still doesn´t mean I think Sev has anything to worry about." Here Lestrange fell silent, allowing Rosier to jump in.

"So how can I convince him of the fact?" Lestrange looked sharply at Rosier.

"You can´t. Lucius is the only one who can do that. Which brings me to the question that´s been puzzling me since I got your letter. Why did you write to me and not him?" Rosier avoided the brunette´s gaze.

"Because if I´d written to Lucius telling him what I´d told you, then can you imagine what would have happened? He´d have come flying down here, borderline hysterical with worry. He´d have been in no position to talk rationally to Severus about it and the two of them would have ended up having a stand up fight. Besides, you know him better than I do, anyway. I thought this should probably go through you." Lestrange nodded, still studying the redhead carefully.

"I was just curious. I´m glad you did, you know." Rosier smiled half-heartedly, still more than a little preoccupied. "Look at me," Lestrange ordered suddenly, startling Rosier into obedience. As the brunette looked closely at the younger boy, his eyebrows lifted slightly. "Merlin, Evan," he said softly. "You still love him." Rosier looked down, blushing.

"Of course I do. I always have. But he´s belonged to Lucius now for long enough for me to have got used to the idea." Lestrange laughed quietly.

"You can see it. For his sake, I hope Severus can. Until we can convince him he still has Lucius, the only thing that´ll keep him going is knowing he still has you." Rosier nodded absently, digesting this. Lestrange leant forward as he pressed on, almost unconsciously reaching out his hand to touch the redhead´s shoulder. "I mean it, Evan. You´re the best friend he could ever hope to have. I´ve always been jealous of how close the two of you are." His sentence trailed off as Rosier seemed to snap out of himself. He looked at the hand on his shoulder, then at Lestrange, then back at the hand. With a sad sort of smile he closed his own hand around Lestrange´s.

"Thanks, Marcus." The brunette just smiled, and silence hung in the air between them before Lestrange laughed, squeezing Rosier´s shoulder.

"Merlin, I´ve missed you, Evan." The redhead couldn´t help but grin twistedly.

"Serena hasn´t been enough company for you, Marcus?" Lestrange sighed, but didn´t relinquish his grip on Rosier´s shoulder.

"Don´t start on that."

"I know, I know. I´m sorry."

"Don´t be. If anything, I´m sorry. I miss what we had last summer, but..."

"I know. "

"You always seem to."

"I always do." Rosier paused. "I´ve missed you too." Lestrange smiled ruefully.

"Thanks." He released Rosier´s shoulder with more than a hint of reluctance, sitting back in his chair. "So what to do about Severus, then?" Rosier settled back, the expression of concern that had become alarmingly habitual for him slipping back over his face, although there was a new glitter to his eyes.

"I don´t know. If I knew, would I have asked you here?"

"You mean it wasn´t for the pleasure of my company?"

"That´s just an added bonus." Lestrange didn´t push it.

"I´ll talk to Lucius. That´s all I can really do. But then, I suppose all we really need is for Lucius to get his arse down here and fuck the kid senseless." Rosier couldn´t help snickering.

"Beautifully put, Marcus." Lestrange nodded in smiling acknowledgement of the fact before going on.

"You were right in your letter; the only reason he hasn´t made his way down here so far is because he wanted to give Severus a bit of time to cool off. But I don´t think I should have any problems convincing him that the trip is a necessary one. And you´re right, he will respond better to me than to you. So I´ll see what I can do, okay?" Rosier felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"Thanks, Marcus."

"Think nothing of it. Any idea when the boy himself is going to be back?"

"Not for a good two hours."

"Good. Gives me plenty of time to take your mind off worrying about him. You look like it´s been a while since someone´s tried to cheer you up. And don´t look at me like that, Evan, or I might just be tempted to mean what you´d like me to. But for now, I just want all the school gossip. Tell me how on earth the place is functioning without me."

---*~~~*---

Lucius

I hate to be the one to break this to you, but your master plan is going to pot. It may have seemed a good idea to leave your precious Severus to himself following the revelation I believe your letter delivered to him, but it´s becoming frighteningly clear that you haven´t thought this one through as well as usual.

