A house elf wakes you, nervously saying, "Master Potter, Master Potter! Your father is wanting you. Your guests is almost ready for breakfast!"

Snape is already dressed; he meets your eyes with an unspoken challenge. You find your clothes quickly; the high neck and long sleeves disguise the scratches and bites, but you fancy that there is something about your movements that gives you away.

In the hall, you pass Snape's mother, moving towards the guest quarters. Her eyes are red. Snape gives you a furious look and follows her before you can tell him that you are not your father.

You're not completely certain that it's true, anyway.

Your father sits at his desk, showered and dressed in fresh robes.

"James," he says. "Your mother wasn't at all happy with your little disappearing act last night."

You shrug. "There weren't exactly many people who wanted my company."

"Someone obviously did."

You say nothing, and he smiles slightly.

"Obviously a family trait, borne of desperation. I wonder what the Muggle psychologists would make of it ... I hope you made no promises."

"I promised to ask."

"I've already refused. The Snapes would be a liability." He frowns. "Crouch had a word with me last night ... as if he had the right to dictate who I may and may not associate with." He sighs. "If the Ministry has its way, soon he will have the right. I cannot take the risk of dangerous associations, James."

"Malfoy–"

"Can take care of himself. Malfoy is self-sufficient. Snape is not."

"That's not fair."

He gives you, his Gryffindor son, a pitying look. "Life's not fair. Better that you – and the Snape boy – learn that now."

You glare at him, though you were never capable of hating your father before today. You sit there, hating him desperately, and hating yourself, because he killed your brother, and you could almost forgive him, but now he has betrayed Snape.

And for that, you despise him.

And yourself.

You hate Snape.

You hate him with a passion, surely that's still true. Saving his life and fucking him – or being fucked by him – they don't change anything.

Really.

"I hope you weren't excessively attached to the boy," your father says with a smile. "I'm afraid he won't be suitable company before long."

You return his smile. "No, sir. I'm not attached to him." Just bound by the threads of hatred and love and life and death and debt and responsibility...

"Excellent."

You plunge on, blindly. "I have a girlfriend, you see."

"Oh? It seemed that Narcissa–"

"Not Narcissa. Not a pureblood." His face darkens, and you truly cherish this moment. "A Muggle-born."

You stand, bow slightly, and leave for breakfast.

Severus joins you on the staircase. He doesn't need to ask; one look at you and he knows.

"We had a deal," he breathes.

"I kept my end. I asked."

"We. Had. A deal."

"And you call yourself a Slytherin. Don't you understand betrayal?"

You are your father's son, and today, you are beneath contempt.

"Ah, the prodigal sons!" smiles the Minister as you enter the dining room. The last guests to leave are usually the important ones: the Minister, Crouch, Malfoy. Snapes.

Narcissa, whose robes aren't nearly as concealing as yours, touches the clear fingermarks on her neck and smiles gingerly.

"Severus," says Julius. "How was your night?"

Snape would never blush, but you do. Your father smirks, your mother raises her eyebrows in disapproval, and his mother looks despairing.

"Educational," he spits.

Narcissa titters, and even Lucius can't quite hide his amusement. Crouch looks shocked; his delicate wife and sleepy son are oblivious.

You serve yourself from the buffet and take your seat beside Lucius. "How did you find the greenhouses?" you ask softly.

"Extraordinary."

"I hear the narcissi are blooming."

"Very amusing, James."

"I try."

The Snapes leave shortly after breakfast, silent and defeated. Lucius pauses by your side.

"You made a mistake there, James."

"I know."

"Don't worry." He pats you on the shoulder, like an indulgent older brother. "I'll fix it for you."

You know better than to thank him for this. The Malfoys will extract every possible ounce of gratitude from the Snapes, drop by bitter, bloody drop.

You saved Severus's life once; you don't think you can do it again.

You don’t think he'd let you.

You loved your brother, but he never allowed you to hold him, or kiss him. He'd endure your affection, but would pull away as soon as you relaxed your grip.

You loved him, but you couldn’t save him.  >> next chapter >>