"I don't want anything to do with him, and I don't want anything to do with you!"

Harry scowled back at his allegedly best friend and found himself wishing, not for the first time, that he had done something bad enough to deserve this.

"He was insufficiently paranoid, Ron! He wasn't malicious; he wasn't even all that stupid, to be honest. He took what he thought were --"

"He killed Dean! He might as well have killed Dean! And you're writing him a fucking letter?" Ron seized the parchment from under Harry's hands, crumpled it, and stomped on it, turning into a muddy mess smeared with blotched ink.

Deciding what to write to Bill had not been easy. Harry felt anger rising in him in a cold wave. "I stopped him. I can write him if I want to."

"Oh yes -- you and Snape, nobly lying to everyone --"

"Wouldn't have worked if we hadn't, now, would it? He didn't know he was giving away secret information! What if someone had been monitoring you? You wouldn't have known, either!"

"I wouldn't be that STUPID!"

The anger took over and brought Harry to his feet. "You are," he said viciously. "You're that stupid all the time." The moment he turned, he needed to run. Other than a pause to duck through the portrait hole, he didn't stop until he was two floors down from the entrance to the tower.

He had to stop himself there. If he had taken the time to grab his cloak, he would have continued on to the dungeons. Visible, though, he could not, no matter how much he wanted a smoke and a mind-numbing fuck. He rather hoped Ron would come looking for him. A fistfight sounded like a good alternative.

Ron didn't. It was Hermione, instead, who came walking down the stairs, her steps slowing as she approached him. She sat on the stair beside him and set a hand on his knee.

"Can I guess?" she asked wryly.

"Probably."

"He'll get over it."

"Maybe not before I start to hate him."

Still, his hand came up, and the fingers interlaced with hers, and he stayed silent when she said, "You don't mean that."

She sighed. "Ron doesn't manage certain things well. You know that. I know that. We've been through these things before."

"Not when people have died." The words came out quickly, almost before he knew they were there. He felt ill. Hermione let go of his hand and put an arm around him.

"Don't." He pushed at her half-heartedly.

"Shh."

"Ron will get the wrong idea."

"Well then, I'll have to clear things up for him, won't I?"

Surrendering, he relaxed against her shoulder. "Damn him, anyway. Hermione, I'm not going to the Burrow for Christmas. I can't take it."

She hesitated. "I think you should."

"No. Hermione, it will be horrible."

"You might make up." She was doing her best, Harry thought, to sound encouraging. "I don't think anyone else is angry."

"But we'll all be miserable. Christmas should be happy." Staying here, Harry thought, was what he had wanted anyway -- time unsupervised at the school.

She sighed. "I'll stay with you."

"No!" He reined in his annoyance. If she stayed, he didn't get anything out of this mess. "Sorry, but .... Look, I'd rather just be alone, okay? And you should be with him."

"At the moment, I don't want to be with him! He's being an idiot. And you may want to be alone, but I don't think you should be."

"What?"

"Harry, really -- you've been sulking off on your own far too much. I thought we'd agreed that we need to talk to each other."

They had agreed that -- but that had been when Harry had been a virgin, and the personal issues he had been hiding had originated with Voldemort, not a forbidden lover. "I'm not in any new danger, Hermione. Nothing strange is happening to me magically. I just need to get away, sometimes."

"If we allow you to, you withdraw and don't ask for help when you need it. I'm not leaving you here alone, Harry."

"I'm fine."

She smiled sadly. "But you always say that."

Harry didn't have any answer for that. He accompanied her to the library, and slipped out an hour later, while she was searching the stacks. Alone, he wandered through the corridors, with no goal in mind other than avoiding Ron. When it was time to return to Gryffindor, he didn't turn back.

"Mr. Potter."

Professor Snape's voice was cold and vicious, and it sent an irrepressible shiver down Harry's spine. He turned.

"Is there some reason you are not in Gryffindor, where you belong?" Severus stalked closer. There was a time when the predatory triumph in his face would have frightened and angered Harry. Now, it sent blood rushing down through his body, rather than up. He leaned insolently back against the wall.

"Don't want to be."

"And that, of course, is far more important than rules intended to insure your safety." Snape paused. "Though perhaps I should worry more about the safety of others from you."

Harry looked up and down the corridor. No one was in sight. Still, at Hogwarts, you couldn't count on that. He wet his lips and stepped forward. "Why should I care?"

Black eyes glittered with what would once had been fury as his professor stepped forward and seized Harry by the front of his robes. Harry could not hold back a faint moan as Severus twisted the fabric, pulling him so close that his breath was hot on Harry's ear.

"Because you are going to spend the rest of your apparently free evening in detention," he hissed. Severus was shaking, as he could with rage, but Harry suspected that only the thought of spying ghosts kept him from closing the scant space between their bodies and presenting another source for the tension. "Go directly to my classroom, Potter. I will meet you there as soon as I have informed your head of house as to your whereabouts."

