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The Wages of Going On	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 43959 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 7
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

Chapter List
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Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Thirty-Four—Freedom
            “I can scarcely believe it.”
            Hermione’s voice was full of wonder instead of real doubt, though, which meant Harry could lean back and grin at her. His mug was full of Firewhisky, his stomach of a good dinner that Molly had cooked in celebration of his announcement. “I’m not going to say it was easy, because in the end, what with brewing the potion and surviving the tortures and kidnappings that we did and all the rest, it wasn’t easy. But the end result is worth it.”
            Hermione nodded and smiled at him. She sat across the kitchen table from him, next to Ron. The other Weasleys had gone outside already, for the display of George’s fireworks that was the real purpose of the evening. But Molly had pressed a hand down on Harry’s shoulder first, and murmured how happy she was, and promised to bake him a special cake to commemorate the occasion. Harry was a little afraid of how she was going to decorate it.
            “Does this mean that you won’t ever have to deal with the pair of them again?” Ron sounded hopeful as he studied Harry over the lip of the mug. “Pair of gits. They couldn’t leave well enough alone in the first place.”
            Harry snorted and shook his head. “I doubt it. I’ll have to talk with them about a few other things. And don’t call them gits,” he added, if belatedly. “They—they weren’t so bad, in the end.”
            Ron stared at him, opened his mouth, and then shut it again and shook his head. “I can’t even say it, mate,” he said, and saluted Harry gravely with his mug. “Better you than me. Good for you if you really feel that way, but I remember a time when I think you would have asked us to curse you if you’d ever expressed a similar sentiment.”
            Harry turned to Hermione instead of answering. He hoped that she would understand, where no one else did.
            From her smile, and half-frown at Ron, it seemed she did. “You shared a bond that let you see into each other’s thoughts,” she said. “That can’t be easy to give up, even if it came from a horrible thing.”
            Harry nodded. “That’s it exactly. I keep reaching out with my thoughts like they’re still there, trying to judge how far away they are and what they’re thinking.” He felt his mind move in the right kind of shudder, rippling inside his skull, and snorted. “There it goes again.”
            “Do you think they’re experiencing the same thing?” Hermione looked interested in a scholarly way.
            “I have no idea,” Harry told her. “Really no idea, now. But you can owl them and ask them, if you like.”
            Hermione’s face went pink. “No, that’s all right,” she said, and poked Ron in the side with her elbow to stop his snickering. “I can live without knowing. I just think it was fascinating that a potion managed to part the bonds between you after all, without all the rituals that the books said would be necessary.”
            “This bond was unique,” said Harry, thinking again of Draco and Severus and how much he had hated them, and what had happened to form the bond. That particular thing wasn’t something he liked thinking about, but he could see the necessity of his bargain again, and he was willing to do it, now. “Maybe that means that the way we broke it had to be unique, too.”
            “I’d still like to know more about the brewing process, to see if I might be able to use something like it to break the bonds that hold house-elves…”
            Hermione trailed off as Ron took her hand. “Why don’t you owl Snape about that?” Ron suggested. “He’d probably be willing to share the recipe, and I don’t think that Harry absorbed enough of it while he was in the middle of making it.”
            Hermione began to explain why everyone should pay attention to any and all useful knowledge at all times, but Harry saw Ron wink at him, and knew that his best mate was doing this to enable him to escape some of Hermione’s awkward questions. Harry smiled back at him and left the room while Hermione was still trying to convince Ron in an argument she would never win.
            Maybe she would owl Severus, and maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe Severus would be willing to share some of the secrets of the potion with her, and maybe he wouldn’t. At the moment, it didn’t matter to Harry.
            He went outside, to watch fireworks raining down, shining showers of blue sparks and red ones and green ones. His chest moved with easy breaths, and he could lean on the side of the Burrow and enjoy the show and matter to no one but himself. He could retain, in his head, all the thoughts he wanted.
            The night air had never tasted so sweet.
*
            “You have slept in disgustingly late.”
            Draco shrugged at Severus and dropped into place on the other side of the table. He didn’t bother mentioning that, if he was up disgustingly late, Severus was also very late in sitting down to breakfast. “Toast,” he said to Mizzy, the house-elf who appeared to serve him. When Mizzy frowned at what probably sounded like a scant breakfast, Draco added, “A pile as tall as my head, and drizzled with butter and marmalade.”
            Mizzy nodded in approval and disappeared. Severus was making yet another twisted face when Draco looked across the table at him. “Butter and marmalade both at once?” Severus asked, sitting back with his cup of tea. On his plate, Draco noticed, different sorts of crumbs lay separated from each other, as if Severus had cast charms that set up invisible barriers between them.
