Harry closed his eyes and wished there was a way he could get rid of his glasses.

There was Malfoy, that bloody prick...

His cock twitched and Harry wished he were anywhere else other than here. Shit, this was embarrassing. His cock was responding not only to Snape's voice, but to Malfoy, hanging there, his cock high and...Fuck!

He closed his eyes but it was too late: Malfoy's image was etched on the inside of his eyelids!

He wasn't gueer. No way. So he didn't have much success with girls, but hell, the fate of the wizardry world depended on him. He had other things on his mind. Survival being the foremost. So what if, now and then, when things got to be a bit much, he allowed Neville... It wasn't as though he was the one who asked them. It wasn't his fault that they offered. Hell, all they wanted was a taste of the Boy Who Lived and Who Was Supposed To Save Them All.

Wasn't like it meant anything.

He slivered his eyes open. Malfoy was jerking his hips forward. Probably trying to call attention to his fucking Slytherin snake! Like the prat thought it would interest him. Okay, so maybe he was doing it because he was uncomfortable, but that meant nothing to Harry Potter. If Snape thought that the sight of Malfoy's hard-on was going to convince him to drop to his knees and suck the prick off... Well, he had faced Voldemort and hadn't backed down.

Draco tried to get his erection to rub against him. He wasn't used to being erect without satisfaction. When he wanked, he didn't draw out the sensation. When someone's mouth was working him, he wanted it over as quickly as possible. He just wanted the feeling of release. Malfoys were not big proponents of delayed gratification.

Where the fuck was Snape and what the hell was he doing with them?

He opened his eyes and caught Potter looking at him. Not just looking but looking at him. Staring at his crotch as if he'd never seen one before in his life. And blushing at being caught.

Draco decided that one look deserved another. Though they'd shared the Quidditch change room, they hadn't been alone there. Yeah, they had looked one another over, sometimes surreptitiously, sometimes not bothering to hide the assessment, like everyone else there did. Not this one on one business.

Potter wasn't hard on the eyes. Well, that hair of his still defied control but the body... As Snape had said, all that Quidditch. And he wasn't muscle- bound. Crabbe and Goyle had been big and heavy all over. Even if it had interested him – which it hadn't – to go down on them, they were... Huge. Down there. His mouth would never have been able to open wide enough...

He pushed that image out of his mind. He'd seen what their pricks could do to someone smaller. And how much they'd enjoyed it. It was one of the things he'd considered when he'd drawn up that mental list of his on the pros and cons of becoming a Death Eater. He knew that Voldemort was not beyond using his own people to punish those whom he felt were not giving their all to the cause. His rank, or who his father was, wouldn't have helped him if...

Snape moved between the two and suddenly was the focus of both their attention. Their thoughts were almost easy to read from the expressions in their eyes. Malfoy was definitely uncomfortable with his situation, yet he was wary of what Snape was going to do next. Potter had his defences up again, probably bracing himself mentally, expecting Snape to shift his attention to him.

Not yet. They weren't ready yet to do as he told them. They needed a little more time to think about the chance at more than satisfaction, at just plain relief.

"Has Mr. Potter been looking at you, Mr. Malfoy?" He glanced over his shoulder at Potter who was now staring over their heads at the distance. That would soon change. "I wonder if he's been thinking about how you feel."

And with that, Snape placed himself behind Malfoy so that he could keep an eye on Potter as he...as he amused himself again. Using the tips of his fingers, he stroked Malfoy's throat until it rose, offering him more room. "Warm, you can even feel the blood pulsing. Your beard is very light, Mr. Malfoy. Very soft. Can you imagine that softness against the most tender of your skin, Mr. Potter? An almost gentle scratchiness rubbing the tender skin of your inner thighs...your balls...your cock, Mr. Potter."

Snape noticed that every time he said Potter's name, the boy's eyes shifted to them before quickly pulling away.

"Mr. Malfoy has particularly sensitive underarms. See how the muscles respond to a finger lightly skimming over them. An area well worth investigating, I should think. And remember what I said about the importance of smell? There is a rather sharp scent calling attention to the armpits. Not unpleasant."

He moved his hands languorously down and up the side of the rib cage: Malfoy tried to avoid them but, really, the poor boy had nowhere to go, what with Snape's arms encircling him.

"Ah, another of those sensitive spots on the right ribs. A little ticklish I would judge. I wonder, Mr. Potter, if you have one of those spots as well."

He stepped aside just enough to see how his ministrations were affecting Malfoy. Ah, the boy's cock was hard and dripping. Oh, to be seventeen again and... No, on second thought, he would rather not. Mind, there were advantages to the randiness of that age. He slipped his fingertips to the small nubs on Malfoy's chest. The boy's breathing sharpened and that delightful blush of his spread over his chest.

"Nice. I thought they would be sensitive and they are, Mr. Potter. Pretty pink little toys. Wouldn't you like to play with them, Mr. Potter?" He wet a fingertip with a certain glee and then proceeded to encircle the nipple. Malfoy jerked and groaned.

Potter's gaze was concentrated on Malfoy's chest, his eyes following Snape's finger as it moved from one pink nub to the other. His breathing was also sharper. Snape wondered if he was even aware of the response in his cock, that it was riding high.

He slipped his hands down to the well toned abdomen and skimmed ellipses over the tight skin. Malfoy bucked, his arse coming to rub against Snape's own clothed erection. He closed his eyes and acknowledged the sensation, but only to himself. Right now he doubted that Malfoy had even been aware that his tormentor was also hard. Snape stepped back enough so that he could continue. That arse was going to be his, but not now. Probably not for some time yet. But eventually. Now, he had to do something about those jerky movements. With a few muttered words, two new lined restraints appeared on Malfoy's ankles, with invisible bounds slowly pulling his legs apart so that he really couldn't move all that much.

