FIC: Thursday Night (2/2)

[gypsyflame]

Part One

December

The night before the Hogwarts Express was due to leave for Christmas holidays, Draco lay next to Snape in his messy bed, panting as the sweat cooled on his body. He knew he only had a few more minutes - Snape never let him stay long after they’d finished - but the thought of leaving made a cold pit form in his stomach. Tomorrow he’d be returning to Malfoy Manor for two weeks. At any other time in his life, that would have been cause for celebration. Draco loved his parents, his home; he’d always looked forward to holidays.

Now his home had been invaded by a madman. The Dark Lord might have been great once, but now he was a twisted shell of a wizard, a psychopath with no discernable goal other than causing as much pain as possible - even in his own followers. He’d turned Draco’s strong, proud parents into cringing, obsequious strangers. His mere presence was enough to make Draco sick with fear and loathing.

He didn’t want to go back there, but it was more than terror making him feel that way. Two weeks away from Hogwarts meant two weeks away from Snape. It was ridiculous for Draco to be dreading that - their interaction was more or less limited to Snape fucking him once a week - but it was undeniable. Draco didn’t want to leave him. Snape made him feel safe in a way he hadn’t felt since before his father had gone to Azkaban. Just being around him eased Draco’s ever-present anxiety, and he couldn’t bear the thought of not having that respite for two entire weeks.

“I don’t want to go home,” Draco blurted out. He hadn’t meant to say it, and he couldn’t look at Snape; he didn’t want to see contempt there.

After a moment of silence, Snape said, “That is understandable.”

Draco blinked and rolled over on his side. Snape was lying on his back, but his head was turned towards Draco, dark eyes unreadable.

“That’s not what I thought you would say,” Draco said.

“Your father’s position with the Dark Lord is extremely precarious at the moment, and your mother’s only slightly better. You would be a fool not to feel some measure of trepidation over the prospect of living under the same roof as Him.”

“I hope you’re not trying to comfort me.”

Snape waved a hand. “My position is not nearly so untenable. The Dark Lord gave me permission to claim you without requiring anything in return. So long as you do nothing to draw His attention, He should simply ignore you.”

Draco hoped that was true. He resolved to keep to his rooms as much as possible over the holidays. Out of sight, out of mind - and the less the Dark Lord saw of him, the better.

Wait a minute.

Draco sat up. “You had to ask His permission to do this?”

“To fuck you? No. But to claim you as my own, so that no others could have you? Yes, of course.”

“I didn’t know you would have to do that.”

Snape shrugged, still lying on his back. “Had I not, the first thing Amycus would have done would have been to go to the Dark Lord and complain of my arrogance, and the Dark Lord would have punished me by forbidding me to have you at all. He was quite pleased that I sought His permission first. No other Death Eater will dare to lay a hand on you.”

Draco’s head was spinning. It had never occurred to him that the Dark Lord had the right to give him to someone, as if he were a broom. In retrospect, that was naïve. Draco was Marked; the Dark Lord essentially owned him. And Draco had never given Him reason to think that he would be of use as anything more than a pet - not that he wanted to. Not anymore.

The implications of what Snape had said bothered him, though. “Does that mean… Does everyone… know?”

“It wasn’t announced, but nor is it a secret. Amycus has probably spread the word by now.”

“Do my parents know?”

“Most likely.” Snape was watching him closely. “Does that disturb you?”

“Nobody wants their parents to know about their sex life.” Something about Snape’s expression made Draco add, “I’m not ashamed, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just… I thought this arrangement was just between you and me. So that Carrow would leave me alone.”

Snape sat up as well, frowning. “Draco, Amycus Carrow is far from the only Death Eater who desires you. You are safe from the others while within the castle, but once you leave… Your parents do not hold the power they once did. They would be unable to defend you.”

“What do you mean, the others?”

“Greyback, Yaxley, Rabastan Lestrange…” Snape trailed off. “I thought you were aware.”

“I wasn’t,” Draco said, horrified. Nobody had bothered him over the summer. Of course, that had been before the Dark Lord took his father’s wand and his family fell into even deeper disgrace than they’d already been in.

“You are young and attractive and, most importantly, vulnerable. Did you really fail to consider that there might be more than one person willing to take advantage of that?”

“I never thought about it.” Draco’s stomach churned. Yaxley was just as bad as Carrow. Rabastan wasn’t bad-looking, but he was mad as a hatter and a sadist besides. And Greyback… Draco would truly kill himself before allowing that monster to touch him. They weren’t the only ones, either. Draco could tell from the way Snape had spoken that there were more names that he had left off the list.

Snape touched Draco’s arm to bring him back to focus. “They will not touch you.”

“I believe you.”

Carrow hadn’t so much as looked at Draco since Snape’s threat of castration. The others would be no different. Draco was confident of that, but the thought of the fate he had narrowly - and accidentally - escaped made him nauseous and dizzy. If Carrow hadn’t tried to molest him, if he hadn’t asked Snape for protection, if he’d gone home defenceless…

“Will I see you?” Draco asked.

“Perhaps. You should not depend on it.”

Draco nodded. He’d thought as much. He slid closer to Snape on the bed and kissed his shoulder, hand moving into Snape’s lap to caress his cock where it lay soft and heavy against his thigh. “Can we… again?”

“I am no longer seventeen, Mr. Malfoy.” Snape caught his hand when Draco tried to pull it back. “Provided the right inspiration, however…”

Draco smiled. “I can be very inspiring,” he said, lowering his head.

As Draco’s mouth closed around his cock, Snape said, “I know.”

***

It was even worse than Draco had imagined.

The very air of his beloved home had been poisoned by the Dark Lord’s presence. He barely recognized his parents anymore - the way his father flinched at every shadow, the stiffness of his mother’s face when she tried to smile at him. On top of all that, Draco’s disturbing new knowledge had made him paranoid. Every look seemed like a leer, every casual touch an attempt at molestation. He was as jumpy and anxious as a kneazle in a manticore pen.

There was a constant stream of Death Eaters in and out of the Manor, most of whom Draco didn’t recognize. The Dark Lord’s ranks had swelled exponentially since his Ministry takeover. As Snape had thought, He had ignored Draco entirely ever since his arrival. In fact, the only time Draco ever saw Him was at dinner, which everyone present in the Manor was required to attend. The rest of the time, Draco locked himself in his rooms, avoiding everyone and counting down the days to his return to Hogwarts.

