De amore et bello

De Amore Et Bello

Chapter 3

🍺⚡💥

Previously on De Amore Et Bello:

Ten minutes later, Slughorn is calling for the class to end, telling them to put a sample of their potion into a phial for him to review, which everyone does. Remus’s amortentia is a darker pink than normal, which he looks stumped and disappointed by. Peter’s is a pale lavender, just one step away from finishing and James is a light yellow colour. Sirius, despite his potions mishap, has also got a pale lavender like Peter, having able to save some of his potion and fix it from there. Sighing, Harry grabs his bag and exits the classroom with Draco, Fred, and George by his side.

“I have a healing class with Pomfrey in the Healing Wing.” Draco says, nodding to them when they part, heading up the stairs. Harry makes his way to the library, the twins following after him.

“You two have a free period?” Harry glances at them. Fred nods but George shakes his head.

“I’ve got Alchemy in like … half an hour?” George pauses before nodding. Harry hums softly, taking a seat at one of the tables in the library, glancing at the twins once before looking at the table top, sighing once more.

“Guys … I think I might be in love with Sirius.”

🍺⚡💥

Monday, September 2^nd, 1977.

“Guys … I think I might be in love with Sirius.”

“We know.” Fred says.

George nods at the same time. “You definitely are.” Harry splutters, faltering in his action of taking his books out of his bag, staring in bafflement at the duo. George gives him a deadpan look. “No offense, Harry, but no one lights up and looks at a man that way like you did with Sirius during your fifth year summer if you weren't half way in love with them already—” Harry goes bright red, erecting a privacy spell around them with a hiss, blush darkening further when Fred continues for his twin.

“—yeah and not to mention how long you stayed in contact. Why you were practically attached to the hip and no offense to Sirius, but my man was not at all subtle. He might not of known it, but you don’t stare at your godson that way either.”

“Besides Sirius didn’t seem to fussed or like he minded.” George finishes, clicking his tongue and fussing the book out of Harry’s slack hands, making a noise as he opens the book. “Books on Unspeakable time turner? But I thought the hat said there was no going back … and what was the rest?” George implies, glancing Harry’s way. It’s barely the size of Harry’s finger width and it’s even tinier compared to the twins due to how tall they are, so Harry doesn’t think they’re going to get much out of it, but he wanted to look just in case.

“Eriovixia said … hm, how did he put it? Oh, yes, ‘unspeakable time turners don’t just stick to anyone—they stick to people who they think is an important person in history, someone who shapes the very foundations of the past and future. Maybe it was fate, maybe not. But I know one thing—now that you’re here, there’s no going back. You’ve changed way too much just by going to McGonagall.’ And then he said, ‘as soon as you arrived here, Mr Potter, your timeline ceased to exist. I’m sorry, but there’s no going back, not anymore.’” Harry quotes, staring as the twins exchange a glance before their faces shift into a thoughtful expression. It’s kind of creepy how in sync they are.

“So why are you still looking?”

“Dunno.” Harry shrugs a little. “I guess it just interests me. Bit of a mystery, I suppose.” Harry shrugs a little, squirming uncomfortably. The twins eye him for a moment before both trade another look and decide to give up on the conversation and start talking about transfiguration with the Ravenclaw’s whilst Harry has History of Magic. Harry makes some comments, but he’s distracted by his reading and then beginning on the potions essay Slughorn had instructed them just before they left.

Some were already out the door and halfway down the corridor before he thought to shout. Poor sods.

Snorting, Harry doubles down and finds the twins murmuring comforting, lulling into what he knows is a false sense of security. He knows now that Hogwarts has been anything but safe. It just took him seven years there and months of time away. How naïve he was.

How pathetic.

🍺⚡💥

Draco rushes through the throng of people walking slowly through the corridor, hastily apologising to someone over his shoulder when he accidently cuffs them with his shoulder and scowling when he gets an insult to his house instead. He takes the steps two at a time, arriving at the Healing Wing out of breath and with a burn in his side, taking time to regain himself before he shoves the double doors open and walks inside.