"There, we wouldn't want you to hurt yourself, Mr. Malfoy. This will be easier to endure if you remain still." And he slipped his hands over the boy's hips, down his outer thighs then slowly dragged his nails gently on the soft, inner skin. Even bound, the boy managed to buck. A loud, strangled sound emerged from behind his gag when Snape's hands took hold of his balls and gave them a slight squeeze before rolling them in their casing.

By now, Malfoy's cock was straining, foreskin back, glans wetly red. His head was back, throat offered as if in sacrifice, the gag no longer preventing many of the moans from escaping. Had he not been so restrained, his hips would probably have been gyrating like crazy.

Potter's eyes were wide open, his own gasps almost in rhythm with Malfoy's, his hips trying to deal with his own erection.

Snape moved in for the kill. He grabbed hold of Malfoy's cock and gave it a couple of firm strokes. At the same time, his other hand released the scrotum and a fingertip delineated the line between balls and hole. Malfoy's hips jerked forward as he whimpered.

Satisfied he had Malfoy where he wanted him, Snape stepped away. Ignoring Potter's disbelief that he was truly stopping there, Malfoy's whimpered need, Snape went to the loo and dealt with the erection he'd given himself.

Bastard! Bastard! Fucking bastard!

Draco was almost in tears. How dare the bastard leave him like this! Oh, Merlin...he ached!

And it didn't get any better when the arsehole came back from the loo. Probably wanking off at his expense, the... There wasn't any word in his vocabulary adequate to describe what he thought Snape was.

When he did come back, Snape paid only the barest of attention to him. And even that was too much...and not enough. He was dealing Potter the same treatment, which was fine by him. Let Potter enjoy the pleasure of a hard cock with nothing to rub against, no friction to ease the strain.

But then, when the bloody pressure did finally begin easing off, what did that ...that fucker Snape do, but then lend a helping hand.

Just enough to keep him erect, not enough to offer relief.

Oh, bloody Merlin, why couldn't he use the paddle again!

How long... Oh, damn it all to hell and back...where the fuck was Snape off to again? The loo? Fuck, the bastard had to be wanking. He knew he'd felt something hard when his arse had rubbed against Snape. Had Potter? Hell, no. That...that Gryffindor hadn't the smarts to pick that up!

And what the hell was Snape up to now? He was moving that chair of his close by. Making himself comfortable with a frigging journal of some kind. And some more of that wine! Maybe that would keep him occupied enough so that...

"Oh, fuck, NO! Please don't touch me again!" But all that made it past the gag was the usual gargled sounds. Oh, hell, at least Potter was as hard as he was. v Harry couldn't believe what Snape had done to them. Had done to him! How could he be this hard? He'd never been this hard! How long could he stay this hard? Without something happening to his cock?

He suddenly remembered an experiment from Muggle school, the year before he'd begun at Hogwarts. Some stress test thing.

His teacher had strung a metal wire between two posts which had exerted pull simultaneously in opposite directions. He remembered that some of the kids had scoffed at it ever breaking. The wire was metal. Steel. Strong. Unbreakable. But it had done just that: it had broken. Snapped in two, ends thinned and curling from the break.

Oh, god! Was that what was going to happen to his cock? Was it going to break off?

He could almost hear Hermione laughing at him at the thought, but in his mind's eye, he saw Ron, nodding his head most seriously at the idea. And the longer this went on, the more ingrained the image became.

What the hell did girls know about that anyway? Ron knew. Ron would understand.

Snape had to admit that it surprised him that Potter was the first to give in. He yelled from behind his gag, his head gesturing to Malfoy.

Snape placed the journal aside, kept the wine in his hand as he rose and went to stand in front of the boy. "Yes, Mr. Potter?"

More strangled sounds. Snape waited for them to end. "If I understand correctly, you have changed your mind. Is that it, Mr. Potter? Language, Mr. Potter. You may be gagged, but your tone is disrespectful of an elder. I want to be very certain of this, Mr. Potter. I don't want to be accused later on of having misread your intentions. You are indicating that you are willing...very willing, yes, I see that...to give Mr. Malfoy a blow-job. A good blow-job. To the best of your abilities? Yes, I realise, as does Mr. Malfoy, that you are a rank amateur, but you are committing yourself to perform to the best of that ability? Your word as a Gryffindor? Good."

He stepped back and looked at Malfoy whose face was a fairly unattractive, blotchy red. "Mr. Malfoy, you do understand that, should I permit this, you in turn will have to accommodate Mr. Potter. You do. That's good. And are you also agreeable to do so to the best of your abilities? You must understand that if Mr. Potter...ah, relieves you, I would be very displeased if you do not return the favour. And this time, I fear, the punishment would be solely yours. I will just remind you that, though Slytherins have a certain reputation among the other Houses, once a Slytherin does give his word, he is bound by it. Good."

He set his glass down on the table, smiling benevolently at both boys straining in their bounds. "As agreed, Mr. Potter goes first." He gestured with his hand and the bounds released but regrouped, pinning Potter's arms and hands to his back. "No touching yourself, Mr. Potter. Mustn't do Mr. Malfoy's work for him, now must you?"

He helped the boy stagger over to Malfoy, who was whimpering pathetically, his hips rocking as though to remind Potter of the task at hand. He helped him kneel so that his mouth was at the right level and then he removed the gag himself. "Can you get that all right, Mr. Potter, or should I direct your mouth to...Ah, you don't need my help. Mind, as I believe I commented previously, you do have quite a mouthful to deal with."

But Potter wasn't listening to him. He was too busy dealing with his mouthful. Not all that able a performance, but Snape didn't think that Malfoy minded much that Potter was indeed a rank amateur.

Not that it took very long: the boy was primed. Potter obviously didn't know what to do with Malfoy's cum: it was spilling out of his mouth as was the cock shooting it. Potter's face, glasses and chest were streaked with the thick, white cream.

