|
A HARP FROM HER BREASTBONE or Every Picture Tells a Story When Professor Snape found out that Draco Malfoy would be spending the Christmas break at Hogwarts, he was sure it would mean nothing but trouble. It wasn't so much that he'd be hopping in and out of the beds of the handful of other students who were staying at school over the holiday (in all honesty, he didn't give a salted shredded damn on toast about that), but his distressing habit of trying to wheedle his way into Snape's own bed was most aggravating. It was therefore a surprise that young Mr. Malfoy was making himself scarce, to the point where Severus hadn't seen him at all for at least two days. Unsettling. Who knew what the whelp was planning? Better to have him out in the open, to keep an eye on him. It was in that vein that he cornered Margaret ("Mag. Not Meg, not Maggie, not goddamn Peggy. Just Mag!") Addams, a third-year student and the only other Slytherin spending the Christmas break at school. "Miss Addams," he said, trying as usual not to let her multicolored hair and rather excessive jewelry annoy him; it only encouraged her. "Have you seen Mr. Malfoy about in the past day or two?" "What, he's not off with his parents? He had plenty to say about that trip they were taking to Easter Island." "Apparently they decided to go without him." "Aww, can't they stand him either?" That's right, Mag Addams wasn't part of Draco's in-group. He ought to keep better track of such things, within his own house at the very least. Still, standards of respect had to be maintained. He flicked his index finger against the girl's collarbone. "Manners, Miss Addams. Draco Malfoy is older than you, and a fellow Slytherin." "Draco Malfoy is an annoying stuck-up little bastard. If he's not around it's probably because finally he got his head stuck so far up his ass that he disappeared." She wrinkled her nose. "That, or the little skank's off spanking the monkey to his own reflection." "Do try to get your mouth out of the gutter," he sighed, rolling his eyes. "And do something about your hair." She twitched her wand. "Inficio Saeta!" The unruly mass of blue, rose, and violet shimmered into an unruly mass of green and silver. "There!" She smiled broadly. "Slytherin house colors. Even you can't object to that!" She scampered off, giggling. Nervy little bitch. He wondered if anyone had ever told her that Inficio Saeta was generally used as a minor curse. So Draco Malfoy had been lying low. Knowing he would regret it (in fact, he already did), he made for the boy's room. Seething, he knocked on the Draco's door. Doubtless, this was a vile scheme of some sort. The lad would be wearing (if anything) something scanty, speak to him in that challenging bratty-sexy manner of his, and then he'd.... Oh, my. That train of thought got way too interesting too fast. No answer. He knocked again. No answer. He pushed the door open. The room was in about the state of disarray he'd expected. Draco was indeed reclining on the bed, curtains thrown back...but instead of some scandalous shred of silk, he wore a ratty old dressing gown, faded to a greyish non-color. His hair was unwashed, and he was staring fixedly at a photograph on the bed next to him. "Oh, just walk in, why don't you," he said without looking up. "That's rich, coming from you," Snape observed. "Leave me alone." No venom, no pouting. Just flat, almost bleak. "Mr. Malfoy," Snape said, sitting on the edge of the bed, "Vexing as you may be, you are still my responsibility. Do you care to tell me why you've elected not to grace us with the dubious joy of your presence?" He snatched up the photo, curious to see who or what Malfoy was mooning over. Draco gave a choked gasp. "Please, that's my only photo of Livilla-" Livilla? Where had he heard that name? The girl in the photograph was perhaps twelve, painfully thin, and shabbily dressed. As he watched, photo-Livilla smiled sweetly but warily, and tightened her arms across her narrow chest. Her eyes were sad and no little bit frightened. "A bit young for you, isn't she? Let her grow up a little." Ok, *that* was the wrong thing to say. Draco grabbed the picture back. "She's my sister," he shouted, "And she's not going to grow up, ever!" He curled into a ball, his back to Snape. Oh. Livilla *Malfoy*. Now he knew why the name sounded familiar. Because the Malfoys *had* had a daughter. She'd have been, oh, about the same age as Percy Weasley? Close, anyway. But she'd died. Something about a