Christmas was the worst. Throughout Draco’s childhood, his parents had always pulled out all the stops for the holiday: decorating the entire Manor, throwing lavish balls, showering Draco with presents on Christmas morning. The Dark Lord, however, had little use for it; He hadn’t forbidden celebration, but it was impossible to feel Christmassy when the Manor was filled with an aura of pain and fear. There were no decorations, no parties, no grand feasts - and Draco was positive that there were people being tortured and held prisoner in the old dungeons beneath the Manor. It wasn’t the kind of thing that put one in the holiday spirit.

By ghastly coincidence, Christmas happened to fall on a Thursday - the first Thursday since the beginning of term that Draco had been separated from Snape. He’d spent most of the day with his parents, trying to fake a cheeriness he’d never been farther from feeling, but he retreated to his rooms immediately after dinner. His parents had still given him gifts, among which were a few books that he was truly interested in reading, so he curled up in bed and tried to distract himself.

The first indication Draco got that something wasn’t right was the cold. As the night wore on, a chill settled into his bones, and no matter how many blankets he piled on top of himself or how many heating charms he cast, he couldn’t get any warmer. Then the trembling started, a fine tremor that began in his hands and made it impossible for him to hold his book. The shakiness spread throughout his body, until he felt so weak that he couldn’t even raise his head.

Then the emptiness hit.

Draco yelped in pain at the sudden cramping in his abdomen, an aching hollowness that he recognized even though it didn’t make any sense. It was hunger - or at least it felt exactly like hunger. Just… much lower than hunger was usually felt. Definitely not in his stomach.

Merlin, it was like his body was crying out for Snape.

The second Draco thought of Snape, his cock started rising, even though the rest of his body was limp and basically useless. He managed to get a hand on himself, thinking that a wank might make him feel better.

It didn’t. Every stroke of Draco’s hand worsened the ache inside him, until his gut started twisting with nausea. He dropped his arm back to the bed with a groan of frustration and anxiety. This wasn’t normal. He couldn’t be this dependent on Snape - so much so that it made him ill. It didn’t make any sense.

Draco needed Snape to protect him, to keep him safe. That was all. He needed Snape’s power, status, intelligence. He didn’t need Snape.

Did he?

Draco wrapped himself around a pillow, shivering even under the heap of blankets and trying not to throw up as the emptiness consumed him.

***

Three days later, Draco was pretending to eat dinner when he heard Snape’s voice.

At first he thought he was imagining it, but seconds later, Snape entered the dining room with one of the nameless Death Eaters. Draco dropped his fork, his entire body going rigid with the intense and inexplicable urge to run to Snape’s side. He kept himself in his chair only by pure force of will.

“You’re late, Severus,” the Dark Lord said from the head of the table.

“My apologies, my Lord. There was a small emergency at Hogwarts. It has been dealt with.”

“Join me, then.”

As Snape walked the length of the room to take his seat at the Dark Lord’s right hand, his gaze swept casually over Draco without pausing - not so much dismissing Draco as never taking notice of him at all.

It was like being slapped in the face. Draco dropped his eyes to his plate, his cheeks flushing as he felt both his parents looking at him curiously. He spent the rest of the meal with his head down, and when he was dismissed, he fled without looking back.

***

Draco paced the floor of his sitting room, working himself up into a rage coloured with no small amount of anxiety. How could Snape ignore him so completely? Draco didn’t expect public displays of affection, of course, but was a small nod of acknowledgement too much to ask for?

Perhaps a week apart had made Snape reconsider their arrangement. No, that was ridiculous. Snape wasn’t that capricious, and besides, Draco knew that Snape wanted him.

When his breathing began to verge on hyperventilation, Draco forced himself to sit down and take deep breaths. He was overreacting. Snape was just discreet; he wasn’t going to renege on their agreement. Draco had to get control of himself. It was shameful that one look from Snape could send him into this kind of tailspin.

Draco summoned his book and settled back in his armchair, but despite his good intentions, he mostly just turned the pages without reading a single word.

Someone knocked on his door a couple of hours later. Draco sighed. It was probably his mother coming to check on him; he knew she’d noticed his reaction to Snape at dinner. He briefly considered sending her away, but Narcissa Malfoy wasn’t a woman who was easily put off.

“Come in,” Draco said.

The door opened, and Draco leapt to his feet when he saw Snape standing in the doorway. He stood still and silent as Snape entered the room and closed the door behind him.

When Snape started striding towards him, intentions clear in the heat of his eyes, Draco’s book dropped from his suddenly nerveless fingers. Snape caught him around the waist and pulled their bodies flush against each other.

Draco licked his dry lips. “It’s not Thursday,” he whispered.

Snape bore him back down onto the chair. “I don’t give a fuck.”

January

“Hey,” Blaise said, flopping onto Draco’s bed.

“Hey,” Draco returned without looking up from his Arithmancy text.

“Daphne and I broke up yesterday.”

“I know. Pansy told me.”

When Blaise didn’t say anything further, Draco lifted his head. He was surprised by Blaise’s uncharacteristically glum expression. “Are you actually upset?”

Blaise shrugged. “I thought we had a good thing going. Apparently she didn’t feel the same.”

“Wait… she broke up with you?” Draco couldn’t remember Blaise having ever been dumped before; he was always the one to do the dumping, usually because he’d gotten bored. But he’d been dating Daphne since September - at least twice as long as any of his previous relationships. Maybe it had been more serious than Draco had thought.

“Yeah. She doesn’t like my flirting, she said.”

“But you never cheat.” One thing that could be said about Blaise was that, fickle though he might be, he was never actually unfaithful.

“I know. I guess it doesn’t matter.”

Blaise looked so morose that Draco found it a little disturbing. He was used to Blaise being nonchalant, unflappable, emotionally reserved. He didn’t know how to deal with this new, depressed version.

“Well, maybe you’ll work it out.” Draco returned his attention to his book, trying to make it clear that he had no interest in talking about Blaise’s feelings.

Blaise took the book out of Draco’s hands and set it aside.

“I’m reading that -”

“I miss touching you.”

Blaise was sitting so close that Draco could count every one of his long, dark eyelashes. They had never actually dated - a romantic relationship between them would have been a disaster - but they’d been physically intimate for years. He was the first person Draco had kissed, the first he’d exchanged blowjobs with. They’d taken each other’s virginities. It was impossible for Draco not to be affected by his nearness.

“I miss it too,” Draco allowed. “Sometimes.”