Pomfrey is standing over a student, muttering something as she heals a rather large gash. Draco tilts his head as the male thanks Pomfrey before strutting out of the Wing, sending a glance to Draco’s tie, and grumbling something beneath his breath before he shoulder checks Draco. The blonde stumbles back, being steadied by another hand that steps up beside him. There’s another curse that sounds much more deeper with the accent of Scottish driving his tongue, likely the boys gotten tripped up by whoever had caught Draco.

There’s a lower chuckle before the male steps up beside Draco and completely waltzes past him, heading over to Pomfrey. She sights him, eyebrow ticking upwards. “Mr Black! You’re not a sixth or seventh year.”

“But I’m ahead of my studies. Slughorn suggested I join this class. He said he posted a note over to you and you agreed.” Regulus’s eyebrow arches back at her. Lips thinning, she blunders into her office, the sound of ruffled papers echoing through the air before she heads back inside, glasses perched on her nose as she reads through Slughorn’s note.

“Blasted man. Always too lazy to go anywhere and talk to someone in person.” Pomfrey shakes her head before aiming a smile Regulus’s way. “Well, Mr Black, welcome to Healing Arts.” She heads over to the cabinet, banishing the note as she goes before tugging out some potions and setting them on a configured table that’s long and out of the way of the beds, some having to be levitated further down the room for space. Humming to herself as she takes them out of the box, laying them down in a certain order before placing the box back in the cabinet, going rooting through it to tug out what look like a fake body, carrying it over and laying it on the table.

Tilting her head, she grumbles to herself and heads back to the cabinet, poking her head inside and coming up with another box and placing what looks to be pastes and balms on the table next to the potion. Hesitating, she pushes them further up and away from the other phials and places the box back where it was. Nodding to herself, she turns to face the two Slytherin’s.

“Take a seat, Mr Black … Mr—?”

“Altair. Draco Altair.” Draco introduces himself, heading over to the table and seating himself. Regulus seats himself one chair to the left on the other side of the table. One more to the right and he would’ve been sitting opposite Draco. The blonde folds his fingers as Regulus glances at him before focusing on Draco fully, seeming to steel himself.

“Altair … haven’t heard of that family before.” He muses.

Draco smirks back, seeming seconds away from baring his teeth. “Black … I’ve heard all about that family.” Draco says back, satisfaction boiling through him when Regulus’s pureblood mask drops for a solid second in shock then rage before he covers it up smoothly like there was nothing there. Draco’s eyebrows rise. His mother had always said that Regulus wore his heart on his sleeve for the whole world to see but he was good with his mask, and he was good with his emotions. Had his mother been wrong?

Or was it due to Sirius’s abandonment that’d made him force the façade on quicker due to now being the actual heir and not the spare?

Draco was betting on the second. With Orion being poisoned and Walburga having full reign, Grimmauld Place was bound to be a nightmare to live in, a personal brand of hell Draco knew his own house was after the Dark Lord stayed there in sixth year. His hands, underneath the table, clamp around his left forearm, where his branding was before the Dark Lord had perished and Harry had managed to find a way to rid it, to hiss it out of his skin.

More people drift into the Healing Wing, a mixture of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw’s. Finally when the time of lessons beginning is coming closer, the doors open and Lily Evans hurries in, taking the seat to the right of Regulus, seating herself in the seat directly in front of Draco. She places her bag on the floor and looks up, meeting his eyes, scowl lining her face.

Pomfrey starts to speak before she can try to, introducing herself and just what the course inclines. After a full half an hour of going through showing them what to do and how to do it, she charms the life size body into multiple, placing them on the beds as she instructs them to practice the healing spells she’d shown them. Draco heads to the second to last bed and places his bag on the night stand, glancing up when Regulus waltzes past him, setting his bag down and nudging it underneath the last bed to the wall.

Someone clears her throat behind him and he stifles a groan as he turns and sees Lily Evans glaring slightly at him.

“You know, friendships between Gryffindor and Slytherin’s never last.” She says, starting to spell to heal a cut on the body, one that looks very realistic. Draco hums a little, seeing out of the corner of his eye that Regulus is eavesdropping on their conversation. He’s doing a good job at pretending he’s not but Draco had done lots of eavesdropping during his time at Hogwarts; he knew what it looked like.