Enough talking in circles. Evan Rosier wrote to me two days ago, requesting the pleasure of my company back at Hogwarts. He said he needed help. Thing is, Lucius, it isn´t him that really needs it. It´s Sev, and you´re the only one who can give it to him.

It seems, Lucius, that he hasn´t taken the news of your engagement quite as well as you might have hoped he would. Which is hardly surprising, considering. Don´t get me wrong, Lucius. You´re my best friend, and I know why you´ve done things the way you have. You thought that if you went to see Severus, you´d end up having a screaming row, and the situation would just get even messier. Nice idea in theory, but in practice you forgot to reckon with just how much that boy cares about you

Because it´s killing him, Lucius. Literally. Evan didn´t want to write this letter to you because he didn´t want you to panic. I´m writing this letter to you because I think panicking is exactly what you need to be doing right now. Your absence hasn´t given him time to cool down. It´s given him time to convince himself that you´ve stopped loving him, which we both know isn´t true. But Evan can´t do anything to convince him, and without you he seems to feel that life just isn´t worth living.

He´s suicidal, Lucius. In all seriousness. Evan says he´s inches from a nervous breakdown, and besides that he´s been dreaming about him. Dreaming about Severus slitting his wrists in the seventh-year bathroom. He has the Sight, Lucius, you know that, and this wouldn´t be the first time he´s had prophetic dreams.

So, there´s only one thing for it, Lucius. You need to get your arse down to Hogwarts, and you need to get it down there now. You need to shake that boy out of whatever delusions he´s wrapped himself up in and convince him, once and for all, that nothing´s changed. He´s looking over the edge, Lucius, and only you can pull him back.

Marcus

Lucius Malfoy reads this letter as though English is his second language. He knows the words, yet the sentences make no sense. He reads it again, furrowing perplexed brows in concentration. No, he had it right the first time, and as this realisation dawns he begins to feel a little as though the bottom has dropped out of his world. As though all of a sudden his life has come crashing down his ears. He is too damn scared to come up with any more clichés. Panic is making the front of his head feel hot and tight, and he isn´t sure he can breathe properly.

He can see as though he is there with him Severus in the seventh-year bathroom. Severus undressing mechanically, no care and deliberation taken, no preening, no languid reclining and slow-moving fingertips under the appreciative gaze of strangely glittering grey eyes. As each garment is removed the thin, angular seventh-year folds it and lays it onto a pile in an obsessively methodical way. He slides himself into the tepid water but only makes it waist deep before realising he´s forgotten something.

The silver dagger he fumbles in his robes for was a birthday present from Lucius last year. The blondcurrently hurrying through the labyrinthine passages of his home knows he would want to use it; it has an irony and appropriateness that will appeal to Severus. Lucius wonders how life would be different if he´d never given Severus that dagger. Would it be different at all? Lucius wonders if he believes in destiny as he reaches the drawing room in which a placidly reading Narcissa is sitting.

Blonde, and slim, and pretty. No, not just pretty, beautiful, just as Lucius is beautiful. More beautiful than Severus is and it makes his head hurt to think it. Not to think it, to know it. How could he have been so stupid? How could he ever have believed he and Lucius had a future together? How could he not have known that in the end Lucius fucking Malfoy would leave him for another rich, well-connected, beautiful blonde? They must look just perfect together. Severus next to Lucius must have looked as wrong as a sunrise at midnight.

The sun rises at midnight somewhere in the world, Lucius thinks. He doesn´t know his time zones well enough to say where. He flings the letter at Narcissa, who reads it with raised eyebrows. Lucius doesn´t wait for her approval or permission, just dips his fingers into the jar of Floo Powder next to the fire. Somewhere in the world, the sun will rise at midnight. It´s a thought paradoxical enough to comfort Lucius. The Powder hits the fireplace and Lucius steps forward with a cry of `Hogsmeade´ as the flames turn a brilliant Slytherin green.