            “Yes,” said Draco. “And I’m probably going to chomp my way through most of them and send bits of food flying. I might even chew with my mouth open. Just so you know.”
            Severus applied himself to a study of what looked like a thick black book from the Manor’s library. Draco waited for his food to come before he leaned forwards to study the title. That was in purple-embossed, flaking letters that were hard to read both because of their color and their age.
            “The Art of Bonds?” Draco shook his head, and leaned back, swallowing another delicious mouthful of mixed butter and marmalade. “What do you need that for? Or are you trying to find out why the potion worked?” Sometimes Severus created experimental potions knowing how the ingredients would work together, but then he had to go back afterwards and reason out why his modifications interacted that way.
            “Partially that,” Severus said. “And partially, I am trying to figure out whether the bond will cause us any trouble now that it is gone.”
            “Gone and trouble don’t usually coexist,” Draco pointed out, and dunked a piece of his toast in a swimming sea of yellow and orange when Severus leaned around the book to glare at him. Severus shuddered and retreated from sight again.
            “That does not apply to Potter,” Severus said, and turned a page. “He can be gone from the Manor and yet cause us all sort of trouble, as he amply proved during the time of the bond.”
            “But he’s not trouble right now,” Draco responded, automatically, before he noticed what else was wrong about Severus’s response, the more wrong thing. He frowned at Severus. “You promised that you would call him Harry.”
            Someone less used to Severus would not have seen the pause in the flick of his finger before he turned the page. “Did I? Yes, perhaps I did,” Severus said, and went back to gazing at the book. Draco knew, from the motion of his eyes, that he wasn’t reading.
            “He’s not going to be pleased if he comes back in three days and finds out that you’re calling him Potter,” Draco pointed out, and ate another bit of toast. He sighed. The warmth and the sweetness was enough to distract him even from his argument with Severus. “I just hope he realizes I’m still willing to call him Harry.”
            Severus laid down the book and gave Draco his full attention. Draco swallowed even though there was nothing in his mouth. Sometimes, when he did have Severus focusing on him, it became difficult to remember why he had wanted to have it.
            “This nonsense and chatter about first names was important when we were bondmates and had to cooperate against our enemies,” Severus whispered. “It is less than a child’s toy now. It is a distraction. Why do you persist in it?”
            Draco knew Severus well enough to think of one tactic that would work. He forced himself to lean back and shrug casually, stretching out as though this chair was his bed. “All right. Forget I said anything. Just imagine that when he comes back, he’s calling you Snape, the way he always did.”
            Severus frowned at the wall. Draco began to eat once more, although he kept an uneasy eye on Severus. It was still possible that Severus would decide to blame the wrong person, Draco, for his mood at the moment, instead of the right person, himself.
            “That is a distraction, as well,” Severus murmured. “Yes, perhaps I would feel dismayed, but that is nothing but a distraction.”
            “Right,” Draco told his toast. “Like I said, forget I said anything.”
            Severus didn’t, though. He sat there, drumming his fingers on the table, and setting up a corresponding ripple in Draco’s nerves. Draco breathed shallowly, realized what he was doing, and forced himself to breathe deeply and ignore Severus. This was not the middle of the war, this was not the Dark Lord’s inner circle, where a single wrong word could cost them everything. Severus was his friend, despite all appearances to the contrary. Draco finished his plate of toast and called for one of kippers.
            The house-elf had barely brought it when Severus asked abruptly, “You think that he would be hurt?”
            Draco eyed Severus. “Harry?” he asked, just to make sure that they were talking about who he thought they were talking about. When Severus made a sharp, sideways motion with one hand, he nodded. “Yes, he would be. Or he might just decide that he should retreat into calling us both by our last names because we didn’t think enough of him to continue treating him that way.”
            “He would probably spare you the condescension.”
            Draco shrugged. “I would go on calling him by his first name. That invokes an equal relationship between him and me. I don’t know that he would ever feel comfortable talking to you like you were an equal, but if he did, he would probably go with your last name if you were using his.”
            Severus retreated into silence again, and stayed that way for the rest of the breakfast. Draco said nothing, either. He had already said everything that he could say. And perhaps it wasn’t worth persuading Severus on the matter. Draco could hardly feel Harry’s anger or frustration, now, if he did get angry or frustrated by what Severus was calling him. He might hide his emotions well enough that Draco would have no idea what Harry was feeling. And Severus could certainly do that.
            If it was important, Draco had made all the efforts he could. It was up to Harry and Severus now.