“And you’re an expert in lion and snake friendships since when?” Draco replies.

Lily huffs. “Because I have lived through it. You think you know someone, and you don’t. I was friends with Sev—erus since I was nine years old, and I thought I did and then all of a sudden I didn’t. Then he called me a mudblood.”

“And why did you become friends with him? How?”

Lily looks surprised then wary at the sudden question. “I was in the park, on the swings and Severus saw me jump off. He came over to me and said I was a witch—I thought he was being mean and told him to go away but then he explained.” She shrugs a little, a little like Harry does when he’s uncomfortable with memories. Unlike with Harry where he would stop and soothe him, distracting him, he focuses and pries on the subject with painful disinterest for her feelings.

“So you only started to be friends with him when he introduced you with magic then?” Lily stares up at him with wide, unblinking green eyes. Regulus falters and then picks up his healing, not looking at them as a frown comes to his face.

“I mean … I’d noticed him but—no, no, it had nothing to do with magic!”

“So, you noticed him but didn’t approach him.” Draco tilts his head. “Yeah, great start to a friendship. You got something from it, knowledge of magic and he got … what exactly? Your loving and close friendship with practically no loyalty when he introduced you to who you are.” Draco stresses, eyes widening a little in faux incredulousness. Lily splutters, taking a physical step back.

“He didn’t—didn’t introduced me to who I am. I know—I knew who I was!” She exclaims before he tones lowers when Pomfrey glances up from her report to stare at them with intense eyes. Eventually she looks back down once more.

“You knew you were a witch then?”

“Well, I—no. No, I didn’t. But that has nothing to do with who I am—”

“Do you even know what mudblood bloody means, woman?” Draco snaps frustrated at her dismissal to her birthright, something she took for granted so easily. Lily blinks; actually caught off guard.

“It’s a foul word.” She hisses back, eyes alight with viciousness. “It’s what purebloods call muggleborns—”

“That come into our world and force their ideals onto us. You were born a witch, Evans, not a muggle. So, fucking act like one. Better yourself, so we don’t fucking have to teach you to. It’s not about blood despite the word blood in it, it’s to do with your attitude. You act so much like a muggle, someone so different from what you truly are, it muddies your own personality, your own ideals, your own self. You muddle and dirty who you are because someone who’s dirty is never properly clean, never properly pure to us. You aren’t pure and wanna’ know why?” Lily’s jaw clenches, muscle ticking furiously. “Because you still try to change our ways when your so could muggles—the ones you love and cherish so much—they hunted and burned us for fucking sport because they fucking could. We still haven’t forgotten, Evans. Our lifetimes are much, much longer than muggles. We don’t forget and we sure as hell don’t forgive something so barbarous.”

Lily makes a noise of frustration. “That was hundreds of years ago! How are you still mad?”

“Tt.” Regulus tuts, turning to face her. “Magickal children are special, Evans, treasured. And want to know what was the most common ages burnings and drownings on witches and wizards? Young children, babies and toddlers who’d done accidental magic, something that is celebrated in our world is a sign of the devil in others, of possessions.” Here, he scoffs. “Trust me, Evans, your precious muggles would know when we’re being possessed. And the other people? Pregnant witches and in some cases, even pregnant wizards as rare and as miraculized as they were. Your kind killed children. That would’ve meant war now.”

“But it’s not now. It’s in the past. They wouldn’t do it now.”

“Wouldn’t they?” Draco asks, eyebrow ticking up. “If it comes to a war, Evans, what side will you pick?”

Lily doesn’t say anything, just spins around and flips her flaming red hair over her shoulder as she gets to work. Draco huffs a frustrated sound before glancing up and giving a singular nod to Regulus, who replies in kind before he turns back to his work.

Maybe the defending of their people had put Regulus Black in his good graces. He doesn’t want a Black as an enemy—he knows that from experience and the fact that he is one; it’d go against his own blood. A civil war if you were. Sighing, Draco tries to focus and only ends up daydreaming about a dark haired, dark eyed Slytherin staring up at him as if he held all the stars in his hand and could grant him eternal happiness.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he revels in the moment before he’s shocked back into the present by someone dropping something. Turning, he gets back into doing what he was doing previously and gets sucked into healing. The background fades away and his magic sings.