Blaise kissed him, and Draco kissed back instinctively, opening his mouth and sliding his lips against Blaise’s. Even though they had snogged dozens, if not hundreds, of times, it felt strangely unfamiliar; Blaise’s kisses were playful and teasing, nothing at all like Snape’s -

Draco jerked back as if stung. “I can’t,” he said. “I can’t do this.”

“Why not? I’m single now. Daphne won’t care.”

When Blaise leaned in again, Draco held him at arm’s length. “It’s not that. It’s not you. I just can’t.”

“Merlin, it’s true, isn’t it?” Blaise was staring at him. “You really are fucking Snape.”

“Yes.” There was no point in denying it.

“What’s it like?”

“What?”

Blaise’s face was alight with fascination. “Snape. What’s he like in bed? I’ve always thought he must be either completely awful or absolutely fantastic.”

“I am not having this conversation with you,” Draco said, though he was reassured by Blaise’s return to his old self.

“Fantastic it is, then. I can tell from the way you’re blushing. Does he have a big cock?”

“Blaise!”

Undaunted, Blaise continued theorizing about Snape’s merits as a lover. He didn’t seem in the least upset that Draco had rejected him.

Draco, on the other hand, felt a heavy weight settling on his shoulders. Snape had been very clear that he wasn’t interested in sharing Draco with anyone else, but Draco had let Blaise kiss him. He’d even kissed him back, however briefly. It took Draco a few moments to identify the emotion he was feeling because it was so unfamiliar to him.

It was guilt.

***

Thursday night found Draco heading to the Headmaster’s office as usual, but for the first time, his steps were slow and dragging. Snape was going to be so angry…

No, he wasn’t. Because Draco wasn’t going to tell him, and if Draco didn’t tell him, then Snape would never know.

The smartest thing to do was to forget the kiss with Blaise had ever happened. It hadn’t even been serious, barely longer than five seconds, and Draco had stopped things before they’d gone any further. There was no way that Snape would ever find out about it.

So why did Draco feel like he had to tell him?

Draco had never felt this urge to confess before; he’d always hidden his mistakes if he knew he could get away with it. But the thought of hiding this from Snape made him uneasy.

The gargoyle opened the door automatically now when he saw Draco coming, and the door to Snape’s office was always unlocked. It wasn’t long before he was in Snape’s arms, being kissed within an inch of his life while Snape divested him of his robes and shirt.

It wasn’t enough to distract Draco. When Snape released his mouth in favour of kissing his shoulder, Draco said, “I have to tell you something.”

“What is it?” Snape said, lips brushing over Draco’s collarbone.

Draco stepped back, out of his reach, and took a deep breath. “I...”

Snape stood a little straighter when he noticed Draco’s anxiety. “What’s wrong?”

“Blaise kissed me.”

Snape’s lips thinned, but he only said, “I see.”

Draco could have left it there, but he found himself saying, “I - I kissed him back. But only for a second, and only because he took me by surprise.”

It felt like Snape’s eyes were burning through him. The silence was heavy enough to suffocate.

“I told him I couldn’t. It won’t happen again. I’m sorry.”

Snape’s face was a mask. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. After a moment, he said, “I have to punish you for this, you realise.”

Draco would have expected to feel frightened, maybe angry, but what he felt instead was an overwhelming sense of relief that he was at a loss to explain.

“Yes, sir,” he said, deciding not to question it.

Snape raised an eyebrow; perhaps he’d been expecting an argument. “Finish undressing.”

Draco nodded and quickly stripped out of the rest of his clothing. Snape sat in one of his uncomfortable armless chairs, watching without comment. When Draco was naked, Snape beckoned for him to come closer. Draco walked towards him slowly, unsure what he wanted.

Snape tapped his own knee. Draco’s eyes widened.

“You’re not… Are you going to…”

“Spank you? Yes.”

Draco sucked in a breath. He’d never been spanked in his life, and he certainly didn’t want to start now. It was a humiliating punishment; he was blushing even at the thought. He couldn’t let Snape do that to him.

He stood still, paralyzed with indecision as his pride wrestled with the certain knowledge that if he refused the punishment he’d earned, Snape would end their arrangement. One spanking, no matter how mortifying or even painful, couldn’t be worth the danger he’d be in without Snape’s protection. Snape wouldn’t seriously hurt him; any of the others would.

Mind made up, Draco laid himself carefully over Snape’s lap, his hips on one of Snape’s thighs and his chest on the other, bracing his hands and feet on the floor. Snape ran a hand over his back. “Good boy,” he said.

His voice was sincere, not derisive. Snape seemed to take special pleasure in embarrassing Draco, but he never mocked him. On the contrary, the more time that passed, the more generous Snape became with his praise. His approval was like a drug to Draco, heady and addictive.

“I know you did not purposely disobey me, and you confessed of your own volition, so I will be lenient. Fifteen strokes.”

His hand came down on Draco’s arse, and the surprised squeak that Draco made was more embarrassing than the actual spanking. It stung a bit, but Draco couldn’t honestly say that it hurt; Snape hadn’t hit him very hard.

The next few blows weren’t any more painful, and Draco relaxed. Snape spanked him slowly, letting him fully process each slap before landing the next one. Draco’s breathing evened out. Snape wasn’t angry; his touch was firm, but it was clear that there was no irritation behind it. He was spanking Draco to discipline him, not to hurt him. That was okay. Draco had disobeyed, after all.

An odd peace descended on Draco, as inexplicable as his relief of earlier. Every strike of Snape’s hand against his arse reasserted Snape’s mastery of Draco, his ownership. It felt right for Snape to do this. He wouldn’t take the time to discipline Draco if he didn’t intend on keeping him. Draco found that very comforting.

Somewhere around the eighth or ninth smack, Draco started getting hard. His cock was rocking against Snape’s thigh with every blow, and the friction, combined with his appreciation of Snape’s confident dominance, rapidly aroused him. Even the stinging warmth of his arse only added to his rising lust.

Snape administered the fifteenth slap and stopped, rubbing Draco’s arse lightly with his open palm. It wasn’t enough. Draco could feel his quieted anxiety trying to fight its way to the front of his mind again.

“Please don’t stop,” he said quietly.

Snape’s hand paused in its rubbing for less than a second, but Draco still noticed it. “Do you feel that your punishment should be more severe?”

“Yes, sir.” Afraid that might be a little presumptuous, Draco added, “If you agree.”

“I do.”