Severus looks as though he is going to throw up. Emerald light from the wall-mounted torches throws bilious shadows over his face in nausea-inducing flashes, bouncing from the blade held between long, thin fingers. Severus touches the blade to one wrist, then another, but doesn´t break the skin. It feels strange after so long, the pressure of a foreign object against his skin. He remembers Lucius´ hands on his wrists, nails leaving crescent-shaped welts, fingers leaving round purple bruises. He remembers the way long blondhair would fall across his face when he kissed him better.

Lucius´ hair is left tangled from his journey, but it isn´t the first thing passers-by notice. They notice that he hasn´t bothered to dust off his robes since he clambered out of the fireplace. They notice that despite this, he walks as though he owns the village. They notice that his face has turned the colour of milk and his eyes look miles away. Lucius notices nothing. He feels deadened, numb with fear, and can think of nothing but the fact that he´s never really realised until now just how much he loves the tall, black-haired seventh-year who is a twitch away from a severed artery.

Blood. Blood will have blood, they say. I am in blood stepped in so far. Severus has managed to free his mind of conscious thought until nothing but a stream of irrelevant quotations snakes across it in a line, dancing before his eyes. He knows that the more he thinks about what he is about to do, the less likely he is to do it. So he also knows that it´s best not to think about it, because he knows that he can´t stand to live much longer in this much pain. He can´t stand to live much longer without Lucius. Lucius. Luc. Luci. Lucius.

No one stops him in Hogwarts, and the vaguely regal blondwonders if Dumbledore knew he was coming. He walks the too-familiar corridors at a pace faster than he´s ever walked before, closer to running than he would normally be comfortable with. But for once, Lucius Malfoy isn´t going at his own speed. He´s going at Severus´. As he reaches the trapdoor that marks the entrance to the dungeons, he sees Evan Rosier lounging against the wall. He doesn´t know why the redhead´s there, but the realisation dawns on him that it´s a damn good thing he is. Lucius doesn´t know the password anymore.

"Aphrodite. Seventh-year bathroom, password Poseidon. I´d exchange some more pleasantries with you, Lucius, but I hardly think now is the time for small talk."

Breathe in, breathe out. Count them, one, two, three, four, getting boring now, can´t put this off forever, fucking

procrastinating, if you´re going to do it, do it now. Now. When else are you going to do it? Do you want to spend the rest of your life wasting away after Lucius Malfoy? Do you want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you pine for him? Do you want to live the rest of your life in this much pain? Who the fuck is that?

The door to the bathroom creaked open just enough to admit a tall, aristocratic blonde, dressed in half a charcoal grey suit with a black shirt. In his hurry to leave, Lucius had left his jacket behind. Severus felt the blood drain from his face as he just stared at the figure leaning back against the door, the figure pushing long hair back from his face with trembling fingers that belied his mask of confidence. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, and it sounded just as Severus remembered it.

"I almost didn´t believe it." Severus felt his breath catch in his throat. "I certainly didn´t want to." Believe what? Severus was confused. He had forgotten why he had come to the bathroom that evening, all of a sudden it didn´t seem to matter because Lucius was there too. He looked down at his hands and realised he was holding Lucius´ silver dagger and how quickly he remembered. He looked back at Lucius, lost for words. The blondpicked his way across the damp stone tiles until he was standing, his feet at Severus´ head and the seventh-year looking up his legs with tortured eyes.

"Am I interrupting something?" Lucius´ smile was bitterly lopsided, and his voice sounded pained.

"Yes." The blondnodded thoughtfully.

"I was hoping I would be." Severus seemed far from won over. Lucius fidgeted, twisting his fingers. "Can I sit down?"

"I don´t know," Severus replied truthfully. "I´m not sure any more." Lucius´ face was unreadable as he nodded again, biting down on his lower lip. The two stayed there in silence, the only audible sound being perfectly synchronised inhalations and exhalations.

Severus was deeply confused. Five minutes ago, he wanted to kill him. Wanted to stick the silver dagger in his gut and twist and make him pay for the pain he´d caused him. Yet when he saw him slip through the bathroom door, he felt as though all of a sudden the world made sense again. For one surreal moment, he believed in destiny. And now he didn´t know what to believe.