With that, he shoved Harry away. Harry did his best to look sullen, rather than excited. "Yes, sir." He couldn't resist licking his lips. After one warning snarl, Severus turned away in a swirl of robes and retreated down the corridor.

When Severus entered the classroom, the first thing he saw was a golden fire in the grate. Harry was kneeling before it, still dressed in his school robes. From the pile of neatly folded clothing sitting beside him, Severus was certain that he was wearing only his school robes. Quickly, he stepped in and closed the door. He took a step towards Harry and stopped. Leaving the clothing out like that was a risk, but for once, he found it difficult to begin objecting.

A flash of green eyes looking up, a moment of fire and darkness, and Harry was once again the picture of demure submission. Severus stepped forward, seized a handful of hair, and pulled, bringing Harry up off his heels.

"Was it too much of a wait for you, Potter?"

"Yes. Pity we can't do it in the hallway."

Severus had to struggle not to push Harry to the floor immediately. He schooled his voice to scorn. "Wouldn't you mind being seen? With me?" Smirking at the thought came more naturally. "On your knees?"

"Don't think I would." Harry looked like not minding was only the beginning of it. "If they couldn't do anything to us."

"Perhaps I could offer your services in return for silence."

Rather than protesting, Harry let out a soft, lustful cry. Severus shifted forward so that his feet were touching Harry's knees, and Harry pressed forward for more contact. Carefully, Severus put his hands on Harry's chest, feeling again, as he had their first encounter, the smoothness of a single layer of fabric. He stretched his touch down as far as he could go while standing straight, and then brought a hand up and under the collar to slide it down again, this time over bare skin.

"Am I good enough, sir?"

Severus laughed silently to himself. That was a question that could be taken many ways. "To loan out?" he said coolly. "Oh, quite. But I know so few people that I could trust to return you undamaged."

"Not Lucius Malfoy," Harry said, but he rocked his hips side to side, rubbing against Severus's legs. Severus pointed his wand down and charmed Harry's robes open, exposing a stripe of skin, and sending his erection to bobbing slightly against Severus's legs.

"His son, perhaps?" Severus sneered. "I don't think he's made it up to murder, yet. What if Draco were to surprise us in a telling situation?"

"He'd think you were forcing me, you know." In contrast to the cheeky reply, Harry clasped his hands behind his back, and began to rub his face on Severus's groin. When he found the veiled ridge of Severus's erection, he concentrated on that, mouthing it through the fabric.

"He'd soon learn better."

"Would you want him to?"

Rather than chiding Harry for lifting his mouth, Sever took advantage of the space to unfasten his robes from the waist down.

"Perhaps not. He might be more willing to have you if he thought you were unhappy."

"Dunno if I can fake that." Harry nuzzled at his hands, interfering with the business of unfastening his flies.

"But he'd sneer at you so sincerely. And everything from me would have two meanings, and be such a sweet secret."

"I'm a Gryffindor."

"You like your dark secrets, just the same. Don't think I don't know how much you hide."

He had got everything out of the way, finally, and Harry tongued his cock, rather than replying. For a moment, Severus enjoyed watching his escalating ministrations, but a few seconds after Harry took him to the root, he pulled away, cursing, and pushed him to the floor. It was only as he knelt down that he noticed the fur rug that certainly did not belong there, but felt beautiful beneath his knees as he straddled the boy's face.

"Go back to it."

Harry rolled onto his back, panting. He was vaguely aware of Snape levering himself up to watch. For a moment, he let his eyes close. Lessons would be ending for Christmas, soon, and then he could stay as long as he wished ... Except, of course, if Hermione worried. His eyes flew open to find Severus studying him.

"What?"

"That was an interesting series of expressions, Potter."

"I bet. Could we get Hermione assigned a time-consuming research project that I can't possibly help her with?"

A low rumble of amusement met the question. "Not looking forward to the scolding you'll get when you go back?"

"Oh, it's not that. She wants to stay for Christmas. Because I'm staying, and she thinks she needs to make sure that I study. And she thinks I spend too much time alone."

"How little she knows," Severus said smugly, but his smirk turned to a frown while he was sitting up. He settled with his legs to one side, and Harry watched him study the distant air as he lit a cigarette. "You are trying to dissuade her?"

"Of course!"

"Continue with that, and I will see what I can devise to distract her if you fail." His eyes glittered. "I am not interested in sharing your attention."

"Honestly, I'd like a break from it being shared."

"I will, however, also make you study."

"N.E.W.T.s are months away!"

"Your N.E.W.T.s do not concern me," Severus remarked dryly. "However, you have immediate use for some intensive work in combat magic."