Snape resumed the spanking, hitting Draco harder this time. Heat blossomed in Draco’s arse even as his cock swelled. He let out a short, gasping moan every time Snape’s hand connected, and after a few more smacks, he couldn’t help grinding his cock against Snape’s thigh. He couldn’t remember why he had resisted this at first.

The pain increased along with the pleasure, however. Just as the spanking started to truly hurt, Snape stopped. He rubbed Draco’s arse again, two fingers wandering down between the cheeks to stroke teasingly against Draco’s hole. Draco pushed back against them.

“You may rise,” Snape said.

Instead of standing, Draco just twisted his body so that he was sitting on Snape’s lap, straddling him face-to-face. He was overcome with the need to touch Snape, to be as close to him as possible. He wrapped his arms around Snape’s neck and kissed him, pressing their bodies tightly together. Snape smoothed his hands down Draco’s back to cup his heated arse gently.

“Thank you, sir.” Draco kissed Snape’s cheek, his jaw, his neck, breathing in the scent of him.

“You did very well. It was commendable of you to tell me what you’d done and accept your punishment without protest or complaint. I’m proud of you.”

That was enough to push Draco over the line between normal arousal and mindless desire. He slid a hand between their bodies to fumble with Snape’s belt. “I need you,” he said. “Please.”

Snape made a soft sound of amusement, letting Draco work open his trousers. “Like this?”

“Any way you want. I just need you inside me.”

Snape’s hands tightened on Draco’s arse, making him cry out as his sore flesh was squeezed in a way that was both painful and achingly pleasurable. Draco finally freed Snape’s cock. It was all he could do not to just sit on it, regardless of the fact that it would have torn him open in his current unprepared state.

Snape moved one hand to run through Draco’s hair. When he spoke, his voice was low and soothing. “Calm yourself. I will not deny you.”

Draco tried to get a grip, accepting the kiss that Snape gave him. When Snape summoned the oil, Draco asked, “Would you ever?”

“Ever what?”

“Deny me.”

Snape’s fingers were warm and welcome when they pushed inside him. “Even if I wished to, I could not.”

February

“This is the stupidest project we have ever done,” Draco muttered.

“Yeah. Do you get the feeling Flitwick’s kind of given up?”

Draco sighed. Who hadn’t given up at this point?

He and Blaise were sitting on his bed - with a goodly amount of space between them. Draco wasn’t worried that Blaise would try something, given that he and Daphne had reconciled two weeks ago, but he was still intent on keeping his distance.

The current focus of their Charms class was on cooperative spellcasting, and the project they had been assigned was to work in tandem with a partner… to make tea.

Tea.

As if seventh years had nothing better to do. As if real witches and wizards didn’t have house elves to make tea for them. It was appalling, not to mention a little insulting.

“All right,” Draco said. “We might as well run through this once, just to make sure we have it before class. It shouldn’t be difficult.” Inane, but not difficult.

“You levitate, I’ll heat?”

“Fine.”

Draco flicked his wand, lifting the teapot to hover in the air between them. The top floated off and a bag of tea leaves shook itself out into the pot. This was ridiculous. He wondered if Snape knew what Flitwick was teaching in his classes.

“Aguamenti,” Blaise said, a stream of water pouring from the tip of his wand. He cast a heating charm next, one that would warm the water up gradually instead of all at once.

Draco’s attention wandered. Maybe he should tell Snape. As Headmaster, he had a responsibility to make sure the students were learning things that would actually help them in the real world. Draco knew Snape had a rather firm policy of non-interference, but there were ways Draco could convince him…

“Draco, watch out, you’re going to spill -”

Blaise’s warning came too late. Draco’s lack of concentration had made the teapot start wobbling and floating closer to him, and when Blaise startled him out of his thoughts, he lost hold of the spell entirely. The teapot tipped sideways and fell to the bed, but not before liberally splashing Draco with near-boiling water. He’d forgotten to put the top back on.

“Fuck!” Draco yelped, leaping off the bed and scrabbling at the buttons of his shirt. He managed to wrench it off before too much of the water soaked through, but patches of his chest and abdomen were still pink from the heat.

“Are you okay?” Blaise asked, his handsome face creased with concern.

“Yes. I don’t think it burned me. It just stings a little.” Once his panic had passed, Draco became abruptly aware that he was standing shirtless within touching distance from Blaise. He backed up a few paces.

Blaise seemed oblivious to his discomfort. “What were you thinking about? You looked like you were a million kilometres away.”

“Nothing.” Like hell was Draco going to admit that he’d been lost in thoughts of Snape. Again. He turned and opened his trunk to rummage through it for a new shirt, tensing when he heard Blaise moving closer to him.

“Don’t tell me you actually got a tattoo.”

“What are you talking about?” Draco said irritably, grabbing the first clean shirt he saw and slamming the lid shut. He straightened up and turned to face Blaise.

“That thing on your back. It’s gorgeous, but it doesn’t seem like something you’d do.”

Draco stared at him, shirt hanging forgotten in his hands. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on, Draco. This.” Blaise moved around to Draco’s side and pressed his hand against the small of Draco’s back. An unpleasant sensation squirmed up Draco’s spine, and then Blaise jumped backwards with a shout, shaking his hand as if burnt. “Shit! What the fuck?”

Utterly confused now, Draco dropped his shirt on the bed and moved to stand with his back to his full-length mirror. He twisted his head to look over his shoulder.

There was a small, elaborate mark decorating the small of his back. It was beautiful, just as Blaise had said, with intricate loops and whorls that created a mesmerizing pattern. The mark was black and looked like a tattoo, but Draco thought he would remember getting something like that done. He hated tattoos. They reminded him of the Dark Mark, though the Mark was really more like a brand.

Blaise warily drew nearer. “You really didn’t know that was there?”

“No.”

“It looks like a rune. But not any rune I’ve ever seen.” Blaise frowned at Draco’s reflection. “How could you not know?”

That was a good question. How long had Draco been carrying this mark around on his skin? How could he have never noticed it before?

Well, for one thing, he never changed in front of the other boys in his dorm anymore. He hadn’t since term had begun and it had become painfully apparent that Crabbe and Goyle had forgotten their places. One leering look from Goyle on their first night back at Hogwarts had made Draco decide that it would be prudent to ensure that he was fully dressed around them at all times. And he bathed alone in the Prefects’ bathroom. There was really no way he could have noticed the mark. Who ever looked at the small of their own back?