🍺⚡💥

George Weasley was late.

He’d spent too long in the library conversing with his twin, sneaking glances at Harry at odd points. They’d given up on studying for their classes as they’d only attended Potions and instead took to a piece of parchment, scribbling ways on which to force Sirius and Harry together. Back in Hogwarts, the first time, in their time line, they were self-named as the matchmakers of their year—the regular day Cupid. Most of their year were paired off together and to their knowledge, many were still going on strong.

Sirius and Harry had potential. They both knew this. Although Sirius didn’t possess the knowledge of who Harry was now—which was a good thing as they no longer had over two decades of age between them, it was easy to tell that the two would be a good match. Harry would temper Sirius’s rash actions, cool down his temper and stop him when he went too far with a prank. Sirius on the other hand would teach Harry when to let go and have fun, that he didn’t have to bow down to someone’s whim to save the world, that he could save himself instead.

After all, despite Sirius running away and Walburga ‘disowning’ him, Sirius was first and foremost a Black. Most of the time, they had superb self-preservation instincts. (Regulus and Sirius not withstanding in the future).

They knew that with the recent incident in the hallway, Harry wasn’t too taken to interacting with the Grimm animagus in public nor in the privacy of their own dorms. And the marauders, they were totally out.

(“Remus … what about Remus?”

“What about him?” George asked.

Fred peeked at Harry, who was stuck in his own world reading. He leant forward, whispering, just to be safe. “Where Remus goes, Sirius is sure to follow. James and Sirius may have been the closest, but Sirius was always much more protective over Remus due to his insecurities and his furry problem. We get Remus to hang out with Harry and Sirius is bound to follow. It’s perfect.” Fred grins excitedly.

“I agree, dear Gred. Operation Padry.”

“Padry?”

George scoffs, elbowing him in the side and snickering at Fred’s grunt and whine. “Like you could do any better, brother of mine.”

“Give me two hours and I’ll come up with a better name.”

George smirks. “Alright. Ten galleons to me if you don’t, ten to you if you do.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Forge.”)

So, with the gossiping, they’d lost track of time and George was now hastening to get to his Alchemy class. He rounds a corner and the only warning of him falling is the low swoop in his stomach, warning him. He registers the feeling of someone smaller and lighter against his chest and tries to spin to take the brunt of the fall. Gasping, breath punched out of him, he groans a little, lifting his head and staring into grey eyes, smirking a little.

“Why hello there.” George croons slyly. The male blushes, standing, brushing his robe of dirt. George pulls himself into a sitting position to watch as the male fixes his robes and tie, then his hair, tucking the white strands beneath his ear. George blinks before narrowing his eyes.

He’s staring at a Malfoy. But as far as he’s aware Xenophilius was Lucius’s only brother, the male already graduated the year before but engaged to Pandora Lovegood. Xenophilius had a falling out with his mother where she cast him out of the family and when he ended up marrying Pandora, he took on her name and had little Luna Lovegood in the year 1981. But here, this boy is staring at him, eyes narrowed, white eyebrow raising as he cocks his hips.

“Are you just going to keep staring at me or are you going to get up off the floor?” The male asks. Unlike Lucius and Xenophilius, who’s features are sharp, strong, and masculine, this boy has softer features, warmer eyes, and almost androgynous features.

“I’m good. The view is beautiful from down here.” George replies immediately, delighting in the flush that spreads across the boys delight cheekbones.

“You—” He stops, gaining his wits once more. “You. Who are you?”

“George, at your service.”

“Your second name?” The boy’s eyebrow arches.

George clucks his tongue. “My, my, mister mysterious, you’re awfully demanding for someone who hasn’t introduced themselves yet.”

“I …” The boy blinks. “My name’s Cyrus. Cyrus Malfoy.” Cyrus stares for a moment longer before his head tilts to the side and his gaze wanders George’s tie, eyes widening when he sees the Slytherin tie. He probably thought he was apart of Gryffindor, what with the hair and the brazen attitude. George’s eyes go to the Ravenclaw tie, and he raises his eyebrows back in challenge. Cyrus clears his throat. “You should get off the floor. It’s dirty. And you’re going to be late if you have class.”