Harry gave up on being offered a smoke and reached out to snag the pack. "I'd be okay with that."

"I expected that you would be." Beyond the flare of his ignition charm, Harry watched the smirk reassert itself. "And we would still have plenty of time for pleasure -- if you are otherwise at liberty."

All the way back to Gryffindor tower, Harry considered the matter. He had a half-dozen schemes -- none of which he actually believed would work -- competing for his attention by the time he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.

The moment he stepped through the opening, he knew that he wouldn't have time for any of them.

At this hour, the common room would usually be empty, but for one or two desperate procrastinators writing frantically. Instead, he saw a small cluster of people by the fire, most of them standing around the couches, speaking in the hushed, uneven manner that always boded ill. His mind immediately moved to thoughts of attack. Hermione looked up and beckoned Harry over, and he started grimly across the room. Halfway there, he saw that the group was centered around Ron -- Ron, who was openly crying, as no boy their age ever would for less than true disaster -- and he hurried the rest of the way, all anger forgotten.

"What happened?"

Choking, Ron looked up. For just a moment, Harry thought he would lean forward and hold on, as he had when Dean was killed. The second of vulnerability turned suddenly to rage. "Go AWAY!"

"Hermione?" Harry asked desperately. Not one of his family; please not. Frighteningly, Hermione looked as alarmed as he felt.

"Bill," she choked out. "He'll probably be okay. They think he'll be okay."

"What happened to Bill?" His own voice was harsh, but he couldn't help it. People didn't get this upset over less than a death.

Hermione stroked Ron's back as she looked past it at him. "He tried to kill himself." Her voice was tight. "Ashwinder egg in dragon's blood -- nasty stuff. He's in St. Mungo's while they try to recreate his throat and stomach."

"Hell!" Harry's stomach churned with emotion while he thought of what either one of those substances could do to human flesh. In a flash of defensive fury, he grabbed Ron's shoulder and pulled him around. "Why didn't you let me WRITE HIM?"

"Harry!" Hermione gasped.

Even before the words were out, Harry realized that he had said the worse thing possible. He could see in Ron's face that his friend felt more than enough regret without him piling on more.

"Sorry," he said quickly. "God. Not that it would have done any good, this late." He tried to touch Ron, but Ron flinched away, and Harry closed his eyes and turned. "I'm going to bed."

No one tried to stop him, but Lavender and Seamus gave him distinctly dirty looks as he passed.

He was still awake, much later, when Ron came up to the room and began to undress.

"Ron? Look, I --"

"Don't say anything," Ron said fiercely. "Just don't."

Harry didn't sleep well, and he could tell that Ron didn't either, but Ron at least pretended to be asleep when Harry gave up, long before breakfast time. Quietly, Harry dressed, gathered some writing materials, and left the room. The common room was silent, except for the soft pop of the fire lighting itself as he entered. He sat down near it and began a letter.

Bill,

I'm sorry I didn't write earlier. Ron tore up my last

He crossed that out.

I tried to, but Ron found out and fought with me about it. He hasn't

He gave up on that, and started over.

Dear Bill,

I'm sorry I didn't write earlier. I tried to, but Ron found out and fought with me about it. He hasn't been able to decide if he's angrier at me for daring to suspect you or for forgiving (He struck out the word.) not being angry at you, though I think it's mostly the first one, now. He was actually crying (Another line and spell erased that.) very upset, last night, but he wouldn't talk to me, which is mostly my fault, because I was an arse. I want you to know he cares about you, even if he hasn't been acting like it.

Harry

That would do, he thought. He'd wasted too much time trying to get it perfect over the last week. Setting that one aside to dry, he started on the second letter.

Ron,

I'm sorry I was so horrible last night. It wasn't your fault that I didn't write to him. I first tried to a week ago, and I might not have sent yesterday's letter right away, even if I'd finished it.

He was just signing his name when he heard steps on the staircase down from the girls' dormitories. It was Hermione, still in pajamas and a dressing gown, who appeared in the doorway. She came over to him, her expression uncertain. Neither of them had yet said anything when she reached him and began reading over his shoulder. He let her.

"Getting straight to the point?"

Harry shrugged, relief flooding him at the merely wry tone. "I reckon I'm lucky if he reads past the first few words, so they better matter."

"Good point."

Harry made a face. "Did you have to agree with me?"

"Well, you're right." Nonetheless, Hermione flopped down on the couch next to him. "I couldn't sleep."

"Don't think any of us did." Harry bit his lip for a moment. "Listen, Hermione. Tomorrow...."

"I don't know what to do."

"You're going to the Burrow." Harry took a breath. "And I'm not, of course."

"Harry, I'm sure that --"

"It doesn't matter if they blame me or not! I can't help now. Seeing me ... even the ones that don't blame me will feel worse. Go help ... please?"

