The Master Plan

Chapter 29: Beauty and Brute, a Slytherin Sure

Harry woke to a crisp, cool morning and a strange owl outside his window. He quickly threw back the sash and let it in, taking the note it offered and giving the bird a distracted pat, hoping it would quickly be on its way and not wake up his dorm mates. It hooted quietly, but did not leave. Instead, the small, uncommon elf owl settled itself on Harry's thigh, butting its head against his hand impatiently whenever said hand was near enough. Harry unfolded the note and read it several times, wondering how he would be expected to respond. In a tasteful, narrow scrawl that Harry did not recognize, it read:

Hyacinthus, whom Apollo loved so madly,

Congratulations on your dazzling win yesterday; my heart leapt into my throat when your talented fingers snatched the snitch right out of M. Malfoy's outstretched hand. (And boy, was he mad!) I apologize for not coming round to commend you in person; a certain head of house found me sneaking in the vicinity of your chambers and gave me a sentence of detention. I cannot fathom why, but I must admit; the prospect having to overcome the disapproving public in order to call on The Boy Who Lived to be Forbidden Fruit is a tantalizing one.

Hogsmeade weekend is coming up; will you meet me in the Three Broomsticks? I understand it is the sort of place the Gryffindors often frequent. I am sure we can find a place apart from all the rest, a place to cool our hands in the gray twilight of gothic things. I should like to buy you a drink and take you Christmas shopping; perhaps we can find you an outfit that is worthy of your magnificent self. I realize that your friends may not immediately approve of our acquaintance: you must also realize that my house shall feel the same. I am ready to risk their wrath if it is your wish. Can we help it if the angels are not half so happy in heaven? Please send your answer back with Adonis; I have instructed him to wait in order to return to me with your response.

(If I fail to walk between passion and poetry, I hope I have at least not offended.)

Your own,

Blaise

Harry continued to read and reread the letter several times, just to be sure what he was seeing. Blaise wanted to meet him? In public? Blaise wanted to be seen with him in public? A small shudder started at the base of his spine and traveled upward. It was more than Severus had ever offered. Then the shudder seemed to lodge in his heart. Severus. Dear God. Why couldn't it have come from Severus? He thought back to the day before; of Snape taking points from Gryffindor wherever he could think to do so during the match. Snape sneering and telling Harry the only thing Harry could give him was his absence. Snape telling him that his feelings were entirely one-sided. Snape looking at Lupin as though he'd like to say something and then walking away without doing so, all at Remus's behest.

Harry chewed his bottom lip; in anger or in pure panic, it no longer mattered--he would never be able to voice these thoughts to Snape in any case. Snape didn't want him. Snape wanted Lupin. Harry was just a toy, just a--a thing for Snape to play with while Lupin was out. Well, fine. That was fine with Harry. He could find his own amusement, thank you very much. He scrabbled through his bedside drawer, looking for parchment, aware that what Blaise had sent him amounted to exquisite prose, which no one would ever offer again. He was not so stupid as to write his response on the back, and return it to the sender. When he finally found a piece of paper, he thought long and hard, chewing his quill. Blaise was awfully good at this; this was poetry, even if Harry couldn't quite recall the author of anything specific. His reply had to be refined and lyrical. Could he manage that? He wracked his brain for anything apropos before scratching:

My Apollo,

I would be happy to meet you in Hogsmeade. I suppose there will be obstructions, but I am convinced that you are worth it. I knew it when I looked into your fair face and your captivating eyes. He made you all fair, you in purple and gold, you in silver and green, till no eye has seen without love can behold. Can I help it if I am held in thrall? I will take the risk.

In breathless anticipation,

Hyacinthus

Shyly, he gave the note to Adonis, and watched the petite bird wing its way out of the window and down, down, down, carrying his message to the Slytherin quarters. It gave him a heady feeling of eagerness to have done something so--so rash, so impulsive, so ardent, for once knowing that the feeling just might be returned. With a smirk, he flopped back down on the bed, resting his head on his arms folded behind him. Snape and Lupin thought he was just a little boy, did they? Thought they could play games with him? Well, we'll just see about that.