*
            Severus considered the cauldron critically. It was the pewter one in which he had brewed the first part of the complicated potion that had freed them from the bond. He didn’t know if he should attempt to keep the potion that still lingered in it—probably useless by now, since its high temperature had been part of what kept it potent, and it had cooled—or simply clean it out and start anew. Of course, with a complicated and experimental potion like this, he might have to use more thorough Cleaning Charms than a simple Vanishing one.
            He was in a moment of delicate, crystalline concentration, which meant he jumped in an undignified way when the owl rapped on the window.
            Severus turned and crossed the lab to the owl. He found himself hoping it was from Harry, or Potter, or whatever one should call him. That would allow Severus to be blistering to someone, and relieve some of the strange feelings that crowded under his breastbone and paraded up and down inside his skull.
            But when he had convinced the owl to sit on the perch he kept for the birds in the corner of the lab, and had unbound the message that was attached to its leg, he discovered it was no such thing. It was from Granger.
            He skimmed past the greeting, which meant nothing in any case, and on to the meat of the letter.
            Harry told me that you freed him and you and Malfoy from the bond with the help of an experimental potion. I’d really like to know more about that potion and what it entailed. Would you be willing to send me the recipe? Or a description of the effects, if you don’t want to share the recipe itself? Harry’s told me a little about what it did and what it looked like, which is enough for me to determine some of the ingredients, but not all of them.
            Then there was her signature. Nothing more than that. Severus ran his eyes over the letter again and again, looking for some sign that she was not that shameless, but no. She was. She simply demanded his recipe for an exquisite potion, and then sat and waited for him to provide it.
            Severus knew he was smiling in nearly an immoral way as he set the letter down. He considered for a second whether Harry would have put Granger up to sending the letter.
            But no, he would not have. He might have suggested that Granger ask Severus, but he would not have expected Severus to share the recipe simply because Harry was Granger’s friend. He knew Severus better than that.
            This was the product of Granger’s curiosity, which Severus had never wanted to encourage because he found it too prying, and not specific enough to Potions themselves. Granger would have applied that same curiosity to any subject, and in fact, she had, when it came to solving the little “mysteries” that Hogwarts presented her and her friends with. She had no particular appreciation for Potions. It was only one more kind of knowledge she could cram her head with.
            Severus set down to write a letter that would indeed vent his feelings, without hurting Harry or Draco.
*
            “Hermione, are you all right?”
            Harry stuck his head out of the bathroom. He’d spent the past few days at the Burrow, rejoicing in the simple feeling of family and camaraderie and the lack of questions from his friends. He knew that Ron was wondering why he didn’t go back to the Aurors, what was happening with the reclamation of his job, but he was good enough not to ask. The more time Harry spent talking and joking and drinking and reminiscing with his friends, the more he wondered how he could ever have missed the bond.
            “I’m fine. I will be fine.” Hermione had maybe realized that she wasn’t about to get away with that last lie when Ron was clearly concerned about her. “I just…I should have realized that he was going to do something like this, but I didn’t think…” Harry heard her sniffling. “I thought it was a harmless request.”
            What happened? Harry started down the stairs, his heart hammering loudly enough that he couldn’t hear anything else until he was on the ground floor with Ron and Hermione.
            They were near the bottom of the steps, Ron standing with his arm around Hermione’s shoulders. Harry caught his eye, and Ron nodded. This was something serious enough that they needed to take time to discuss it alone. Harry Summoned some food from the kitchen, mostly the new, fresh bread that Molly had baked that morning, and they went out into the back garden. No one else was around.
            Hermione took one of the chairs across from Harry, and spent some time wiping at her face, as if that could get rid of the marks of tears. Harry felt himself go still as he considered them. He didn’t want one of his friends to be crying. Ever. Especially Hermione, who usually only did it in times of great stress.
            “What happened?” he asked. Ron was holding a piece of parchment, but it was already torn almost in half, and he didn’t look as though he wanted to let go of it.
            “I wrote to Professor Snape to try and get his recipe for the potion that he fed you to break the bond.” Hermione pressed her hands against her eyes. “I thought it would be useful if we could use it in the future to help other people who were tied by the same kinds of bonds that you had to Snape and Malfoy.”
            Harry bit back a sharp sound of exasperation. It was natural that Hermione would think of something like that, and want to help other people, too. He would have thought of it himself, maybe, if he wasn’t celebrating being free so much. “And Snape doesn’t want to give it to you?”
            “This is what he wrote back,” Ron said, and handled the torn letter over after all, then leaned across to Hermione to kiss her cheek and whisper something. Hermione shook her head and buried it in Ron’s shoulder.
            Harry spread out the letter. The tear down the middle was easy enough to Reparo back together, and then Severus’s familiar script almost sprang from the surface.
