One Malfoy, two Malfoies?

AN: Hello all! Much apologies for neglecting this story for so long. It's now hopelessly AU as well. Many thanks to Ash for the beta! Any feedback would be greatly appreciated.

"Grrr."

The bright morning sunlight intruded rudely on Severus Snape's sleep, as it had every day for the past week. He still wasn't used to Hermione's preference to greet the day awakened by the first rays passing over the castle, seemingly focused to a laser with pinpoint accuracy on wherever his eyelids happened to be by the large, bright windows of her room. He rolled over in protest with another grunt, nestling against his bedmate, and tried to fight the encroachment of the morning on his rest. It was to be a losing battle, however, as his partner was slowly waking up herself. She stretched, and the resulting sight of the sheet slipping down her body in the action seemed adequate compensation for the blissful sleep to which he would be unable to return any time soon. The unexpected arrival of their magically spawned child, and the consequent time and effort in care it brought, had severely hampered their sex life. Snape, who never turned down exploitable opportunities such as this (they were both in a bed, naked, breathing, and mostly awake, which was good enough for him) set about convincing Hermione of the same. At first, she seemed receptive to his attentions, letting out a yawn that turned into a hum of pleasure as she turned toward him. As soon as she looked at the clock, however, she frowned and started to pull away.

"Not now, Severus, I've got to get ready. And it's your turn to feed him." She attempted to extricate herself from his embrace, but he tightened his grip.

"It's barely five in the morning. Feed who?" he asked, certainly not petulantly, as he would never stoop to that. On cue, a faint murmur built up into an inquiring cry on the other side of the divider. She looked at him pointedly.

"But, last night, we agreed...we made a schedule," he entreated in his most persuasive tone, generally reserved for needling favors from those who didn't like him very much (most people) or mercy from irate mad wizards bent on filleting him alive. Not even this appeal to his lover's obsessive attention to detail and planning could dissuade her, though, and she sighed.

"Yes, last night. Remember, when you said to start without you?" She drew her hand in small circles on his chest.

"Mmm, yes," he mumbled into the nape of her neck, drawing the bed sheet further down and regaining the ground he'd lost when she'd stopped him earlier.

"Well, I did."

"Yessss," he hissed, more to her tits than her face now, as he made his way down her body while pretending to participate in the conversation.

"And then those first years came to the door while you were showering." He didn't much like the term 'first years' being brought up in the current context, so he latched on to 'showering' instead, memories of her associated with it in particular, and rumbled an affirmative in between her breasts.

"And I had to convince them that there was nothing under any of their beds, that they weren't in the supposed 'trick dorm room' which disappear from the castle whenever its occupants fall asleep simultaneously, vanishing them forever, and furthermore, that they wouldn't be sucked out a window due to air pressure differences from the height of the tower. I suspect Dennis Creevey was responsible for at least the last one." She scowled, but he was too involved in the attempted seduction to notice. He had stopped paying attention to the discussion altogether, which made her next words and actions a complete surprise.

"Then I came back to our room, and found you asleep. I had to finish without you too." Her accusation was punctuated with a push, not terribly forceful, but enough to dislodge him from her person.

"You should have woken me," he growled in dissatisfaction as she escaped his grasp and left the bed.

"I tried. You were dead to the world." She set about her morning routine with more cheerfulness than she had any right to, in his opinion.

"With not a lot of effort, apparently," he grumbled, trying to summon the will to get up in the face of such a disappointment. His child was making contented noises next door, but would soon be demanding sustenance, by the sound of it.

"You don't take being startled awake very well." She paused in her preparations to give him an amused look.

"You have my official permission to use whatever methods you need to should the situation arise again. Water, loud noises, Enervate, anything!" He was certainly not whining now, either, as that was also something he would never, ever do.

"I'll try to remember. Still, there is something particularly...appealing...about a man slumped over, vulnerable, having passed out mid-wank," she teased. He didn't appreciate the grin she gave him before stepping into the bathroom.

He muttered complaints under his breath, resolving to attempt a few more precious moments of sleep in protest to her decision to put routine and responsibility above his needs, and promptly let out an undignified yelp as he rolled over onto a large book entitled The Extremely Thick Guide To Breaking Very Hard Things: Curses, Charms, and Memory Loss that was cunningly hidden under the sheets on her side of the bed. Snape was in no position to appreciate humorous coincidence mislabeled 'irony' and shoved the twelfth volume in the critically acclaimed Suggestive Titles series to the floor with one hand while cupping his bits in belated protective gesture with the other. Resigning himself to defeat, he gingerly sat up, popped various joints into place, and stood, ready but not at all excited (in any sense) to go about his day. First on his agenda was ensuring that his progeny didn't set the rooms aflame in a fit of hunger.