Meanwhile, Severus was caught somewhere between slumber and lucidness, fighting cognizance with all his might. Harry was touching him. Harry, with dark eyes, innocent eyes, shameless eyes, staring at him as though he could drink in the man's soul. Severus devoutly wished he could. Harry, reaching for him, running those soft, fluttery fingers along Severus's skin, his rose petal lips parting, honey-sweet tongue reaching out, the tip just emerging from between those lips--ever such a little. Severus could have died from want. From need. He could feel his breath hitch in his chest as he reached for the youth. His fingertips flickered through the boy's rumpled raven locks. Soft locks. And the boy leaned into his touch, his very stance and essence begging for more contact, making Severus gasp.

The man leaned forward, slowly, ever so slowly, never to bring fear into this place; a place where anxiety and responsibility were not needed, not wanted. He lightly brushed his lips across Harry's own. God, ambrosia. Just as he was beginning to suckle those tender, starving lips, a booming sound broke into his fantasy, scattering the vision and sensation like morning fog. He let out a low moan, as the magic--a magic beyond the ability of any wand or potion--was completely dispelled. Harry was not here. Severus was alone, as always. As it should be. So why did it then rankle so? Harder to have tasted such sweet candy and let it go, than to have ignored its existence altogether, a sly voice spoke from within. What the hell was it, his conscious, his libido, or just his sick, twisted mind, speaking his deepest, darkest truths? By Zeus, he hated himself, sometimes.

"Severus, my dear boy." He heard the voice, happy and quite possibly half mad. Well, what other kind of voice would have forgiven him his sins? He stumbled out of bed, throwing the boudoir door open to meet Albus's frank, sparkling gaze. The bloody innocent, Severus thought, more with blame than compassion. He tried to arrange his face into whatever it was supposed to be, but he was so very tired, and it was all so very burdensome. He stared at Albus flatly. "And how did your meeting with Voldemort go?" the great wizard asked him, causing the man to flinch. "I realize you had a game to attend right afterward, how tiring that must have been for you, and I am quite sorry." He seemed to be quiet a long time, analyzing. Go to hell, was the only half way rational thought Severus came up with.

"It could have gone better," he finally replied in an expressionless tone. "The Dark Lord is now convinced that to break Harry, one must simply conquer the boy's heart. I suggested Draco Malfoy as a possible candidate for the job." The little shite deserved it, too. "I think he would be a choice safe enough from our small hero's libido. Although, just to be certain, someone might warn Potter about the boy. Not that he'd listen, of course. Heaven forbid the child actually get some use out of his own head that wasn't related to its thickness."

"I see." Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "And as for yourself?" he added gently. "How did he behave towards you?"

Severus looked away. "I am still hardly trusted, of course." There was no need to tell the man he expected to be dead within the year. They both knew the facts as they were. "I have remained untested because of my unmatched opportunity to observe the Boy Who Lived. The status quo is barely enough to keep him replete for any length of time. It will not be long until I am called up to prove myself beyond doubt."

"Have no fear, my dear boy, I shall give the matter some contemplation. How are the pretexts enduring?" Albus did not look at Severus, but Severus could see the shrewd glint in the man's eyes. Or was it merely the torchlight on his glasses?

Severus divulged himself with a deep sigh. "Not well enough. I do not think he is thoroughly convinced that I am unable to act because you watch me at all times. I think..." It was difficult to say, but easier by far than allowing the Headmaster to be the one to say it. "I think you might consider strengthening the wards."

"Consider it done," Albus replied with a nod. "Now, was there anything else you wished to discuss?"

Severus thought briefly of remarking, 'I find myself amorously stimulated by young Mister Potter, and wish to keep him in my rooms from now on, the better to service me sexually,' but of course, thought better of it. "Nothing," he replied. Who was he to judge Blaise Zabini? If he were only Harry's age... Oh, yes. He, too, was a salacious fiend in human form.