Carefully, mindful of the shock it had given Blaise, Draco brushed his own fingers over the mark. The shiver that went through him was entirely pleasant, making his nipples tighten and his cock stir. Pleasant, yes.

And familiar.

Draco could clearly remember all of the times that Snape had touched him there, all of the times he had felt odd sensations in that exact spot while they were together. Snape saw Draco naked every week. He would have mentioned it - unless he’d already known it was there.

Stomach dropping, Draco barely remembered to throw on his shirt before racing out of the dorms.

***

Even though it wasn’t Thursday, the gargoyle admitted Draco without question. The door to Snape’s office was closed. Draco pounded on it, only belatedly wondering what he was going to do if there was already someone in Snape’s office.

“Enter.”

Draco pushed the door open, relieved to find the office empty except for Snape, who looked surprised to see him.

“What is it, Mr. Malfoy?”

That only fuelled Draco’s anger. How could Snape address him so formally, as if his cock hadn’t been buried in Draco’s arse just a few days before? They were alone. Nobody else would hear if Snape called Draco by his first name. Why did he have to be such a bastard?

Draco strode across the room to stand in front of Snape’s desk. “Tell me what the hell you put on my back.”

Snape’s expression turned icy; it was obvious he didn’t care for Draco’s tone. Draco didn’t give a fuck.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

Draco spun around and lifted up his shirt, which he hadn’t taken the time to tuck in. When he was sure Snape had gotten a good look, he dropped his shirt and turned to face him again. “I know you put it there. What is it?”

Snape’s face didn’t change, but Draco was attuned to him well enough now that he noticed the slight tightening of the jaw, the almost imperceptible tensing of the shoulders. “It is a protection rune.”

“A protection rune,” Draco repeated. “You cast a spell on me?”

“Yes.”

Draco thought back to the first few nights he’d spent with Snape, the ritualistic feel to them. The unnaturally even spacing of the candles - in a circle, he realized now. Sage. Cedar. Cinnamon. All common ingredients in protection spells.

How could he have been so stupid?

Draco shook his head. “Normal protection spells don’t require that much ritual, and they certainly don’t require sex. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Snape’s eyes flicked to the portraits on the wall, and he stood. “This is not the place to discuss it. Come.”

Draco followed Snape into his bedroom, staying well away from him. He didn’t want his desire for the man’s touch to cloud his judgment as it had so many times in the past. Once the bedroom door was closed, Draco crossed his arms and looked at Snape expectantly.

“It was the optimal way to ensure your protection,” Snape said.

The mark tingled when Draco had sex with Snape, turned Draco on when he touched it. Only one thing would create that kind of connection, and now Draco knew why it had reminded him of the Dark Mark when he’d first seen it.

“You bound me to you,” he whispered, feeling sick.

“Yes.”

“And every time we have sex, it strengthens the spell.”

“No.”

Draco frowned, opening his mouth to argue, but Snape cut him off.

“The bond is energized by sexual contact, yes, but it draws its true power from your submission.”

Draco took a step back. “What?”

“The more you submit to me, the more powerful the protection spell becomes.”

Draco pressed his hands against his temples as if that could keep all of his whirling thoughts from flying out of his head. “You bastard,” he said. “You had no right, you - you rapist -”

Snape slammed his hand against the wall, his expressionless mask replaced with honest fury. Draco’s eyes widened and he backed up further. He’d grown so used to seeing Snape softened with desire that he’d forgotten how frightening the man was when he was truly angry.

“Do not ever call me that,” Snape snarled. “Nothing I have done to you has been without your consent. The entire spell is based on it.”

“What do you mean?”

“The bond requires that your submission be genuinely consensual. If at any time over the past six months you had been even slightly unwilling to submit to me, even for a moment, even if just in thought, the spell would have broken. And I would have felt it.”

“I don’t believe you,” Draco said, shaken.

It was a lie. Snape had been so intent on having Draco verbalize his consent that first time, so careful to make it clear that Draco could always leave if he wished. Every time he pushed Draco, asked for something Draco wasn’t sure he could give, he waited patiently while Draco struggled with himself. And he did push Draco, often, but he had never forced him. Not once. When Draco eventually submitted - as he always did - it was of his own free will.

Snape was watching him, anger seeming to have faded. “Yes, you do.”

Draco turned and ran.

***

It was all a lie.

That was the thought that kept racing through Draco’s mind as he hurried through the corridors with his head down. The peace he had felt with Snape, the comfort, the safety, it had all been the result of a spell. Snape had bewitched him, turned his emotions against him. And why? So he could have a submissive little toy to play with? Draco wanted to throw up.

He didn’t see the fifth year Gryffindor cast the Trip Jinx until it was too late.

Draco flinched and brought his hands up, bracing himself as the spell wrapped around his ankles. Instead of tripping him, however, the spell shuddered and snapped, dissolving into nothingness without doing him any harm.

Draco came to a standstill, shocked, and lifted his head to meet the eyes of the equally shocked - and horrified - Gryffindor. The boy turned and ran, taking the corner at breakneck speed, but not before Draco got a good stinging hex off at his retreating back.

Once he was alone again, Draco stared down at his feet. He hadn’t had time to block or counter the jinx. It could only have been the spell.

When Draco started walking again, it was back in the direction he’d come from.

***

Snape’s office was empty, his bedroom door still open from when Draco had run through it. Draco hovered silently in the doorway. Snape was sitting in a chair - slumping, actually, which Draco had never seen him do - eyes closed and his forehead resting on one of his hands.

Draco shut the door behind him. Snape jerked upright and drew his wand with astonishing speed, making Draco instinctively raise his hands in a gesture of defencelessness. When Snape saw him, he lowered his wand, brow furrowed. “Draco, what -”

“Exactly how powerful is this spell?”

Snape returned his wand to his sleeve as he considered the question. “It depends on the depth of your submission.”

Draco took a single step into the room. “A Gryffindor just tried to cast a Trip Jinx on me, and it just… fizzled.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“Is the spell - bond, whatever - capable of more than that?”

“Much more.”

“Why is it still active? You said it would break if I wasn’t willing to submit, and I’m so angry with you…”

Snape stood, but when Draco tensed up, he stayed where he was. “Your anger does not negate your submission to me, particularly since it is somewhat justified.”

“Somewhat -”

Snape held up a hand. “That you desire and are willing to submit to me does not mean that you will never feel negative emotions towards me. As long as you acknowledge that you belong to me, as long as you want it, the bond will remain in effect.”