As soon as it stopped, Snape released Malfoy and, though he'd come, he also had him bound as was Potter before removing his gag. Mouths only, this time.

Malfoy took a moment to glance at Snape – as though verifying he was indeed serious about him keeping his word – then used his shoulder to tip Potter onto his back. He went down on him with a little less enthusiasm than Potter had shown, but then the edge was off for him.

Still Potter certainly didn't seem to have any complaints as his shout of relief filled the Chamber.

They lay on the ground, tangled up in each other. Snape shook his head. "Well, one certainly cannot criticise the enthusiasm that both of you have demonstrated, but as for finesse, well...there are lessons to be learnt."

Malfoy slowly raised his head from Potter's thigh on which it had been resting. Potter craned his neck around so that he could see Snape.

Well, he'd wanted to find a way to get them to agree on something. Snape calculated from the irritated, insulted glares sent his way, that neither of his boys was very happy with his assessment.

He smiled at them. The two exchanged a look then, with sounds that were fairly animalistic, they found their feet and charged him. Well, they would have, had he remained standing where he'd been. But he'd caught the look and had taken the precaution of stepping back.

With a defensive wave of his wand, the fetters were bound together thereby effectively hobbling his attackers, causing them to hit the floor less than gracefully. Another gesture, and their hands were confined behind their backs.

Snape sighed loudly, gave a small shake of his head and went to sit in his chair.

Potter rolled over and managed to get up onto his knees. Malfoy lay on his back, staring at the roof of the Chamber, muttering under his breath.

"What was that, Mr. Malfoy?"

Malfoy shifted himself onto his knees and sat back on his heels. "I said, maybe I should have joined the Death Eaters after all, Professor Snape."

Snape crossed a leg over a knee and thought a moment. "No, I think you made the right decision, Mr. Malfoy. I think, in the long run, this decision is your best chance of remaining alive to enjoy old age."

Malfoy scoffed, closing his eyes.

"Well, nice to know that one of us might get to live that long," sneered Potter.

Snape took a good look at the Great Hope of Wizardry. He was tired, more than from what had been happening to him here. Keeping his voice as classroom casual as possible, Snape said, "The reason we are here, Mr. Potter, is so that you, too, have the opportunity to enjoy old age."

But he could tell from the smirk on Malfoy's face, from the expression in Potter's eyes before he found something of interest to examine on the floor, that neither of them believed him.

"So, how are we going to pay for this latest bit of co-operation on our parts?" Potter challenged.

Malfoy grimaced and raised his arse off his heels.

"We are going to have something to eat, Mr. Potter."

"And then what?" Malfoy was no more trusting than Potter.

"And then we shall see. But I think that your arses...and cocks...are safe for the moment."

He kept them bound for the meal. As he had before, he hand-fed them, one after the other. This time the tray contained pieces of cold chicken, a tepid vegetable stew – neither lad cared for broccoli and he didn't blame them: he hated the stuff himself – and cheese for the savoury. There was milk for drinking and, though he would have preferred something different, something stronger – much stronger – Snape drank that as well.

After releasing them from their bounds for a trip to the loo, Snape rebound them and had them kneel in front of him. "Time for some quiet reflection," he told them as he waved another set of gags into their mouths. Soft material, nothing to rub or to irritate as leather had done. And then he added a blindfold.

Malfoy jerked upright and shook his head like the thoroughbred he was. Snape wondered at the image that had flashed through his mind , then remembered seeing a blindfolded racing stallion who'd shaken his head as Malfoy had.

Potter had grown very still, swallowing several times as he got his response under control. Still, his body tensed and remained so.

"It's all right," Snape pulled out his most soothing of voices. "I'm here, I'm not leaving you alone. If you listen carefully, you'll hear me breathing. The sound will come from higher up than your colleague's. Settle back on your heels. More comfortable that way and I'm afraid you'll be in that position for more than a few minutes."

He waited until they'd both complied. Malfoy's breath was still a little too rough. So the boy didn't like this. Was it the fact that he couldn't see or did he associate being blinded with something else? Lucius might not have believed in corporal punishment with his son, but he wasn't above some game-playing.

Potter was still too tense, but then the boy was too tense about everything. Maybe he should deal with that next. But first...

"I want the two of you to forget about everything that's been happening. I want you to forget where you are. It's not important. I want you to think only about yourself." He allowed his voice to become leisurely slow.

"Think about the way you feel. Not your emotional self. But the way your body feels. The air on your skin. The breath entering and leaving your lungs. The blood coursing through your veins. Your heart beat."

They were listening but not hearing. Not yet. It would come with time. But both his boys needed to learn to accept that there were things they couldn't change and to stop fighting them. That there was strengths to be tapped within themselves that would get them through this difficult time. Not just here in the Chamber, but in life.

The best he could hope for right now was that the anger in them didn't grow until it exploded. Not just because the fate of wizardry rested on those oh, so young shoulders, but because if they didn't learn to control that emotion, it would destroy them.

And neither of his boys deserved that fate.

Neither of them was truly relaxing. Snape shook his head and, after less than an hour, decided to move on before his lads had time to stew any more about the situation they'd found themselves in. He'd personally never been fond of this particular ‘exercise'. There were more pleasant ways of seeing to it that his lads learnt to relax.

He waved the blindfolds away. Malfoy blinked and actually relaxed a little. On the other hand, apart from squinting, Potter grew more stiff.

Snape said nothing. He rose to his feet and transfigured Potter's bedding into a waist-high, padded table, narrow and long enough for his height. With both boys' eyes on him, Snape removed his robe and set it down on the chair. Then, casually, as though this was not a first in the life of both lads, he began unbuttoning his frock coat.