For the last week, the Snape family had settled into a routine. Severus would watch his son, assisted by Nilly, during the day, and Hermione would take over parenting duties at night, with the odd minute or two not occupied by the infant dedicated to togetherness time. Which generally consisted of the two new parents collapsing in undignified heaps around each other. As he retrieved his wand from the bedside table, dressing casually with a quick spell, Snape reflected that, aside from infant-enforced celibacy, lack of sleep, danger of discovery, threat of Azkaban, and the general messiness that seemed to follow the child everywhere, life as a new parent wasn't half bad. And, he reflected, having another being, small and demonic though it may be, who actually looked happy to see him was quite novel, and not at all undesirable.

The sight of his son grinning with wide, welcoming eyes as he entered the infant's room stirred something deep within him, and almost made up for the chore of feeding and cleaning the little beast. He mixed a small amount of vodka with a bottle of orange juice and retrieved the boy from the crib. Immediately, the child began suckling merrily away at the concoction, snuggling into him in the process. Despite himself, he found he actually rather liked the child, beyond feeling responsible for its continued existence. Unsurprisingly, aside from his duties as godfather cosseting the Malfoy prince (from a distance, mind), Snape had had little interaction with children under the age of first-years. He intensely disliked and distrusted all those old enough to wave a wand, particularly second-years no longer shocked and terrified into submission by the novelty that was Hogwarts. He considered the little bastards fully capable of murder by that age, and of covering it up afterwards by their fifth year. Seventh years were to be treated with the same level of trust as would be appropriate for underfed dragons. He trusted less even his Slytherins, whom he cared for in his own way, protecting, teaching, nurturing (after a fashion); he was more likely to turn his back to a pack of rabid hippogriffs. His son, however, was beginning to establish himself as an exception.

The noise of Hermione exiting the loo drew his attention, and her smile at beholding the unusual pair caused the warm sensation in his chest to resurface. It might have been contentment, but he wasn't entirely certain. He watched as she gathered her things for the school day.

"So what exactly necessitates commencing your study at this ungodly hour?" he asked quietly, but with a hint of knowing mirth. She shouldered her bag and walked over to stand in front of him, ruffling the child's short black hair between the sharp points of his horns.

"With all this, I'm terribly behind in revision," she answered, only a little sheepishly.

"Even Potions?"

"Especially Potions!" Her pout was adorable, and he had to stop a soppy grin from forming on his face. "We haven't done anything for the past week. The Headmaster didn't even assign the homework in your lesson plans."

Snape supposed he should be concerned about the disastrous state his classes would most likely be in, were he ever able to return to actually teaching them, but really couldn't be bothered.

"You mentioned yesterday that someone had been engaged to cover them?" he asked more in curiosity than concern.

"I think he or she is supposed to arrive today. It's hard to tell, the way Dumbledore's been recently." She frowned, letting the baby grasp her fingers with the hand not occupied by the bottle of spike sustenance. "I should be back before lunch. Is there anything I can bring you from the library?"

With the pain from his encounter with one of the many books that had invaded their rooms fresh in his mind (and other areas), he declined. She kissed them both goodbye and left, ignoring the huffing judgment of the doorway's guarding portrait as she passed. Upon her exit, Snape returned to enjoying a silence that was guaranteed to be temporary. Soon, the last liquid in the bottle would be finished, and he would face the unenviable task of cleaning up after the child. Serving both his masters might have interfered with his sleeping schedule, but he'd never, by the great fortune of neither being named Peter Pettigrew nor holding the post of Deputy Headmistress, had to wipe their asses for them. Despite their reputation for depravity, the Death Eaters had not subjected Snape to such variety and quantity of bodily fluids, not even when the Dark Lord had caught sick with a cold no one was allowed to acknowledge or treat. He had a strong stomach, as evidenced by his complete willingness to disembowel and pickle anything that would prove useful in potions making, but flinched when faced with the noxious substances the baby was capable of producing. Hermione disapproved of using Scourgify directly on the infant itself, but after several inquiries and bouts of research they had assembled a series of spells tailored to childcare. He cringed imagining what it would be like being restricted to Muggle methods. Finally, the boy was finished, and after burping (from experience, directed away from anything flammable) and cleaning him as thoroughly as possible, Snape put him under the care of a summoned Nilly and went about preparing himself for the day.

"Ron!" Hermione had finished catching up on her assignments and scheduled revision just in time to catch the end of breakfast, and was pleasantly surprised to see the familiar shock of red hair seated next to Harry at the Gryffindor table. She rushed to them, giving the second-youngest Weasley a friendly embrace before setting down her things.

"Hello," he replied, rather subdued. Hermione seated herself between Harry and a newly arrived Ronald Weasley, greeting the former and giving the latter another supportive hug in the process. "How are you? Where've you been?"

"It was horrible, Hermione." Ron looked haggard and worn despite his week-long hiatus from school; his red hair hung limply in his face, and even his freckles looked paler than usual. "I had to live with Moody." He gestured to the Head Table, and Hermione was startled to see the mad Auror standing next to Dumbledore, and behind him seemed to be...