“I don’t like what you did,” Draco said. He felt too restless to stand still, so he walked into the room, staying on the opposite side. “I know you asked for my consent, but I didn’t know what I was consenting to. I feel like you tricked me into this. Still, with things as they are… I would be a fool to reject the kind of protection this spell offers me. I don’t like the way it makes me feel, but -”

“Draco, stop.” Snape was frowning. “The way it makes you feel?”

“You know what I mean. The way it makes me think about you all the time, makes me want to please you…” Draco trailed off at the look on Snape’s face. “What?”

Snape stared at him for several seconds before speaking, and when he did, it was very slowly, as if he were choosing every word with care. “It is true I bound you to me, but the binding is little more than a particularly elaborate protection spell. It is dependent on your submission, but it cannot create submission, nor increase it. It cannot affect your emotions, your thoughts, in any way. That is far beyond the scope of the spell.”

Draco could feel the colour draining from his face. “You’re lying. On Christmas, the way I felt, that wasn’t normal.” He’d never mentioned that night to Snape - he’d been too ashamed - but now that he knew the truth, he was sure Snape would know what he was talking about.

“What you felt were the physical effects of the bond not being properly maintained.” Snape drew closer to him, and Draco was too busy processing his words to move away. “Draco, I swear to you, the spell cannot influence your emotions. It is impossible.”

He was telling the truth; it was plain as day on his face. Blood rushed back into Draco’s cheeks as abruptly as it had left when he realized what he’d given away. “No. Why would I feel like this - why would I want this -”

Draco swayed on his feet, and Snape reached out to steady him. “Want what?” Snape asked softly.

“You. Everything you do to me. When I kissed Blaise, I wanted you to punish me, I was happy when you did -”

Snape pulled Draco against him, and Draco went willingly, hiding his face against Snape’s shoulder. He breathed in, the scent of Snape still the most comforting thing he’d ever smelled.

“Before today,” said Snape, “before you learned about the bond, what did you tell yourself when you thought those things?”

“I tried not to think about it,” Draco admitted. “But when I did, I thought… I thought that the more pleased you were with me, the less likely you would be to stop protecting me.”

“Quite rational.”

Rational, or a rationalization? It made sense for Draco to do whatever Snape asked of him - that was what he’d offered in return for protection. It would even have been understandable for him to fake pleasure, to pretend desire, because any man liked to have his ego stroked that way.

But Draco hadn’t been pretending, not for a single second. He’d enjoyed everything Snape had done to him, unravelled at his mere touch, writhed underneath him and begged for more. Even when Snape embarrassed him and pushed his limits, Draco wanted to please him - not to keep himself safe, but because he loved the way Snape looked at him when he was proud. The fierce pride and joy that filled Draco when he accomplished something difficult, simply because Snape had asked him to, was not the reaction of someone who was just playing along.

Snape lifted Draco’s chin and looked him in the eye. “If I told you now that I would continue to protect you even if you refused my touch, would you stay in my bed?”

Draco ran trembling fingers over Snape’s cheek. “Yes,” he said.

That single word destroyed the last of his illusions. Because it was true. Draco couldn’t imagine going without Snape’s touch, his kiss, without the amazing way he felt when Snape took control of him. Their agreement was what had sent Draco to Snape’s bed the first time, but if he was being honest with himself, it wasn’t what had kept him going back.

Snape’s lips brushed over Draco’s forehead. Draco took a deep, shaky breath. He had to know. “If I told you I didn’t want to have sex with you anymore, would you still protect me?”

“In September, I would not have. But now?” Snape kissed Draco’s lips lightly. “Yes.”

Draco gripped his shoulders, feeling dizzy. “Why?”

“Because you deserve to be protected. There is a light in you that I could not bear to see extinguished.”

Draco crushed his mouth against Snape’s, needing to taste him, needing him inside. Snape lifted Draco into his arms and carried him the few short steps to the bed.

Afterwards, when Draco lay sprawled on top of Snape, listening to their hearts racing in unison, he asked, “Why didn’t you just tell me from the beginning?”

“About the spell?”

“Yes. I probably would have been fine with it, if you’d explained.”

Snape sighed, fingers running absently through Draco’s hair. “The Dark Lord would not have approved, and I was unsure of your Occlumency skills.”

Draco raised his head. “He doesn’t know?” he said incredulously.

“No. And He cannot, Draco. To say He would be angry is an understatement.” Snape’s eyes were as serious as Draco had ever seen them. “You must tell no one. Do you understand?”

“Yes. I won’t say anything. And my Occlumency is better than you’d think.”

Draco laid his head back down on Snape’s chest. He didn’t know why Severus Snape, of all people, would do something he knew the Dark Lord would disapprove of, and he didn’t care. All he cared about was the warmth that filled him at the knowledge that Snape was willing to risk so much.

March

Draco shook as he watched his parents and Aunt Bellatrix go down under the Cruciatus one by one - punishment for letting Potter and his friends escape. It was Draco’s fault. If he hadn’t pretended not to recognize Potter, if he’d turned the git in like he should have, the Dark Lord would have been pleased instead of furious, and Draco wouldn’t have been waiting his own turn to be tortured.

The Dark Lord lowered his wand, releasing Draco’s mother from the ravages of the curse. She coughed weakly, and Lucius - still limping from his own round - helped her to her feet. Draco could see blood on her lips.

Red eyes pinned Draco like a helpless insect. “Draco, Draco,” the Dark Lord tutted. “I must admit, you’ve been quite a disappointment. I had such I high hopes for you once. Come here.”

Draco couldn’t move; he was frozen in place with terror. There was almost nothing he wouldn’t have done at that moment to avoid the Cruciatus, but he couldn’t even open his mouth to beg. Yaxley made a noise of disgust and grabbed Draco’s elbow, yanking him forward and shoving him to his knees in front of the Dark Lord.

“No,” Narcissa croaked, starting forward as if to interfere. Lucius held her back.

“Such a shame,” said the Dark Lord. “Crucio.”

Draco screamed even before the curse hit him, toppling onto his back, and it wasn’t until he’d run out of breath that he realised something was off.

The curse didn’t hurt as much as it should have.

The pain was definitely there, but it felt different. It was as if there was something between Draco and the Cruciatus, buffering it, shielding his nerves from the worst of it. It hurt - Merlin, did it hurt - but it was… bearable.

The protection spell hadn’t been powerful enough to dampen the Cruciatus over the Christmas holidays. Draco had only been subjected to it once during those two weeks, but the memory of that agony made what he was experiencing now feel like a stubbed toe in comparison. Snape’s spell was getting stronger.