"I am always available with a cup of tea and a ready ear, if you should change your mind," the old man stated, as he turned to leave. Severus was unsure of the man's expression behind the twisted beard, but there was a smile in his voice, and a certain cast to his eye that made Severus quite sure the man was laughing at him.

Irritating old goat, he thought, and stomped back into his room as he went to prepare for the day.

"So, Bibere Verbosa is not well known, which is the very property that might give you an advantage," Snape was telling them blandly, his masculine script covering the blackboard. "It will absorb and diffuse one very strong hex, curse, or enchantment cast at you, or it can do the same for several small spells. The problem with Bibere Verbosa is that after it has done its job, it renders the caster unable to perform any other magic for some length of time, due to the interruption of the current of magical energy. If, however, you are in dire need, it is a spell worth having in your arsenal, since it is nearly unheard of, and may well baffle your opponent. Mister Weasley, was there something amusing about what I just said?" He rotated slowly to pierce the snickering redhead with his most formal glare.

Harry swallowed. It was the first time that day he'd had an opportunity to share the note with his friends, and he just couldn't resist. When Snape first turned his back, Harry had slipped it to Hermione, who read it over and promptly looked all swoony, fanning herself with her hand. Her demeanor clearly pantomimed, Why, I de-CLARE, Mistah Zabini, yew've jus' gawn and given me the vai-pahs! Harry's face turned red at this, and he had to stifle a giggle.

Ron, after watching the two of them, was led to lunge over and snatch the paper from Hermione. He had read the note, looked up at Hermione and snorted, when Snape caught him in the act. He looked at Snape for a long, cold moment before responding. "Naw, you didn't do anything funny," he said at long last. "It's just that it seems our boy Harry went and found himself a sugar daddy!" Hermione couldn't contain her laughter at this, but she did bury her face in her hands and try to pass it off as more of a ladylike titter. Even Harry chuckled a little, but Snape did not seem to understand. When he raised his eyebrow in a manner that begged an explanation, Ron handed him the note with a wide smirk. "I meant; Harry's got a lover-boy, and a rich one, too."

Snape read the note impassively, though his face twitched once. "Ah. Now I perceive your meaning. Though Blaise Zabini is hardly a difficult catch. It is unsurprising that even Potter managed to land him. Though he'll wriggle free of even that clumsy grasp soon enough, I've no doubt," Severus said in an unusual, almost sepulchral voice.

His tone almost frightened Ron and Hermione, but Harry was fixated on the words, and becoming angry quickly. Even that clumsy grasp. I get it. I get it, all right. Like I'm quite a catch myself, but only because I'm famous, and he'll very quickly tire of me because I'm so inexperienced; I don't know how to please him. Harry stared at him for a long time, feeling the ire inside build into something entirely cold and contained. Anger had never felt this way before. Severus was looking right back into his eyes, for once, his visage completely indifferent.

"Fuck you," Harry said quietly. He picked up his bag and books and walked with a measured pace from the room, not glancing back.

Snape watched him leave, his inner turmoil carefully wiped from his face. My, but you have a skillful way of dealing with children, he mocked himself snidely. That was just EXACTLY what was required to make him lose interest in that little tart--good show, man. If you didn't just manage to drive him right into Zabini's bed, you certainly drove him forever from your own. Bloody, sodding hell.

"Back to your lesson," he said quietly to the two remaining students, trying not to eye Weasley too long, mindful of just a couple of days ago, when the stupid red haired menace had stalked into his office, wand at the ready.

"I don't know what you did to him. I don't know what you said to him. I only know that if you ever do it again, I'll bloody well kill you. Don't you think I won't. If I can't do it myself, I'll get Fred or George or Bill or Charlie to help me. They'd do it, too. He's family, see? Got people that care about him, no matter what way he swings. He's kind of charismatic, or something, the way people care about him. Unlike you, you sodding old grease-ball. You could fall down and die tomorrow and no one would give a SHITE. Because you're nothing to him, you savvy? And I don't know what you did to him, but I'm never going to see it happen again as long as I live. I promise. So, next time you get the urge to do whatever you did, you'd better watch yourself. You just watch your tongue, and crawl back into your dungeon, under your rock, and die a nobler death than you'll get at my hands."