He had to control the urge to laugh aloud at the way their eyes followed his fingers as he undid each and every button. He draped his coat on the back of the chair which wriggled to allow it to sit properly in order not to wrinkle. While they watched that, Snape sheathed his wand to the inside of his shirt. Ignoring the exchanges of questioning and gradually more worried glances, he undid the cuffs of his shirt sleeves and rolled both up to his biceps.

Now the looks exchanged were definitely worried and he caught glimpses of arse cheeks spasming.

"You have a choice, Mr. Potter. Listen carefully and think before you answer. I would like you to lie on the table, face down. Now, we can do that with my using my magic, or you can do so voluntarily. If the latter, I shall allow you to remain on the table, unbound in any way. If the former..." He didn't need to finish that statement. "Again, if the latter, I shall also require your word as a Gryffindor that you will not attempt anything while you are on the table. Shall I give you a few moments to think about all that?"

Potter made a garbled sound and Snape cocked his head, considering. "Yes, of course, you would find a point or two that, in your mind, need clarification. It is only fair that you be able to express them."

And Potter was no longer gagged. He stretched his mouth, probably to relieve some of the tension in his jaw. He glanced at Malfoy before he asked, "And just what form is this punishment going to take?"

Snape shook his head. "How quickly you forget, gentlemen. I believe I stated that I would always indicate when and why punishment was to be meted out."

The two shared another glance. At this rate, the two would be able to communicate silently quite well before this was over. "Yes, well, " hedged Potter, "it's not like either one of us has much grounds to trust anyone these days."

Snape nodded. "Yes, quite true. And, no, Mr. Potter, this is not going to be punishment. At least, I hope not. I understand that I am asking a great deal of you with this request, but that is exactly what I am doing. The decision rests in your hands."

"So, what are you going to do to me if I lie, face down, on that table?"

Snape rested a hip against said table and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm afraid you're just going to have to trust me on that."

Potter closed his eyes and sat back on his heels. "Oh, yes, trust you." There was a few minutes of silence as Potter thought. "All right. I give you my word as a Gryffindor that I shall not attempt...anything while on the table."

Malfoy, Snape noticed, was watching with slivered eyes, as though trying to figure out angles. Probably around the oath he knew he was going to have to give himself when Snape made him the same offer. Maybe once he saw just what he was going to do with Potter, the mistrust might lessen.

Snape waved Potter's glasses off and to him, placing them on the small table. Potter blinked, squinted a little, then, with obvious reluctance, went over to the table. Snape waited until Potter had placed himself on it, moving as slowly as he probably thought possible without incurring any consequences. Snape let him get away with it. Once Potter was lying as he'd instructed, he pulled a small bottle out of his coat pocket and carefully poured a fair amount of oil on his hands. He leaned over the head of the table and placed his hands on Potter's shoulders. There was a flinch. Snape waited until Potter had accepted his touch before he began dealing with the tension that had knotted Potter's muscles.

Harry couldn't believe what was happening to him. A massage? Snape was giving him a massage? Only his promise made him lie still under the man's hands.

The man's marvelous, miraculous hands.

Oh, god! that felt good! He knew his neck and shoulders usually ached, but he'd always chalked that up to Quidditch or to the hours studying that Seventh Year demanded. When had his neck become so tight that he barely noticed how tense he was?

And now those hands were moving...to his head. Strong fingertips dug painfully/pleasurably into his scalp. Releasing pains and aches he hadn't been conscious had been there. He'd been able to hold in his responses to pain, but to this...this heavenly...

He moaned loudly, not even hearing himself.

Snape smiled, glancing at Malfoy out of the corner of his eye. The boy was absolutely stunned. Obviously, Snape snickered to himself, not what either of them had anticipated.

He looked at the skin his hands were working on. Once he'd done with Potter's head, he'd moved back onto the shoulders where the boy carried most of his nerves. Nice shoulders. Not overly wide, perfectly proportioned for the slim build of a winning Seeker. Pale, smooth skin, with just a few freckles on the left shoulder. Silky skin that covered tension-hard musculature.

He hid his grin from Malfoy when Potter moaned again. Snape was certain that one had begun from the toes and worked its way out. Said toes were positively curling.

He would need more of the oil before he moved down the line of the spine. Time to see if this plan might not be more successful.

"Mr. Malfoy, if I release you, would you do as I ask? Your oath as a Slytherin?"

Malfoy took his time considering before giving a short nod of his head. Snape kept one hand on Potter as the other reached for his wand. "If you would care to warm the oil in your hands before passing it on to me?"

Malfoy slowly found his feet and, still looking far too wary, took the bottle from the end of the table where Snape had placed it. Holding it between his hands, he carefully rotated the small bottle, using the friction to warm the contents. When Snape gestured to Malfoy's bed with his head, the boy went to sit on it, having a good view of what Snape was doing to Potter. There was no need to talk. Whenever he needed any oil, Malfoy rose to his feet and silently delivered some.

Potter sighs gradually faded as he fell asleep under Snape's ministering hands.

Snape took advantage of the fact that both Potter and Malfoy were sound asleep on their retransfigured beds to find his own.

That Potter had slept throughout his treatment as well as Malfoy's indicated just how tried and stressed the boy was. He'd had to tuck the bottle of oil under Potter's arm to keep it warm while he'd worked on Malfoy, who had been proven to be only slightly less tense.

Damn, these boys were seventeen. They should have been as loose and flexible as...as any other idiot of their age group. Instead, both of them were shouldering decisions, responsibilities and expectations far beyond their years.

He didn't know what woke him. Some sound that shouldn't have been there. He thought and decided that his boys had finally awakened and were up to something. He knew their promises had been confined to their time on the massage tables. Keeping his eyes closed, his hand slowly gripped the wand that lay under a fold of his robe, ready to use for self-defence if necessary.

"There's got to be a way out of here," whispered Draco.