            Granger-Weasley,
            The potion I invented was unique to the case of our bond. It was difficult to create, and I will share the secrets with no one except those who know what we suffered through and helped me to brew it. It is not to be distributed freely to your futile pet causes, the likes of which, if your efforts to help house-elves and werewolves are any indication, will never rise above the level of a schoolgirl’s nonsensical dreams. Were you a true Potions master, or did you have any respect for my art at all, you would know that one does not simply ask another Potions master to share his secrets. One offers a reasonable recompense, measured in magic or coin. Before you attempt to set a price, let me assure you, nothing you could offer would tempt me. Not your meager money, earned as it is with Gryffindor nonsense; not anything magical you could invent, when I am an experienced spell-crafter myself; and certainly not your body. I am surprised that your teeth do not often catch on Weasley’s hair, and that you were able to persuade him to be interested in you at all. Perhaps the misfortune of his freckles made him willing to accept a girl who has never been in the same vicinity as beauty.
            He hadn’t bothered signing it. Well, he wouldn’t have to, would he, Harry thought, a little dazed with the viciousness at the end of the letter. It had started out almost reasonably.
            Reasonably? I’m thinking of Snape and reasonable in the same sentence?
            But he was, and there was even a little twinge of discomfort in the back of his mind when he tried to think of Severus as Snape. Plus, although he was angry with Severus for sending this letter, he was not as angry as he should have been, as he would have been with anyone else who had mocked his best friends.
            That worried him.
            He looked up from the letter to find Ron watching him with hot eyes. “Don’t even try to defend him,” Ron snarled. “He ought to know better than to write anything like that to Hermione.” His hand tightened on Hermione’s shoulder. “When I find out where he’s hiding…”
            “You know he’s in Malfoy Manor,” Harry snapped. “For fuck’s sake.”
            Ron lifted his head in a way that reminded Harry weirdly of Nagini. “I said,” he breathed, “that you shouldn’t even try to defend him.”
            “It’s not really that,” Harry said, and lowered his head, rubbing his hands over his ears. He almost wished he could cover them completely and just run away, leaving the problems between his friends and his—other people behind. He had no idea what to call Draco and Severus now that they were no longer his bondmates.
            But that wasn’t the most pressing problem, and it was just like his stupid brain to distract him with wondering over small things. Harry tugged his mind back to the actual subject with a wrench, and sat up with a gasp. “He shouldn’t have said what he said about Hermione’s appearance. I agree that was uncalled for. And your appearance,” he added, hoping to soothe the fire in Ron’s eyes. “That was also uncalled for.”
            “I’m going to hurt him,” Ron said.
            “No, you’re not,” Harry said. “Because going over and hexing him would get you hexed. That’s even assuming that the wards on Malfoy Manor would let you in, which I bet they won’t. And then I would be caught in the middle, and—and right now, Severus is the only one who’s got me caught in the middle, and he’s the one I’m going to have to talk to. I’d prefer if you didn’t add to the burden by trying to attack him.”
            Ron held his wand tightly for a few seconds, and Hermione tighter. Then he relaxed with a long sigh and said, “I assume you’re going to do something about this?”
            Harry nodded. “Of course I am. I’m going to go and tell him off for putting me in the middle.”
            “And insulting Hermione?” Ron was looking the scariest Harry had ever seen him. He thought Ron might have been able to jump into a whole nest of spiders himself.
            “He won’t care about that,” Harry said, and felt his face burn when he actually listened to the words he wanted to say next. But that didn’t change the obligation of having to say them—and fuck Snape for putting him in this situation anyway. “He’ll care about insulting me, though. About inconveniencing me.”
            Ron gave him another piercing look, one that made Harry want to squirm in place. It was only by a supreme effort that he held himself still. He knew it shouldn’t be this way, but it was this way. At least he could trust Ron and Hermione, and he knew that if they stayed here and he was the one who went after Severus, no one would be hurt.
            Physically, anyway. And it wasn’t like the mental pain he suffered could hurt anyone else anymore, the way it would have through the bond.
            “Fine,” Ron muttered at last, his hand tightening on Hermione’s shoulder until she pulled back and glared at him. Ron noticed and looked a little sheepish. “Just remember that we’ll have to talk, afterwards, and make sure that the punishment Snape suffered is enough.”
            Harry bit his tongue, stood up, and smiled at Ron. “I think I can bring back an apology,” he said, and slipped out of the garden.
            And if he had to make up the apology, or rephrase one that was given to him as being to Hermione instead…
            That was just what he would have to do.
*
Ciara_D: Yes. And at least the next conversation won’t be as bad as it could be. Hermione really did commit a breach of etiquette by just asking for the potion recipe, but she didn’t deserve the response she got.
SP777: They would probably have still had arguments about who was in charge of the bond.
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The Wages of Going On