With that, Cyrus turns and glides away. George isn’t ashamed to admit he stared at the boys ass and hips as he turned the corner. A smirk spreads along his face as he stands and gets to his feet.

Yes, this is going to be a good year, George thinks, a very good year indeed.

Now, all he had to do was ask Draco about this mysterious Malfoy that’d randomly popped up and was sinfully good looking.

🍺⚡💥

Harry ducks his head as he passes the marauders going in the opposite direction, towards the library, laughing loudly and hooting. Passerby’s give them a range of different looks; some roll their eyes; some look envious at the close relationship between the four and how there’s never a dull moment and some look disgusted at the behaviours being shown. They don’t even notice him but with the realisation of his feelings towards the Grimm animagus, Harry’s not sure what to do with himself nor how to act in front of the male.

It was easy back in his previous time. There was no one to get attached to, no one to have such a close relationship with, to be intimate with. Sirius was dead and gone and with the immediate shift after he died, the distraction of the upcoming war bearing down on him, Harry had barely any time to grieve, let alone sort through his feelings to see that they’re very different to what he felt towards Remus. Not even Cho had made him feel like what he felt with Sirius. Cho walking past made him clammer and stutter, adrenaline pumping through him when she locked eyes with him and smiled. But with Sirius, it’s warmth running through his veins, butterflies fluttering in his stomach when their skin brushed, eyes lighting up when the man walks into the room, all attention focused on the one individual.

He supposes he should’ve realised, should’ve expected something like this to happen. What Potter luck, falling for someone so unattainable that it’d go unrequited all his life. Sirius was his godfather, someone that was supposed to be a parental figure in his life but him being in Azkaban had removed that image permanently from his mind.

Sighing, he tells the Fat Lady the password and heads up to his dorm, shifting a little when he falls onto his four-poster bed, reaching up to tug the covers shut, kicking his shoes off, lying back onto his cover with another sigh. Rolling onto his side, he stares at the red curtain, mulling over his feelings.

Sirius of his time had always had a roguish sort of attractiveness that Harry had appreciated but the Sirius of this time seemed to perfect it. With the decade in Azkaban, it’d left a physical and mental toll on the eldest Black brother. His hair had thinned and become dry, his eyes sunken and bones gaunt against his skin. Even when he’d regained weight, regained his confidence, he was never going to be fully healthy again, fully there. The Sirius of now, there was a fire in him, a light to him that made Harry burn.

God, his smirk. The way his hair fell over his jaw, the waves glossy and thick, his long slender fingers brushing it back behind his ear. He’d tried not to stare at dinner the night of the Welcoming Feast and in the potions lab when the boys hair would fall forward as he leant to peer into his potion, creating a soft curtain, like a halo around his head. Not to mention, Sirius knew what he had, knew how to make it work, knew how to use what he had.

Grumbling softly to himself, he shifts once more, glancing down at the noticeable tenting of his trousers. He grabs the pillow beneath his head and yanks it in front of him before pressing it to his face and releasing a scream of frustration. He doesn’t want to think about Sirius, yet his body is betraying him and giving him different ideas. Turning around, only to abort that movement and sit up, yanking his trousers off, then his boxers, glaring down at the body part that’s causing him problem.

“Can’t you just bloody behave?” Harry grumbles, leaning back, pillowed against the covers as his hand encloses around himself. Muffling a moan, Harry gets onto his knees, turning around, pressing his face back into his pillow to stop sounds escaping his mouth. He has no idea where his wand is and is too impatient to look. It’s easy to imagine he’s in the same position for a different reason and outcome when the gliding of his fingers along his erection causes tingles and sparkles to light a pathway through his stomach.

He can almost feel the hand running down his back, forcing it down in the dip beneath his spine, pushing until his back is arched taut. His hand pumps faster, grunts and moans being captured by the pillow. The sparks of desire tighten in his abdomen, the only warning before he comes, other hand snapping out to grasp at the head board, riding the aftershocks of pleasure.