A misplaced word, and the idiot would cause a scene. He couldn't chance that, not here, not with the wards currently doubled. To his relief, after exchanging a worried glance; the two of them went back to taking notes, pretending nothing was wrong.

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Harry walked into the Three Broomsticks on Saturday, feeling excited and tense. Ron and Hermione were following, but more slowly; he wanted a few moments alone with Blaise at first. The boy was standing at the bar, leant over it, draped across it, his arms resting on the counter, his backside jutting out provocatively. Once again, he was dressed casually, not in robes, but in gray slacks with a dark blue shirt tucked tightly in them. Harry held back a sigh. He could do this. He was the Boy Who Lived. Blaise was totally impressed with him. Just be cool, he told himself.

"Hey, there," he said to Blaise as he did his best to swagger up to the beauty. "I like your shirt."

Blaise smiled playfully at him. "I bought you a butterbeer. You want to sit down? Seamus and Jack have some extra chairs at their table."

Harry nodded, suddenly feeling demure, and followed the far more experienced Slytherin. "What was all that about buying me an outfit, anyway?" he got up the courage to ask. He'd been wondering for days.

To his surprise, Blaise's face coloured. "Well, I sort of promised Finnigan I would," he explained. "Solidarity, see?" He could see Harry wasn't getting it, and sighed. "Finnigan was complaining you dress like an overweight, colorblind schizophrenic. He told me I ought to help guide you down the road of fashion recovery." He managed to look very small and very sorry when Harry glowered at him. "I thought it would be nice to go shopping with you," he said in a whispery voice, looking down.

Harry found it suddenly hard to form words. "Erm. Ah. All right. Well. You didn't mean any harm by it, I suppose. Anyway, I'd like to go shopping with you," he added hopefully, and was rewarded with a shy smile. He grinned, and pulled Blaise's chair out for him courteously.

Blaise's smile widened until it was nearing wicked. "Why, thank you, great and gallant Gryffindor," he said, sliding genteelly into the chair. He winked at Harry as the Gryffindor pulled a chair up beside him.

"Vanquishing new frontiers, are we?" Jack's amused drawl inquired of Blaise. He was leaned far back in his seat, chair dangerously tilted, a rakish lock of hair falling in his eyes. If anyone but a Slytherin sat that way, they'd long since have toppled to the floor, but he seemed to keep his balance with ease.

Blaise smiled with just a touch of bitterness. "Aren't I always?" He turned as though ending the conversation, and asked of Harry, "I've been wondering--well, we all have, really--how on earth did Draco get you to out yourself? You don't have to tell me, it's just. Well. What did he do that made it worth getting up on a table and announcing it to the world?" His large blue eyes were guileless, and Harry felt bound to answer.

"He. Wanted me. To, ah. He said. He said that if I didn't, er, 'go down on him,' that he'd give the page from my journal to the press. So. Um. It was blackmail, see?" He was blushing furiously, staring into his butterbeer to avoid everyone's eyes. To his surprise, there was a burst of discreet laughter from the Slytherins.

"Dear God, that wasn't BLACKMAIL, Harry. Darling; for Draco, that was flirting." Blaise was clucking quietly. Jack guffawed when Harry still looked blank. "Well. I suppose it would help if you'd been sorted into Slytherin," Blaise told him, looking pensive. "The thing is, why on earth would Draco demand something like that in order to keep him from telling people you're homosexual? It really doesn't make any sense. Of course, Draco is rather senseless at times. But I don't think he actually meant anything by it. He was just. Oh, dear. In Slytherin, it would have been taken as an overt statement that he would. Er. That he would enjoy your company, to put it euphemistically. Hee, hee. Harry, I think Draco fancies you." The Slytherins deteriorated into cackles, and Ron and Hermione entered the room.