Harry nodded. "I know of a couple that should lead us back to the main tunnel that leads to Moaning Mrytle's loo."

"Well, what are you waiting for? Lead on."

Harry took his bearings and tried to remember exactly which of the entrances led to the one he'd opened so many years ago. That one. Had to be it. It seemed to be at the correct angle to the main aisle. Very cautiously, he made for it, peering over his shoulder at the man snoring softly in the bed.

Yes, this was it. He nodded to Draco who silently followed him out of the entry, down the long passageway. Yes, this was the tunnel: he was certain of it. If they went in this direction... Yes, light. They were heading into light.

Light of the Chamber.

He stopped dead in his tracks and Draco nearly bumped into him. "What?" Whispered in his ear.

Harry moved aside enough for Draco to see they were back where they'd started from. "Shit!" Still muttered almost silently.

Harry backtracked and stood examining the passage. Maybe he had made a mistake. Maybe it had been left instead of right.

Draco followed closely but not so closely as to bump into him the next time Harry stopped suddenly. He looked over Harry's shoulder and wondered why he wasn't surprised to find themselves back where they'd started.

There was no logic to their being here. The passage had been fairly straightforward: they hadn't circled back at any time. Had they?

He had to give Harry credit: no matter how many times they ended back up in the Chamber, he would recover quickly and try another of the passages. They must have tried dozens of permutations and combinations before Draco placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. "It's no use. We can't get out of here."

Harry shrugged off his hand and took off for another try. Draco shook his head. Slytherins knew to quit when they were beat. That damned Gryffindor stick-to-it-ness didn't allow for easy concession. With a sigh of resignation, Draco went after Harry, even though he knew that they would end up back in the Chamber. Still, he couldn't let him go off on his own. Not that Draco thought there might be the slightest chance that Harry would find a way out, but he didn't want him to be alone when the absolute futility of these attempts finally got through that thick skull of his.

As he studied the shoulders bunching slightly under the stress and strain of this exercise, Draco wondered, after they'd endured whatever the punishment would be this time, if Snape would be generous enough to provide them with another massage. Merlin knew, they were both going to need one.

When Harry finally gave up, Draco was more worried than he'd thought he'd be. Harry didn't flip out. He didn't scream, or yell, or curse. All he did was come to a stop in mid-passage and rest his forehead against the mossy stone. "We're stuck here."

Harry's voice was expressionless, which scared Draco more than he cared to admit, even to himself. He resisted the urge to console Harry. He didn't think any offer of commiseration would be appreciated right now. "Well, we tried. That's important."

Harry raised his head and turned to rest his back against the stone. "Let's hope you're so understanding when he blisters our arses."

Draco shrugged. "Getting used to that."

"Yeah." Harry pushed himself off the wall. "Sorry."

Draco was startled. "What for?"

"For this whole mess. Look, I know that when you decided to change sides, I should have been a little more...welcoming."

Draco scoffed. "Well, I'm sure that you were positively delighted to know that your surviving an encounter with Lord Voldemort meant depending on me to back you up."

Harry closed his eyes, tipping his head back then rotating it to deal with muscles that might never had been unknotted earlier that day. "I'll be honest with you, Malfoy. I still don't like it. But I guess if we're going to survive this whole business, I'd better learn to deal with it."

Draco shrugged again. "You and me both. Shall we go tell the Grand Inquisitor he's won?"

Harry opened his eyes. "Do you think that will convince him?"

Draco thought. "Hell, no. He's too Slytherin for that. We'll have to do as he asks before he gets the message. Oh, well, I didn't want to spend holidays brushing up on Charms and Spells anyways. Let's hope that we can use this as an excuse when we fail NEWTS."

Harry actually found a smile. "Speak for yourself, Malfoy. I'll have you know that I'm going to ace Charms and Spells."

"But not Potions."

Harry groaned.

Draco looked around. "Which way?"

"Does it matter? They all end up at the same place."

Snape was sitting up in his bed when they came down the aisle. In his shirt sleeves, nose deep within a journal of some kind. They stood at the side of the bed, nervously waiting for him to notice them. He finally did, with only the most casual of, "Back already?"

Draco took a step forward, hoping to prevent some snarky Potter response. "Potter was just showing me around. Never knew this place really existed, you know, sir. Not even after all the frou-frou-all of Second Year."

"Ah, I see, the guided tour."

Draco pulled out the smile that worked on his mother when he had wanted something his father had denied him. "Yes. Exactly that."

Next to him, Harry caught the scoff before it left his throat. Their arses were going to get pounded, no matter what tricks Malfoy pulled out of his hat.

"I wish I had known that you were so interested, Mr. Malfoy. I would have joined the two of you if I had."

"You were sleeping, sir. No reason to bother you."

Snape lay the journal down and they both saw that his wand was in the further hand. "What will I do with the two of you?"

"Nothing, sir?" Draco stepped close enough to Harry to place a hand in a friendly way on his shoulder. For a moment, he thought Potter was going to blow the whole palsy image and shake it off. "Actually, we took advantage of the time alone that you so kindly permitted us..."

Snape snorted.

"...to discuss the situation. Potter and I have decided that, from now on, we will work together to defeat Voldemort. As the Prophecy has predicted."

"Ah. I see. You two have discussed the situation. Is this so, Mr. Potter?"

Harry looked out of the corner of his eye at Malfoy who was watching him with raised eyebrows. What the hell? If it got them out of here. "Yes, Professor."

"And you've decided that from now on you two will work together as a unified force for the Order?"

There was Malfoy's smile again. Harry nodded. "Yes, Professor."

"Willing to prove it to me?"

The two boys exchanged glances and shrugs. "I won't beat him, if that's what you want," said Harry, his voice not as causal as he would have liked it.