"Is that Lucius Malfoy?" she asked, bewildered. Harry nodded unhappily. Ron just took a morose bite of toast. "But why? What is he doing here?"

Harry took a deep swig of pumpkin juice, swallowing his poached egg whole distractedly, before replying, 'I think he's going to be covering Potions."

The man in question, who had been in Azkaban for most of the past year (and to Hermione's knowledge, should've remained there), looked a bit bedraggled in plain black robes but kept the air of haughtiness that seemed to naturally hang about him. He didn't even appear to condescend to participating in the conversation being held between the Headmaster and Moody, instead occupied in looking around the hall with an unwaveringly cold expression. She saw his attention reach his own son, seated at the Slytherin table, before his countenance softened almost imperceptibly. The younger Malfoy seemed determinedly occupied with his breakfast, refusing to meet his father's gaze.

"That seems like a horrid idea. How could they have let him out?" Hermione asked, not a little perturbed and confused. Harry shrugged his shoulders, his expression darkening as he looked at Draco as well.

"I dunno what's going on, but this is bollocks. He's got no right to be out of Azkaban after what he's done," Harry practically growled, ripping his toast to bits with more force than the wheat product deserved.

"He still sleeps in a trunk," Ron interjected morosely. Harry and Hermione turned their attention belatedly back to their friend.

"Who? Mad-Eye?" Harry asked. Ron was quiet at first. Hermione intercepted a passing plate of fruit while waiting for a response. After a few more beats of silence, she snagged a slice of toast, her attention still mostly on her clearly traumatized friend as she began to surreptitiously consume her breakfast. Finally, Ron spoke, still showing an uncharacteristic lack of interest in the pile of his favorite food on the plate in front of him.

"I can't talk about it," he mumbled. Hermione put a concerned hand on his shoulder, and Harry tried cajoling him into eating something. The rest of the table appeared interested in the strange happenings as well, but were polite enough (or too intimidated by Harry's visibly poor mood) to restrain themselves to whispering amongst each other. Neville and Ginny helped form a protective circle around their newly returned housemate.

"Did they...catch Snape?" She stumbled over the words only a bit, but no one seemed to notice.

"No, I'm supposed to be the bait." Ron's tone was still close to dejection, but he'd had to form the sentence around a mouthful of bacon butty, indicating some improvement in his condition.

"So Malfoy's here as a distraction, and Moody's real purpose..." Her thought was interrupted by Dumbledore's Sonorus-enhanced polite cough. The discussion at the Head Table had reached its conclusion, and all attention now turned to the rising schoolmaster.

"Ahem. I would like to introduce Lucius Malfoy, who is on parole from his life sentence and here to fulfill community service hours as your temporary Potions professor." Malfoy gave a slight bow paired with a sneer toward the assembled students at the Headmaster's gesture. Dumbledore continued, unconcerned. "And this is Auror Alastor Moody, who some of you may recognize from his imposter's term as Defense professor." Moody's grimace nearly matched Malfoy's, his magical eye jittering about menacingly. "He will be accompanying Mr. Malfoy as his...well, to ensure he behaves. I've been informed that Mr. Malfoy is unable to carry a wand or perform magic, and his presence here will be carefully monitored by Aurors. If you have any questions, please feel free to approach the Aurors or your professors. That is all; have a wonderful day."

Hermione tried not to let her inner panic show. They'd been quite lucky so far, escaping the clumsy grasp of the Ministry with ease, but Moody's presence threw everything into jeopardy. She wasn't sure what defensive measures he'd be able to develop, but she had to warn Snape. Finishing her breakfast with more speed and less decorum than she normally displayed, she gathered her things and turned to her friends.

"I'll meet you in Transfiguration. I've got to..."

"Miss Granger." She was again interrupted by the kindly voice of the Headmaster, now standing behind her, accompanied by Malfoy and Moody. Malfoy looked disdainfully bored, and Moody was examining her with suspicion. Dumbledore smiled at her, though his eyes appeared to narrow for a split second before he shifted his attention to Harry. "Good morning, Harry. And how are you, Mr. Weasley?"

Ron muttered indistinctly, glancing at Mad-Eye in fear. Dumbledore appeared not to notice. "Would the two of you please make sure Mr. Weasley settles in today?" He looked over his spectacles at Harry and Hermione. "I'm sure he'll be back to his old self soon enough." He patted Ron on the shoulder before continuing down the aisle toward the exit. Moody and Malfoy followed with much less cheer. She sighed, waiting for her friends to ready themselves. She wouldn't be able to stop by her rooms now, not when she seemed to have drawn the attention of both the Headmaster and the overzealous Auror. She took out a small, unmarked book from her bag and a quill, opened it, and hastily scribbled a message. She could only hope he'd read it before Moody had time to find him. Draco approached them cautiously, making sure his father had left the hall, and she gave him a reassuring smile as he slung an arm around Harry. She discreetly returned the book to her bag as they departed, again trying to engage a reluctant Ron in conversation.

Fabio and Popeye have entered the castle. Take evasive action.