Draco couldn’t let anyone know. He rolled onto his side to hide his face while he screamed and thrashed as if suffering the full force of the curse, mind buzzing as he wondered what else the bond could do.

***

Even though the effects of curse itself had been muted, the aftermath still sucked. Draco had been in bed since the Dark Lord had dismissed him. He did not have the appropriate constitution for this.

When he heard the door to his sitting room open and shut without anyone knocking, Draco somehow knew it was Snape. So he wasn’t surprised by the long, lean form that filled his bedroom doorway.

“What are you doing here?” Draco asked. He wanted to lift his head, but he was too weak to move it.

“It’s Thursday.” Snape crossed the room to sit on the edge of Draco’s bed, his hand cool on Draco’s cheek. “Are you in pain?”

“A little. Mostly I feel drained.” Draco put his hand over Snape’s. “The curse didn’t hurt as much as usual. I could feel the bond interfering.”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “We’ve made a good deal of progress, then.”

Ever since Draco had learned the truth about the spell, he and Snape had been pushing the limits of his submission, stretching his boundaries in an attempt to strengthen the protection it afforded him. Two weeks ago, Snape had fixed a dildo to a stool and made Draco ride it to orgasm while he watched. Draco still blushed beet red when he thought about it.

Snape pulled a vial from his robes and uncorked it. “Drink this. It will help with the nerve damage.”

He put an arm around Draco’s shoulders and helped him lift his upper body enough to safely swallow the potion held to his lips. Draco allowed it; he didn’t care if Snape saw him weak like this. It wouldn’t lessen Snape’s desire for him.

The potion was soothing, warming Draco from the inside out. Snape lowered him back to the pillow and banished the vial.

“How do you want me?” Draco asked.

“Asleep.” Snape’s lips twitched at Draco’s expression. “The potion is more effective on a sleeping subject,” he clarified.

“Oh. You don’t want…”

“Sex? No.”

Draco couldn’t help feeling a little relieved. He was mentally and physically exhausted, his body limp and worn out from the torture. Still, if Snape had wanted him, Draco would have accepted him gladly. “It won’t hurt like last time?”

“I’ve told you, sex is not a necessary component of the spell. Your submission is enough, and it is not required to be sexual. What I want is for you stop arguing and go to sleep so that you can heal. Are you intending to disobey me?”

“No, sir,” said Draco. He wasn’t sure if the warmth inside him was still an effect of the potion.

“Good boy.” Snape bent over and, to Draco’s surprise, began unlacing his boots.

“Are you going to stay?”

“Yes.”

Draco fought to keep a silly smile off his face as Snape removed his shoes and robes before stretching out on the bed next to him, on top of the coverlet. As Draco expected, Snape’s fingers began carding through his hair immediately. Snape always touched Draco’s hair when they were lying together like this, though admittedly, this was the first time they’d lain together without having sex first.

“Will you be here when I wake up?”

“I will.”

Draco fell asleep like that, with Snape’s warm body against his own and Snape’s fingers running over his skin. It was the best night’s sleep he’d ever had.

April

Draco was so awash in pleasure that he couldn’t make a sound; he couldn’t even moan. The only noise that came from him was that of his breathing - sharp, staccato pants forced from him with every thrust of Snape’s cock.

He was on his knees and shoulders on Snape’s bed, arms at his sides and stretched behind him, wrists bound to his ankles. His legs were spread wide, arse lifted up so that Snape could use him any way he wished. And Snape apparently wished to drive him mad.

The angle was perfect for bringing Snape’s cock against Draco’s prostate in a way that sent waves of indescribable pleasure rolling throughout Draco’s entire body. He could feel it in his toes, in the tips of his fingers, in the roots of his hair. His skin was goosebumped all over, yet prickled with heat. The pleasure was so intense, so relentless, that Draco felt disconnected from his body - there wasn’t enough of him to contain the pure physical ecstasy inundating him.

“Mine,” Snape growled. His fingers were digging into Draco’s hips so hard that it would have been painful if Draco hadn’t been drunk with bliss. “Mine.”

Draco couldn’t speak, but the word Yes resounded in his mind, his body. The rune on his back flared white-hot with joy.

Snape’s magic whispered over Draco’s skin, dissolving the restraints that bound him. Snape pulled out, but before Draco could do more than gasp in distress, he was flipped onto his back and impaled again. Draco arched against Snape, hips surging up to meet every brutal thrust. He couldn’t get Snape deep enough inside him, and he suddenly found his voice again with a cry of frustration.

“More, please, please -”

Snape reared back onto his knees, bringing Draco with him so that Draco was straddling his lap. The movement buried him to the hilt. Draco moaned and tangled his fingers in Snape’s hair, sucking Snape’s lower lip into his mouth and biting it as he began working himself frantically on Snape’s thick cock.

Snape pounded up into him, hands roaming over Draco’s body. “Draco,” he said. “My Draco. Tell me.”

“Yours.” Draco raked his nails down Snape’s chest. “I’m yours, everything, anything, oh gods, Severus- ”

Snape let out a hoarse shout, his hands clamping down on Draco’s arse, and then Draco was flooded with wet heat. It was so unexpected that Draco didn’t even understand what had happened at first. Snape had never come before him.

Draco stilled his hips and met Snape’s eyes; they looked as shocked as his own. Though his body was still vibrating with unfulfilled lust, Draco took a couple of ragged breaths and said, “Is it okay for me to call you that?”

“Yes.” Snape kissed him deeply, one hand moving to take hold of Draco’s cock. “Say it again.”

“Severus,” Draco groaned, pushing into Snape’s demanding grip. “Please, I need to come, please -”

“Then come. Come for me, Draco.”

Draco screamed his release as his cock pulsed, come spattering Snape’s hand and both their stomachs.

May

The Dark Mark woke Draco in the middle of the night.

He bolted upright and sat in the dark for a few minutes, panting, wondering what the hell was going on. The Dark Lord was happy, ecstatic; Draco could feel it. There was no way this could be good.

A soft popping noise made him emit a strangled yelp. He snatched up the small note that had materialized on his pillow. It bore Snape’s spidery handwriting.

It has begun. Keep yourself safe. Don’t believe anything you hear. You will know how to find me when the time is right.
-S

The note disappeared in a whiff of smoke, leaving Draco staring at his empty hand.

What had begun?