Snape swung his legs off the bed. "I have no idea why the two of you are so hung up on beatings." He stopped, his hands on the side of the bed, ready to push himself off. "Well, maybe I do in your case, Mr. Potter. But, Mr. Malfoy, I inflicted that on your person only at the beginning of our stay here in order to guarantee your full attention. Were you so traumatised by the event that you can't let it go?"

There was a little shuffling as his boys thought about that.

"Unless, of course, you feel that you deserve it for this exploratory tour of yours?"

Malfoy grimaced. Potter shifted his weight onto a hip. He wasn't much into teasing and, before he said something that would have to result in discipline, Snape shook his head and got off the bed. "I'm willing to accept your explanation for your not being here when I awoke." Then he gave them his best glare as his voice dipped into glacial regions. "But only this once. Do I make myself clear?"

There was the sound of two throats gulping and then two soft, "Yes."

"Good. Now then, to deal with the second point. You have announced that you will work together. That's fine and good, gentlemen, but allow me to remind you that I've heard that promise before. Several times. From you, Mr. Malfoy, in person. And from Professor McGonagall for you, Mr. Potter. And yet, those promises don't seem to have carried much weight with either of you."

Malfoy forced himself to answer humbly. "Sorry, sir. We mean it this time." Snape nearly laughed aloud at the tone and then at the determined glare Malfoy sent Potter, who also muttered, "...mean it, Professor."

"Well, as I said, we shall have to have more proof of that from you than mere words, gentlemen. Because not only do you have to work together, you have to follow instructions. So let us see how well you have determined to do just that. Mr. Malfoy."

The boy looked peeved that he had been selected first. He sighed loudly then met Snape's inquiring look. "Yes, sir."

Snape smiled. "Would you be so kind as to take to your bed."

There was a moment's hesitation. Malfoy looked at Potter, who shrugged. So, cautiously keeping an eye on Snape, Malfoy went over to what had become his bed.

"Sit facing us, Mr. Malfoy." Snape waved his wand and suddenly there was a pile of pillows where the head was. "Back against those."

Malfoy did as he asked, with more than a little reticence. Potter's face wavered between worry and curiosity. Snape smiled as he put paid, at least, to the curiosity.

"Masturbate for us, Mr. Malfoy."

"Huh!" Malfoy sat up straight, eyes almost popping out of his head.

"You heard me, Mr. Malfoy. Show us how you pleasure yourself."

Draco had to shake his head to understand exactly what was being asked of him. He liked to be the centre of attention, but this was rather private. In spite of all that had been happening. Hell, he could feel the blush rising from his chest to the tip of his ears.

Even Potter looked a little askance. His eyes were flittering all over the place, except at himself. And Snape, that old bugger, was making himself comfortable in his frigging chair, front row seating.

Merlin's balls, when...if they got out of here, the fucker was going to pay, big time, for all this humiliation. He almost preferred getting his arse whipped than...

"We're waiting, Mr. Malfoy."

Yeah, sure they were. And he certainly had no trouble picking up that hint of threat in Snape's voice. He settled himself back against the pillows and, closing his eyes tightly, imagined himself back in his bed, the curtains drawn and spelled for privacy.

It took a few attempts for it to work, but finally the right mood struck and all he concentrated on was the feeling growing in his prick, in his gut and the small of his back. And if his moans and groans were a little louder than normal, a little more expressive...well, Snape had wanted a show, hadn't he?

Snape glanced at Potter who was standing very ill at ease. There was a definite puritan strain in that one. He wondered where it came from? His parents certainly hadn't shown any such behaviour. Once they had paired off, you could count on their finding any and every opportunity to snog and, probably, in those two last years, shag as well.

Was this the result of his spending his formative years with Muggles? Or was it just those Muggles? He seemed to remember from his perusal of Muggle popular entertainment magazines, which he'd confiscated from one of the Muggle-borns, that promiscuity was not unknown in that culture. This would bear investigating.

"Kneel, Mr. Potter. By my side."

Ah, a little protest neatly caught there. The boy was going to have to learn to accept that position. He assumed it, but not at all gracefully.

"Knees apart. Hands on your thighs."

So much for willing co-operation. Well, he did get the co-operation, but he also got a glare. He would let that pass this time. Later on, the boy would have to be punished for such an attitude, but he knew – from personal experience – better than to force too much on a trainee at any one time.

Meanwhile, Malfoy was slowly stroking himself, his cock showing some slight signs of interest. Then he stopped, his hands remaining still on his body, his eyes closed. "Em, sir?"

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"

"I usually use...oil when I do this."

"Of course. My apologies, Mr. Malfoy." Snape stood up and went over to the robe that lay on his bed. He picked it up, rummaged in one of the pockets and came out with a small, dark blue bottle. "Like this?"

He hid his grin when Malfoy caught the bottle he tossed to him. Yes, it was indeed the very same one that the boy used in the privacy of his bed. It pleased him to see the start on the boy's face, the nervousness in the eyes as he realised that there truly were no secrets in Hogwarts.

Snape sat back in his chair, crossed one leg over the other, and took advantage of the silent conversation taking place between Malfoy and Potter to cast a desensitising spell on himself. He enjoyed seeing someone pleasure himself but this wasn't the time to indulge himself in that delectation. Not yet.

"Pray continue, Mr. Malfoy. You were doing such a good job." Malfoy poured some of the oil onto his hands and, eyes once again closed, took up where he had left.

Harry wriggled on his heels. This wasn't a new experience for him. Hell, after Quidditch practices, there had been the more than occasional jerk-off contest in the changing rooms. He'd even participated in one or two. Well, okay, more than a few. But this was different. More...more intrusive- feeling. Wasn't like he didn't know Malfoy jerked-off. Hell, not that he'd ever spent time thinking about him jerking-off. But Malfoy was a male like he was and they all did it. Even Slytherins.