Harry couldn't think of anything to say. It was far too strange to contemplate. "Er. Could we please change the subject?" he asked plaintively. There was no way he wanted Ron knowing about this. Behind Ron and Hermione, Snape slinked in. Harry immediately turned away. What the hell was HE doing here? Harry couldn't remember ever having seen him in Hogsmeade before. Shit, shit, double shit. He saw Blaise glance casually over Harry's shoulder, and smirk just a little. By watching Blaise's eyes, he followed Snape's progress to the bar, where the man was right behind them. He wondered if Severus was watching. On Remus's orders? A guardian angel sent straight from his guardian/werewolf? Harry deeply resented the intrusion. Why couldn't they just leave him the hell alone?

Blaise leaned over and gave Harry a lazy smile as Ron and Hermione plunked themselves down beside him. "I got you something," Blaise told him in a sing-song voice. Harry raised his brows. Blaise slipped something into his palm, his hand maintaining contact with Harry's all the way. Harry felt it was less of a gift of an object than it was a gift of touch. Intimate, suggestive touch.

He looked down, watching Blaise's fingers caressing his palm, then drawing back to reveal an inconspicuous square of paper. Interested, but still lamenting the loss of Blaise's touch, Harry slowly unfolded the document. His own handwriting covered it. "JESUS! Oh. Jesus Christ, Blaise, how did you get this?" Harry asked, looking dumbfounded.

Blaise shrugged and smiled, as if Harry had asked something really juvenile, like why people had to eat food. "It was hanging in the common room for days," he said nonchalantly. He examined his fingers, as if to check how good a job his manicurist had done.

Harry stared at him, open mouthed, for a little while, before passing the paper to his friends. He was aware of Severus staring at him, in the background. Serve him right, a little voice inside said. He thinks I'm just a callow little boy, incapable of ever IMAGINING intimacy or sexual fulfillment. Well. Fuck that. I'm Harry Potter. I'll show him. I'll show them all. "Thank you," he told Blaise in what he hoped was a dignified voice. Then he reached out and took the boy's face and turned it toward him. Carefully, slowly but steadily, Harry leaned forward until he could reach Blaise's lips with his own. He tangled his hand in Blaise's dark curls; he intertwined his tongue with Blaise's. He slid his other hand up Blaise's thigh, and pressed himself against the youth candidly. All the while, Blaise eagerly matched Harry's movements with his own.

When they finally pulled away, panting and flushed, their entire table, along with Severus Snape and a good portion of the rest of the establishment, was staring at them abjectly. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Seamus's hand interlaced with Jack's, their knees pressed together. Several women had hands pressed to their throats, and even a few men were running their tongues over their teeth. They had put on quite a show. Harry expected Ron and Hermione looked horrified, but he deliberately kept his head turned from them.

The only person in his sight who did not look the least bit impressed was Snape, who was treading heavily as he made his way to their table. He looked as if he could spit nails. When he was beside them, he laid a hand like a vise on Harry's shoulder. "If I might borrow Mister Potter," he snarled, sounding more infuriated than Harry could ever remember. "We'll only be a moment."

Harry stood proudly and followed the man out the back. He could take this. He was not a child. Bugger this; he wasn't playing games anymore. And he wasn't letting himself get used. "What do you want?" he demanded of Snape when they were in the alley behind the pub. "I don't have much time, so make it quick." He was careful to keep all emotion out of his voice.

Severus contemplated the boy. Fuck. How could he possibly fix this? Anything he did was likely to only alienate the boy further. But this was dangerous, damn it. He didn't realize what he was DOING. "You should NOT be playing with Slytherins," he finally settled on. "You'd be safer at prodding pit bulls with a stick. This is not a good idea, Harry. Blaise is. Zabini is. One of us. One of mine, do you understand? So I know things." He was aware that Harry was still gazing at him coolly, waiting for the point. "I don't want you seeing him anymore, outside of class. Is that understood? Your...godfather...put me in charge while he is away. Don't think I'm not aware of that. I'm afraid I must make an executive decision here. I don't know what team that boy plays for, but gambling your life is not the way I'll discover the truth. You'll say your goodbyes, and never contact him again." Severus was aware of his stomach churning, reacting to the knowledge that he was only half doing this for Harry's best interests. He whirled gracefully and walked away, unwilling to have another confrontation.