***

Crabbe was dead.

The Great Hall was chaotic, a hectic blur of panicked voices and frenzied activity, but Draco noticed none of it. He sat between Pansy and Blaise, streaked with ashes and numb with shock. Crabbe was dead. Draco had known him all his life, grown up with him, and he’d burned to death.

Draco dropped his head into his hands, shaking.

Pansy put a hand on his shoulder. “Draco, are you -”

An awful pain ripped through Draco. He screamed, falling from the bench to the floor. The agony was like nothing he’d ever felt before - total, encompassing, pain of the soul as well as the body, a hundred thousand knives tearing him open and slashing through his insides. Draco blacked out.

When he regained consciousness, Pansy and Blaise were crouched over him, worried looks on their faces. The pain was gone, but it had been replaced by an emptiness that was even worse; it was the nauseating hollowness he’d felt on Christmas magnified a thousandfold. Draco didn’t want to know what it meant, but he did.

He knew.

The Dark Lord’s voice began echoing through the castle. Draco passed out again.

***

Time wasn’t moving right. Sometimes it passed slowly, so slowly that the people around Draco seemed to be moving through air as thick as molasses. Then it would abruptly speed up, and everything around him moved with a dizzying swiftness that made him queasy. Sounds echoed strangely around him. He couldn’t see clearly, his vision alternately blurry and overly, painfully sharp.

Draco’s parents had somehow managed to find him in the utter chaos of the battle. They stuck to a shadowy corner, all three of them wandless. As Lucius and Narcissa had looked Draco over, asking if he was all right, Draco had only been able to shake his head wordlessly. He wasn’t all right. Part of his soul had been amputated.

“Severus Snape wasn’t yours,” Draco heard a voice say. It was Potter.

Potter and the Dark Lord were talking about Snape. Draco desperately tried to pay attention, but he couldn’t focus; his concentration kept slipping and the words they were saying didn’t sound like English.

Nothing more cut through the haze around Draco until the Dark Lord said, “I killed Severus Snape three hours ago.”

Draco had known, but to hear it said aloud sent him reeling. He let out a thin, choked wail, barely audible, and slid down the wall to the floor.

As darkness claimed him a third time, Draco felt the smallest hint of warmth in the rune on his back - a single candle flickering in a dark, windy room.

June

Don’t believe anything you hear. You will know how to find me when the time is right.

On Thursday, June fourth, Draco stood on a quiet street in a well-kept Muggle neighbourhood, turning his wand nervously in his hands. It was nice to have his own wand back; Potter had returned it after Draco had been acquitted at his trial.

As Draco walked down the street, the warmth curled in the small of his back grew stronger, just as it had bit by bit every day for the past month. It travelled up his spine, through his limbs. When it suffused his entire body, Draco turned up the garden path of a small cottage, sheathed his wand, and knocked on the door.

It took several minutes for the door to open. When it did, Draco sucked in a painful breath and grabbed the doorjamb to keep from falling over.

He hadn’t really believed until now.

“You’re alive,” was all he could say.

Snape stepped back from the doorway. “Come in.”

Draco followed him through the house to a small lounge, his eyes fixated on Snape’s cane and his stiff, shuffling gait. He wanted to throw his arms around Snape, but at the same time, he was afraid to touch him. Part of him feared that none of this was real; if he touched Snape, he would wake up and the dream would be over.

Snape winced as he eased himself into an armchair. Draco stayed standing. He wouldn’t be able to sit still.

“I knew you would be able to find me,” Snape said.

There was silence between them for a moment.

“Everyone said you were dead,” said Draco. “The Dark Lord, Potter… But you’re alive. How?”

Snape rolled up his right sleeve, licked his thumb, and dragged it over the underside of his right wrist. Something thick and chalky rubbed away, revealing a rune marked into Snape’s skin that was identical to Draco’s own. Draco stared.

“Muggle cosmetics,” said Snape. “More foolproof than a glamour among our kind.”

“I don’t understand.”

Snape kept rubbing his thumb over the mark. “The bond is mutual. It always was. I did not bind you to me; I bound us to each other. Your submission, my authority. Protection for us both.”

Now Draco sat. “Why?”

“That first time you came to me, when you offered me your mouth, I could see it in you - the yearning to submit, if only you could find someone worthy. I had read of the spell, but I’d never thought I would use it. You changed my mind.” Snape’s eyes were piercing. “Draco. You saved my life. I would not have survived without the bond to protect me.”

It was too much. Draco looked down at his hands, clenched tightly in his lap. “You were spying on the Dark Lord the whole time. You were never loyal to him.”

“Not since I was very young, no.” If Snape was thrown by the change of subject, he gave no indication.

“If he’d found out before the bond was strong, he would have killed you. And then he would have killed me, because I belonged to you. You protected me from one threat by putting me at risk of an even greater one, and you didn’t even ask.” Draco had to stop talking for a second because his voice was shaking so badly. “You lied to me and kept secrets from me, secrets I had a right to know. You played with my life, with my future. You used me.”

“No.” Snape’s face was white. “I did what I had to do to protect us both. We were at war, Draco. I’m not proud of what I did, but I cannot apologise for it. Not when we are both alive. Not when you made it through the war without being raped. Not when…” Snape cut himself off.

“What?” Draco said quietly.

Snape looked away. “Not when you gave me a reason to want to survive.”

Draco closed his eyes, trying to compose himself. “Do you really mean that?”

“Yes. I would have told you the truth if I’d felt I had any choice. The only way to ensure that the Dark Lord never knew about the bond was to ensure that nobody knew about it. After you discovered your mark, when you thought the bond was one-sided - the Dark Lord would eventually have forgiven that, if he’d found out. But the truth? Never.”

Draco didn’t know what to think. Whatever pretty way Snape phrased it, he had bound them together without Draco’s knowledge or consent in an attempt to save his own arse. Draco hated him a little for that. But that had been… before. Before Draco had discovered the joy of surrendering himself. Before Snape had realised that he was willing to protect Draco without receiving anything in return. Before he’d become Severus.

“I can end the spell right now, if you wish.”

Snape was pale and rigid, but beyond that, Draco couldn’t venture a guess as to how he was feeling. “Do you want to end it?” he asked. When Snape hesitated, Draco said, “Please, for once, just be honest. Please.”

“No,” said Snape. “No, I do not.”

Draco rose from his chair only to fall to his knees by Snape’s feet. He picked up Snape’s hand and pressed his lips against the mark.