"I love you." Severus just stared at the softly spoken blonde, who never broke eye contact as he went on. "I love you, and I´m sorry. I´m sorry for telling you about Narcissa the way I did. I´m sorry for Narcissa in the first place. I´m sorry I haven´t come down here sooner." Severus felt as though he was going to cry. Lucius´ grey eyes burned into his as the blondsank to his knees on the side of the bath, cupping the younger boy´s face in his hands as he continued. "She´s nothing to me. Nothing compared to what you are. Nothing compared to how much I care about you. How much I love you." Severus felt himself shaking under Lucius´ touch. The knife slipped from his fingers into the slightly murky bath water as Lucius´ fingertips skimmed the lines and curves of his lover´s face, recalling all the details he knew by heart. "I love you so much it hurts. I love you so much that the thought of you - " Lucius broke off, his voice trembling. "You´re everything to me. I can´t believe you could ever doubt it."

Severus was inches from tears. His whole body shook with a release of emotion. He looked into the face of the blondkneeling at his head and realised for the first time how worried Lucius looked. He realised that he was still hopelessly, insanely in love with him and the feeling threatened to overwhelm him as he snaked his arms up around the blond´s neck and kissed him, hard, fingers tangling in long blondhair and damp skin leaving dark patches on black silk.

Lucius returned the kiss with a frightening desperation, over-long nails clawing at face and neck and fingers closing so tight around clumps of greasy black hair that Severus´ body arched upwards and out of the water. Olive-skinned arms tugged insistently at the older boy´s neck, sending him tumbling into the lukewarm water with a splash that neither of them noticed. Two bodies twined together, one still fully clothed and both soaking wet and neither really giving a fuck, because all that mattered was touching, contact, holding each other so close a crowbar couldn´t pry them apart.

"Lucius," Severus murmured into the blond´s hot, insistent lips, fingers clawing at folds of drenched black silk and desperate for some sort of a purchase, something to use to pull him closer still to his blonde-haired lover whose tongue probed his mouth and caused him to let out a strangled moan. He wanted to look at Lucius, wanted to stare at him, needed to believe it was really his arms around him and his hips grinding against his own and his thigh between his legs but he just couldn´t, couldn´t pull himself far enough away to check. He just had to trust, trust implicitly, trust because it felt the way it always used to only a million times better and -

"Oh, fuck, Sev!" Lucius gasped, throwing his head back as Severus moved his thigh against the hardness at the older boy´s hips. The blond´s fingers left bloody gouges down his lover´s back with an exquisite sort of pain that drew a hiss from Severus´ parted lips as he captured Lucius´ mouth once more with his. Slender hips moved in unison as the darker boy scraped at the front of Lucius´ shirt, tearing buttons and silk and a little skin in places because he just didn´t have the time to undo them and as Severus´ mouth left Lucius´ to settle on one erect pink nipple Lucius half-screamed.

"Please."

Hands and arms and legs and lips and skin, slippery skin, Lucius´ clothes left torn and forgotten on the floor of the bath, aching flesh moving too needily, too desperately for synchronicity, neither giving a fuck about rhythm when all either of them wanted was to touch and be touched. To trace patterns with fingertips, to leave possessive scratches with nails, to leave branding bruises with an iron grip. To claim, to own, to possess as completely as Lucius did Severus, fucking him until he screamed and begged for more, torn between rocking his hips back into Lucius´ pistoning thrusts and bucking his hips forward into Lucius´ waiting fingers, fucking him until the bathroom rang with their screams as they came and collapsed against the wall of the bath.

Lucius was holding Severus tightly, stroking his hair and whispering a stream of incoherence into his ear that soothed Severus without him having to understand a single word. The dark-haired boy relaxed into his lover´s possessive hold, feeling himself melt into the blonduntil he wasn´t sure where he ended and Lucius began.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"And you know, no matter what, you´ll always be my Sevvie, nothing´s ever going to change that. Not my parents, not Narcissa, nobody."

"Promise?"

"I promise." Lucius felt Severus settle back contentedly into his arms.

"Don´t ever let go of me, Luci."

"I won´t, Sevvie."

Lucius´ silver dagger lay next to the blond´s foot, which bled a current of crimson out into the bath water. In the prefects´ dormitories, Rosier was sound asleep.

~*La Fin*~