"But you...." She waved her hands helplessly, in a most unHermionelike way. Harry knew how she felt. He didn't know what to do either.

"I'll be okay. I'm really ... I'm almost okay, these days."

"You were out past midnight."

"Snape caught me out and decided he couldn't wait to give me detention."

"Oh, Harry!"

"It wasn't so bad. He's offered to give me lessons in combat spells over the holiday. Well, offered in the 'I refuse to have a defender so pathetic,' sort of way, but still. I was feeling better until I got back here." He shifted uneasily, his thoughts returning to Bill. "Do they really think he'll be all right? I can't imagine surviving for long enough to even Apparate....

Hermione nodded grimly. "Fortunately, Charlie caught him, and he knows charms for dragon's blood burns, and it turns out they counter the ashwinder egg to some extent. Still ... I don't think he'd have a chance in a Muggle hospital, and it sounded as if Charlie had been a second later...."

She stopped, tears forming in her already red eyes. Harry reached out to her, and at the first contact, she collapsed against him.

"Oh Harry, I don't know what to do! I'm no good at being comforting, and people keep dying and getting hurt, and it's not any easier, and...."

"Shh. Go to the Burrow. Even if you just help with making sure everyone's fed, that's something, right?"

"But Bill!"

"If you can go to St. Mungo's, then read to him or something. Don't let him sulk. Roll your eyes if he gets dramatic, like you would with me."

She nodded against his chest, where a slight dampness was spreading through his shirt. "Sorry. I ... I couldn't break down with Ron. He needed --"

"I know."

When they got back from breakfast, Ron had already left for St. Mungo's. The note he left for Hermione said that Bill might be well enough for visitors, soon. There was nothing for Harry. He wasn't as pleased as might have been to scribble Sorted on the bottom of his Potions essay before turning it in.

After the last lesson of the day was over, crowds of excited children gathered in the corridors, chattering about their holiday plans. Harry felt dreary in comparison.

"Young, aren't they?" said a soft voice at his side, and he turned to smile at Hermione.

"Most of them. Yeah."

"I ... I think you're right. About the Weasleys. I'm going to go tomorrow, if I can. I'm just not sure how --"

"Miss Granger, Mr Potter!" Professor McGonagall hurried up to them. "The headmaster wishes to speak to you."

A momentary glance shared the question, and then Harry nodded. "Fine."

They walked in silence to the gargoyle guardian. Harry couldn't help worrying that Bill had taken a turn for the worse, and he suspected that Hermione had similar thoughts. The spiral ride up the staircase was irritatingly indirect.

"Ah, there you are. Sherbet lemon?"

"Is Bill all right?" Harry demanded.

"Well, I'm not certain 'all right' is a fitting description -- yet -- but he is improving steadily." Dumbledore made no second attempt to offer candy. Instead, he motioned to the chairs by the fire and came around his desk to join them. "Please, sit."

The headmaster settled wearily into one of the padded chairs. Reflected flames glittered in his glasses. "Bill Weasley is, as I said, improving. However, his condition is still serious. In discussing the matter, it became evident that Mrs. Weasley and I had differing understandings of how the two of you were planning to spend the holiday. She thought you were both visiting?"

"She is, sir," Harry volunteered, motioning at Hermione. "I'm not."

"If the invitation still stands," Hermione added hastily.

"I believe it does, Miss Granger. Harry? Did you think you were not welcome?"

"Ron and I have been fighting, sir. Even before this. It's not that I think Mrs. Weasley wouldn't have me; it's that I think it would be too unpleasant for everyone."

Dumbledore considered him thoughtfully. "It requires some effort, Harry, to keep the people we love in our lives."

"I'm not giving up on them!" Harry hesitated. "I've written to Bill, which I meant to do earlier, but I'd been having trouble deciding what to say. I should write Mrs. Weasley too -- I'd thought Ron would tell her I wasn't coming. And I've sent presents, of course. I think having Hermione there might actually help, but it's too early for me."

This seemed to reassure the old wizard. He nodded solemnly. "Very well." With a sigh, he shifted in his seat. "No one from the family has time to go to Kings Cross, tomorrow --" A slight motion of his hand forestalled Hermione's acceptance. "-- but I will be traveling to St. Mungo's myself, tomorrow morning, and you may come with me and meet them there."

"Oh, thank you!" Hermione moved nervously. "May I see Bill? Can he have visitors? Is he conscious?"

"He could be conscious -- however, they are mostly keeping him asleep, to keep his throat as still as possible while it re-forms." Dumbledore got to his feet. "And now, I must pack, as business will keep me in the city for several days. I suggest you go do the same. And Harry? I will see you before Christmas; do try to stay out of any life-threatening peril until then."

Harry smiled shakily at him as he stood. "Postpone manticore hunt until Christmas Day -- got it."