But those he'd been able to watch without getting hard. They were contests, macho competitions. Like who was thicker, longer when soft and who got much thicker, longer when hard. And who could get it up the fastest.

In all of those, he'd been about mid-range. There were cocks that were thicker and longer than his own, but his did him okay. Malfoy's wasn't as thick as his, but he guessed it was longer. Especially now as it hardened. Malfoy was a grower. His didn't grow all that much, but it did get wider.

What did Snape's...

Oh, god, he couldn't believe he was thinking about Snape's cock! Made him want to spit to clean his mouth!

Shit! Snape's cock! Was probably misshapen and tiny. Yeah, that was a good image to keep in his mind. Teeny, tiny cock. Even with that nose... Hell, there had to be exceptions to that rule. Hadn't there? Yeah, teeny, tiny.

Except that he couldn't keep the image in his mind when Malfoy was right there in front of him, making those soft moans that somehow were getting to him. He tried not to listen, not to watch, but his cock didn't seem to be paying the least bit of attention to him.

Then fucking Snape leaned over and whispered into his ear, his voice going directly to that unco-operative cock of his, "Pay attention, Mr. Potter, there will be a test after this."

Oh, fuck!

Snape was rather relieved that he'd thought of using that spell on himself. Malfoy was beautiful at any time, but right now, head thrown back exposing that long, lightly bearded throat, fingertips working on those rosy nipples, brushing over that flat stomach of his, his skin flushed with arousal...

The boy was breathtaking.

And he didn't seem to be the only one affected by the view. He glanced to the boy kneeling at his side, whose hands were fondling his hardening prick. Hmmm, none of that, Mr. Potter. Not until given permission. Another lesson both his lads were going to have to learn.

"No, Mr. Potter, you may not touch yourself." And a quick spell saw to it that the boy's hands were safely bound behind his back. Another of those glares, but then Malfoy's moans got his attention once more and Potter's eyes had better things to look at.

Malfoy had oiled his hands again but they were ignoring his cock for his balls. So the boy liked that kind of stimulation, did he? Snape checked to see that Potter was indeed watching – he smiled behind a hand – with the kind of concentration he usually reserved for Snitch hunting. Good. Snape hoped, for Malfoy's sake, that the boy was really paying attention because he hadn't been fooling about the test.

Potter's hips jerked forward several times as his cock seemed to demand the boy pay less attention to Malfoy's cock and more to it.

Snape was careful to keep his face expressionless as he nodded to himself. Did the boy truly think he wasn't queer or was that just some macho delusional bullshit on his part? Even Trelawney could have told him of his sexual preferences.

The sounds now coming from Malfoy were less dramatic and more sincere. His cock was rubbing against his stomach, the glans dark and wet. Pre-cum was flecking shiney over the skin of his abdomen as his cock jerked, crying for touch. But still Malfoy ignored it. His hands were busy on his balls, scratching the tender inner skin of his thighs – there were lines of red appearing, directing watching eyes to the straining prick in its bed of white- blond hair. His breathing was growing rougher as he gulped air into his lungs.

Potter was also gasping, his cock now fully hard and riding high. His thighs bucked with more frequency.

And this was where Snape yet again earned his reputation as a bastard. A wave of his wand and Malfoy was once more hanging from the fangs, his arms stretched above his head, his legs spread apart, his body confined to what little movement the bounds would allow.

And in the cursing that followed, Snape slowly approached the boy, appreciating that Malfoy had indeed picked up more than quite a few colourful invectives from his father.

He waited until the boy had run out of them, his breath sobbing with disappointment.

"Mr. Potter, this is where you show both of us how much you have learnt about Mr. Malfoy's body and his means of using it for his pleasure. Stand up and come over here."

Hands still bound behind his back, his cock bouncing with each step, Potter warily approached Snape and Malfoy who was almost crying in anger and unrelieved frustration.

"Stand behind him, Mr. Potter. Good. Now then, when I release your hands, it will be your task to bring Mr. Malfoy to orgasm. You paid proper attention, I hope, as I want you to follow Mr. Malfoy's example as closely as you can. You may begin."

It was harder than he thought, to sit back in his chair and watch objectively. Potter was a little hesitant at first, but then with Malfoy's encouragement – Snape hadn't gagged the boy this time – he soon got into the spirit of the exercise.

"No, Mr. Potter, no rubbing yourself against Mr. Malfoy's delectable arse. That is for another time. Concentrate on Mr. Malfoy's pleasure. Only that should be paramount in your mind right now. Oh, and you may not let him come until I say so."

Ah, so his little Gryffindor liked that idea, did he? Was going to make Malfoy pay for some of the insults the Slytherin had thrown his way over the last few weeks. Better that they learn to deal with their differences this way than to put the security and future of their world at stake. Though he hoped that Potter would remember that as he did to Malfoy, Malfoy would probably... No probably. Would most assuredly do to him when his turn came.

He watched as Potter proved he had indeed been watching. And he was beginning to use slightly different permutations from those that Malfoy had used on himself.

Was there anything better in the world – other than a potion gone right – than the sight and smell of two youths, in the prime of their physical lives, completely aroused?

Malfoy's curses were now directed at Potter, whose feral grin seemed to indicate that he was indeed enjoying himself. He said something softly into Malfoy's ear as he tugged, rather sharply, on what by now must be over- sensitive balls, bringing down Malfoy's ardour a notch or two. Whatever it was, Malfoy's mouth shut into a tight line that almost disappeared. Not a good sign. Snape sighed. It would appear that their truce from the exploration of the passages was at an end.

"Mr. Potter, take Mr. Malfoy's cock in your hands and see how quickly you can make him come now."

Malfoy shouted as those slicked hands took hold of his cock. He bucked as much as he could into them, trying his best to assist in his completion. Potter made him pay for that. Even from his vantage point, Snape could tell that his grip loosened even if he did maintain the stroking motions on Malfoy's cock.