Harry, for his part, was left standing and seething. Obedience was no longer in his vocabulary. Petty revenge, however, was. Nothing short of Armageddon would make him leave Zabini, now.

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Severus was knee deep in scotch when a knock came at the door. It was lower down than most, eliminating possibilities. Too quiet for Harry. Harry would be angry. Perhaps Draco? He moved toward the door, trying to ignore his own inelegance as he stumbled over his feet. Fucking feet, anyway. Who needed them? And. Boys. Who needed them? Stupid, arrogant, blameless, beautiful boys. Heartbroken boys. Didn't deserve it. He threw back the door, ready to scream at the spawn of Lucius, and was stopped at the sight of Zabini, who was dressed to the nines, if in silk pajamas. His hair was artfully arranged to impress the maximum of youthful splendor and the minimum of effort. Severus was instantly suspicious.

"What the bollocks do YOU want, you little bed warmer?" He tried to stand tall and straight, but his lips were twisted bitterly, and his body seemed to want to follow; to huddle in on itself, to protect itself from this, this poisonous thing.

Blaise made himself at home, walking confidently into Severus's rooms, gazing about casually. Severus didn't know whether he did it to seem careless, or to avoid the man's eyes, but he didn't care a whit. This was the--prostitute--that had taken Harry from him. Harry would believe whatever Zabini said; of course he would. Severus, on the other hand, knew better.

"I've seen the way you look at him," Blaise noted abstractedly, trailing his hand over the wainscoting. "And he doesn't even care. He thinks of you as an old man; an old enemy. Someone put on earth simply to antagonize him. Tragic, really."

"What the FUCK do you WANT?" Snape roared, enraged.

Blaise turned seemingly ingenuous blue eyes on him. "Very little," the boy told him in a hushed voice. "Only you. If I'd known you were a chicken hawk, I might have approached you sooner." With a sureness that astounded Snape, the boy crossed the distance between them in a few strides, and reached up to take a firm fistful of Severus's hair and yank him down to the boy's level.

If he wasn't in such intoxicated shock, Snape would have bitten the boy's tongue off during what he did next. When he pulled away, Blaise's eyes flashed with vanity. "Shall we go to bed, then?" he queried, quite sure of his prey's answer.

Severus was stock still for almost half a minute, before his body responded without taking great consideration of the consequences. If he was aware of anything at all, it was that he reacted not so much in defense of himself, as in defense of sweet, ignorant Harry. His forehand rose and he struck like lightning, the bubbling rage he'd felt for days full behind the blow. In other words, he knocked Blaise across the room.

Blaise found himself on the floor several feet away, rubbing dazedly at the red handprint that starkly graced the side of his face. It had not been a gentle swat; it had been intended to be as fearsome as the wrath of God, and had not fallen short. He breathed heavily for a few moments, actually dizzy from the clout.

"You shameless, heartless, soulless slut," Snape hissed at him, rubbing the life back into his hand. "You stay the hell away from him, do you hear me? If you hurt that boy, I swear I'll make you pay. The Cruciatus Curse will be nothing compared to what you get from me." He looked daggers at the devil, lips pulled back in a snarl, lank hair falling limply around his face.

If he had expected Blaise to cry, to run, to admit defeat, he was sorely mistaken. Clenching his teeth resolutely, the harlot gained his feet. He slipped back to the door, eyes on Severus at every moment. "You made a mistake," he cautioned in a shaky voice, just before he gained the hall. "You made such a mistake. If you had reciprocated, you might have gotten what you wanted. I would have let you have him back, eventually. Now, however, I think I'll fucking keep him. That's right, you go ahead and tell him what happened here tonight. Do whatever you can; spells, veratiserum, whatever. Just remember, Severus; I've got him now. And there's no power in this world that will make him believe you over me." With one last defiant, hateful flash of eyes, the younger Slytherin whipped around and was gone.