Eventually, when the whitening of his vision has faded and his mind is clearer, he sits back onto his calves, staring down at the mess with flushed cheeks. Merlin and Morgana, he’d imagined Sirius bloody Black pushing him until his ass was in the air, naked to the world. He’d imagined Sirius’s hands on him, causing his pleasure.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he searches through his bed with his hand, patting it down before grabbing his wand and clearing the mess. Then he tugs on his boxers before collapsing forward, releasing another scream of frustration before turning onto his side.

He has a problem. A huge fucking problem.

🍺⚡💥

The new transfer student is suspicious, is what’s running through Severus’s mind when he exits the Potion’s lab and heads further into the dungeon, frowning to himself. To be interested in him specifically when there are other, much more desirable options?

No, the blonde Slytherin must’ve had ulterior motives to have been interested in him. It couldn’t have been anything to do with Potions, the blonde was adequate enough in it; helping Vasaio was proof enough of that whilst maintaining a good enough potion himself. So, what was it?

The thought that maybe he was desirable enough to Draco was nowhere in his mind.

Yawning, for he hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, too busy mulling over the serious decision that’d been offered to him during the holidays—Lucius had owled him and said that the Dark Lord was interested in him specifically as he had heard of a talented half-blood potioneer that was looking to be the youngest Potions Master in centuries. He’d have to decide whether he wanted to take the mark by the end of the October half-term or if he wanted to decline the offer and continue on with his education. In the beginning, it’d been an iron-clad ‘no’ and then things had ended up spiralling in fifth year and the ‘no’ he’d given didn’t seem so strong anymore.

Turning the corner, he chokes on a gasp when a hand encloses around the back of his robes, tugging him into an alcove. At first he thinks it’s the marauders coming to get revenge on him for what transpired in the potions hallway and classroom. It wouldn’t have been the first time. His hand goes to his wand, tightening before he jabs it forward into the person’s gut, hearing them let out a sound of pain.

Severus stops abruptly. That hadn’t been one of the marauders. Turning his face, he squints through the dark, using what little light he had to try and see the male’s face. Then he recognises him. “Rosier? What the hell?” Severus shoves him back, adjusting his bag, glaring at the Slytherin as he takes a step back, putting more distance between them. Severus puts a hand to his chest, willing his rabbiting heartbeat to slow down.

“Snape.” Rosier returns, oddly serious. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“What am I doing? What the hell about you?” Severus hisses back, wondering what on earth is going on. Rosier’s eyes glint in the darkness that the dungeon’s provide. Someone passes by the alcove, and they stay silent until they’ve passed. Then Severus continues, knowing that it has something to do with the Gryffindor that’d willingly defended him in the corridor when the hallway had seemed to echo with the classes cruel laughter. “Dragging me into an alcove like a suspicious, paranoid, crazy person. Do you not think people are going to wonder if they saw?”

Rosier blanched physically. “They won’t.” He muttered, not sounding at all reassured. “Whatever, anyways, Snape, you need to watch yourself. Altair is friends with a Gryffindor, Vasaio and with that comes Dumbledore’s light pawns. They’re indebted to him, especially after what happened with their ancestors and the debts between them.”

“What the bloody hell are you talking about, Rosier?” Severus demanded, glaring darkly at the Slytherin.

“I’m saying,” Rosier says, scathing, slightly exasperatedly back before he sighs through his nose and wets his lips, “that people are not as they seem. Just … be careful with your allies, especially those in Gryffindor. Many are loyal to Dumbledore or indebted. If Vasaio is friends with Potter or he becomes friends with them then he could owe Dumbledore a debt too. Potter’s parents owe Dumbledore a debt and Snape, you don’t want to owe Dumbledore. He’s a manipulative bastard.” Severus blinked a little before humming in thought.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good.” Rosier returns, nostrils flaring as someone passes by the alcove once more. “You’re not a bad wizard.” Rosier pressed his cloak tighter around himself, slipping out of the alcove, silence as a mouse. “It would be a shame to see such talent wasted.” Severus stays in place for a long moment before he chokes out a breathless laugh before he heads towards the Slytherin common room.

He has much to think about.