"Mr. Potter!"

Their eyes met. Snape didn't need to see Potter's cock to know that he was almost as aroused as Malfoy. His eyes were black behind glasses that showed signs of fogging up from the heat generated between those two bodies.

"Now, Mr. Potter."

Potter licked his lips and finally gave a small nod. He turned his focus back to Malfoy whose shouted obscenities showed no signs of coherency.

With a couple of proper strokes, Malfoy came, his screams echoing in the Chamber and down the passageways.

Payback was never pretty.

Well, Snape was certain that it hadn't been from Potter's perspective. He had paid, in spades, for all the fun he'd had with Malfoy.

Mind, from Snape's, it had been rather educational.

Malfoy had indeed been very focused when it had been Potter's turn to masturbate. Even more so than at any Quidditch match.

Potter, sensing that he had gone too far with Malfoy, tried to bring himself off as quickly as possible. But Snape had also been watching and, before the boy could come, he'd found himself hanging as had Malfoy. And Slytherin that he was, Malfoy had remembered those little spots that had proven so sensitive when Snape had played with Potter's body.

Snape looked at his two boys. He'd fed them another meal and spelled them clean before seeing them safe under Morpheus again, lying on their respective pallets. There had to be a way for him to channel that competitive spirit into more productive and safer areas. And without this need for revenge on their parts.

Sitting in his chair, savouring a brandy, Snape examined them. Malfoy would look good in a beard when he finally decided to grow one. Most wizards went through a stage in their earlier years when they did, trying to assume an air of wisdom and experience they didn't yet have. Potter's was growing in too raggedly for it to be a good look on him.

Rather as his own had been.

Standing, Snape stretched and wondered if there was a way he could fix a shower down here. His boys weren't the only ones in need of a proper washing. Spells were all right for maintaining cleanliness, but the feel of hot water was good not just for the body.

It took him about an hour but, with the use of a water-location spell – he really couldn't use the stream furnishing their loo – some transfiguration and several conduction and heating spells, he conjured up a shower that they could all use. Individually at first, but large enough for all of them at a time. Should that ever come to pass. He'd known that earlier truce had been based on a momentary feeling of comradeship, but he had hoped it might prove a little stronger.

He sighed with pleasure as the hot water loosened tense muscles. Then his hand added to the pleasure and, with the images in his mind of his boys coming, so did he.

He settled in for a good night's sleep, not just a few hours. What he had planned for the next session with his lads would be crossing into difficult territory. He needed to be fully rested for that. And so did they.

Harry hoped that none of his trepidation was expressed on his face so that those fucking Slytherins could see it.

The day, if day it was, had begun all right. They'd been fed then allowed to use the shower that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

Damn, but that had felt good! Hot water and shampoo. Gifts of the gods.

He would have liked to have been able to shave, but Snape refused to allow it. He'd used his wand to rid both his and Malfoy's faces of beard. Pity. If he'd had a razor in his hand...

Probably why Snape hadn't given in to their requests.

And he and Malfoy had been quite cool in accepting his decision. Neither of them had bitched. Which was why he was so pissed at the state in which he found himself. Pissed and a little worried.

They'd stood, passing some kind of silent inspection, when Snape had waved that fucking wand of his and, once more, here they were, hanging yet again from Salazar's version of home decoration!

And this time, when he'd dared challenge that, fucking Snape had gagged them both. Bloody hell, what had the prick expected? It was hard to be respectful when hanging like a some plucked chicken in a butcher's shop! And there was Malfoy, glaring at him again, as if he were the only one suffering from Snape's lack of humour.

The gag in his mouth – and he assumed Malfoy's as well – was different from those Snape had used previously. When he had time to think about it, it was probably a ball gag. He'd read about those things in one of Seamus's porn mags, the ones he snuck in every semester from home. Made him very popular with the guys, those did. Ron even commented on how ‘educational' they were. As if wizards didn't have porn mags of their own. One day, he'd like to see what the Twins' collection looked like.

There was a muffled growl from Malfoy. Harry gave him his best ‘fuck off' glare. Had the idiot really thought he was going to trust his back to him when the final face-down arrived? Sheesh, what kind of arsehole did Malfoy think he was?

Come to think of it, what kind of arsehole did Dumbledore take him for? Like he was going to trust some stupid prophecy that indicated he or Voldemort had to die for the other to survive? Had they really needed a prophecy to tell them that?

What kind of fool did they take him for? He was the one – not Dumbledore, not Malfoy, certainly not Snape – who had faced Voldemort down, in one form or another, since First Year. Well, okay, maybe Snape had as well. If Dumbledore was to be trusted...

And that was the problem. He was supposed to trust all these people and yet it was his neck on the line, not theirs. It would be one thing if he won. Life as they knew it would go on its merry way. But if he lost... Oh, they wouldn't like it if Voldemort did win, and they might have to pay for that with a few lives, but life would go on for them, maybe a little less merrily. Meanwhile, he, Harry Potter, would have been served up on a platter to the Dark Lord as some sacrificial lamb.

He was seventeen. It seemed he'd been fighting all his life. First, to survive the attack on his parents. Then those ten years with the Dursleys. He'd been no better than an indentured servant to them. Now, seven years with his so-called kind, and he had a maniac psychopath on his tail, wanting to kill him in as slowly and as painfully a way as he could devise!

And just like that, he was supposed to trust Draco Malfoy to cover his back? More chance the frigging Slytherin would stab him than save him!

Oh, yeah, for a minute or so back there in the passages, he felt that just maybe...

But he had always had only himself to depend on in the encounters with Voldemort. No matter what any of them said, no matter what the prophecy stated, at the very last encounter, it would be between only the two of them, Voldemort and Harry.

Go To Part 3

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