boating accident, wasn't it? It had happened the summer before she would have started at Hogwarts. Only, he'd never actually heard that she'd been accepted at Hogwarts. Oh. He put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Draco?" "I used to have more pictures, but I had to keep them hidden." That same lifeless monotone. "Whenever he found one, he'd make me tear it up. Made me say with him, Livilla wasn't worthy, could never be worthy. I could be. Could be a worthy son to him. Didn't I want to be a worthy son? This is the last picture. The one he didn't find. Please don't tell him. I just want one picture. Can I still be worthy if I keep one picture?" Something in Snape's chest was too tight. It hurt to breathe. "Why didn't your parents take you to Easter Island with them, Draco?" "My grades..." he whispered, "I didn't work hard enough. Wasn't good enough. Wasn't *worthy* of going on vacation with them." "Oh, Draco..." He shifted his hand from the boy's shoulder to the back of his neck. The boy started to sob, ugly strangled sounds he couldn't suppress. "We were on the boat and Father sent me to the cabin for sweets," his voice was high-pitched from tension, and seemed to belong to someone much younger. He spoke softly and rapidly. "I was in the cabin but I heard them. Father said Livilla this is your final chance to prove yourself. Then I heard a water noise and then I didn't hear anything for a long time and I came out on the deck and said where's Livilla and Father said Livilla's gone Livilla's in the water and I figured I could find her in the water and I grabbed Father's wand and shook it. I called her and she came up out of the water only she wasn't moving her eyes were open but she wasn't moving her face was a funny color there was mud in her hair and water came out of her mouth and she was dead she was dead but he only looked at me and said at least I have a proper son." He'd gotten louder and more shrill, and his voice broke on the last word. He was crying without restraint now. Snape put an arm around him, awkwardly, and was extremely discomfited when the boy flung his arms about his waist and started sobbing into his lap. "Here," Snape said, grabbing for his handkerchief, "You're getting snot all over my robes." Draco blew his nose vigorously, then laid his head back down, sobbing quietly. Snape patted his back uncertainly. The weeping boy shuddering in his lap was beginning to excite him in a manner that he didn't feel entirely comfortable with. Damn. Damn and damn again. Draco had noticed his increasing arousal, and had reached for the fastenings of his trousers. Snape grabbed him roughly by the shoulders. The boy looked up at him in surprise. His face was blotchy, eyes red-rimmed and still leaking tears. His distress only made him more enchanting. "Draco, what are you doing?" It came out more harshly than he'd intended. Draco's eyes were bewildered and hurt. "Don't you want it? Don't you want me? It's all I'm good for, can't you leave me this one thing?" Oh, hell. No reasoning with the boy in this state. And Snape doubted he could motivate himself to come up with a convincing argument. Reaching for him, Draco made little mewling noises.. He gave up, stroking Draco's hair. And the little demon was good. He lapped along the length of Snape's prick, nipping lightly, swirled his tongue around the tip, bobbed his head down until the length nestled in his throat, pulled back to lap and slurp at his balls, all the while clutching at his thighs like a lifeline. Taking the head in his mouth again, he writhed his tongue with a feverish intensity, applying more suction than Snape would have thought possible. His grip on the Draco's shoulders tightened, and his hips bucked uncontrollably. At this, Draco only redoubled his efforts, gulping spasmodically as he struggled to get the length of Snape's cock into his throat. Snape tried to pull away. "Draco, I... I'm about to..." Draco only clutched him with fiercer intensity, holding Snape tight as his cock pulsed, sucking down every drop as he came. Snape lay back, gasping for breath. Draco pressed his cheek against Snape's thigh, making small contented noises. When Snape made as if to get up, Draco tugged at him. "Please don't go...." So he stayed, with Draco's head resting on his legs, arms wrapped around him. And in the dim room, he could almost believe he didn't see the faint silver shadow, the young girl with wet hair and sad eyes, holding one finger across her lips. |